Jefferson was right behind her, ready to go on goat patrol. Except then Libby climbed out of the hot tub, all endless glistening legs and a scrap of barely-there fabric inches from his face, and his brain went offline, frozen on that accidental close-up. He considered bashing his head on the fake rock border to restart his executive functioning.
This situation was rapidly slipping out of his control, and it had nothing to do with runaway goats.
What am I doing? On this island, with this woman, in this hot tub?
A better question was why he hadn’t stopped to ask himself any of those things until now.
The answer seemed to be that cool, calm, and collected Jefferson had left the building. New Jefferson was in charge, and this version of him was driven by wants instead of plans. Leavingthe luau, putting his hands all over her, thinking about doing more… that was base instinct behind the wheel. In his normal life, Jefferson would have seen the obstacles ahead and pumped the brakes.
They lived thousands of miles apart. She was about to start a new job that could send her life in a completely different direction. He barely knew her.
And Libby had a husband. Even if she hadn’t married for love. Was there such a thing as being a little bit married? Jefferson would have called it a load of malarkey if he wasn’t so desperate to believe she was free.
None of that slowed him down. A switch had been flipped, and suddenly Jefferson was a heat-seeking missile. She offered, and he leaped at the chance, following Libby like she had him on a leash. It had never been like this before, an all-consuming wave of feeling sweeping doubt and hesitation out of its path.
He needed to talk to her, even though there was no guarantee she was on the same page. What did she want? What was she willing to risk? If there was any chance of this becoming something real, he wasn’t willing to leave it to guesswork. Cards on the table—but not until they found the damn goats.
“At least you can see which way they went.” Libby nodded at a bare patch in the otherwise lush hedge, right at goat height. She tossed Jefferson a towel, hanging the one she’d used on a hook outside the shower. They shrugged on their clothes, yanking them into place over still-damp skin, and set off in pursuit.
“Are there any predators we should be worried about?” he asked, as they followed the trail of missing leaves and broken twigs.
“Some of the neighbors might come after them if they mess up their landscaping.”
“What if they try to swim for freedom?”
She paused to look back at him. “You think they might drown?”
“I know goats are strong swimmers. I was thinking sharks.”
Her face fell.
“I’m sure they’re too smart for that,” Jefferson assured her.
“They ate one of the cushions on the patio furniture,” she reminded him.
Among other things.Jefferson’s fingers twitched at the memory of touching the skin underneath the strap of her bikini. “It’s not like you hear about a lot of goats getting eaten by sharks. As part of the food chain.”
A security light flashed on ahead. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess they went that way,” Jefferson said.
“In your expert opinion. As a wildlife tracker.”
“If I’m reading the signs right. Are you friendly with your neighbors?” he asked as they moved toward the puddle of light.
“Why?” The question seemed to make her nervous. Maybe there’d been a spat about parking, or someone’s obnoxious wind chimes.
“If they recognize you, they won’t think we’re trying to break in.”
“They’re probably asleep.” She moved farther into the shadows.
“Eureka,” Jefferson said a few steps later, pointing at the grass.
Libby squinted at the pile of pellets. “It’s like bread crumbs. Only poop.”
They followed the trail of droppings and gnawed-off branches to a narrow path through the brush, the whoosh of the surf increasing in volume with every step. Jefferson stopped to inhale, tasting salt. The ocean was vast and dark apart from a wedge of reflected moonlight. The entire scene felt impossible: impossibly beautiful, impossible that he was here, with Libby. He had the urge to reach over and take her hand, fast-forwarding to a time when that was part of their relationship.
When they had a relationship, period.
As if he’d willed it, Jefferson felt the brush of her fingers, wrapping around his.
