Blame It on Paradise Read Online Free PDF Page B

tea goblet. Jack swallowed back a hard lump that traveled through his body and settled below his waist.
    “¿Usted habla español?” he persisted.
    She answered with an amused half smile.
    Jack scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, leaving it more rakish. English, French and Maori were Darwin’s official languages, and Jack wanted to kick himself for not even trying to learn basic Maori phrases during his long flight. He gave it one last try. “Je parle français, et vous?”
    She smiled, and its radiance made him sweat between his toes. His thigh muscles weakened under the force of her clean, unadorned beauty. All at once, he was relieved to know that she couldn’t understand him because it gave him the freedom to say whatever he wanted. He moved closer to her, so close that his words softly buffeted the top of her head as she sorted through the grapes on his tray.
    “My work takes me all over the world,” he told her. “I’ve seen the sun set beyond the Greek isles and doves fly over the Taj Mahal. I’ve heard angels sing in the Sistine Chapel, and watched children play in Buckingham fountain. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful sights in the world…” A lump caught in his throat, and he was unable to continue until he forced it back. “But…my God…I have never seen anything as beautiful as you. I thought this was the most godforsaken rock on the planet, but now I suddenly find myself thinking I’m in paradise.”
    She looked up at him, her eyes wide. Jack opened his mouth to apologize but then realized that she had not understood a word. He might have apologized anyway, had she not abruptly turned on her heel and started for the lagoon.
    It never occurred to Jack to remain behind. He followed her to the water’s edge and found it surprisingly warm as he climbed down the natural steps and into a tile-lined section of the lagoon. His guide dived into the water with the sleek, splashless ease of a dolphin, and she swam out beyond the tile and into the cooler ocean water. She was as agile as an otter, spinning onto her back to see that he still followed before she ducked under the water only to emerge several yards ahead of him moments later.
    He had no trouble finding her in the bright moonlight when she exited the water on the other side of the lagoon. With her sheer sarong molded to her perfect buttocks, she appeared totally nude as she scrambled atop an outcropping of volcanic rock.
    She sat on the edge of the rock and watched him climb up after her, enjoying the sight of his arm and leg muscles working under his pale peach skin. He was nimble for such a large man, and it didn’t take him long to join her. She laughed when he shook like a St. Bernard, throwing salty water from his hair and body.
    “Even your laugh is beautiful,” he remarked as he sat beside her.
    She gathered her hair in her hands and squeezed it. Jack watched a rivulet of water run down her shoulder and over her breast. He forced his eyes to her face, which was even lovelier with her hair slicked away from it, and they spent a long time mutely contemplating each other and the beauty of the starry ocean night.
    Five minutes or five hours passed, Jack couldn’t be sure which, before he decided to interrupt the perfect peace between them. “This is really nice, sitting here with you like this. ‘Bathed in moonlight,’ ” he chuckled. “I read that in a poem in school once. The image stuck with me, but I didn’t quite get it until now.”
    Even though she couldn’t understand him, her eyes seemed to smile despite her intense expression.
    The words began to pour from Jack. With bitter honesty, he told her of his beginnings in South Boston. “My father came to the United States from Ireland thirty-seven years ago. He got work at a shipyard in Quincy—that’s south of Boston. He bought a two-bedroom clapboard shoebox of a house in Southie, and he married a tavern owner’s daughter. Three years later, I came along. Jackson