Chapter Twelve
“Pack it up. We’re gone. Ten minutes out front.”
Ripley stared at the phone in her hand as Mark’s voice was replaced by the blaring hyperactive-cricket dial tone of Australian phone systems.
She reached over to tease Gordon awake, but she was the only one in the bed. She pulled on a long-tailed shirt and stumbled about. His packed bag sat close beside the door—how had he done that without waking her? Gordon himself…she finally found on the balcony.
He was slouched in the same chair he had been last night, except now it was coming up dawn.
“Mark said ten minutes. More like eight or nine now.”
He nodded without looking at her. But his hand reached out to slide up the back of her leg and up under her loose shirt. “You feel incredible in the morning.”
“Not incredible enou
