Martha did. Once she’d had enough to drink, they returned to the main cave.
“How about here?” Hugo asked, pointing to the deepest sand.
“We’d better double them,” she said. “This sand is damp.”
Once they’d laid them out one on top of the other Hugo gestured with a sweeping bow. “After you, my lady.”
Martha fingered her shawl, wondering if she should lay it out somewhere not so close to Hugo.
“Come now, I won’t bite.” His smile exposed the pointy canine teeth that Martha had noticed before; they looked perfect for biting.
But it would be churlish to argue—where else was he supposed to go—so she lowered herself onto the far edge of the blanket, wishing she’d worn her cloak. The air in the caves was cooled by the ocean water; it would be a chilly twelve hours.
Hugo sat with a soft thump beside her and extracted a waxed cloth from the pocket of his worn coat. “How fortunate is this?” He unwrapped one of the fried hand pies the fishermen took out on the water with them. “It’s a bit crushed for living in my pocket all day, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
Martha looked up at his face, and then wished she hadn’t. Being this close reminded her of their brief kiss and made her wonder if he would kiss her again.
He cocked his head. “Martha?”
“Hmm?”
“Some pie?”
“Oh, thank you,” she murmured, taking the piece of pastry he offered.
They munched in silence, until Martha could not bear the tension a moment longer. “Are you looking forward to leaving Stroma?”.
He snorted. “God, yes.”
Martha flinched at his fervid tone.
He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I was happy to get away from the people—from, er, you, Cailean, your father,” he added somewhat lamely. “I just meant I have business that is desperately in need of my attention.”
“Albert told me that he believes his employer paid to have him taken. You’ve never explained what happened to you.”
“I’m not certain who paid to have me kidnapped, thrown into jail, and then falsely charged and transported.”
“You’re not sure?” she repeated tartly. “Just how many people would want to do that to you?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I suspect it was my, er, business partner.”
“Why would your business partner have done such a thing?”
“I think she wants to—”
“Your partner is a she?”
He took a big bite of pie and chewed; his gaze speculative as it rested on her. “Mmm-hmm.”
“That’s, er, unusual, isn’t it? A woman who engages in business?”
He kept chewing, but his lips curled up at the corners.
“What?” Her face was hot. “I’m just making polite conversation.”
He swallowed, his smile turning to a grin.
“You are a very annoying man.”
“So I’ve been told. Often.”
“By whom?”
“Anyone who knows me, people who’ve just met me—the list is a long one.”
“I believe it.” Martha opened her mouth, but then closed it.
“What?” he asked, tucking the empty cloth back into his pocket.
“What what?” she repeated.
“I can see you are dying to ask me something. What is it?”
“I’m not dying to ask you anything.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged out of his coat.
“What are you doing?”
He winced at her shrill tone. “Don’t worry, I’m only taking off my coat.”
“Why? It’s cold in here.”
“Because I’m going to use it as a pillow.”
“Oh. You’re going to sleep?”
He sighed. “It’s been a long day, Martha.”
Martha looked at the dark smudges beneath his striking eyes and felt a pang of guilt for begrudging him some sleep. She edged as unobtrusively as possible toward the outside of the blanket.
He smirked. “You needn’t fret; I won’t do anything, er, untoward.”
“I’m not worried,” she lied.
He snorted and flopped onto his back, tucking the coat under his head. And then he yawned and closed his eyes.
How could he possibly sleep in this situation? Clearly her proximity meant nothing to him. At least not what it meant to her. Her skin was behaving strangely—flushing hot and then turning clammy and cold. And she couldn’t seem to breathe normally.
And yet he was completely relaxed.
She studied him in the low light of the lamp. He wasn’t classically handsome like Robert, but he was the most attractive man she had ever seen.
Like his body, his face was chiseled and composed of hard, stark planes. His nose was big—a veritable beak—and his thin-lipped mouth was permanently curved into an almost-smile. This close to him she could see the half-moon-shaped curves that bracketed his lips.
His eyelashes were thick and black, like his hair, and fanned out on his sun-bronzed skin. He must have bought a razor, because the hairs on his face were only just sprouting, as if he’d shaved that morning. The neckerchief he wore did a minimal job of covering his throat. Martha saw that he had to shave all the way down his neck, just like her father did.
His face and throat looked damp and dewy—the constant humidity on Stroma had some benefits—and she knew that his skin would taste salty, both from sweat and the sea air.
Her mouth watered to lick him. Right there in that hollow…
Martha had to swallow several more times to keep from drooling like some sort of maniac.
Her gaze wandered lower. His shirt was threadbare and gritty; he’d obviously not had time to go home and clean himself or change from his work clothing today.
The thin cotton did nothing to hide the dark circles of his nipples. The shirt was too small for his broad shoulders and powerful chest and had come untucked, baring an inch-wide strip of muscular midriff.
Martha’s pulse sped as she studied the fascinating ridges of his lower belly; there wasn’t so much as an ounce of fat on the man. The muscles flexed slightly with each breath he took. She pushed a finger into her own belly; it was soft, with only a hint of muscle.
Her fingers twitched to feel him. To trace the prominent vein that pulsed beneath the thin skin; to explore the fascinating line that began just above the blade of his hip and cut diagonally, delineating the smooth muscles of his flank
