Page 117 of Our Last Resort

“It’s fine.”

Just tell me what you did.

So, on the third day, at the breakfast table, as we’re fueling up for a hike, Gabriel tells me he feels a migraine coming on.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” I ask.

Once again, he dismisses me.

“No, no. Go hike. One of us should get to see the desert.”

“You sure?”

He nods.

“I’ll be fine.”

I leave. Gabriel stays in the dining room a little longer. He watches as the Brenners get up from their table. By the time he comes back to our suite, I’ve already left.

Gabriel wanders the hotel. He checks the lobby, the pool, the entrance lounge, even the spa. Sabrina is nowhere to be seen.

He retreats to our suite.

“I felt so stupid,” he says. “Like what did I think was going to happen?”

Gabriel is about ten minutes into his pity party when he hears a knock.

He opens the door.

It’s her.

The polite friendliness of the previous day, the apparent wholesomeness of a kiss on the cheek—all that’s gone.

A fire has been lit inside Sabrina Brenner.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t need to. He steps aside, and she walks into the room.

Gabriel starts: “Can I get you any—”

“I didn’t come here to talk.”

I hold up a hand.

Gabriel’s going too fast. I’m trying to picture it, this scene straight out of an old movie, the kind where the actors have real faces and even realer chemistry. Where the most mundane scene can turn into the most erotic moment.

And it happened to Gabriel?

Really?

“Are you making this up?” I ask.

For a second, he looks offended.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Keep going.”

“She kissed me again,” he says. “Not on the cheek. And then—”

---