Eye of the Beholder by Ingrid Weaver

slowly and leaned back, spreading his arms to keep himself steady. “Fields of coca plants are more profitable than coffee or pineapple.”
    “What if they had an alternative?”
    “Like what?”
    “Tourism, for example.”
    “There isn’t much on this island. No ports big enough for cruise ships. Not even a decent runway at the airport.”
    “That could change with the right investors.”
    “Who? You?”
    “I already told you, Rafe, I’m not rich. I don’t have the funds to invest, but I know people who do.”
    He tipped back his head and sank lower. “Yeah, I bet.”
    “The reason I traveled to Jamaica in the first place was to meet with representatives of a tourist resort. The Winston chain is considering the possibility of acquiring a hotel there, and I had to assess the existing facilites. Anyway, I was thinking about suggesting this island for the new hotel instead.”
    “Why?”
    “Developing the area for tourism would give the local population a legal source of income and would reduce Juarez’s power base. What do you think?”
    He made a grunt that she took for approval.
    “It’s so beautiful here.” She looked around. “I was thinking it could have been pictures on a tourist brochure. As long as the development is done with regard to conserving the island’s ecosystems it could—”
    “Glenna?”
    “Mmm?”
    “I’m going to get out now.”
    She swung her gaze back to Rafe.
    He had stood up again and was walking toward the shore. Water streamed from his chest, glistening over the ridges of muscle on his abdomen and the lean contours of his hips. He moved without self-consciousness, as if he were completely comfortable with his body and didn’t care whether or not she watched.
    And she did watch. As long as she was able. But just as the dark thatch of hair at his groin inched above the waterline, she dipped her head and put her boots back on. Yes, Rafe had a body that made even a woman on the verge of exhaustion feel aroused, but Glenna knew the bond between her and Rafe was more than that. She respected him too much to sit here and boldly ogle him. How would she feel if the tables had been turned, and he had been the one to watch her bathe naked in the pond…?
    The very idea made her catch her breath. How would she feel? Good. Natural. Alive.
    Her fingers shook too hard to fasten the laces. There were so many other things to fear, she shouldn’t fear these feelings for Rafe. She wasn’t like her father. She wouldn’t hurt anyone. She moistened her lips and looked up.
    But Rafe had already gone past. She had only a glimpse of his back silhouetted against the firelight before he yanked on his clothes, slung his rifle over his shoulder and faded into the darkness.

    It was a strange noise that woke her. Glenna opened her eyes, surprised to realize that dawn had already broken. The fire had burned down to a few smoldering embers. A bird darted through the hazy wreath of smoke that hung in the trees, warbling a high-pitched call. It was answered moments later by a call in the distance.
    Glenna pressed back into Rafe’s warmth. Sometime during the night he had spooned himself around her, his thighs cradling her bottom, his arm draped over her waist. The position had felt so natural that Glenna had been able to sleep more soundly than she’d believed possible.
    He’d said that he wanted to start out at daybreak, but it was already well past that. She glanced down at his hand where it rested against her midriff. His palm was turned upward with his fingers slightly curled. His arm was heavy on her waist and his chest rose and fell against her back in the slow rhythm of deep sleep.
    She wondered if she should wake him. She was reaching for his hand when she spotted the fruit beside the fire pit. Coconuts, mangoes, and some small dark green sphere she didn’t recognize were stacked in a colorful heap. That must have been what he’d been doing after his swim, she thought. He’d gone in search