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same moment she began her trailed off comment, she noted Morgan stumbled in his steps.
    Hum. Something had already gone down between Heather’s two friends. Damn. She’d always assumed, with the way each had spoken in the past, neither knew of the other’s true feelings. Just what the hell were they up to?
    “Damn, man, this room is tiny,” Morgan bellowed back. “But I agree about keeping the other room for, er, special events.”
    “Yeah, but one fart out of you and you sleep on the sofa. Or…better yet, let’s swap bunkmates,” J.D. offered.
    “Uh, yeah, hell no. Let’s recap, shall we? You”—P.J. pointed to Morgan—”snore, and you”—she pointed to J.D.—“fart. I’ll take my chances with Heather, thank you very much. Plus, we need the bigger closets our room has.”
    Both men pouted.
    “If bunking together bothers you both so bad, ask the Marquis about his oversight at dinner, which, can I remind everyone, is only thirty minutes away. Let’s get unpacked and changed for dinner,” Heather suggested, trying to get the trio back on track. She hoped dinner would shed more light on some of the things the Marquis had alluded to.
    “Or undress, if I remember right.” J.D. winked at her as he slipped into the guys’ room.
    As she followed P.J. into theirs, she worried both guys might take Khara’s words seriously and attend dinner in the buff. She loved her friends dearly, but there were some things better left unseen between friends.
    Tallywackers happened to be one of them.
    Twenty minutes later, and much to her relief, they met back in the common room with the dressed guys. Well, sorta. They both wore Bermuda shorts and not a damn thing else. No T-shirts, no shoes—but she wouldn’t complain. No swinging junk in sight.
    “Let’s get this show on the road. I want to meet the hot babes the island is rumored to have.” J.D. bounded toward the door, opening it wide enough that he bounced right through like a kid with no doubt of getting laid.
    “Hot babes? Really? You sound like a schoolboy sporting morning wood,” P.J. chastised, following him out the door.
    Though she was far more dressed than her friends, Heather still fought a self-conscious sensation in her little white bikini and green sarong tied at her hip.
    P.J. wore a hot-pink, barely there bikini that only emphasized her ample bust and perfect tan.
    As they ambled down the path to the dining hut, the exotic sounds and scents flooded Heathers senses again.
    Either way, their adventure awaited them, and for once she’d come out of her shell to join in the merriments no matter how wild things got. She shook her arms at her sides, trying to rid herself of the nerves that had begun to sink in.
    Damn you, over-thinking brain. Let go. Have fun, and if the opportunity arises, be a slut. A safe slut, and only for the trip, but get wild. Be more like your friends. Free.
    And bam…both Morgan and J.D. mooned them as they hurried ahead to the hut.
    Okay. Maybe not quite as wild as the guys.

Chapter Seven
    A few steps down the path, an odd noise caught her attention. She elbowed P.J. to slow down and veered off the path slightly in search of the sound.
    “What are doing?” P.J. whispered.
    “Didn’t you hear something over here?”
    “No, and don’t islands have poisonous snakes and shit? Like kill-you-immediately types?” P.J. appeared stricken as she pushed palm after palm out of her way.
    “No. Quit being a weenie and come on.” P.J. didn’t have a problem with much of anything, except snakes. Those would knock the girl out on sight.
    “Hell no. One of us needs to be ready to run for help.”
    A glance back at P.J., and she recognized the tilted jaw and set eyes. P.J. meant what she said; she wasn’t moving an inch from the spot where she stood.
    “Fine. I’ll be right back.”
    Again, the thump, thump, thump .
    When she moved another of the large palm fronds, she discovered the source or in this case, sources of the familiar