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“I’d love to.” Her blue eyes looked fondly into his. “But can we? I mean, it’s all privately owned, isn’t it?”
“Not in Mexico. The beaches are for everyone.”
“How nice,” Carla murmured, thinking she was beginning to like Philip more with every passing minute.
They rode back to the hotel in an open-air vehicle that resembled a golf cart—a hot-rod golf cart. The driver weaved his way in and out of lanes with complete disregard for pedestrians and traffic signals.
Philip took her by the hand and led her through the lobby, around the huge swimming pool in back of the hotel, and to the stairs that descended to the beach. The strip of white sand stretched as far as the eye could see. So did the array of hotels.
“I don’t suppose you’ve been in the ocean yet.”
“No time,” Carla confessed. “The first thing Nancy and I did was take a shower.” The heat that had greeted them on their arrival had been suffocating. They’d stepped from the air-conditioned plane into one-hundred-degree weather. By the time they’d arrived at the hotel room, their clothes had been damp from the humidity and clinging. “I couldn’t believe that death trap of a shuttle bus actually made it all the way to the hotel.”
Philip grinned in amusement. “I think the same thing every time I visit.”
“Do you come often?” Carla asked as they sat in the sand and removed their sandals. Philip rolled up his tan pant legs to his knees.
“Once or twice a year.”
“I think there’s something I should tell you,” Carla said as an ocean wave gently lapped up to her bare feet. The warm water was another surprise.
“You mean that you don’t usually pick up men in bars,” Philip said with a chuckle. “I already knew that.”
“You did?” Carla was astonished.
“What made you do it this time?”
Carla kicked idly at the sand with her big toe. “You aren’t going to like hearing this,” she mumbled.
“Try me.”
She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It happens every vacation. Nancy and I spend the entire time waiting to meet someone. This time, instead of wasting our vacation, we’d take the initiative ourselves. To make the decision easy, we decided we could find someone on the first day. One problem is that we’re too picky, so we decided to be a bit more spontaneous. You came in alone. You’re under thirty-five, and you ordered a margarita.”
The pleasant sound of his laughter blended with a crashing wave that pounded the beach. “I almost asked for a beer.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” The words were automatic and sincere. It surprised Carla how much she meant them.
The sun became a huge red ball that slowly descended to meet a blue horizon. Carla couldn’t remember ever seeing anything more spectacular. She glanced at Philip to see if he was also enjoying the beauty of their surroundings. He wasn’t the chatty sort, she realized, which was fine—she could do enough talking for them both. His laugh was free and easy, and the sound of it warmed her.
“What were you reading so intently on the plane?” Carla asked, curious to know more about him.
“A book by Ann Rule. She’s—”
“I know who she is,” Carla interrupted. The talented author was a policewoman turned reporter turned writer. Ann’s books specialized in true-crime cases. Her novel on serial murderer Ted Bundy was a national bestseller. “My father worked with Ann before she took up writing,” Carla explained. “She’s from Seattle.”
“I read that on the cover flap. What does your father do?”
Carla swallowed uncomfortably. “He’s a cop,” she murmured, not looking at Philip.
“You sound like it bothers you.”
“It does,” Carla replied vigorously. “Half the boys in high school wouldn’t ask me out. They were afraid I’d tell my father if they tried anything, and then he’d go after them.”
“Your father would arrest them for making a pass?” Philip sounded incredulous.
“Not that.” She tossed him a defiant look. It was obvious that Philip, like everyone else in her life, didn’t understand. “It’s too hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
