Volcano by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online Page A

conservative attire.
    â€œThis is how a man dresses,” he informed her, “and I’m a man and you’re not, so I ought to know. While we’re at it, it wouldn’t hurt you to look more like a woman. Do you always wear jackets in tropical jungles, Miss Albright?”
    â€œWhat I wear is of little concern to you. I’m not hiding my identity. I’m going down for tea. Have fun in town.”
    He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. “Hold it just a minute, Miss Albright. We’re in this together. I’ll keep you out of the hands of the authorities if you’ll help me keep a low profile. Give me a minute to change. I’ll play the part of tourist according to your specifications if you’ll lose that gawd-awful jacket. You’ll cook out there on the water with that thing on.” When she hesitated, he added, “Food, Miss Albright. Lots and lots of spicy seafood. I’ll show you the best places. You want the real stuff, not the tourist stuff, don’t you?”
    Her stomach rumbled. Tiny little snacky things didn’t sound quite as tempting as lots and lots of spicy seafood. She loved spicy seafood. “How long?” she asked suspiciously.
    â€œMinutes. Mere minutes. Soufriere is just around the bend and the water taxi is fast. Make yourself comfortable for an outing, and I’ll be right with you.”
    Make herself comfortable. Right. As he disappeared into the bathroom with his backpack, Penelope glared at the full- length mirror on the closet door. The unstructured white linen blazer and matching trousers were comfortable, but she suspected they wouldn’t hold up long in a motorboat or roaming dirty streets. She knew the macho jerk hoped for tight shorts and halters, but she didn’t own such things. She gave all that up when she gave up modeling after graduation. The only way she could make men look at her with any degree of respect was by hiding behind the same business suits they wore.
    But she was on her first trip to the tropics, and she could afford to lighten up just a bit for the afternoon. She would save the linen for tomorrow when she started work.
    By the time Charlie finished in the bathroom, she had donned a white above-the-knee culottes and a navy T-shirt. Mindful of sun damage, she carried a wide-brimmed hat and a loose white cover-up. That should be touristy enough. When she looked up to see how her escort had improved his appearance, her mouth dropped open.
    He’d shaved his mustache. Good Lord, with that massive mustache gone, he looked like a young Sean Connery. Where in heaven’s name had a hick football player earned a face with that much character?
    Gulping, Penelope forced herself to look away from Charlie Smith’s handsome square jaw to his attire. The short-sleeved striped golf shirt didn’t shout “designer,” but it was far more suitable than the tank top. The baseball cap was hopeless, but she supposed he needed it to disguise that thick head of hair. The blue Dockers were probably his idea of dress-up clothes.
    â€œI thought the mustache made a good disguise.” He rubbed the bare space mournfully.
    â€œIt made you look like Mafia. Every cop in town would have followed you,” she retorted.
    Defensively, he slipped his mirrored sunglasses back on. “They could follow all they like. I haven’t done anything illegal.”
    Penelope scowled at the glasses. “Not those things. They make you look like a motorcycle cop. They probably have something down at the gift shop you can wear.”
    â€œWith a fancy price tag, no doubt,” he grumbled. “I like these.”
    â€œIf you find a single tourist in the entire town wearing anything like them, I’ll buy dinner.” Grabbing her handbag, Penelope marched out the door. For just a few minutes, he had almost fooled her into thinking they were a normal couple arguing over dress conventions.