propped herself up on her elbows. “Hello, yourself.”
“My name’s Max Sullivan. My brother, Elliott, and I are staying next door.”
When he extended a hand, Chloe shook it, then gave it a little tug to hint that she wanted up. Max pulled and she jumped to her feet with hardly any effort at all.
“I noticed,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Max. I’m Chloe. This is Jenn.” She gestured toward Jenn, who was rushing forward with an armful of wood as if she were planning to storm a castle with a battering ram.
He glanced over his shoulder, then dropped Chloe’s hand and swung toward Jenn, saying, “Hey, let me help with that.”
Chloe felt a twinge of unwarranted disappointment when he hurried toward her friend and swept all the driftwood out of her arms. He was probably interested in Jenn, like so many men were. But, sadly, Jenn was a waste of adorable blondness as far as Chloe was concerned. She was shy around guys, and only got more anxious the more attentive they became.
But maybe she liked this guy. Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.
Jenn’s face pinched into worry as Max smiled at her.
“This is Max,” Chloe said hurriedly. “One of our next-door neighbors. He came over to say hi.”
“Hi,” Jenn offered quietly.
Max winked and carried the wood to a spot about ten feet from the fire ring, dropping most of it on the sand before he carried a few pieces toward the pit. “So what are you ladies doing out here in the wilds of Virginia?” he asked as he began rearranging stones.
“Nothing,” Jenn said loudly. “Just relaxing.”
Okay, she wasn’t normally that nervous around guys. Chloe shot her a questioning look, but Jenn ignored it.
Their neighbor scooped more sand out of the pit until the bottom was wide and flat and dark with moisture. “Elliott and I are out here fishing.” He tossed five small pieces of wood into the hole, then added one large one to the top before reaching toward the lighter Chloe had left there.
“That’s not going to make a very big fire,” Chloe muttered. The man shot her an amused smile as if that answered her complaint.
“What do you do for a living?” Jenn blurted out.
His brows rose, drawing Chloe’s attention to his dark brown eyes. Nice. When he began to twist up one of the supermarket circulars she’d brought out as kindling, her focus moved from his eyes to his wide, strong hands. Very nice. “I work on the water,” he answered.
“Doing what?” Jenn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I’m an officer on a research vessel.”
“Where?” she prodded.
Chloe frowned at her rudeness until Jenn made a picture-taking gesture behind Max’s back. Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her head. No way was this guy with one of the gossip rags. He looked healthy and muscular, not like a man who spent 90 percent of his life huddled outside the doors of L.A. nightclubs. Also, he didn’t have a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Max was hunched over the fire, coaxing a weak flame to grow to something that would take hold of the wood.
Chloe cleared her throat. “I really don’t think that’s going to keep us warm once the sun sets.” Little fingers of fire worked over the tiny bits of driftwood, inching slowly toward the larger piece.
“You can add more later. It’ll burn better if you start small.”
“Are you some sort of beach party expert?”
“I’ve had my fair share of sand down my shorts,” he drawled, finally glancing up from his task. Those brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Chloe felt her insides melt at the sight. Was he flirting with her? Or had he looked at both women with the same amount of warmth?
She couldn’t be angry if he was just spreading his luck around. After all, they’d discussed the men as interchangeable parts just a few hours before.
His gold-streaked hair curled onto his brow on a gust of wind, and Max dusted off those big hands and shoved it back, his arm muscles making interesting shadows as he moved. She sat down and helpfully patted the ground next to her, happy when he dropped down and propped his arms on his knees. “What kind of research do you do?” she asked.
“We, um…” His smile edged toward sheepishness. “We locate and map out previously uncharted shipwrecks.”
“Here?”
“No, we’re usually in the Mediterranean.”
“What kind of wrecks?”
He laughed, a deep chuckle that spoke of good humor and friendship. “Mostly the kind that have gold in them.”
“Oh!” Chloe gasped. “You’re a treasure hunter?”
Even Jenn gave up her suspicious glare and looked surprised at that.
“We prefer to think of ourselves as researchers bringing long-lost artifacts out of the depths and back into the world where they belong.”
“Ah, so you give all the loot to museums?”
That smile again. Wow. “We do our best to find dives in international waters, but even we wouldn’t keep the historically significant artifacts for our own profit. For the most part.”
Chloe laughed, but when his gaze fell to her mouth, a little shiver of nervousness jumped through her stomach. The thick piece of driftwood crackled weakly as the fire finally latched on to it. Chloe used it as an excuse to look away. “We’d better move back, Max. That inferno could jump out of control at any moment.”
“My point exactly.” But in acknowledgment of her mockery, he grabbed the last piece he’d brought close to the pit and laid it carefully on the fire, angling a challenging look in her direction. The twisted piece of driftwood was half the size of the other.
Good Lord, this man was quirky. And cute.
“So what do you do for a living?” he asked, turning his head toward Jenn, the original interrogator.
“I’m a CPA.”
Eyebrows raised, he turned back to Chloe.
“Me, too,” she said.
“Wow. Accountants. That’s…sexy.”
“Yeah, right,” she laughed. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. How about you, Jenn?”
“Definitely a first.”
“Come on. Number-geek girls? That’s hot.”
Chloe shook her head, flabbergasted. “That’s the worst pickup line ever! You have to at least say something we might believe. Just because we’re accountants doesn’t mean we’re desperate.”
Max leaned back, a frown twisting his mouth. “That’s not a pickup line! Jeez. Do you think every strange man who wanders into your private party uninvited is just trying to pick you up?”
Laughing, she shook her head.
“Maybe I just saw you in your bikini and thought ‘There’s a girl who’d want to talk baseball over beers.’ Did you ever consider that?”
“No,” she managed past a wide grin.
“Pickup line,” he muttered in mock bitterness.
When her giggles subsided, Chloe thought about buttoning up her shirt. She was wearing shorts, but felt suddenly, hotly aware that her stomach was exposed from her navel all the way to her blue, halter-style bikini. But that would be too obvious as she was still casually propped up on her elbows, so Chloe arched her back a tiny bit to smooth out any unfortunate creases. The skin on her stomach sizzled when his eyes drifted down before he cleared his throat and looked