Page 56 of Tiger's Voyage

I peered out the window at the pink sky. We were docked near a large city. Tall palm trees thickly lined the golden sandy beaches that were empty of even the most dedicated sunbathers. Nestled among the trees were large, curved, white hotels, and behind those, the tops of other buildings were just visible through the trees. The early-morning quiet was peaceful. It looked like paradise.

“That’s Goa?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Ren’s fingers stroked through my hair, and I relished the touch.

“You used to do that all the time.”

Ren laughed. “I imagine I did. I love your hair.”

“Really? It’s just plain old boring brown. Nothing special. Nilima’s got beautiful hair. Ebony. Very exotic.”

“I like yours. Curled, straight, wavy, up, down, braided.”

“You like it braided?”

“I like playing with the ribbons, and every time you wear braids I’m tempted to undo them.”

I laughed. “Ah, now that makes sense. On several occasions, you tugged the ribbons out of my hair and pulled out my braids. Now I know why. You have a braid fetish.”

Ren smiled and kissed my forehead. “Maybe I do. Are you ready to go shopping?”

I sighed against his chest. “I’d rather stay here and snuggle with you.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” He pressed me close and hugged me. “Unfortunately, I’m starting to feel the effects of snuggling.”

“Okay.”

Ren slid out of bed, walked to his room, and turned. Leaning against the doorjamb, he sighed. “I think the universe is conspiring against me.”

“How so?” I stretched and rolled over to look at him while bunching my pillow under my cheek.

“Because I can enjoy your warm, beautiful self, all sleepy and cuddly in silky pajamas only from a distance. Do you have any idea how extremely tempting you are? I am very, very glad that Kishan’s door is not connected to yours.”

I laughed. “You are one dangerous, smooth-talking man, my friend. But I’ve known that for a while, and I like that about you. Now go get dressed. I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

He grinned and shut the door behind him.

After breakfast, Ren and Kishan led me down to the dry garage. Automatically, I opened the door to the Jeep.

Kishan stopped me. “We’re not going in the Jeep.”

“We’re not? Then how are we getting to town? Walking?”

“No,” Ren said. “We’re taking these.” He lifted a tarp to uncover two powerful racing motorcycles.

I backed away a step. “And, uh, do you guys know how to ride those? They look … dangerous.”

Kishan laughed. “They are. The motorcycle, and this one in particular, is one of the best things about this century, Kells. We bought these six months ago, shortly after you left for Oregon and we do know how to ride them.”

Ren pushed his bike out of the boat’s garage. It was sleek and tricked out like something from a James Bond film. I saw the brand name Ducati on the side. Ren’s was cobalt blue, and Kishan’s was bright red.

“I’ve never heard of Ducati.”

“Ducati motorcycles?” Ren responded. “They’re Italian. They came with the jackets.”

I snorted. “I bet they did. They’re probably the most expensive motorcycles in the world. A Ducati is probably to a motorcycle as a Ferrari is to a sedan.”

“You’re exaggerating, Kells.”