Maybe he shouldn’t have been that amazed—her only alternative might have been golf with her father. Compared with that torture, enduring a day at one of the world’s preeminent snorkeling sites must have seemed more tolerable to her. Or maybe she’d believed him when he’d said all those things Gina had accused him of saying: that she was a terrific woman; that he was genuinely fond of her; that he didn’t regret their relationship, even though it was never going to conclude in a marriage proposal. Clichés, maybe, but he’d meant every word. Or maybe she’d come along to St. John with the rest of them because she wanted to keep an eye on Gina and him. Not that there was anything to keep an eye on. He’d meant every word he said to Gina, too—but he wasn’t going to take action. She didn’t want him to. And with Kim around, and the kid, it wouldn’t be right. And… He just wouldn’t. On the other hand, Gina’s breasts did rank right up there with her eyes and her feet as parts of her anatomy worthy of worship.
