Club Cupid. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ friend of mine,” he yelled over the rumble of the motorcycle as he wheeled into a long crowded driveway as large as a parking lot. “I need to pick up his liquor order for the week, and I’ll find you a suit.”

      When he shut off the engine, Frankie could clearly hear music on the other side of the vegetation. She climbed off the bike and squinted into the blazing sun.

      “You’re a natural,” he said, nodding to the bike. He knelt and untied a canvas sports bag. “You were in perfect sync with me.”

      Frankie patted her wild hair, tingling at his offhand compliment.

      He stood and wiped his hands on his back pockets, then tossed her a knowing smile. “When a person moves that well with a bike, it’s a safe bet they’re good at other things, too.”

      Desire sparked low in her stomach, burning away any clever retort she might have conjured up.

      His eyes danced. “Like windsurfing, for instance.”

      Her tongue finally recovered. “Is it similar to sailing?”

      “You sail? Excellent.” His grin was full-fledged as he moved toward a stone path beside the house. “Red, this could be an interesting couple of days.”

      Her heart pounded at the innuendo in his voice. A beach fling hadn’t been in her plans, but two days in the company of a gorgeous man would definitely take her mind off the bedlam that awaited her in Cincinnati. And tantamount to attempting a back-flip aerial on that balance beam, her conscience whispered.

      The sounds of music and voices grew louder as Frankie followed Randy to the house. He stopped at an ornate iron gate and gave her an awkward little smile. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the bike?”

      “Oh,” Frankie said, faintly disappointed. “No problem.” She reminded herself he was here on business, then leaned against a waist-high stacked-stone fence and watched him move down the foot-worn path. An alarming feeling of loss filled her chest when he disappeared, leaving only the movement of giant plant leaves in his wake.

      Who was this man who affected her in spite of her better judgment? A carefree barkeeper with whom she had nothing in common. He obviously thought she was overreacting to her missing briefcase—the man probably couldn’t comprehend the stress of a corporate job, where dozens, even hundreds, of people depended on you. She sighed, walked back to the motorcycle and freed her hat from the seat to protect her face from the rays of the merciless sun.

      Frankie scanned the massive house, the well-planned tropical landscaping and the impressive oceanic backdrop. The picture represented more money than she would earn in a lifetime. Randy had some wealthy customers. The sounds of shouts and laughter alternately rose and ebbed with the roar of the ocean, and she experienced a sense of wonder that for many people this paradise was part of a daily routine. She couldn’t imagine not having to be somewhere at certain times most of the day, every day.

      She glanced at her watch and frowned when she realized twenty-five minutes had passed during her musings about how the other half lived. Her forearms were turning a light pink and her underwear felt damp and clammy. She frowned and looked around for shade, but all the vegetation lay on the other side of the gate. Craning her neck in the direction Randy had gone, she wondered what could be taking him so long. She really needed to visit the bathroom.

      Ten minutes later, she lifted the latch on the gate and stepped into the immaculate yard area. After a glance over her shoulder at the motorcycle, Frankie took a few tentative steps down the stone path, exhaling in relief when she stepped beneath the lush canopy of trees that met above the narrow walk-way. She stood still for a moment, allowing the coolness to bathe her scalding skin. The voices and music were much louder now, and she could see snatches of sand and water through the trees and undergrowth. In fact, she could hear Randy’s voice relatively close by and decided to walk farther down the path. She saw him standing by a shoulder-high wooden privacy fence, talking to a balding man on the other side of the partition and making notes on a small pad.

      The other gentleman noticed her and raised a hand in greeting. Randy turned around, then grimaced in apology. “I’m almost finished,” he called to her.

      “Join us.” The man gestured, smiling in welcome. “I’m Tom Hartelman.”

      Frankie approached them, feeling a bit sheepish. “Frankie Jensen. I walked down to find some shade,” she said, rubbing her fiery arms.

      “Randy,” the man chided. “Bring your friend in for a cool drink.”

      “Well, I—”

      “Look at her, man. She’s frying.”

      “Actually,” Frankie said with a wry smile, “I was hoping I could visit a bathroom.”

      Randy frowned slightly. “Frankie—”

      “Why, of course, my dear,” the gentleman said. “Come right in and meet some of Randy’s friends.”

      “Frankie,” Randy said as he held the handle of the wooden gate. “Can you wait? My friends are a little different—”

      “Relax,” she murmured, indignant. “I can hold my own amongst your rich friends.”

      His mouth twisted in amusement, and when the older man opened the gate, Randy swept his bronze arm wide in acquiescence.

      Frankie gave him a tight smile, then stepped across the threshold onto the pale, glittery sand. She felt him fall in close behind her. In fact, his body slammed into hers when she stopped short at the contented scene. Some people were sunning in chaises, some were playing volleyball, some were relaxing in the shade with tropical drinks. There were both genders, all shapes and sizes and skin tones, with one universal theme.

      Clothing appeared to be optional.

      4

      RANDY STEPPED around Frankie and watched her carefully. Her lips parted ever so slightly and her blue eyes rounded. He counted to nine before she swung her gaze to him, her eyebrows high, her expression one of puritan disapproval.

      Suddenly contrite, he shrugged, palms up. “I tried to warn you.”

      She glanced to his friend Tom who, very much at ease with his big nude body, extended his hand. Frankie shook his hand woodenly, and once again Randy felt protective of her, suddenly embarrassed that he had exposed her to the more liberal side of the Keys. When Tom walked off in search of a drink, Randy touched her arm lightly. “Relax, Red, we don’t have to stay and you don’t have to take off your clothes if it makes you uncomfortable.”

      She turned back to him, her pale face flushed. Straightening her shoulders in an unconvincing show of bravado, she said in a low tone, “Listen, Buster—my name is Frankie. And taking off my clothes doesn’t make me uncomfortable unless I happen to be standing around in public.”

      Trying his best to smother a smile, Randy asked, “Buster?”

      “Would you please show me to the bathroom?” she asked pleasantly. “Then I’ll call a cab and be out of your way.”

      There it was—that little-lost-puppy routine that tugged at his heart every time. She really was adorable…and completely irresistible. And he knew if she left, he’d spend СКАЧАТЬ