I stared at the hook. It was the only thing that wasn’t.
“It’s probably on that corpse; the key, I mean.”
She looked up at me fetchingly, her brown eyes—she said they were green—flicking up and down my body, once, twice.
“Now wait just a damn minute,”
“Now you wouldn’t promise me a lighthouse and then fail to deliver, would you?” She ran her hands over my shirt and up the sides of my neck, cupping my face in her palms, tilting her head. “I mean, we are on our honeymoon—aren’t we? And who knows what a girl might do if escorted to the top of that beautiful beacon with the waves crashing all around her and the seabirds—”
“Pterodactyls,” I corrected her. “They’re pterodactyls. And they’ll peck your eyes out.”
“Whatever,” she rasped, and brushed my lips with her own. “What are you afraid
