He harrumphed.
“Okay,” she nodded. “So not hallucinating then. There’s no way I could recreate that certain…je ne sais quoi that echoes through your special brand of caveman-esque grunt. It really is quite something, you know? It’s like, with one word that isn’t even a word, you’re able to convey annoyance, frustration, disapproval, and dismissal.”
“Alex—”
“And since when do you watch Rachel McAdams movies?”
He shook his head. “I never said Idid.”
Had hereallyjumped for joy when he saw the catamaran sail toward the island after he set off the flare? Had he really been happier than he could remember being in…well…forever when she dropped anchor and jumped overboard to start swimming in his direction?
To his consternation, the answer wasyesto both questions.
Alex is nothing but a pain in my ass. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Sure you did,” she challenged, her eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her glasses. “You said soul mates were invented by Hollywood to sell tickets to Rachel McAdams movies. Which means you must’veseena few to make that summary judgment.”
“You’re missing my point.” He hadn’t been thinking. That was the only explanation. Or at least he hadn’t been thinking with the head atop his shoulders.
“I don’t think I am.” She placed her elbow on the table, cupping her chin in her palm. “You like Rachel McAdams movies. Admit it. So which is your favorite? Most people are partial toThe Notebook, but I likeThe Time Traveler’s Wifethe best.”
“Idon’twatch Rachel McAdams movies,” he grumbled, though he had watchedThe Time Traveler’s Wife.But only because he liked the paranormal, science-fiction aspect of it.
“Well, why not?” she demanded, her deep auburn eyebrows pulling down in a vee.
“Because I have these things,” he told her.
“What things?”
“They’re called a dick and balls.”
“Oh, big macho man.” She waved her hands. “Has to act all rough and tough, like he doesn’t enjoy a good star-crossed lovers story just as much as the rest of us.”
“Nowthat’ssomething I believe in,” he told her, leaning back in the molded fiberglass seat and lifting the field glasses to do another quick scan of the dark horizon.
“What?” she asked. “Star-crossed lovers?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Justloversin general. I believe in hormones and animal magnetism and the biological urge to mate.”
She studied him for a second, blinking slowly. “So you’re saying…what? That there’s no such thing as love? Only sex?”
Hearing the word, just theword, come out of her mouth made his shorts feel too tight.
“I’m just saying there’s no such thing as soul mates.” He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I’m saying there’s lust that leads to love. And love that leads to lust on rare occasions. But mostly there’sjustlust that burns hot and fizzles fast.”
“Wow.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re a real romantic.”
There was a time…“Hey.” He shrugged, feigning far more indifference than he felt. “You asked. It’s not my fault you don’t like the answer.”
“Point taken,” she allowed with a bob of her eyebrows.
They were ever mobile, those eyebrows of hers. And he couldn’t help but wonder if they felt as soft and sleek as they looked. He curled his fingers around the edge of the table to keep from reaching to find out.
She started peeling the orange she’d grabbed from the galley, and his attention shifted from her eyebrows to her hands, to the swift, efficient movements they made. He was instantly mesmerized. The soft moonlight streaming down from above seemed to highlight just how graceful and small they were. Narrow palms. Thin fingers. Short, unpainted nails that showed half-moon shapes up by her cuticles.
Pretty.
Alex had pretty hands.
