A small frown grew between her brows. He could have, at that.
What was one dance, anyway? She'd been right— he was a good dancer. He had a natural sense of rhythm she found intriguing. She was beginning to find more and more about him that teased her, and she was forced to admit to herself she was very curious about him. After her experience with Mitch she didn't want to get involved with another male who was looking for a woman to support him. Not that Clay appeared to be that type of person, but the fact remained that she knew absolutely nothing about him, and he was very mysterious about how he made a living—almost as though he were ashamed of it.
It was a long time before Carolyn went to sleep that night, yet she never heard Clay return.
The next afternoon Carolyn decided to get some sun by the pool. She wore a terry cloth kaftan that was slit to the thigh on both sides, but knew she'd never get any sun if she didn't disrobe. Her black bikini was much more revealing than it had appeared in the store. She gazed down with some trepidation at the amount of her breasts exposed when she finally tossed off the robe with determined bravado. I'm not at all sure I'm cut out for this type of role, she thought with concern. She glanced around at the other women. No one else seems concerned that they're going to fall out of their clothes whenever they move .
She picked up her suntan oil and, with very careful movements, began to apply it to her arms and legs.
"Well, hello." A deep voice spoke near her left ear, causing her to leap several inches from her lounger, drop her plastic bottle and almost lose her bikini top.
After rescuing both the bikini and the bottle, she was prepared to face the unexpected intruder with a haughty glare. She turned her head—then blinked in astonishment. The deeply bronzed male standing before her could have been a Greek statue fresh from his pedestal. Even his hair was a dark auburn that blended with his deep tan. However, the blatant admiration in his tawny eyes was quite modern. Carolyn continued to stare at him in disbelief. He was too beautiful to be real.
"Hi," she finally managed to say. How was that for sparkling repartee?
"My name's Brad." He paused, his eyes slowly taking in the picture she made, her creamy skin gleaming against the black of the bikini. "What's yours?"
Carolyn gulped. She felt as though she'd suddenly moved into the fast lane without even changing gears. "Carolyn."
Brad pulled up the lounger next to her and leaned back. "How long have you been here, Carolyn? I could swear I've never seen you before. I never forget a . . ."—his eyes traveled once again over her body—"face."
She heard her calm response with surprise. "A little over a week. And you?"
"Oh, I've been here a couple of days. Things were getting a little boring, but all at once I have a feeling it's going to be much more interesting around here." Once again he explored her with his eyes, and it was all she could do to keep from covering her chest with both hands, not a move recommended for the sophisticated set.
He had to be putting her on. Nobody, but nobody, actually talked in that low, husky voice as though their conversation was being filmed for a love scene. Come to think of it, he sounded quite a bit like R. J. Wagner, but he got paid to act that way. What was this guy's excuse?
She stood up, unable to remain still under his ardent gaze. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll get some swimming in before it's time to get ready for dinner." She made the mistake of smiling at him, unaware of the power of her gamine smile on members of the opposite sex.
He jumped up, his languor forgotten. "Don't run away, we were just getting acquainted."
She paused. "I'm not going anywhere." She sat down on the side of the pool, then slid over the edge.
Brad followed her into the water. "Great idea, actually. The sun was getting a little warm."
"You must stay out in it often to have such a tan," she guessed as
What was one dance, anyway? She'd been right— he was a good dancer. He had a natural sense of rhythm she found intriguing. She was beginning to find more and more about him that teased her, and she was forced to admit to herself she was very curious about him. After her experience with Mitch she didn't want to get involved with another male who was looking for a woman to support him. Not that Clay appeared to be that type of person, but the fact remained that she knew absolutely nothing about him, and he was very mysterious about how he made a living—almost as though he were ashamed of it.
It was a long time before Carolyn went to sleep that night, yet she never heard Clay return.
The next afternoon Carolyn decided to get some sun by the pool. She wore a terry cloth kaftan that was slit to the thigh on both sides, but knew she'd never get any sun if she didn't disrobe. Her black bikini was much more revealing than it had appeared in the store. She gazed down with some trepidation at the amount of her breasts exposed when she finally tossed off the robe with determined bravado. I'm not at all sure I'm cut out for this type of role, she thought with concern. She glanced around at the other women. No one else seems concerned that they're going to fall out of their clothes whenever they move .
She picked up her suntan oil and, with very careful movements, began to apply it to her arms and legs.
"Well, hello." A deep voice spoke near her left ear, causing her to leap several inches from her lounger, drop her plastic bottle and almost lose her bikini top.
After rescuing both the bikini and the bottle, she was prepared to face the unexpected intruder with a haughty glare. She turned her head—then blinked in astonishment. The deeply bronzed male standing before her could have been a Greek statue fresh from his pedestal. Even his hair was a dark auburn that blended with his deep tan. However, the blatant admiration in his tawny eyes was quite modern. Carolyn continued to stare at him in disbelief. He was too beautiful to be real.
"Hi," she finally managed to say. How was that for sparkling repartee?
"My name's Brad." He paused, his eyes slowly taking in the picture she made, her creamy skin gleaming against the black of the bikini. "What's yours?"
Carolyn gulped. She felt as though she'd suddenly moved into the fast lane without even changing gears. "Carolyn."
Brad pulled up the lounger next to her and leaned back. "How long have you been here, Carolyn? I could swear I've never seen you before. I never forget a . . ."—his eyes traveled once again over her body—"face."
She heard her calm response with surprise. "A little over a week. And you?"
"Oh, I've been here a couple of days. Things were getting a little boring, but all at once I have a feeling it's going to be much more interesting around here." Once again he explored her with his eyes, and it was all she could do to keep from covering her chest with both hands, not a move recommended for the sophisticated set.
He had to be putting her on. Nobody, but nobody, actually talked in that low, husky voice as though their conversation was being filmed for a love scene. Come to think of it, he sounded quite a bit like R. J. Wagner, but he got paid to act that way. What was this guy's excuse?
She stood up, unable to remain still under his ardent gaze. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll get some swimming in before it's time to get ready for dinner." She made the mistake of smiling at him, unaware of the power of her gamine smile on members of the opposite sex.
He jumped up, his languor forgotten. "Don't run away, we were just getting acquainted."
She paused. "I'm not going anywhere." She sat down on the side of the pool, then slid over the edge.
Brad followed her into the water. "Great idea, actually. The sun was getting a little warm."
"You must stay out in it often to have such a tan," she guessed as
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