Swept Away

They’d won. Her team cheered, the ref whistled for the teams to change sides, and Matt held out his hand to help her to her feet.

She smiled and reached up, enjoying the pressure of his broad palm, his firm grip, the power in his arms. Bouncing to her feet, she rocked into him.

His arms went instinctively around her, reminding her of the moment when he’d tried to steady her before she fell anyway.

“Great dive,” he said softly.

“Great spike. We make a good team.”

They stood that way, eyes locked, breathing unevenly, braced in each other’s arms. The seconds stretched and sagged, as sweet and slow as pulled taffy. She could feel Matt’s heart beat against her hands. There was something they had to do, but she couldn’t…quite…remember…what…it was.

“Hello?” Jaycee called from the other side of the net. “We’re over here. New game?”

“Oh. Right.” Matt jolted forward.

“You okay? Need some water?” Jaycee asked him when he reached her, extending her water bottle.

“I’m fine.”

Jaycee bounced back to her position and Candy leaned toward Matt. “She wants to have your baby.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked at Jaycee. “You’re exaggerating.”

“You should go for it.”

“No. I’m not…No.” He colored, embarrassed or flattered or both. A jealous prickle moved along Candy’s nerves. Which was crazy. If her help juiced Matt’s love life, then so much the better, right?

The game started and, again, the teams traded the lead, passing game point over and over again. Matt and Candy played together well and she managed a few good shots. In the end, they were once again victorious, which meant they took the match 2-0.

Carter, as team captain, handed out the winner’s booty—a wad of drink tickets and a voucher for points in a competition that was part of the festival, along with a WHIM SIM T-shirt. “We’re going inside to spend these,” he said to Candy, holding up his drink coupons. “You coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

“See you inside then.” Carter turned to go.

“You like that guy?” Matt asked nodding at him.

“What’s not to like?”

“He’s kind of muscle-bound, don’t you think? Definitely not your intellectual equal.”

“Maybe that’s not where I want him to be equal,” she said, watching Carter enter the bar. This was the Sin on the Beach festival. It would be almost criminal not to have some fun. Carter had a happy-to-please boyish way about him. An all-around good-time playmate. She became aware of Matt’s stare. “What?”

“Nothing. Just watching you watch him.” Was that sarcasm? Maybe he felt a little jealous, too. Hmm.

“Shall we hit the bar?” she said. “We can make it another sociability lesson—see how many people you can meet.”

“You’re the boss,” he said, brushing the sand from his legs, then his chest and arms. She imagined those hands on her, brushing sand from all those pesky places….

Stop that now. “Put this on,” she said, handing him the WHIM SIM T-shirt. Enough with the bare chest already. She put on her blouse and tied it at her waist.

The T-shirt was tight on Matt and hugged every muscle and dip on his torso, making it no help at all.

She pulled her gaze away and headed for the bar. They’d have one drink and then she’d show Matt her work. That meant no booze for her. She’d stick with club soda. Mentally patting herself on the back for her good sense, she pushed open the rough-wood door to find utter drunken chaos.

The place was packed and noisy with pounding rock and drunken laughter, which swelled and subsided like ocean waves. Three women wearing bikinis danced on the massive mahogany bar. Guys on stools bellowed and whistled at them.

Down the way, a bartender in the staff uniform of a blue Hawaiian shirt passed a lighter over three liqueur shots, which burst into wavering flames. Blue martinis, the bar’s signature drink, were half price, so blue liquor gleamed from martini glasses at nearly every table.

“Wow,” Matt said, turning to her. He’d changed from dark glasses to regular ones before they walked in and she noticed that his eyes matched the bar’s martinis. “It’s pretty wild in here.”

“It’s summer at the beach. Time to bust out. For these people anyway.” She tried not to sound sad. She itched to join the fun.

“Come on.” Matt guided her to the bar and found a place inches from the tipsy dancers grinding away above them. He glanced up, then down. “Interesting,” he said politely. “What would you like to drink?” He surveyed the menu overhead where specials were written in pink and green neon.

“Club soda with lime,” she said grimly.

“How about we try the Tsunami for Two?”

She read the ingredients—crème de cacao, blue curaçao, rum, vodka and a bunch of juices to mask the booze. Guaranteed to make you karaoke drunk. She could even see a karaoke setup on the stage at the far side of the bar. “I don’t think so. Too intense. We’re working later.” She felt like a complete deadbeat saying such a thing in a place like this.

“Come on. When in Rome, huh? We can ‘work’ tomorrow.” He made quote marks around work. He thought she was joking.

That sent a surge of irritation through her. “It’s your funeral.” She would stick with her plan no matter what.

Before long, they sat at a round table barely big enough to hold the gigantic froufrou drink Matt had ordered. It was in a ceramic boat shaped like a hollowed-out tree trunk filled with blue liquid with whipped-cream whitecaps.

Matt looked down at the sea of booze. “Whose idea was this, anyway?”

“The Romans?” She gulped half her club soda, which was refreshing after so much exercise in the sun.

Matt sipped from the long, red straw at his end. “It’s sweet,” he said. “Thirst-quenching. Try it.”

She leaned in for a sip of her straw. Fruit masked enough booze to turn a straight man into a stripper. “I think I’ll stick with soda. You should pace yourself. Drink some water…”

Matt was studying her face. “Looks like you got some—” He reached out.

“Whipped cream?” She rubbed her nose to get it off.

“No, no. Sun. You’ve got a bit of a burn on your nose.”

She laughed. “I guess after that night with the prickly-pear margaritas, I expect whenever we drink together I’ll end up with something on my face.” And my legs in the air.

“I’m not usually such a gorilla,” he said, grimacing.

“And I’m not clumsy. Usually.”

“I know you’re not.” His words had an undertone of heat that made goose bumps rise all over her body.