“Looking down at the crashing waves, I was thinking ‘¡que magnifico!’ Beautiful and deadly! If the treacherous surf didn’t kill me, the sharp rocks certainly would! But what were my options? I could hear them pounding up the trail …”

“Magnificent! Who?!? Who?!?” blurted the girl, breathlessly.

“Why, Colonial Tortuga’s men! Of course!”

“You could hear them running? The soft floor of the jungle often muffles sound… That’s so odd.”

“Not odd at all! Perplexing, maybe! Astonishing? ¡Absolutamente! May I continue?” He tilted his head in question. Even in consternation, his roguish good looks were evident. The man frowned slightly, and turned from her. His hands pushed up from the table and peered out the window at the lingering dusk. He reached for his cap.

“Oh no! Please! Don’t stop! I didn’t mean to…” The girl looked bereft. Her soft hand pushed him, gently, back down. “Let me get you more frijoles y pollo.”
He instantly flashed her a vibrant and glorious smile. “You are so kind, aahh, eerr, Maria?”

She blushed. “It’s Freya,” she corrected softly.

“Freya! Freya… That’s right… I knew a girl in Rancho Domingo with that name… Lovely girl she was. Freya was my sweetheart.”

“Oh! Magnificent!” gasped Freya, and put a hand to her face. She blushed crimson under his wolfish gaze. It was easy to imagine his skillful attentions and soft breath on her neck. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. A dark, wet patch spread out under each armpit. Self-conscious, Freya wiped her hands on the stains. She couldn’t help herself. Freya took a deep whiff.

...