A stiff breeze toys with the ends of Havana’s hair as we watch the Smooth Sail cohort file onto the tour bus. No one wanted to miss today’s excursion to the Kohunlich ruins, so Havana and I both climb in ahead of the tour guide, a stocky young man with slicked-back hair and a toothy grin. The last two seats available are the ones at the front, directly in front of Richard and Jenny. I settle into the window seat so Havana has access to the aisle, and then face Richard over the back of my seat. Havana drops her backpack on the floor at my feet and sinks into the seat beside me, carefully not touching.

“I wouldn’t have guessed this would be the most popular excursion of the trip.” My face reveals nothing. Definitely not the fact that Havana slept in my bed last night, our bodies twined together until her cell phone alarm went off just before dawn.

Richard scowls, though he’s got no way of knowing we prepped the last details naked over wine and mangoes, fed to each other with sticky fingers.

“Jenny insisted on this one. Me, I’d rather be in a beach hammock with a beer.”

“It’s going to be amazing, sweetie!” Jenny wraps her hands around his arm and squeezes. “Mysterious ruins and temple masks. It looked like Indiana Jones or something in the brochure.”

Richard grunts and looks away, so I scoot lower in my seat. The height of the head rests force privacy, to a degree.

“Attention, por favor.” The tour guide stands in the center aisle and waves a hand. “My name is Diego, and I will be with you today for this wonderful trip. The drive to Kohunlich will be two hours, so please relax and enjoy the view. Our beautiful jungles are filled with native creatures. Perhaps you can capture one of our famous howler monkeys with that camera, sir.”

Bob waves a gigantic Nikon over his head, smiling at the attention.

The guide details the trip—scenic drive to the rather remote ruins, boxed lunch on-site, an hour and a half to explore on our own or with the main group, and departure at three p.m. sharp. Havana shoves her clipboard into the backpack and lifts her chin to listen attentively. I’m keenly aware of Richard behind me, so I don’t stare at the line of her jaw. Instead I struggle not to glower as Diego smiles extra widely at Havana.

Richard taps my shoulder over the seat. “How long did he say the ride is?

“About two hours,” I reply.

“And how long will we be there?”

“Couple of hours.” I shift in my seat. “Why, Richard? Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Of course not,” Jenny answers for him. “He’s going to love this trip.”

She sounds more hopeful than certain.

The bus rumbles off, and people fall into quiet conversations with their seat mates. Exclamations break the ambient chatter from time to time as some breathtaking vista or exotic animal passes our view. The foliage thickens around us and the road gets bumpier.

My leg brushes Havana’s bare knee. The touch breathes life into the lust I’ve been trying to keep tamped down. She straightens her skirt. Richard’s face appears behind us in the gap between our seats.

“Havana, will there be bottled water available at the site?”

“Yes, Richard. We loaded several coolers full in the cargo well under the bus. We’ll all stay fully hydrated.”

I pull out my phone and Havana does the same. Our arms touch. Fuck, I want my hands on her. I imagine Richard’s eyes boring holes in the seat, or one eye peering through that gap. Havana and I studiously ignore each other. I’m composing an email to send once we get back to the boat’s wi-fi when a text notification flashes across my screen.

Havana: Think there are any mangoes growing wild at the site?

Me: Maybe. What else is wild and sweet around here?

Havana: How much wild are you looking for? As cruise director, I aim to please.

Me: I’ve got a certain forbidden fruit in mind. Think I’ll be able to get a taste?

Havana: Dunno. But I wouldn’t mind a bite myself.

“How much longer, Jet?” Richard asks from behind us.

“Half an hour, Richard,” Havana answers.

We still haven’t spoken directly to each other since we boarded, but I’m already half hard thinking of ways I can take her in the jungle. When the bus pulls to a stop, Havana pops up to be the first out. She bends to get her backpack. A flash of lace and flesh nearly makes me groan. Knowing exactly what those full breasts feel like against my palms and mouth doesn’t slake my desire. Not by a long shot.

Havana waits outside the door, offering bug spray and fans to the guests as they file out into the heavy warmth of the jungle-covered ruins. We’ve got about two hours to see the site, and Diego sets off briskly. Richard and Jenny get carried along with the group, while Havana and I bring up the rear. When I’m sure everyone’s ahead of us, I run a palm over her ass in the knee-length travel skirt. Her sexy grin promises dirty things. She struts ahead of me, her long legs ending in strappy sandals that wrap around her calves. My dick goes before me, following those legs.

For an hour, we mingle with the group among the ruins, making sure to be seen. The site is busy but not overrun, and although there are people everywhere, I see opportunities if I’m patient. We snap photos of our guests with moss-covered statues, huge stone masks with broad noses and fierce scowls. When part of the group splits to climb the temple, we stay behind with the non-climbers. I wave merrily to Richard as Jenny hauls him up the first of the steps eagerly.

Havana catches my eye, and we wander around an unexcavated mound with Kelly and Ayesha, and then take another turn without them into a maze of high stone walls. As soon as we’re alone, I pull Havana to me, grinding my erection against her.

Her mouth takes mine greedily. No soft, welcoming kisses. Only hunger that matches mine. I capture her hand and pull her further into the stones. Birds and monkeys scream and chatter around us. The calls of tourists asking each other for photos grow faint. We’re on the outer edge of the ruins, a place where the jungle encroaches on the ground humans have tried to reclaim. Vine-covered stones loom around us, some tumbled into weird formations. In a leafy nook among the ruins, I stop and push Havana’s backpack straps off her shoulders.

It falls to the ground, and Havana’s civilized self seems to fall away with it. We collide together again, pulling, biting, more than half wild. We smell of sweat and bug spray, mixed with the earthy perfume of dirt and moss. I lose my fucking mind. I hike up her sensible skirt and palm her ass. She nibbles at my earlobe and I shudder.

“No time for seduction, Jet. If you want me, take me. Now.”

With a growl, I hoist her up. Her legs lock around my hips as I stumble forward. She grunts as her back hits the wall.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Ready,” she answers.

Bracing her against the rough stone, I fumble with my pants.

She keeps her lips at my ear. “Fuck me, Jet. I’m so wet already. I want that big cock of yours inside me right now. I want you—” she breaks off with a gasp as I tug her panties aside with my thumb and spear her against the wall.

Desire lances through me. Primal. Urgent. So good it almost hurts. I fight the impulse to thrust. Her legs tremble around me. I exhale for control. Just a second longer. Her fingernails claw at my back. Her lips on my ear become teeth. I give her what she needs. What we both need. I slide out and ram back into her, each time harder than the time before.

Anyone could walk by.

Her ankles lock behind me..

Sweat slicks my forehead and falls into my eyes. Her fingernails dig deeper into the muscles in my back. Our panting breath joins the sounds of the jungle, so natural and right.

“Harder, Jet. I’m there. Ah, fuck—”

As her low cries trail off, I slam into her one final time and let go, pulsing into her..

Our breathing slows. The sounds of insects and people and birds and monkeys seem to grow louder in our silence. I lower Havana gently. She laughs self-consciously as she digs wet wipes out of the backpack and offers them to me. I clean her first in a strange, tender moment. She watches me with inscrutable eyes.

“How’s your back?” I turn her around and chuckle.

“A little tender but worth it. I don’t like that chuckle though. How bad is my shirt?”

“I could say you fell in a booby trap.” I pull the neck out and peer down her back.

“Shit. Here, I’ve got a tank top on underneath.” She unbuttons the loose blouse. “If I take this off, can you see any scratches on my back?”

I run my fingers over her spine. “I think you’ll be all right. Nothing that couldn’t be explained by bug bites or angry vegetation.”

When she finally shoulders her backpack, I steal another kiss in our hidden nook. I almost wish for a moment we could stay. She’s the one who breaks the fragile spell and walks away to find the others. We join Kelly and Ayesha again, our alibi, before joining the temple group descending the steep stairs. The entire group is sweaty, so our flushed faces and damp shirts go unnoticed, I hope. Havana checks people against the list on her clipboard, the wild woman now buried under efficiency.

A new mood holds the group on the way back, a sort of lingering awe. Even Richard relaxes and tells me about the temple of masks, smiling fondly at Jenny. People share memories of the day at dinner that night, the magic of the ancient site that they’ll take with them. I listen to all their stories but keep mine to myself.

The rest of the first half of the cruise passes in a work-and-sex haze. Havana and I work our asses off to keep everyone happy and avoid any further blunders. Days are spent doing behind the scenes legwork for her, and playing the benevolent host for me. It’s not always an easy fit, but having Havana at my side makes it easier in a million little ways. Not least because we fall into bed and fuck each other mindless every night. And sometimes during the day. We’ve had a few near misses. The threat of detection still gives an extra spice to our sex. Lately in the wee hours of the morning, we linger. It’s harder to say goodbye, harder to pretend we’re colleagues only.

Otherwise, I’m a hero.

“I think we’ve finally won over Gabe Ferrara,” Havana says to me one afternoon as we go over plans for the second half.

“What makes you say so?” I twist off a handful of grapes, popping one in her mouth first.

“He said so.” She smirks. “He drank too much at lunch. His exact words were something like ‘Jet’s all right. I didn’t want to like the fucker, but he knows how to throw a party.’”

“Nice.”

“Yep, but Viv told me at the gym she’s impressed. She called you a wizard for knowing what they needed before they do. I don’t know what that’s about, but she also said if you could do that much with a couple weeks and a boat, your hotel packages must be fabulous.”

“They are, or will be, but you’re responsible for this. You’ve made this what it is.” I close the files and lean back. “Any tales in the underground about whether Richard’s leaning yes or no?”

“No, but everyone else is sold, I think.”

“Would be nice to know for sure, though.”

White clouds roll by outside my little window. Havana’s eyes focus far away as she stares.

“Jet, why is this so important?” Her voice sounds far away, too. “You’re not the kind of guy to jump through hoops for no reason, I know enough about you to know that. Expanded business, reputation … neither of those fully explain the trouble you’re going to here.”

The bite of expensive brie I just ate sours on my tongue. Her eyes shift to mine, and the kindness there loosens something in my chest.

“My father.” I surprise myself by answering. “We went to nearly every continent by the time I was ten. It was just us for most of my childhood, and he wasn’t the best at the mundane stuff. Day to day, he struggled to be there for me, to be both mother and father. But our trips are my best memories. I tasted my first coffee in Paris. Learned to eat spicy food in India.” I laugh as I remember hopping around the street vendor’s cart, my mouth afire. “It seemed like we went everywhere. At that age, I thought the world was as big as a galaxy. He took care of me on trips, paid attention in ways he never did when we were home. We could have gone anywhere and I’d have loved it.

“And now he barely remembers me.” Havana reaches for my hand. “It started when I was in middle school, I see now. He grew too afraid to travel, complained about being away from home. He’d imagine pickpockets everywhere and even accuse me of stealing when he lost things. It took me a little while to understand that he was sick, and when I finally did, he refused to admit it. I like to remember him now the way he was back then, and travel does that for me. He can’t remember the places we explored, but I won’t forget. And those memories are the best thing he could ever have given me.”

Havana’s eyes glisten, and I clear my throat to get rid of the catch in my voice.

“So yeah, that’s why I wanted to head up this company to begin with, and that’s why partnering with Smooth Sail is important to me. I’d like to know I’m part of helping other families make those kinds of memories. The full experience, not just luxury hotels in high profile destinations.”

Havana rises and drapes herself over my lap. My arms circle her, and she holds my face in both hands for a long, searching kiss. I rest my forehead against hers, lost for a moment in the flood of emotions that always accompanies memories of my dad when he was still himself. She brings me back with more kisses.

Her tongue traces my bottom lip and slips inside my mouth. Heat rises in me and I deepen the kiss. As desire flares in my chest, I taste it on her lips. Her hands slide behind my neck, and I shift my arms beneath her legs. Never breaking the kiss, I carry her to the bed and sink onto it with her. I swell and harden, but I can’t tear my lips away from hers. Her fingers twist in my hair, and we pull at each other. I want more of her, need to be closer, but this kiss feels like water in a desert.

Pressure against my chest breaks the trance. She pushes me back and tugs off my shirt. I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in—salt and honeysuckle—before I suck gently at her soft skin. We fall back together, side by side, and I twist to roll her on top of me, where I unzip her sundress. She sits up to pull it over her head and unhook her bra. My hands rest at her waist while I watch. For once I can be patient. Calm. Because I know what waits for me.

She leans over to kiss me, letting her breasts brush over my chest as she wiggles on my lap, teasing. Urging me to forget sadness and enjoy her body and her attention.

I crush her to me in a bear hug, plundering her mouth again, searching for something in the way her tongue moves with mine. She pushes back, asking questions of her own. I feel answers on the tip of my tongue. I roll her under me again and strip off her panties, and then I stand to remove my pants. I pause. She’s splayed across my bed, her slim legs bent slightly.

My hand goes to my zipper. Her eyes track the movement and one hand steals between her thighs. The zipper goes down slowly, and I hook my thumbs over my pants and boxers. One shove sends them to my knees. Her knees fall open. My cock bounces in response and that hand between her thighs strokes faster.

Chastising her gently, I capture her hand, kiss the inside of her wrist, and lay it to the side. Then I lick and suck her clit until she begs for me, her hips jerking involuntarily toward my face as she whispers please.

I’ve every intention of twisting her around to some other position, to look for a novel angle, but when I hover over her for another kiss, she locks her legs around my waist.

Now she urges.

I cradle her head in my hands and stare into her eyes as I enter her, filling her with one thrust. Tension builds, and she keeps pace with me, the slow rhythm unlike the usual frenzy of our sex. But our bodies climb toward a climax just the same, inexorable, powerful. I hear it in her breathing, feel it in the jut of her hips. My own pleasure rises like a tsunami, and I wedge a hand between us to tease her clit. When the wave breaks over me, I want it to pull her under too.

Afterwards, we rest atop the twisted sheets and she snuggles into my shoulder. Her hand traces the ridges of my muscled chest. We’ve lain like this half a dozen times at least, but something’s shifted.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“For telling me about your dad. I think it’s amazing, what you’re trying to do. I’m—I guess I’m jealous. My family’s not close. My parents just weren’t good at being parents, so we’ve all kind of gone our own ways. We talk, but … it was never like that. I don’t think I have that kind of relationship, those kinds of memories with anyone.”

I pull her close for another kiss. That’s maybe sadder than my pitiful story.

“What about Richard? He seems so protective of you. I assumed you guys were a tight-knit clan.”

She laughs. “God, no. I see Uncle Richard maybe once a year at family functions, and he’s never been particularly interested in my life. Or very impressed by my career, for that matter. I built my clientele from scratch, and this is the first time he’s ever acknowledged we were in remotely the same business. I never expected anything from him.”

She looks at her watch and sits up with a sigh.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. I just always got the feeling he sneered at my small potatoes, bootstrappy business.”

As we dress, something about her revelation itches at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about her story about Richard bothers me. It’s not that I don’t trust Havana. I do. But why did he go to the trouble of practically forcing me to hire her if he didn’t care? She’s phenomenal at her job, so even without the other benefits she and I enjoy, he did me a favor. So why does it feel like a lie?