She hesitated, obviously tempted by his invitation. Come on, come on, take me up on it, he thought. Then he caught a glimpse of Puapong, grinning and winking wickedly at him in the rearview mirror.

He only hoped the woman hadn't noticed.

But Willy most certainly had seen Puapong's winks and grins and had instantly comprehended the meaning. Here we go again, she thought wearily. Now he'll ask me if I want to have dinner and I'll say no I can't, and then he'll say, what about a drink? and I'll break down and say yes because he's such a damnably good-looking man-

"Look, I happen to be free tonight," he said. "Would you like to have dinner?"

"I can't," she said, wondering who had written this tired script and how one ever broke out of it.

"Then how about a drink?" He shot her a half smile and she felt herself teetering at the edge of a very high cliff. The crazy part was, he really wasn't a handsome man at all. His nose was crooked, as if, after managing to get it broken, he hadn't bothered to set it back in place. His hair was in need of a barber or at least a comb. She guessed he was somewhere in his late thirties, though the years scarcely showed except around his eyes, where deep laugh lines creased the corners. No, she'd seen far better-looking men. Men who offered more than a sweaty one-night grope in a foreign hotel.

So why is this guy getting to me?

"Just a drink?" he offered again.

"Thanks," she said. "But no thanks."

To her relief, he didn't press the issue. He nodded, sat back and looked out the window. His fingers drummed the briefcase. The mindless rhythm drove her crazy. She tried to ignore him, just as he was trying to ignore her, but it was hopeless. He was too imposing a presence.

By the time they pulled up at the Oriental Hotel, she was ready to leap out of the car. She practically did.