to see for herself, Frankie said, “No, but I run every other day.”
The woman nodded her head of dark hair. “Randy’s an ass man.”
Frankie blinked at Sheely, her earlier suspicion about the two of them confirmed.
“Why don’t you just skip the top?” Sheely asked, shrugging her lovely shoulders.
“Well, I…” Frankie stopped, feeling a blush at the roots of her hair. “This is new for me.”
The woman’s smile was understanding. “Didn’t Randy say you’re here on vacation for a couple of days?”
Frankie nodded. “Sort of.”
“Don’t worry—have fun,” she said, waving off Frankie’s concern. “You’ll probably never see any of us again.”
And with a flip of her shiny tresses, Sheely left.
“Thanks,” Frankie called weakly. The woman might be right, she noted with a frown. But big or not, the top was staying. And little or not, so were the bottoms.
She was about to reveal various freckles that heretofore only her doctor had seen. Desperate, she wrapped a huge blue towel around her waist, sarong-style, then pulled on her wrinkled brown blouse, leaving it unbuttoned for some semblance of nonchalance. With the addition of her hat, sunglasses and penny loafers, only her ankles and arms remained exposed. She stepped back to the mirror for the full effect. A little better.
Frankie folded and stuffed her underwear inside her shorts, then draped them over her arm and marched outside.
Her shred of confidence shriveled when every head turned in her direction. Sheely offered her a fluttery wave, and Frankie smiled tightly. She stared straight ahead and strove to keep her gaze shoulder level, scanning the crowd until she located Randy—which was easy since he was the only man wearing swimming trunks. He’d shed the shabby cutoffs and standing in the sun, his body was simply sensational. Not overly muscled, not an inch of flab. She tried not to stare at him, but told herself it was better than looking elsewhere on this beach. Her heart started pounding and for a minute she thought she might be having a panic attack. She inhaled deeply with each step.
“Over here, Red,” he said easily, raising his hand. As she approached, he lowered his sunglasses and looked her up and down, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. He stepped away from a circle of naked men, then leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you in there somewhere?”
“Yes,” she managed to say with dignity.
“I do have sunscreen,” he said, his mouth twitching.
“Randy,” an older man with a thick head of blond hair admonished. “Introduce your new friend.”
“Maybe later, Phil,” he responded, taking her arm. “I think we’d better go before Red has a heat-stroke.”
To her relief, he bid the group goodbye, then steered her toward the ocean and to the left. Sometime while she was changing, he had acquired a small cooler which he held high as they picked their way among several sunbathers. She followed him past the volleyball game in progress, which, frankly, looked painful to her. After walking around several sand dunes, he stopped under crisscrossing palm trees, set down the cooler and spread out a large blue towel identical to the one she wore.
The sand crackled beneath her shoes and the sun’s rays reflected off the ashy surface in sheets of heat that were nearly visible. She could still hear the sounds from the house, and occasionally, a nude swimmer would walk in her line of vision to dive into the waves, but for all practical purposes, they were alone.
“Sorry to take you away from your friends,” she said, breaking the silence.
“No big deal. There’ll be other parties. Tom’s quite the entertainer.”
“What’s the occasion?”
He shrugged, lowering himself to the towel. “Valentine’s Day, I suppose. Seemed like a lot of out-of-town couples. It’s the weekend for romance,” he added in a mocking voice.
Still standing, she averted her gaze to the horizon, changing the subject. “The view is spectacular.”
“This beach is nicer than the areas open to tourists,” Randy said. “Tom lets me keep my wind surfboard in one of his storage units.” He pointed vaguely to the right, but Frankie could see only sand, water and trees. She looked back to him and wondered briefly if Randy took advantage of his rich friend. He couldn’t make much as a bartender.
He smiled up at her, his gold earring catching the sun, and unzipped the canvas bag. “You can put your clothes in here for now.”
Frankie dropped her shorts and underwear into the bag, not sure what to do next.
“Feel free to take off your shoes,” he added with a teasing grin.
She frowned down at her feet. The loafers did look pretty silly on the beach. Where she’d removed the dimes, two shiny dark circles of leather had been exposed. She slipped her feet out of the shoes, glad she’d touched up the bright pink nail polish on her toes while camped out in her cabin on the ship. The memory brought back the reason she was stuck on this island in the first place and renewed a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Now the towel,” Randy said, his mouth twitching.
Frankie hesitated, but could feel the sweat trickling down her thighs.
“For Pete’s sake,” he said, raising one hand in the air. “It’s a thousand degrees out here.”
She toyed with the waist of the makeshift skirt, still anxious about revealing so much skin. Sheely’s image loomed large in her mind.
“One quick motion,” he encouraged. “Like a Band-Aid.”
Frankie laughed nervously, loosened the towel and pulled it off, then spread it on the sand next to his while keeping her gaze lowered. The brown blouse fell only to her waist, offering little coverage. Her face flamed as she sat down, adjusted her hat, then chanced a glance at him. His smile had vanished, and his dark sunglasses revealed nothing. Seconds passed with only the sound of the wind and the caws of seabirds around them.
“Gee, Red,” he finally said in a husky voice. “You could have left some leg for the rest of the female population.”
Her skin tingled under his blatant admiration…or maybe it was exposure to the sun. Frankie wavered between feeling flattered and feeling foolish. Was he coming on to her? Was that the reason he’d bothered to help her in the first place?
He cleared his throat. “Better apply sunscreen pronto,” he said, rummaging in the bag.
“I don’t tan well,” Frankie agreed as she twisted her hair into a thick roll and tucked it beneath her hat.
“I’ve got SPF eight, fifteen, and liquid corduroy,” he said, holding up various bottles.
She laughed and reached for the last bottle, then poured a generous amount in her hand and slathered it on every inch of her legs and feet, conscious of his eyes on her while he did the same. His nearness transformed the act of rubbing the cool lotion into her warm skin from an innocent precaution to sensual flirtation. Her skin prickled from heightened awareness as she fought to push the implication of their attraction from her mind. Randy Tate was a tempting distraction from her immediate problems, but she couldn’t afford to lose her mental edge in the middle of a crisis. A tiny shift in wind behind her alerted Frankie that he’d leaned close.
“Hmm, never been jealous of lotion before,” he said in her ear.
Her back stiffened and a shiver went down her spine.
“Want me to do your back?”
“Uh—n-no, that’s all right,” she said, leaning forward to shrug out of her blouse. She avoided his gaze and rubbed the sunscreen over her arms, shoulders, face, chest, stomach and as much of her back as she could reach