Charon's Crossing

His smile tilted. "If you insist. I have always thought swimming naked was far more pleasurable. The silken slip of the water against your skin, the heat of the sun..."

"And I," she said, refusing to be sidetracked, "can wear the suit I brought with me, from New York."

"Ah. You won't object to me seeing you in it?"

"Of course not."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when she realized her mistake.

"The mystery deepens, enough to compel me to restate my earlier conviction." Matthew sat back on the settee, arms folded behind his head legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. "I am not rising from this settee until I've seen you in this swim suit that makes you blush."

"You're impossible!!"

"I am cut to the quick, madam. A

few moments ago, you were praising me for having such fine intellectual curiosity."

He didn't look cut to the quick. He looked smug and supremely masculine, and it was hard to know which she wanted to do more, slap that little smile from his handsome face or kiss it away.

"All right," she said through her teeth, "have it your way."

She turned and stormed from the room.

* * *

Honestly! Such a fuss, over a bathing suit.

Matthew was acting like a jerk.

And, to be painfully honest about it, maybe she was, too.

It was just a bikini, for heaven's sake. Women wore them all the time...

But not me. Lord, no, never me!

So, why had she bought it?

Because it was pretty. And it would let me get more of a tan. And...

Because she'd imagined Matthew seeing her wearing it, the look in his eyes when he saw her in those seductive scraps of black and white.

Oh, give us a break, Kathryn! He's seen you naked.

Naked was different. Naked didn't toss its head and roll its hips and say, hey, sailor, look at me...

Kathryn laughed. Quickly, before she lost courage, she stripped off her clothes and put on the bikini. Then she looked into the mirror.

"Wow," she whispered.

She turned in a little circle, peering at her reflection all the time. Then she reached for the sarong, wrapped it around herself, tied it at one shoulder.

She didn't look Roman. She looked like a refugee from Animal House.

The sarong looked much better tied at the hip. Much, much better.

Kathryn shot one last look into the mirror. "Ready or not," she said softly. She fluffed her fingers through her hair and sauntered out the door.

But when she reached the sitting room, her courage failed her.