Page 107 of The Intrigue

“I feel restless, and we’ve talked about Havana for so long, and now that the war is over it’s ripe with possibilities. I’m right about Havana. I’m always right.”

“Not about everything.”

She scooted closer to him. He saw their reflections in the mirror behind the booth, the polished man and the exquisite woman leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

“Especially about everything,” she said. The flirtatious undertone in her voice, which she’d honed through exhaustive practice, hit him as it should, sending a shiver down his spine, yet he resisted her, a little longer, not because he really objected to the change of scenery but because he wanted to prolong their argument.

“It’ll be expensive and messy. We could get into a lot of trouble. I’m not sure I want to toy around with the authorities in another country.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I hate islands.”

“You haven’t been to an island.”

“I hate the idea of them.”

“I should go on my own, then. I’m not handcuffed to you.”

“No.” He captured her wrist, holding it tight, and smiled. “But I bet you’d miss me.”

She frowned, opened her mouth as if to offer a snappy retort, then rather than speaking any words she kissed him with a searing intensity that left him almost breathless. Finally, she pushed him slightly away.

“I could have gotten rid of him,” she stated, so firmly he knew there was nothing to do now but to capitulate.

“Fine. You could have. Maybe. Now, where’s that letter we’re supposed to be working on?”

She took a sip of her drink. “I have it all composed in my head, mister.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear the opening line.”

“ ‘I cannot continue to live. I cannot silence the secret that nestles inside my heart.’ ”

Despite the triteness of the sentences, there was something absurdly sensual about the way she spoke them. Still, he scoffed and replied with a biting grin. “Pour some molasses on it, won’t you?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one who says letters always need a florid touch.”

“Sure they do. They also need a picture of you in this outfit, slipped snug inside the envelope. What do you call this latest number?” he asked, running a hand up and down the strap of her dress.

“Red Number Three, I suppose,” she replied with another enticing shrug. “I copied it from something María Félix was wearing. Do you want to hear the next line?”

“Go right ahead.”

“ ‘Understand how much I suffer and how much I love you,’ ” she recited. “ ‘Do you love me?’ ”

The affectless voice contrasted with her devious half smile. He nodded, pleased. “Molasses and a pound of icing to boot. You’ll give the man a coronary.”

“I’ll give him a coronary one way or another.”

They laughed. In the mirror the man and the woman grew quiet, their eyes staring at their reflections before they turned to each other.

She grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together.