No Tan Lines by Kate Angell Page A

Done that. Got the T-shirt was scripted in navy over her breast pocket. “How about a change of clothes?” she offered.
    “Would be appreciated,” said Shaye.
    Jenna slipped her two decorative plastic bags with the store logo on them. “For your wet clothes,” she said. “There’s plenty of T-shirts, but I’m running low on shorts and swim trunks. My weekly shipment has yet to arrive. There’s still a few pair on the sale rack by the dressing rooms. You wear a small,” she said to Shaye. She glanced at Trace. “A large?”
    “Extra large,” Shaye said without thinking.
    “Board shorts or Speedo?”
    Shaye nearly choked. “Board shorts.” There wasn’t a Speedo made to fit a man his size.
    Trace now moved around the shop as if he owned it. He looked polished, even after getting caught in the downpour. His dark good looks and strong presence had him standing head and shoulders above everyone in the store.
    Men stepped aside, and women eased closer. The fact that he was wet didn’t seem to matter. His scent was clean rain and damp cotton. And very male.
    A redhead tugged on the towel he’d slung around his neck, offering to dry him off further. Trace smiled but passed on her offer. The woman flirted a little longer, only to frown when he focused on the shirts hanging from numerous clotheslines strung across the rafters of the ceiling.
    Shaye felt an odd sense of relief. A relief she refused to evaluate too closely. She’d seen better-looking men, yet she was hard pressed to come up with their names. She hated making comparisons.
    Jenna bumped against her. “You’re staring a hole through the man.”
    “I’m making sure he doesn’t shoplift.”
    “I plan to charge him double.”
    “Why not triple? He’s a Saunders. He can afford it.”
    Jenna bit down on her bottom lip. “I hate that you have to partner with him for two hundred feet of sand.”
    “It was a business decision,” Shaye said. “It’s only for three weeks.”
    “You’re the boss.”
    Being in charge wasn’t always easy. Today had certainly proved difficult, Shaye thought. Nicole Archer came to mind. The jewelry designer was waiting for them at Crabby Abby’s. Nicole was about to rent a Cates store.
    Shaye would soon have to explain Nicole’s presence. No one but family had shops on the Barefoot William boardwalk. She had to find a way for the new rental to work in her favor. She didn’t want the family to question her judgment. Neither did she want to field their concerned questions.
    Her acceptance of the volleyball tournament prior to Trace’s approval had started this fiasco. She was the instigator. There was no way around it. She was paying heavily now.
    She needed to bring things full circle without further mishap. Trace was the wild card. She had no control over him. The one thing she did know was that he’d take advantage of her as often as he could.
    Sunshine soon beckoned through the front display window. The customers were quick to grab their purchases and return to the beach.
    Jenna pointed to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. “One just opened up. Grab a couple tees. I’ll get your shorts.”
    Shaye crossed to a circular rack of shirts. From the corner of her eye, she caught Trace in profile as he removed two T-shirts from one of the clotheslines. The man could stretch. Jenna used a step stool or the chrome pole garment hook to lower a shirt for a customer. Trace used neither. The man had reach.
    His own cotton button-down pulled from the waistband of his slacks. Shaye couldn’t help staring. His abdomen was lean and buff. His hip bone was sharply arched. A shadowed gap drew her gaze even lower. Down his happy trail. There was no visible sign of a tan line.
    She should’ve looked away. Needed to look away, but she could not. Curiosity got the better of her.
    He rolled to the balls of his feet a second time. Twisted right. His shirt bunched over muscle, and his pants tightened over his ass. She