Club Cupid by Stephanie Bond Page A

Randy was born. He’d never looked back…until now.
    “I’m the youngest project manager in my company,” Red continued, interrupting his thoughts.
    Her voice sounded near. Randy glanced over to find she’d drifted closer to him, her head still back, her arms paddling slowly. If he spoke, she’d realize they were on a collision course, so he inexplicably remained silent. Ten seconds until contact.
    “Not to mention the only woman,” she added.
    He told himself to move out of the way. For some reason, this woman stirred sensations and memories best left dormant. Five seconds.
    “The only woman, in this day and age, imagine that,” she remarked idly.
    Her silken leg brushed his beneath the water, sending awareness through his body. She floundered in surprise and Randy impulsively scooped his arm around her back, kicking hard to keep them both afloat. “Easy,” he murmured against her hair, inhaling sharply at the overwhelming desire to pull her close.
    “S-sorry,” she gasped, shrinking from his touch.
    Sobered by his intense reaction to her, Randy released her gently. “Are you about ready for a bite to eat, Red?”
    She straightened her shoulders, then the corners of her mouth drooped. “Do we have to leave?”
    Amused, he smiled. For someone who’d been so reluctant to join him, she seemed to have acclimated quickly. Nodding toward shore, he said, “I brought a snack in the cooler. I have a couple of hours before I’m expected back at the bar.”
    Her fetching mouth worked side to side. “I am a little hungry, but the water feels so good.”
    “We’ll take another swim later, after the sun goes down a bit,” he promised as he headed in with a lazy backstroke, ridiculously reluctant to disappoint her. “I’d hate to see you fried on your first day.”
    “The sun doesn’t seem that hot,” she said, following him nonetheless with a leisurely overhand crawl.
    “The strength of the sun can be deceiving. Here you can get a sunburn in the shade.” In fact, he was feeling a little light-headed from heat and hunger himself—at least he hoped those were the reasons behind his sudden dizziness.
    “Would you check your pager?” she asked behind him.
    He nodded, then stood and waded ashore, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Since when had he let a woman get to him? Never. He wasn’t so desperate for a woman that the thought of not bedding Frankie Jensen should have him this unsettled. She was a virtual stranger, for Pete’s sake. Worry niggled at the base of his brain. Then one glance over his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks.
    Frankie waded slowly toward him in direct sunlight, the waves foaming around her lean calves. Sun-dappled water sluiced from her hair and fingertips, and the ill-fitting white bikini had become completely transparent—so transparent, in fact, it seemed evident she was indeed a natural redhead. The moisture in his mouth evaporated. Randy attempted to take a step backward and tripped instead, sitting down hard in the pale sand.
    Frankie tilted her head to shake the water out of her ears and smiled at Randy’s clumsiness. Her steps faltered, however, when he pushed himself to his feet and brushed the sand from his hands. With his back to the sun, the man looked almost ethereal with his wide, bronze shoulders outlined and the light bouncing off the sun-bleached highlights of his wet hair. The gold earring and the dark shadow on his square jaw made him look like a pirate. Her heart jumped into her throat in raw appreciation while panic gripped her stomach. What was she thinking? Romping on the beach with a man so exotic, so unified with nature that the presence of the neon orange swim trunks—or any covering at all—struck her as absurd.
    As casually as her shaking hands would allow, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and gently squeezed out the briny water. “How about yourpager?” she asked without looking up. When her gaze wandered over her skimpy bikini, she