Trading Places

He rose, towering over her, and she closed her eyes. “The sunscreen’s right there.”

“I see it.” A moment’s silence and then his hands settled over the curve of her shoulders.

She groaned. “That feels great,” she murmured, reveling in the firm manipulations of his hands on her bare skin. “Ummm…don’t miss anything. I don’t want to get burned.”

“Seems unlikely.” He withdrew his touch and her eyes snapped open. “If anyone gets burned,” he muttered, “it’ll be me.” He squeezed a glob of sunscreen onto his hand and slapped it on his upper body.

Then he grinned.

She was certain she’d never seen a smile on his face before. Surely she’d remember it, for it carried more sheer star power than she was ready to handle. Lips parted, she watched him turn back to the clipboard.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need to make a few calls to fill in the blanks on this.” He waved the clipboard. “If you need me, just sing out. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinner.”

He moved outside her field of vision with the stride of a lion. He looked so good, so self-contained and in control, that it made her short of breath. Pushing up, she scooted around to plant her feet securely on the redwood deck.

Light reflected off the glittering emerald pool nearly blinded her. Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes. She was playing with dynamite and she knew it.

Sure, it was fun to flirt with such an attractive and uptight specimen of male pulchritude, especially knowing that whatever she did would be on Sharlayne’s head and not her own…so to speak. It kind of freed up the old libido.