When they landed at V. C. Bird International Airport in Antigua, Sasha was immediately swept up in a whirlwind of sights, lilting sounds and alluring scents. She, along with the other passengers, were guided through customs and into the waiting area to once again reclaim their luggage. She was amazed at the level of activity at what appeared to be the smallest airport she’d ever seen; customs, baggage claim and the eager drivers who waited outside the airport for would-be fares, were all mere steps from each other.

      Amid the throng of moving bodies she’d periodically caught glimpses of Mitchell, but she made it a point not to let her gaze linger. This was probably the last time they would see each other anyway. Gathering her bags, she walked outside into the balmy air of the Caribbean, the heat tempered by the setting sun beyond the horizon. She took the travel information from her purse and looked over the information that had been provided in her letter of agreement. She was staying at the Jolly Beach Resort, and would be a guest there for the duration of her three-week stay, with the actual competition taking place offsite. She tucked the letter back in her purse and followed the crowd toward the waiting vehicles.

      Her pulse quickened. Two people ahead of her was Mitchell. The woman who stood between them suddenly began waving at someone who Sasha couldn’t see, before darting off into the waiting arms of a man who wrapped her in a tight embrace before kissing her like a man drunk on desire and deprivation.

      Sasha lowered her gaze, suddenly feeling like a voyeur as the intimate scene unfolded. The line inched forward and Sasha made a point of keeping an appropriate distance between her and Mitchell. The last thing she wanted to do was bump into him from behind.

      A white van pulled up in front of them. Sasha breathed a sigh of relief. He’d get into the van and be on his way. The driver hopped out, dragged a limp handkerchief across his sweaty forehead and shouted, “Jolly Beach!”

      Sasha and Mitchell moved in unison toward the waiting ride, bumping hips and luggage in the process. Mitchell looked over his shoulder. Sasha stopped in her tracks.

      “Jolly Beach?” he asked. She nodded her response and was jostled by the couple behind her.

      “Are you two getting in?” the man asked, his fat brown face glistening in the waning light.

      “Room for all,” the driver called out. He snatched up Mitchell’s bag and loaded it into the back and did the same for Sasha before grabbing the couple’s luggage.

      The older couple, spry for their age, hurried right past Sasha and Mitchell and secured the seats in the back. Mitchell stepped aside to let Sasha on, helping her up with a firm hand on her arm. A shiver ran up the line of her back and she almost tripped over her own feet. Real smooth, she thought, thankful for the dark interior of the van. She scooted across the worn upholstered seat and pinned herself against the window, praying for the driver to hurry and turn on the air conditioning.

      Mitchell stooped low to get in and, after assessing the seating arrangements, took the only available seat, the one next to Sasha. He adjusted his solid body, inadvertently bumping his hip against hers. “Sorry,” he murmured then folded his arms across the tight expanse of his chest and stared ahead.

      Sasha’s heart thumped. Sweat trickled down the valley of her breasts as she tried to gather herself into an invisible knot.

      The driver hopped in on the right-hand side of the van, put it in gear and took off into the night. The van banged and bumped along the frighteningly narrow roads at death-defying speeds. Sasha’s heart hammered along with the banging and rattling, and she was sure that they were going to hurtle into a ditch, never to be seen again. She held on to the armrest for dear life. The one perk to the speed was that it stirred up gusts of air which cooled her body.

      The only time the driver slowed was to allow two goats to cross the road. She could barely make out the landscape, but what she did see was not what was advertised in the brochures. Clapboard houses leaning left and right, stray dogs and cats, cows, sheep, and a ragtag complement of residents sitting on rickety steps or strolling along dirt roads.

      The tug and pitch of the ride put Sasha and Mitchell in constant bodily contact, sending shock waves rippling up and down her thigh even as she pretended not to notice him or the way his leg felt against hers.

      The van suddenly swerved around a double-parked car and Sasha tipped over into Mitchell’s lap. For a moment neither one moved or breathed. Alarm lit her eyes and the heat of embarrassment burned her cheeks when she looked up at him staring down at her. And then he smiled and it was sunlight rising over the horizon. She froze at the awesomeness of it.

      “We have to stop meeting like this,” he teased, his warm voice taking the sting out of her awkward predicament. The van bumped again and she struggled to sit up. “I am so sorry,” she said, looking every place but at him.

      “I’d rather have you fall in my lap than that one back there,” he said in a pseudo whisper with a flick of his head in the direction of the couple behind them.

      Sasha giggled.

      They were both silent for a moment until Mitchell said, “Hey, why don’t we start over? Mitchell Davenport.” He extended his hand.

      Sasha hesitated but a second before placing her hand in his. “Sasha Carrington.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mitchell.”

      “Since it looks like we’ll be staying at the same resort, why don’t you call me Mitch? All my friends do.”

      “Mitch…”

      His dark eyes caught flecks of light