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It was too bold a suggestion not to laugh at. “No, thank you.”
“An afternoon skinny-dip in the lake?”
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“All right then, an evening skinny-dip by moonlight.” He moved closer. “Come to think of it, that sounds even better.”
“Night swimming invariably leads to a summer cold.”
“Sunny,” he growled, “what I have in mind for us would set the lake to boiling.”
His intensity made her doubt that he was merely teasing. Against her will, she couldn’t help but wonder what a moonlight swim might entail. Before her imagination could carry her away, she said briskly, “Apparently you’ve failed to get the message, Mr. Beaumont. I’m not interested in a...sexual encounter with you. I’m only going to be here for a week.”
“And that’s the very deadline that’s cramping my style.”
“For winning your bet with George?”
She got only a slow, lazy smile for an answer. “Consider this your good deed for the week. Help me out.”
“Take a sex maniac to lunch.”
He laughed at her droll humor. “I guarantee that you’ll have fun. I want to win the wager. Don’t make it so hard.”
She searched his face, wondering if his choice of words had a double meaning, but decided it was safer not to pursue it. “I’m making it not only hard, Mr. Beaumont, but impossible.”
He reached out and tracked the row of buttons down the front of her dress. He poked her lightly where they stopped, a good two inches below her navel. “Nothing’s impossible.”
He swung open her car door. Once she was safely inside he closed it. Then, giving her an I’ll-have-you-naked-yet smile, he turned and sauntered off down the sidewalk.
Five
Damn you, Sunny!”
The curse startled her. She raised her eyes and looked at Fran in surprise in the mirror. “What for?”
“For looking like that.” Fran flung her hand toward the image in the mirror. They were in a bedroom of Fran’s house. Sunny, hopefully for the last time, was trying on the bridesmaid’s dress she was going to wear at Fran’s wedding. “No one will be looking at
me if you’re standing beside me.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I should have my head examined for choosing that peachy-gold color for your dress.” Fran sat down on the edge of the bed. “Remember those hot, fresh peach sundaes we used to make? That’s what you look like.”
“Peaches and cream?” Sunny laughed scoffingly. “Come on, Fran. You can do better than that cliché.”
“Cliché or not, you look gorgeous. The dress is perfect, dammit. Please take it off.”
Sunny unzipped the silk confection and slid it down her hips, stepping out of it carefully.
“On second thought,” Fran groaned, “put it back on. The sight of your model’s body reminds me that I’ve had two kids and several hot peach sundaes too many.”
Sunny rehung the dress on its padded hanger and replaced it in a plastic bag. She shimmied out of the slip that had been designed to go under the sheer bodice of the bridesmaid’s dress and, standing unself-consciously in panties only, reached for the casual slacks and top she had worn in to this fitting at Fran’s house.
“You’re sounding melancholy today. Prenuptial jitters?”
“I suppose.”
When she was dressed, Sunny sat down on the bed beside her friend and took her hand. “What’s wrong, Fran?”
