Free Pussycat Death Squad by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Page B

escape route each time she tried to maneuver away. His adorable, gap-toothed grin belied his skillful manipulation of the absurdly unmanageable boat. Finally she gave up trying to fire back and simply collapsed against the steering column, laughing helplessly. Besides, in this heat, soaking wet was the best she'd felt all day.
     
    She glanced over at Patrick, who was calling off his troops at her surrender. With his eyes glowing with good humor, he was almost beautiful, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. They'd spent weeks working together trying to ignore their intense attraction, but now as she looked into his rich hazel eyes she knew that it was highly unlikely that they'd be able to maintain a platonic relationship. As he returned her stare, his gaze turned from amused to frankly hungry. A shudder raced through her body as she felt moisture gathering between her thighs.
     
    She exhaled sharply as the boat abruptly fetched up against the retaining wall. The attendant had signaled for their return anyway. She watched as Patrick slipped bills to his coconspirators. “Amazing the lengths a grown man will go to win a child's game.”
     
    “Remember, I play to win, sugar.” She shivered as his molasses-rich voice continued, “If you think this is extraordinary, imagine what I'll do to win an adult game.”
     
    Not for the first time, Lelia was grateful for the dark complexion that kept him from seeing the flush that rose under her skin. It would be best for all concerned if he never knew that she had thought of little else.
     
    “What do you want to do next?” he asked when she couldn't come up with a response to his comment.
     
    “Anything but the go-carts. One wreck with you is one too many. I want some steel around me when you're driving.”
    * * *
     
    Lelia screamed as Patrick made another hairpin turn. He barely slowed the little vehicle, and she gasped as it came up on two wheels. “Y'Allah! Patrick. Slow down,” she yelled at him, knowing full well he'd ignore her as he had during their previous two trips around the track. Who would've thought she could have so much fun putting her life in the hands of this erstwhile Lewis Hamilton? Her braids, unaccustomedly loose from their usual chignon, flew behind her in wild disarray. Laughter bubbled up from her throat as Patrick pulled in to stop the go-cart.
     
    “I can't believe I let you talk me into this foolishness,” she yelled above the roar of the engines.
     
    “Who would've thought you'd be such a sucker for speed? Want to go again?” he asked, his cheeky grin tempting her to touch the dimple that suddenly flashed in his cheek.
     
    She was about to say yes, when they both heard her stomach grumble even over the roar of the returning go-carts. “Perhaps not,” she said a bit wistfully. “I suppose we need to find something to eat.” She glanced down as her cell phone, which was clipped to her belt, began to beep. “I need to find some privacy. It's time for afternoon prayer.”
     
    “Well, I made reservations. We could go ahead and check in. I wasn't sure if you'd want to stay here in town or not.”
     
    Lelia smiled her relief. “That'll be great.”
     
    Patrick nodded toward the phone. “What's that?”
     
    “Electronic call to prayer. A necessity for when Muslims travel outside an Islamic country.”
     
    “Definitely doesn't sound as nice as the real ones. After all these years, you don't automatically remember the prayer times?”
     
    Lelia shook her head. “It changes as the days lengthen or shorten. They're attuned to the cycles of the earth, not any man-made clock.”
     
    “Doesn't praying five times a day get annoying after a while?” Patrick asked.
     
    “No, not really. I've done it all my life, so I'd really miss it. I think it's good to have regular reminders during the day to maintain our covenant with God. Asr , the afternoon prayer, is the only one that can be problematic, as it usually comes up when