Her mouth was dry, her throat was aching, and she couldn’t even croak to find out if anyone would listen if she begged for water.She finally opened her eyes. The room was still spinning. As long as she lived, she didn’t want to taste another rum swizzler. She tried to sit up. The spinning sensation was worse.She crashed back down, groaning.“You are going to live.”Kyle was there. If she’d had a prayer of actually managing the feat, she would have hit him. “No thanks to you,” she groaned.Then, despite her spinning head and the agony she suffered, she rose to a sitting position, staring first at her hand, then at Kyle.There was a narrow, plain gold band on her finger.Kyle was seated at a table in a little breakfast nook that overlooked the palm-covered lawn sloping down to the beach. He had a newspaper and coffee, was showered and shaved, and had even been shopping. He was wearing a surf-logo T-shirt and cutoffs and new Teva sandals. He looked comfortable and relaxed.“What do you think you’re doing?”
