Stars of Fortune
Page 57
“Where is everybody else?”
Riley topped off both glasses. “Sawyer—and we can thank him for the provisions—went down to the beach for a swim. He looked a little shell-shocked, as Annika dragged him around the village for earrings. She’s either upstairs admiring them or she went down for a swim, too. The Seventh Samurai—”
“Who?”
As they walked outside, Riley mimed pulling a sword out of a sheath, wielding it.
“Oh, Doyle.”
“Yeah, since everybody else was, we’ll say occupied, he and I sat down with the maps. And butted heads over where to look tomorrow. He’s got a really hard head.”
“Where are we going?”
“My pick. And his,” Riley added. “We decided on both before blood was spilled. So we’re heading out at seven thirty. Now, you can describe magical sex, in finite detail, while you practice your combinations.”
“My combinations?” Puzzled, Sasha punched her fist. “But I’ve been drinking.”
“Sash.” With a headshake, Riley set her glass on the stone wall. “The best fights happen when you’ve been drinking.” Riley danced on her toes, bounced her shoulders. “Show me some stuff.”
“Well, all right. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to punch and talk about having sex at the same time.”
“Multitask.”
As he worked, Bran caught the movement outside. He paused to step closer to his open doors, and saw Sasha practicing her boxing with Riley.
Not in the cover of the olive grove this time, he noted. But in the open. So much about her had opened.
It seemed miraculous that less than a week had passed since he’d stepped out onto that hotel terrace and seen her. Fated, he didn’t question that. Fated for the six of them, all so different, all from other places, to come together here. To join together here for the search that had been part of his family’s legacy, part of their duty, for countless generations.
But had he been fated to have such strong feelings for the reluctant seer from America? The attraction, the desire? Basic, normal, simple. But the rest . . . He needed time to explore and evaluate the rest. And time was so crowded.
He’d taken more than he should to be with her that day. Was taking more now just to watch her. But it was a bright thing, wasn’t it, to see her laugh when Riley snapped her head back, flung out her arms and dropped to the ground as if suffering a knockout punch.
That was friendship, he thought. An oddly tight one for so short a time. The tough little scientist and the insular artist.
As he considered it, Annika came up the cliff steps, a flowered sarong blowing around the very tiny bikini she wore.
Another oddity, he thought as Annika went toward the other women while Sasha executed what he thought was meant to be a side kick and Riley shook her head—her amused pity all but visible.
The three of them stood in the softening sunlight, all beauties in their own unique way. Annika flung her arms around Sasha in one of her joyful hugs, then did a trio of cartwheels that sent her sarong flying—and the dog chasing it.
Not to be undone, he supposed, Riley did a handspring. Annika a backflip.
Then the two women began to coach Sasha—who clearly needed it. He watched a moment more, struck by the way the setting sun gleamed over them, the way their laughter carried to him on the evening breeze.
Then he went back in to finish the work. The laughter was a tonic, he thought, but the lessons were honing weapons.
And he would do the same.
* * *
Sasha found Sawyer sniffing at her marinating chops when she came back in. He glanced up at her.
“Got plans for them?”
“Oh, did you?”
He shrugged. “I was just going to toss them on the grill. This looks fancier.”
“It’s really not. I thought Greece, lamb, and looked up some recipes last night. It’s pretty basic and quick. Some browning in olive oil and garlic. A little seasoning, some lemon juice.”
“Have at it.”
“I haven’t thought about sides, and it’s later than I meant it to be.”
“I’ll handle that part.” He got out a beer. “Teamwork.” He popped the beer, took a hit. “You look . . . healthy.”
“Healthy?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Healthy. I’m going to go grab some herbs.”
“I could use some thyme for the lamb.”
“You got it.” He tapped her cheek as he walked by. “Healthy.”
Great, she thought, and moved to the sink to wash up. There was nothing wrong with a grown woman looking healthy. She just wasn’t sure how she felt about advertising it, as she apparently was.
She got out an enormous skillet, the oil, picked up a bulb of garlic. Annika breezed in to get dishes. She heard Riley’s voice from outside, and Doyle’s as she bundled her hair up and out of the way to cook.
As she prepped the garlic, Sawyer came back with the herbs. He put a pot of water on the stove before dumping some new red potatoes in the sink.
“Boil ’em till they’re tender,” he said, scrubbing, “then sort of sauté them or whatever in butter and herbs, heavy on the rosemary. Looks fancy, like your chops, but isn’t.”
“Teamwork.”
“Completely.”
She grinned at him, then saw Bran come in. And felt very, very healthy.
“This looks domestic and under control. Need a hand with anything?”
Riley topped off both glasses. “Sawyer—and we can thank him for the provisions—went down to the beach for a swim. He looked a little shell-shocked, as Annika dragged him around the village for earrings. She’s either upstairs admiring them or she went down for a swim, too. The Seventh Samurai—”
“Who?”
As they walked outside, Riley mimed pulling a sword out of a sheath, wielding it.
“Oh, Doyle.”
“Yeah, since everybody else was, we’ll say occupied, he and I sat down with the maps. And butted heads over where to look tomorrow. He’s got a really hard head.”
“Where are we going?”
“My pick. And his,” Riley added. “We decided on both before blood was spilled. So we’re heading out at seven thirty. Now, you can describe magical sex, in finite detail, while you practice your combinations.”
“My combinations?” Puzzled, Sasha punched her fist. “But I’ve been drinking.”
“Sash.” With a headshake, Riley set her glass on the stone wall. “The best fights happen when you’ve been drinking.” Riley danced on her toes, bounced her shoulders. “Show me some stuff.”
“Well, all right. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to punch and talk about having sex at the same time.”
“Multitask.”
As he worked, Bran caught the movement outside. He paused to step closer to his open doors, and saw Sasha practicing her boxing with Riley.
Not in the cover of the olive grove this time, he noted. But in the open. So much about her had opened.
It seemed miraculous that less than a week had passed since he’d stepped out onto that hotel terrace and seen her. Fated, he didn’t question that. Fated for the six of them, all so different, all from other places, to come together here. To join together here for the search that had been part of his family’s legacy, part of their duty, for countless generations.
But had he been fated to have such strong feelings for the reluctant seer from America? The attraction, the desire? Basic, normal, simple. But the rest . . . He needed time to explore and evaluate the rest. And time was so crowded.
He’d taken more than he should to be with her that day. Was taking more now just to watch her. But it was a bright thing, wasn’t it, to see her laugh when Riley snapped her head back, flung out her arms and dropped to the ground as if suffering a knockout punch.
That was friendship, he thought. An oddly tight one for so short a time. The tough little scientist and the insular artist.
As he considered it, Annika came up the cliff steps, a flowered sarong blowing around the very tiny bikini she wore.
Another oddity, he thought as Annika went toward the other women while Sasha executed what he thought was meant to be a side kick and Riley shook her head—her amused pity all but visible.
The three of them stood in the softening sunlight, all beauties in their own unique way. Annika flung her arms around Sasha in one of her joyful hugs, then did a trio of cartwheels that sent her sarong flying—and the dog chasing it.
Not to be undone, he supposed, Riley did a handspring. Annika a backflip.
Then the two women began to coach Sasha—who clearly needed it. He watched a moment more, struck by the way the setting sun gleamed over them, the way their laughter carried to him on the evening breeze.
Then he went back in to finish the work. The laughter was a tonic, he thought, but the lessons were honing weapons.
And he would do the same.
* * *
Sasha found Sawyer sniffing at her marinating chops when she came back in. He glanced up at her.
“Got plans for them?”
“Oh, did you?”
He shrugged. “I was just going to toss them on the grill. This looks fancier.”
“It’s really not. I thought Greece, lamb, and looked up some recipes last night. It’s pretty basic and quick. Some browning in olive oil and garlic. A little seasoning, some lemon juice.”
“Have at it.”
“I haven’t thought about sides, and it’s later than I meant it to be.”
“I’ll handle that part.” He got out a beer. “Teamwork.” He popped the beer, took a hit. “You look . . . healthy.”
“Healthy?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Healthy. I’m going to go grab some herbs.”
“I could use some thyme for the lamb.”
“You got it.” He tapped her cheek as he walked by. “Healthy.”
Great, she thought, and moved to the sink to wash up. There was nothing wrong with a grown woman looking healthy. She just wasn’t sure how she felt about advertising it, as she apparently was.
She got out an enormous skillet, the oil, picked up a bulb of garlic. Annika breezed in to get dishes. She heard Riley’s voice from outside, and Doyle’s as she bundled her hair up and out of the way to cook.
As she prepped the garlic, Sawyer came back with the herbs. He put a pot of water on the stove before dumping some new red potatoes in the sink.
“Boil ’em till they’re tender,” he said, scrubbing, “then sort of sauté them or whatever in butter and herbs, heavy on the rosemary. Looks fancy, like your chops, but isn’t.”
“Teamwork.”
“Completely.”
She grinned at him, then saw Bran come in. And felt very, very healthy.
“This looks domestic and under control. Need a hand with anything?”
