She threw him a pouting look. “Too bad. You’ll have to make do with my thirty-four B-cuppers. They’re all I’ve got.”

He reached out, wrapped an iron arm around her torso, and dragged her half on, half off the bed. “Colossal or petite”-he leaned down and lightly kissed each nipple-“let no woman accuse Dirk Pitt of discrimination.”

She arched up and bit his ear. “Four whole days alone together. No phones, no committee meetings, no cocktail parties, no aides to hassle me. It’s almost too good to be true.” Her hand crept under the covers and she caressed his stomach. “How about a little sport before breakfast?”

“Ah, the magic word.”

She threw him a crooked smile. ” ‘Sport’ or ‘breakfast’?”

“What you said before, your yoga position.” Pitt leaped out of bed, sending Loren sprawling backward onto her sculptured bottom. “Vťhich way is the nearest lake?”

“Lake?”

“Sure.” Pitt laughed at her confused expression. “Where there’s a lake, there’s fish. We can’t waste the day dallying in bed when a juicy rainbow trout lies in breathless anticipation of biting a hook.”

She tilted her head questioningly and looked up at him. He stood tall, over six foot three, his trim body tanned except for the white band around his hips. His shaggy black hair framed a face that seemed eter—

VixenOB I 15

nally grim and yet was capable of providing a smile that could warm a crowded room. He was not smiling now, but Loren knew Pitt well enough to read the mirth in the crinkles around his incredibly green eyes.

“You big conceited jock,” she lashed out. “You’re putting me on.”

She launched herself off the floor, ramming her head into his stomach, shoving him backward onto the bed. She wasn’t fooling herself for a second with her seemingly super strength. If Pitt hadn’t relaxed and accepted her momentum, she would have bounced off him like a voile yball.

Before he could fake a protest, Loren climbed over his chest and straddled him, her hands pressing against his shoulders. He tensed himself, circled his hands behind her, and squeezed her soft cheek bottoms. She felt him grow beneath her and his heat seemed to radiate through her skin.

“Fishing,” she said in a husky voice. “The only rod you know how to use doesn’t have a reel.”

They had breakfast at noon. Pitt showered and dressed and returned to the kitchen. Loren was bent over the sink, vigorously scrubbing a blackened pan. She wore an apron and nothing else. He stood in the doorway, watching her small breasts jiggle, taking his time about buttoning his shirt.

“I wonder what your constituency would say if they could see you now,” he said.

“Screw my constituency,” she said, grinning devilishly. “My private life is none of their damned business.”