Just A Little Sex.... Miranda Lee

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      How could she possibly tell if he was sexy from a couple of brief passing glances? She hadn’t even seen all of him. For all she knew, he could have beady little eyes, a big blubbery butt and the personality of a store mannequin.

      Oh, yeah, scorned some new inner voice which Zoe had never been tuned into before. Who do you think you’re kidding, honey? He’s going to have beautiful blue eyes, tight buns, and the charm of the devil.

      Zoe groaned. This was crazy and so unlike herself. There again, today hadn’t exactly been like any other day. She’d been brought face-to-face with her boyfriend’s raunchy new friend; quizzed by her boss on intimate sexual matters; then been told by her roommate that she shouldn’t be slinking off by herself. She should be throwing herself into a fun fling out of revenge.

      Was that what this was? Her subconscious wanting to punish Drake by flirting with another man? Her own shaky self-esteem, perhaps, looking for reassurance that she was attractive?

      She sincerely hoped so. She didn’t want it to be that other sordid scenario Fran had described of being struck by instant lust for some good-looking stranger and wanting nothing from him but down-and-dirty sex.

      No, no, it couldn’t be that. She didn’t want to even consider the possibility. But even as she dismissed the idea, Zoe sincerely hoped she wouldn’t run into the man in the truck again.

      When she looked up, his yellow vehicle had reached the end of the road and was turning right. Within seconds, it had disappeared from view.

      Zoe sat up straight, her stomach crunching down hard.

      Right. He’d turned right.

      She snatched up Nigel’s second map and studied its very detailed drawing of Hideaway Beach’s layout.

      Her heart rate accelerated as her eyes confirmed what she’d remembered from her earlier perusal. The beach was U-shaped, with rugged peninsulas stretching out into the ocean at each end. Sand dunes rose behind the main stretch of beach, on top of which sat a long, face-the-ocean visitors’ car lot. The half dozen or so weekenders which Hideaway Beach boasted were grouped together down the southerly end, their fronts facing northeast. A short dead-end road led ‘round to the back of them, a road which required a right-hand turn at the end of this road.

      If you were a surfer just come for the waves, you would go straight ahead and park in the visitors’ car lot, not turn right as the truck had done.

      There was only one logical conclusion. The hunk in the truck either lived here, or was staying here on vacation. If that was the case, she was likely to run into him again at some stage this weekend.

      Zoe groaned her frustration. She’d come up here to sort out her feelings about men and sex, not have them confused further.

      Irritated beyond words, she switched on the engine, checked there was no car coming, then drove down to the end of the road where she stopped for a few seconds and scanned the vehicles in the visitors’ car lot.

      The yellow truck wasn’t among them.

      Zoe hadn’t expected it to be.

      Sighing her resignation to the fact Mr. Orange T-shirt wasn’t a visitor, she steered her small silver sedan onto the dirt track on her right and drove slowly along its pot-holed surface, glancing over to her left every now and then.

      Hideaway Beach was certainly very beautiful. But very quiet. Only half a dozen people on the sand. A couple more swimming in the almost-flat waters. There wasn’t a single board rider out in the water, which was understandable considering the absence of decent waves. There was no sign of Mr. Orange T-shirt anywhere.

      Zoe was annoyed with herself for even looking.

      Resolving to banish him from her mind once and for all, she swung her eyes back onto the road ahead and concentrated on finding Nigel’s place, which, according to his map, was the second house she’d come to on her left, a white weatherboard cottage with a gray colorbond roof.

      Actually, from the road, all Zoe could see of the weekenders were the roofs below her. The first one had an unusual-colored roof. Royal-blue. Zoe had never seen a roof that color before, but she rather liked it.

      The gray colorbond roof of Nigel’s place came into view a short way after the bright blue, and Zoe began looking for the driveway.

      There was a small, white-painted mailbox on the side of the road, but no sign of a driveway. Zoe parked on the grass verge just beyond the mailbox then climbed out to check out what was what.

      Nigel’s weekender looked very cute and cozy down below her, its back steps tucked in to the hillside, with the beach less than fifty feet from the front porch. There was a footpath of sorts leading from the mailbox down to the back door, but absolutely no way of getting her car any closer than where she was. The intervening ground was too steep and too rough.

      There was nothing for it but to carry everything down that hazardous-looking path. Zoe glanced over at the weekenders on her left and right, telling herself she wasn’t looking for a sign of Mr. Orange T-shirt, even though she was.

      The place on her right looked deserted, with no vehicle anywhere. The one on her left with the bright-blue roof was lucky enough to have a driveway leading to what looked like a carport on the other side of the house, but she couldn’t see enough of it to make out any vehicles parked there.

      Still, it would be just like Mr. Orange T-shirt to live in a house with a royal-blue roof, sky-blue walls and wraparound porches painted a dark rich red. And it would be just like her luck today to have him as a neighbor for the whole weekend.

      Shaking her head, Zoe returned to the car, collected her various bags and set off down the pathway. She was halfway down the roughly hewn steps when something orange caught the corner of her left eye and her head jerked in that direction.

      Big mistake. She should have kept watching where she was going, especially since she was wearing high heels. The second she took her eyes off the uneven steps, she misjudged a distance, one of her high heels caught against something and she lurched forward. In joggers or bare feet Zoe might have been able to regain her balance. As it was, she whirled with the bags in her hands in the air, and for one adrenaline-charged moment, she thought she could save herself.

      But her center of gravity could not be righted and all was finally lost, Zoe tipping full front-forward. With a loud yelp she instinctively brought her hands up to save her face, and the bags came with her.

      Just as well. For they cushioned her fall and possibly prevented her breaking an arm, or a leg. She still landed heavily, her knees getting the worst of it as she slid down a couple of steps further before coming to an ungainly halt.

      She was still sprawled on the ground, totally winded, when a pair of strong arms slid around her waist.

      “Are you all right?” a male voice asked as he hoisted her up onto her feet.

      Zoe saw the orange T-shirt first and groaned silently. It would be him, wouldn’t it? Fate was being very cruel to her today.

      “Yes, I…I think so,” she said, delaying looking up at him by dusting down her dress. But good manners finally forced her to glance up at her gallant Good Samaritan and say a proper thank-you.

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