Crash Landing

“You expect too much,” Josie said. “Emilio is a nice man. He would make a good husband and father.”

“And that’s enough?”

Josie gave a knowing smile, dusted crumbs from her fingers and got to her feet. “What else is there?”

“Passion for one thing.”

“Passion fades. That’s when friendship counts.”

“You make marriage sound so boring.” Sophia yawned.

“Not at all. As time goes on, you will learn to value other things above passion.”

“That might work for you,” she said. “But me? I want sparks. All the time. Fireworks or nothing.”

Josie made a quiet chiding noise. “You’re more like Mother than you think. You’ve got her starry-eyed idealism.”

“There’s nothing wrong with setting my standards high.”

“There is having high standards and then there are unrealistic expectations.”

“If Mother hadn’t believed in passionate love that lasted she wouldn’t have stayed in Costa Rica and had seven children.”

“True, but look at everything she gave up.”

“For love.”

“It wasn’t easy for her. Starting over in a new country. Learning another language. Navigating a strange culture.”

“But she did it because she loved Poppy so much. That’s what I want. Someone who’d swim the deepest ocean for me.”

“You’re not going to start singing are you?”

“I might,” Sophia teased, splayed a hand to her chest and sang an off key rendition of “I’d Climb the Highest Mountain,” except she didn’t know most of the words and ended up stumble-humming it.

“You are not getting any younger, mi hija. Soon your best child-bearing years will be behind you.”

“Thanks for that.” Sophia crossed her legs. The orchid slid off the brim of her hat, landed on her nose. Sophia brushed it aside.

“You can’t keep hitting the snooze button on your biological clock.” Josie pressed her lips into a disapproving line.

“I’m not even remotely thinking of babies yet.”

“I know, but you should be.”

“I’m not done having fun yet.”

“Babies are a different kind of fun.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

“You love your nieces and nephews.”

“I do. Stop trying to sell me on motherhood. When I find the right relationship—packed with tons of passion—the rest will take care of itself.” Sophia’s eyes were on the hombre who was going to pace a hole right through the wooden planks of the balcony.

Josie canted her head. “The American isn’t right for you.”

“Of course he’s not. I never thought he was. He’s caviar and I’m black beans, but a girl needs her sexual fantasies, right?”

“Give Emilio a chance,” Josie advised and picked up her sandwich bag. “Bring him to Sunday dinner.”

“We’ll see.”

Josie pointed a finger at her. “Just bring him.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. Their mother had died of bacterial meningitis when Sophia was twelve and after Sophia had returned from living in California with Aunt Kristi, Josie had taken over as Mother Hen and sometimes she could be a bit overbearing. “Sí.”

“I mean it.”

Sophia made shooing motions at her. “Go back to rubbing that rich cover model’s backside.”

“I love you,” Josie said sweetly over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to make me feel like a brat.”

“Even if you are being one?” Josie laughed and went into the spa.

Sophia pursed her lips and looked back to Gibb Martin’s bungalow. Blondie was gone, but he was still pacing and talking on the phone.

Did the man ever slow down? Take a deep breath? Relax? Enjoy himself for half a second?

She shifted her gaze to the sky and estimated the time by the sun’s position. She never wore a watch. Two o’clock was perhaps thirty minutes away. Just enough time to fuel the plane and do her flight checks. Yawning, she rolled out of the hammock and stretched big, reaching for the clouds, her crop top rising up high with her movements.

Gibb Martin leaned over the railing of his balcony.

He was watching her!

Her stomach churned and she had the strangest feeling that something monumental was about to happen.

Those compelling gray eyes stared straight at her. Thank God for her sunglasses.

A slow smile slid across his face.

Excitement shot through her and she suppressed a smug grin. He might not be paying Miss Cover Model much attention, but he was certainly focused on her.

What she did next wasn’t noble, but it was human. She pretended she hadn’t seen him watching her. She swept off her cowgirl hat, tilted her head back, and ran her fingers through her long hair, fluffing it up in a sexy, just-rolled out of bed style and bit down on her bottom lip to make it puffy.

Bad girl, bad. Mala. Mala.