But how well? Seven years older than her, he’d usually been helping his father on the estate grounds. ‘I’m still stunned. We don’t even know if we’re physically compatible,’ she said.

His expression altered. Focused. Igniting wildfire in her veins. ‘I think last night proves we’ve got no problems there. We’re combustible together.’

‘But marriage is more than physical attraction. It’s only been a week,’ she protested again.

‘How long do you need to be sure? A month? A year? I knew the moment I saw you again in Paris,’ he said.

Ava’s breath caught. ‘You care for me that much?’

‘You’re perfect in every way.’

Seven Sexy Sins

The true taste of temptation!

From greed to gluttony, lust to envy, these fabulous stories explore what seven sexy sins mean in the twenty-first century!

Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!

So you decide:

How can it be a sin when it feels so good?

Sloth—Cathy Williams

Lust—Dani Collins

Pride—Kim Lawrence

Gluttony—Maggie Cox

Greed—Sara Craven

Wrath—Maya Blake

Envy—Annie West

Seven titles by some of Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance’s most treasured and exciting authors!

The Sinner’s

Marriage

Redemption

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

MILLS & BOON

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For Liz.

Amica carissima et doctissima, and an admirable woman!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Seven Sexy Sins

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

PROLOGUE

THE CAR’S ACCELERATION was loud in the still night, breaking the silence Flynn had so enjoyed after the bustle of London.

As he stretched his legs on a midnight walk across Michael Cavendish’s country estate, the only sound should have been the swoop of an owl or the rustle of small creatures foraging. Flynn was too far from the big house for the sounds of the Cavendishes’ annual winter bash to intrude.

The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.

By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.

The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.

But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked in. At least she was conscious.

‘Don’t move.’ He had to see how badly she was injured, and quickly.

‘Who’s there?’ Instantly the woman shrank back from the door.

Her head snapped up and shock slammed into him. Ava? It couldn’t be little Ava Cavendish. Not in that tight, low-cut white evening gown. Not with those lush breasts.

‘Who is it?’

This time Flynn registered the sharp fear in her tone. Already she was trying to climb out the opposite side of the car, her long dress catching.

‘Ava? It’s okay. It’s me, Flynn Marshall.’ He reached the driver’s door but couldn’t wrench it open. The metal was buckled. Frustration surged.

‘Flynn? Mrs Marshall’s son?’

Her voice was slurred and anxiety stabbed him. Wasn’t slurred speech a danger sign?

‘Yes, Flynn.’ He made his voice soothing as he tried to recall hazy first aid knowledge. ‘You know me.’

A gusty sigh met the revelation. She mumbled something under her breath. He caught the word safe.

Flynn frowned. ‘Of course you’re safe with me.’

They’d grown up on the estate. Ava in the big house and he in a cramped workers’ cottage with his parents.

‘Here. This way.’ He had to get her away from the car. He couldn’t smell petrol but he’d take no chances.

Whatever her injuries, she could move her arms and legs. No spinal damage, hopefully. She’d already clambered up to kneel on the seat.

She twisted and a bottle dropped to the floor.

Since when had Ava been drinking champagne? She must be only—he did a quick mental calculation—seventeen. More to the point, the Ava he knew was far too responsible to drink and drive, even in a fit of teen rebellion.

‘Sure you’re Flynn?’ She frowned owlishly, sitting back on her heels. ‘You look different.’

Ava had never seen him in his city suit or anything as expensive as his cashmere coat. On his visits to his mother he reverted to casual clothes. Tonight, knowing his mother would be at the big house all night, working, he’d arrived late then set out for a stroll to clear his head after the drive. And to say farewell. This would be his last visit. Finally he’d convinced his mum to leave Frayne Hall.

‘I’m definitely Flynn.’ He reached out and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her carefully over the low door. But when he would have put her on her feet she clung tight, arms wrapped around his neck.

‘You have to promise.’

Wide, bright eyes glittered up at him and something punched hard in his gut.

‘Promise you won’t take me back.’

‘You need help. You’re hurt.’ Some of the dark streaks on her pale skin had smudged. Blood. Hell! He had to get her away from here, see how badly she was injured.

‘You can help me. Just you.’

She pouted up at him, her glossy lips enticing even in the moonlight. To his horror he felt a ripple of masculine response.

‘Please?’

She blinked and he saw tears fill her eyes.

He tightened his hold, valiantly ignoring the fact that little Ava had grown into a seductively luscious woman.

‘Of course I’ll help you.’

‘And you promise you won’t take me back? You won’t tell them where I am?’

The intensity of her stare and the anguish in her voice raised the hairs on his nape.

She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded scared.

He frowned, telling himself it was an illusion. She just didn’t want to face the music. She’d crashed an expensive car and she’d been drinking. Yes, her father would be upset. Yet Flynn knew that Michael Cavendish, though an appalling employer, was a doting family man. Ava had nothing to fear.

‘Promise me!’ Desperation threaded her rising voice and she struggled in his arms.

Flynn looked towards the big house, a blaze of light in the distance. No one had come after her. They mightn’t even know she’d left. He sighed.

‘I promise. For now at least.’ He’d take her to his mother’s cottage, see how badly she was hurt, then decide whether to take her to a hospital and about ringing her father—the last man in the world he wanted to talk to.

‘Thank you, Flynn.’

She smiled and laid her head against him. Her hair tickled his chin, the scent of roses and femininity curling around him.

‘I always liked you. I knew I could trust you.’

* * *

Ava winced as she stepped into the cosy kitchen, awash with bright morning light. It wasn’t that the light exacerbated her sore head so much as the fact it would reveal what she’d seen in the tiny bathroom mirror. Shadowed eyes. Bloodless lips now she’d scrubbed off her scarlet lipstick. Pale skin marked by scores of tiny cuts.

Far too much pale skin.

She’d tried to hitch her bodice up to cover herself a little more but it was no good. The dress was designed to reveal, not conceal.

The coward in her wished she could slip out without Flynn seeing her. He’d been marvellous, so supportive. But what must he think of her? Crashing her car, refusing to call her father or budge from his mother’s cottage. She caught her breath. Would she have to face Mrs Marshall too this morning?

‘Do you have a headache? I’ve got painkillers here.’

Ava swung around. Flynn stood, tall, dark and broodingly attractive, watching her with concern. He held out a glass and some medication. Her silly heart fluttered just at the sight of him.

Embarrassment surged. He’d anticipated she’d have a hangover. Could this scenario get any worse?

She wondered if he thought she did this all the time. Did he think she’d been wildly partying? She shivered.

Next thing she knew she was being gently pushed into a seat with something warm wrapped around her shoulders. It smelt fresh, like the forest after rain. Like Flynn. She breathed deep, his masculine scent going straight to her head.

‘Thank you.’

Ava met his dark eyes, felt again that unfamiliar pulse of awareness before looking away. He overwhelmed her. From childhood she’d been drawn to Flynn, despite the seven years between them, to his devil-may-care adventurous streak and his kindness.

More recently, though, Ava had been tongue-tied by the assured, handsome man he’d become. Even his loose-limbed stride appealed. Did he know he made her heart beat faster? That she melted a little inside when he looked at her with those enigmatic dark eyes? That sometimes she dreamed—

‘Water would be lovely, thank you.’ She drew on years of self-discipline, projecting an assurance she didn’t feel as she accepted the glass and the headache tablets, pretending that sitting in a ruined evening gown that left her half naked was in any way normal. ‘Is your mother home?’

‘No. She sleeps at the house when there’s a big party and she has to be up early for the breakfasts.’

Ava nodded, trying not to think of what was happening up at Frayne Hall right now.

‘Are you ready to talk about last night, Ava?’

Flynn’s voice was low and soft, brushing across her skin like plush velvet. She loved the sound of her name on his lips. But she couldn’t let him distract her.

‘Thank you for helping me.’ She put the glass down on the kitchen table. ‘It’s time I got back.’

‘You’re going to the Hall?’ He frowned. ‘Last night you were adamant wild horses wouldn’t drag you there.’

‘Last night I wasn’t myself.’

‘You don’t want to talk about it? You were very upset.’

She froze. What, exactly, had she said? It would be too excruciating if Flynn discovered why she’d driven away from the Hall so recklessly last night.

‘Ava? Don’t you trust me?’ He hunkered down beside her. He looked so appealing, so strong, that for a moment she wanted to confide everything.

Impulsively she reached out to touch his gleaming dark hair. At the last minute she stopped. He couldn’t solve her problems. Only she could do that.

‘Of course I trust you.’ He was the only man she did trust. ‘The way you helped me last night...I can’t tell you what it meant to me.’ She pasted on a smile. ‘But I really need to go now.’

It was time to face the music. Alone.

CHAPTER ONE

Seven years later

FLYNN LEANED BACK in his seat, letting the shadows engulf him as he observed the tourists at the front of the boat. Eagerly they chattered, craning out over the Seine to get the perfect shot of Paris in the late-afternoon glow.

Only one of them was, like him, alone. She shoved her sunglasses up, pushing back wheat-gold hair to reveal a peaches and cream complexion in a heart-shaped face.

Even features, a straight nose and a mouth too wide for true beauty shouldn’t arrest his attention. But Flynn tensed, each sinew and muscle tightening.

Animation had always lent a special appeal to Ava’s face and now, when she smiled as Notre Dame passed by, her features were alive with pleasure.

Last time he’d seen her—the night she’d stayed in his mother’s cottage after crashing her car—she’d still worn her youth in her features, despite her woman’s body. He had felt guilty at the tug of attraction he’d experienced. Now, at twenty-four, high cheekbones had emerged, giving her face a character and elegance only enhanced by that carefree smile...

Yet the intensity of his response surprised him. He hadn’t expected that. It was a resonance deep within him—a quickening in his blood.

He frowned, trying to define the sensation. Attraction—yes. She was a good-looking woman. Not his usual style, though, in jeans and a bright floral shirt. He preferred women who projected glamour and restrained sophistication. But Ava could do that too. She’d been born and bred to it.

Flynn nodded. That was the explanation, of course. It was satisfaction he felt. Satisfaction that she really was the right woman. The perfect woman. He’d known within a moment of seeing her that this would work perfectly.

It was always good when a plan came together.

He watched her notice a couple embracing on the embankment, a wistful smile flickering across her mouth.

Curiously, for a moment doubt assailed him. Then he banished it and rose, making his way to the front of the boat.

When he reached her he paused and looked down. Eyes the blue of a perfect English summer afternoon turned up to him, widening. Heat exploded in his belly, swift and low, making him drag in air.

‘Flynn?’

Her voice was husky with surprise. Delectable.

He smiled. He was a lucky man.

* * *

A week later Flynn again looked down into wistful summer-blue eyes and felt pleasure rise as Ava reached for his hand. Slim fingers meshed with his and he curled his possessively around them. Yes!

She looked so disappointed that he was leaving, but equally determined not to show it. Silently he cursed the work emergency that called him away. He was so close. With a little more time—

‘Of course you must go.’ She nodded as if to make up for her lack of enthusiasm. ‘They need you in London.’

‘I know.’ Though his business had grown vast he was a hands-on CEO. He preferred to keep his finger on the pulse rather than delegate.

Now, though, Flynn regretted that no one else could handle this latest problem. He didn’t want to leave Ava with nothing settled between them.

‘Besides...’ Ava tipped up her chin. ‘I leave Paris tomorrow for Prague.’

Did she know how much she revealed with that brave, tight smile and those yearning eyes? In the way she leaned in as if inviting him to scoop her close?

Satisfaction stirred. Perhaps his forced absence wasn’t such a disaster after all. Perhaps it would work to his advantage.

CHAPTER TWO

AVA STUDIED THE GUIDEBOOK, telling herself it was good that she could explore Prague alone. She’d see more—not be distracted by dark eyes or Flynn’s lurking smile.

Her week in Paris had been a blur of excitement and pleasure. Something out of a romantic dream.

But she’d known it couldn’t last. Dreams never did.

When Flynn had been called away to London they’d parted with no plans to meet again. It had happened so fast she hadn’t realised that till she’d been watching his broad shoulders cleave through the crowds on the Champs-Elysées, leaving admiring female stares in his wake.

He’d said nothing about the future. Had she just been convenient vacation company?

Ava’s mouth tightened. It was ridiculous to experience this pang of longing. Yet she couldn’t suppress a sigh. Paris, when he’d stayed on after his work meetings just to be with her, extending his few days into a week’s stay, had been the most magical experience of her life.

Face it, Ava. It was the only magical experience you’ve ever had. Fairytales aren’t for you.

She forced herself to scan the guidebook, reading about the defenestration of Prague, when irate locals had tipped three men out of this very castle window.

Defenestration. Such a pompous word. It reminded her of her father. Not that Michael Cavendish would have been caught committing assault. His speciality had been behind the scenes manipulation.

Ava snapped the book shut.

Life would have been better for a lot of people if someone had defenestrated Michael Cavendish years ago.

‘Ava.’

She froze. Surely she was imagining that low voice, like dark chocolate and aged port.

She’d woken flushed and aroused this morning with that voice in her head. Drowsily she’d reached out, half believing she’d done what she hadn’t dared to in Paris.

‘Ava?’

Her head jerked up, then up again, and there he was—like the answer to a wish she hadn’t dared formulate.

He stood, carelessly chic in bespoke casual clothes, looking at her with the tantalising hint of a smile. His saturnine good looks and an intriguing hint of unknowable undercurrents made Flynn Marshall the most compellingly attractive man she’d ever met.

Or maybe it was the gleam in sloe-dark eyes that spread warmth through her. That gleam hinted at shared secrets, a special bond.

‘Flynn? I can’t believe it!’ Her smile widened. She hadn’t a hope of concealing the tumultuous joy filling her chest so that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

It was as if all those years of learning to conceal her feelings and reveal only a poised, charming face to the world had never been.

With Flynn there was no need for the façade. She knew she was utterly safe with him.

If she experienced a frisson of danger it was delicious danger. A reminder that she was no longer a child but a woman and that he was potently, breathtakingly male.

‘Why were you frowning? You looked grim.’

He brushed long fingers across her brow and something in her chest somersaulted. Ava told herself it couldn’t be her heart, but she was past caring.

Flynn was here with her!

It couldn’t be a coincidence. He’d had no plans to visit Prague. His business was in London.

‘Ava?’

She blinked. ‘I looked grim?’ She’d been thinking of her father. No wonder she’d frowned. ‘I was just reading the guidebook. Do you know this is where the defenestration of Prague took place? The second one. The first was down in the old town hall.’

Was she babbling? Probably. It was hard to concentrate with Flynn standing there, his eyes eating her up. Her flesh tightened, her nipples budding against her lace bra.

Surely he hadn’t looked at her so hungrily in Paris. If he had she might have overcome a lifetime’s scruples and invited him to—

‘Perhaps it’s a national pastime...tossing people out of windows.’

His low voice held the hint of a sexy chuckle. Ava felt it resonate through her. Or maybe that was a reaction to the deep green woodsy scent that was uniquely Flynn’s. It did the strangest things to her.

‘But the Czechs seem such friendly people,’ she said.

‘Who knows? Maybe they have hidden depths.’

Like Flynn.

They’d spent most of last week together in Paris and Ava had felt a connection she’d never experienced with any other man. Maybe because she’d known him when she was young—he’d been an older, intriguing figure, embodying the freedom she’d longed for. He’d been a true friend when she’d most needed one. She’d never forgotten his kindness that night of her father’s party.

Yet she was aware there was a part of Flynn he kept to himself. But who didn’t? Her own experiences had made Ava intensely private.

‘You’re looking serious again.’

Once more that fleeting touch stole her breath.

‘I’m wondering what you’re doing here. You had a crisis to deal with in London.’

Flynn shrugged and her gaze slid along straight, powerful shoulders. Heat trickled through her. She knew she had it bad when a pair of shoulders robbed her of breath.

‘Ah. The emergency.’

But instead of explaining he stepped to one side, inviting her to follow. Immediately a family group took their place at the window, peering over the trees to the red roofs of old Prague.

Ava found herself standing with Flynn in a quiet corner beside another large window. She didn’t glance at the view. Her attention was riveted on him.

With sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes beneath slanted ebony brows and that strongly carved jaw, Flynn Marshall was enough to mesmerise any woman. His burnished skin hinted at his Romany heritage and the slightly askew set of his long nose, broken years ago, reinforced the aura of physicality in his athletic frame. Even the brutally short cut of his raven hair, which Ava knew would curl around his collar if left to grow, couldn’t tame that hint of wildness.

A wildness that had transferred to her pulse. It racketed too fast.

‘You were going to explain what you’re doing here.’ The words emerged sharply.

His mouth cocked up at one side in a half-smile that she felt in the sudden thump of her heart against her ribs. Ava gripped her book and took a step back—only to find herself against the window embrasure.

Flynn regarded her with laughing eyes, but for once Ava couldn’t join in the joke. She felt clogged with anticipation, her chest constricting.

It wasn’t Flynn’s smile she wanted, but much more. How could she feel so much, want so much, after just a week?

The ache in her chest intensified and perversely Ava resented his effect on her. She hated feeling vulnerable. It was a sensation she’d worked hard to eradicate from her life.

It was a sensation she’d vowed never to feel again.

Ava lifted her chin, projecting something akin to the hauteur that had been her father’s hallmark.

The laughter in Flynn’s eyes died, leaving him sombre.

He raised his hand to touch her again but she stiffened. Opening up to Flynn as she had in Paris had been a completely new experience. Only now did she realise how dangerously far she’d let herself go.

‘I came for you.’ His voice brushed soft as a summer breeze across her sensitised skin.

‘Me?’ The word emerged from her constricted throat.

‘You.’

He leaned closer but didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. That glowing look melted her resistance and incinerated her doubts.

‘I couldn’t stay away, Ava.’

‘But you had work to do—’

‘I dealt with the crisis in a day and then rescheduled everything that wasn’t critical.’

When he looked at her that way she was tempted to think he shared her feelings. Her breath hitched.

‘One of the perks of being the boss?’ She kept her tone light. ‘Your secretary must love that.’

‘I’m a good employer.’

She heard pride in his voice.

‘And usually I’m easy to work with. I’ve never done this before.’

The air throbbed between them. Surely Flynn heard her heart pounding?

She swallowed, out of her depth. Carefree companionship teetered on the brink of something beyond her experience. Ava had played safe so long. She was torn between joy and fear at the prospect of stepping beyond her self-imposed boundaries.

‘You’ve never played hooky before?’ she teased, her voice uneven. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t read his intense gaze. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

He shook his head, that glimmer of a smile telling her he understood what she was doing.

No one apart from her brother Rupert read her so easily.

‘I’ve done my share of rule-breaking.’

Flynn’s defiance of the established order at Frayne Hall had been legend, and a favourite cause of complaint for her father. He’d accused his tenants’ son of everything from poaching to disrespect and being ‘too bloody clever for his boots’.

To Ava, seven years younger, his exploits had taken on mythic proportions—like those of Robin Hood and Zorro and every other defiant rule-breaker rolled into one. She’d applauded his audacity and mourned his absence when he’d left. She’d longed to follow in his footsteps and stand up to oppressive authority. Finally she had, but years of conformity had taken their toll.

‘But not now you’re a businessman?’ It had been a shock to discover Flynn the maverick was now a respected businessman, doing something conventional in the City.

‘I take calculated risks, but cancelling important appointments isn’t my style.’ The smile disappeared, his face suddenly serious. ‘Until now. Until you.’

The heat in his eyes seared her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

‘But I’ll be back in London myself next week.’ Her voice was croaky and she couldn’t seem to get her breath.

Flynn shook his head. ‘I couldn’t wait that long.’

Ava’s pulse sprinted at what she read in his eyes. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, his gaze never wavering from hers.

It was the first time he’d kissed her.

In Paris she’d wondered if he might, hoped he would. She’d berated herself for not taking the initiative to kiss him.

In the background she heard voices, the echo of footsteps, but they barely registered. Her senses focused on those hard, warm fingers enfolding hers and the press of surprisingly soft lips sending ripples of pleasure up her arm.

Dark eyes glittered as he pressed a kiss to her palm, turning the ripple into a floodtide of delight.

Dazed, she shook her head. She wasn’t a complete innocent. She’d dated, shared kisses. But she’d never experienced anything so flagrantly erotic.

They were fully clothed, in a public place, yet with that simple caress Flynn had reduced her to quivering neediness. Except she didn’t feel reduced. She felt buoyant, light as air, as if she’d swallowed sunshine.

‘You came for me?’ she whispered, afraid to believe it.

Despite her materially privileged upbringing, she’d never been made to feel special. To her father she’d been a commodity, not a person in her own right.

Flynn had cancelled a packed schedule to join her. No one had done anything like that in her life—put her first. It filled her to the brim with stirring emotions.

‘I did come for you.’

Flynn’s lips traced the words across her palm, making her tremble as arousal stirred.

‘I told you I couldn’t stay away.’

Her fingers touched his cheek, threaded through his springy short hair, revelling in the unique textures of him: the hardness of sculpted bone beneath taut flesh, the softness of his hair, his heat against her palm.

‘I missed you.’ With Flynn here her doubts seemed foolish. ‘I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.’

He smiled, his expression so satisfied that for a moment it bordered on smug. But the impression was so fleeting she told herself she must have imagined it.

‘I missed you too, Ava. Our week in Paris wasn’t enough for me. I need more.’

Ava was still absorbing that when he bent, reaching for the floor. When he straightened he held the guidebook she hadn’t noticed she’d dropped.

Heat flushed her cheeks as she took it. She’d never been clumsy—if she had it had been drummed out of her. She was twenty-four, competent, savvy, and never bowled over by men no matter how suave. Especially if they were suave. Life had taught her to be wary, even suspicious.

Yet with Flynn it was as if she were seventeen again—klutzy and breathlessly awakening to romance.

A seventeen she’d never been.

She tasted bitterness on her tongue. There’d been no room for romance or dreams then. Just harsh reality that had taught her good things came at a cost.

What was it about Flynn that cut through those hard-won lessons? The fact that he had nothing to gain from being with her? That he could have no ulterior motive? That his interest was in her and not, as so often in the past, in who she’d been?

Because Flynn was genuine.

Because she’d known him for ever.

Because he’d proved she could trust him.

How could she not? He’d helped her on the worst night of her life. Inspired her to change her life even if he hadn’t realised it then.

‘Thank you.’ Ignoring the clinging shreds of caution that warned her to hold back, Ava smiled, letting her feelings show.

Flynn blinked and then, swift as thought, moved in to grasp her arm, his touch deliciously possessive.

‘I was right to follow you to Prague.’

He paused, his expression making the blood hum in her veins.

‘Wasn’t I?’

For an instant she hesitated, unused to laying herself open. But these new feelings were too intense to ignore. Besides, wasn’t being with Flynn what she’d longed for?

‘Absolutely.’ She curled her fingers around his arm, staking a claim of her own. It felt good.

‘Seen enough here?’

Ava dragged her gaze from those velvety eyes, noticing for the first time the tourists casting them curious stares.

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