“Your hair’s a mess, your skirt’s hiked up, and your shirt’s half open.” He observed. “You look like a victim or an invitation.”

“Victim? You try walking through the hot sand in a skirt. When the fools at the desk told me you were ‘just down the beach’ I didn’t expect a ten minute hike.”

“Upset that they didn’t offer to carry you down in a litter? Really Mags, you of all people shouldn’t be that put out by a short walk.”

“You know I prefer Magdalena, not Mags. When your assistant told me that you were in trouble and needed my help, I assumed the worst. Stretched out in a hammock with a pina colada in your hand doesn’t exactly look like you’re in trouble.”

“But I am. I have a blender full of boat drinks and no one to drink with.”

“You mean to tell me that I spent four hours on your private plane, worried sick, preparing myself for the worst… all because you wanted someone to drink with?”

“You were worried about me? I’m touched.”

“Grow up Gabriel.”

“An invitation then?”

A wry smile crossed her face.