““If Jason loses this in the surf," Travis said, touching the little sailing ship, "I'll make another one for him." "The surf! Over my dead body! This little beauty is going inside a glass bottle just as soon as I can figure out how to squeeze it past the neck." Laughing, Travis eased his fingers into Cat's soft, autumn-colored hair. The scent of lemon shampoo and the warmth in her eyes intoxicated him. "It doesn't work that way," he said, caressing her scalp. "You sure?" "Uh-huh. Trust me." Cat smiled slowly at Travis, remembering just how exquisite it was to trust her body to his keeping . . . and to take his in return. "You keep looking at me like that," he said in a deep voice, "and Jason will find us on the kitchen table.””
