Slipping out of the house, she walked across the small lawn to a point that overlooked the bay. People paid thousands of dollars to come and admire a view like this, she mused. The steeply raked crags covered with lush vegetation, the turquoise water and white sand, the little fare, surrounded with flowering vines and bushes.

Perhaps she might convince her father to sell and find a place in Pape‘ete. Maybe then she could meet some people her own age, maybe even find a man to distract her from her troubles. She flopped down onto the lawn and stared up at the sky, the dampness from the rain soaking through her pareu.

Though she was emotionally exhausted, something inside her couldn’t seem to rest. She felt as though she was ready to jump out of her skin. She smoothed her hands over her body and closed her eyes as the rain pelted her face. The sensations her hands evoked were enough to remind her how long it had been since she’d been touched by another.

It had been nearly a year since she’d enjoyed the pleasures a man’s body offered. Though her Irish-American father would be more than happy if she decided to enter a convent, her French mother had given Sophie a very practical and healthy attitude about sex. One must accept that a woman has desires, her mother had told her, and they must be fulfilled. There is no sin in acting upon these feelings. As long as both parties agree there will be no promises the next morning.

After she finished flying Peter Shelton around the islands, she’d take a little bit of the money, buy herself a new dress and find herself a man, Sophie decided. There were always tourists at the resorts on Tahiti and Bora Bora, handsome men who’d offer a temporary diversion.

She’d make it her goal to ring in the New Year in the bed of a sexy man. “I’ll make it happen,” Sophie muttered, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. “A lover for New Year’s Eve. And for New Year’s Day.”