Dinner had been tense. Jack was acutely aware of his attraction to his dinner partner: the sparkle in her eyes as she gazed at the menu hungrily, the soft curve of her breasts under the loose-fitting T-shirt she had donned from her emergency kit, the capable hands that had caressed him as she pulled him onto the bed. And he felt like a fool. It was time for him to get past Alex. He knew his friend was dead. He knew it. He may not have seen the body, but he believed what Andres had told him. And Jack himself was still alive. He was sitting across from a woman who had more passion in her little finger than most women had in their whole bodies. He wanted to explore that passion, to dive in headfirst. But he had blown it. And now he wasn’t sure how to approach her. While they waited for their food, Meg tried to make casual conversation, but he found it hard to reciprocate. Finally their dinners came, and they both plowed into it like they hadn’t eaten for a week.
