No Strings Attached (5 page)

He winced, and she panicked, nearly falling off her stool. He reached out and steadied her. Her skin felt hot beneath her silk blouse. He saw her nipples pucker.

She dipped her head, looking guilty, unsure, flushed. A woman turned on.

He released her and pulled back. He forced himself to breathe evenly.

They both swiveled their stools to face the counter.

He caught Mac’s odd look over the top of Sophie’s head before his smile broke.

“What are you smiling about?” Dune sharply asked.

“You know what I’m smiling about,” said Mac.

“Wipe it off your face.”

Mac’s smile only got bigger. “Come talk to me and the wall,” he said to Sophie. “We’re more interesting than Dune’s knee.”

Her conversation with Mac didn’t go well. Dune watched as she nervously played with her paper napkin. Her palms were moist and the napkin shredded. She was having a hard time holding it together. Their contact had left her anxious and edgy. Her color was high. She was damn cute when she blushed.

He needed to calm her, as soon as he calmed himself. He ran one hand down his face, went on to stare at the
Welcome
sign that hung above the cook’s station.
Me, we, meow, come,
he decoded smaller words from the bigger one.

He finally caught his breath and said, “Shaye mentioned you’re playing volleyball.”

Sophie managed a nod. “Your sister encouraged me to join an indoor league,” she said. “I play for Serve-ivors, a six-woman team. We all have nicknames. Shaye’s known as ‘Spike.’ Your cousin Jenna from the T-shirt shop is ‘Threat.’ Violet is ‘Thumper.’ Eden, who does the old-time photography, is ‘Bam.’ Nicole, the jewelry designer, is ‘Glitz.’ ” She paused, sighed, added, “And I’m known as ‘Knee pads.’ ”

Knee pads.
She needed protection when diving for the ball. Dune had played alongside her. She had more heart than coordination.

Mac patted her shoulder. “A nickname shows you’ve arrived, Soph,” he said. “Dune’s been Beach Heat since he first set foot on the pro circuit. It’s tough being so good-looking,” he ribbed his partner.

“You’re Ace-hole.” The corners of her mouth curved slightly. “You have your own promotional T-shirts designed with
Kiss My Ace
.”

“Love me or hate me, I play to win,” said Mac.

“So do I,” she said with conviction. “I don’t have much to offer my team, but Shaye said I’m improving. We play in the high school gym.”

Dune understood. “No sunburn, no swimsuits.” He’d hate to see her flawless complexion weathered by the sun. She was self-conscious about her body. She preferred clothes to skin.

“I wear a team T-shirt and sweatpants,” she said as she reached for the list of daily specials clipped to the counter-mounted menu holder. “We have a cheering section made up of family and close friends. Everyone offers encouragement no matter how poorly I play.”

“How’s your serve?” asked Mac.

She ran her finger along the laminated edge of the specials, pulled a face. “The ball goes into the net.”

Mac coughed into his hand. “Same as Dune.”

Dune leaned his elbows on the counter, cut Mac a sharp look. “You’re to blame for my two bad serves at Hermosa Beach,” he ground out. “You changed hand signals at the last second. I didn’t have time to make the correction.”

“Slow reaction time, old man.”

“You flipped me the bird with the second signal,” Dune said. “We were lucky to win the set.”

“Won it in overtime,” said Mac. “I hate overtime.”

Violet arrived a moment later, her order pad in hand. “The diner’s been packed all morning,” she said. “Customers are chatty and slow to leave. Molly’s still running the breakfast specials if you’re interested.”

“Go ahead, Sophie.” Dune let her go first.

She glanced at the specials and was quick to decide. “Belgian waffle and apple juice,” she said.

“Double cheese-bacon-chili burger,” Mac said, preferring lunch. “Onion rings, slaw, macaroni salad, and a vanilla milk shake.”

Violet wrote quickly. “You eat your weight in food.”

“Be nice to me, Vi, and Dune will leave you a big tip.”

Dune rolled his eyes. He always tipped big. His aunt owned the diner and Violet was his cousin. He’d tip the price of the meal, maybe more.

Dune went with his favorite. “Turkey sub, sweet potato fries, and a root beer.”

Violet left to turn in their order. Dune searched for something to say. He needed a topic to draw Sophie out. “How’s the job fair going?” he finally asked her. “Shaye mentioned you’re working your way down our boardwalk.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, then looked at him over the rim of her reading glasses. “I started out at Old Tyme Portraits,” she said. “Photography wasn’t my niche. Eden kept me around longer than I deserved. The job wasn’t tough. I just didn’t do well.”

“What happened?” Dune wanted to know.

She released a soft breath. “Customers would stand behind life-size cardboard cutouts with only their faces showing above vintage swimwear and I’d take their picture. None of my photos were in focus. I cut off their heads.”

“Better than cutting off their—” Mac began.

Dune glared and Mac swallowed his last word.

Sophie paused, thoughtful, “I’ve been at Crabby Abby’s for two weeks and I’m ready to move on. Abby’s been great, but—“

“You want to do more than wipe down shelves and ring up sales,” Dune said, reading her mind. Shaye had revealed that Sophie was book smart, but had little life experience. She would excel in the right position.

“The boardwalk offers a lot of career choices.” Sophie sounded hopeful. “Some are serious and others fun.”

“What’s next for you?” asked Mac.

“Either stilt walker, unicyclist, or pogo stick jumper.”

Mac had no tact. He laughed so hard he choked. “You’re kidding us, right?” He gasped for breath.

“Not a joke.” She looked worried. “Should I pat him on the back?” she asked Dune.

Dune shook his head. “Let him choke.”

“Sorry, Soph,” Mac wheezed. “You surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t take you for a daredevil. Be sure to wear wrist and shin guards and knee and elbow pads.”

“Already purchased,” she assured him. “I may be clumsy, but I’m seeking adventure. While I don’t plan to go near the ocean, I want the full boardwalk experience.”

Mac patted his butt cheek, said, “The seat on a unicycle is really narrow and small. It will split your—”

Dune stopped him with a hard look.

Sophie dipped her head. “I’ll manage.”

“Stilts will make you taller than Dune,” Mac added.

A whole lot taller, Dune thought. His palms began to sweat. Bold and daring would cause her a lot of bruises and possibly a broken bone.

“All three skills take a lot of practice,” he said from experience.

The tourists enjoyed watching the stilt walkers, unicyclists, and pogo stick jumpers. The novelty performances drew big tips. He’d attempted and adapted quickly to all three skills as a teenager. Each talent required perfect timing and balance. Sophie had neither. Put her on a pogo stick and she’d be spring-loaded. Who knew where she’d bounce? Dune hated the thought of her taking chances.

“You could be a mime,” Mac suggested. “You’re shy and wouldn’t have to talk.”

“I want out of the box,” said Sophie.

Dune rubbed his brow. He felt protective toward her. He needed to discourage her without hurting her feelings. “A Beach Branch of the Chamber of Commerce recently opened next to Goody Gumdrops,” he said. “You could work Reception.”

Stick her behind a desk.
His suggestion didn’t sit well with Sophie Saunders. She appreciated his concern, but refused to be discouraged. Pigeonholed in an office sharing travel tips and passing out promotional flyers wasn’t as exciting as trying to unicycle, jump on a pogo stick, or walk on stilts.

This was her summer to step outside her shadow.

She hadn’t told anyone that she had a training session scheduled with Rick Cates that very afternoon. He was the best unicyclist on the boardwalk. Rick was Dune’s third cousin. They were to meet at a reserved employee parking lot south of the boardwalk for her first lesson.

Rick belonged to a uni-troupe of ten performers. He rode a six-foot high “giraffe.” He knew numerous tricks and stunts. He was a crowd-pleaser. Sophie had watched him spin in circles, juggle orange tennis balls, and bounce the single tire three feet off the ground. He had circus talent.

She, on the other hand, would be lucky to ride a straight line on a much shorter cycle. She was tentative, yet up for the challenge. It would be new, exciting, fun.

Their lunches arrived a moment later. Violet set Sophie’s plate down first. “Enjoy.” Vi winked at her.

Dune and Mac both eyed her food.

Mac couldn’t contain his grin.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Dune.

“You know what I’m smiling about,” said Mac. “Our Sophie’s into whipped cream.”

She loved whipped cream. The homemade topping was her downfall. Vi had been generous. The sliced strawberries and bananas were special little extras. Violet took good care of her volleyball teammates.

Mac curved his arm about Sophie’s shoulders, then said, “That’s foreplay on your plate.”

A magazine article she’d recently read agreed with Mac. According to “Finger Food for the Bedroom,” whipped cream scored high for teasing and tasting. The thought of licking the topping off a lover made her blush.

Her cheeks grew as heated as Dune’s gaze. She watched him watching her. She swore he could read her mind. She self-consciously licked her lips.

He lowered his voice, then asked, “Taste good?”

She hadn’t taken a bite.

Mac saved her from herself. “Want to make out?” he whispered near her ear. He dipped the tip of his finger in the whipped cream and traced her lips. He leaned in for a kiss, but she held him off with a hand to his chest. He laughed, snuck a strawberry, then eased back.

“Such a sweet mouth,” he said ruefully. “If I tasted you, I’d like you. Way too much.”

She didn’t believe him for a second. Mac’s relationships were short, hot, unemotional. He’d kiss her and walk away. She quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Dune shifted beside her. He appeared tense. His gaze was dark and his frown deepened. He sprinkled sea salt on his sweet potato fries, then proceeded to eat in silence.

Sophie went still. What had just happened? Dune was ticked and Mac was trying not to smile. She shook her head. She didn’t understand. Mac was incorrigible and she knew never to take him seriously. So why had Dune? She didn’t know what to say to make things better, so she picked up her knife and fork and cut into her waffle.

“Back to the wall.” Mac swiveled right. A short time later, he flagged down Violet and ordered a second burger with extra chili.

“Chew your food,” Sophie told him as he polished off the last of his onion rings. “Your stomach doesn’t have teeth.”

“Parental advice,” said Mac. “You don’t look like my mother. You’re more of a—“

“A friend,” Dune said from the corner of his mouth.

“Could go further,” said Mac.

“Not on my watch,” said Dune.

Mac’s grin was easy, as if he was quite pleased with himself. He let the conversation go.

Sophie was halfway through her waffle when Dune turned her way. She’d taken a bite of strawberry and whipped cream when his gaze settled on her lips. She slowly chewed, biting her tongue twice. She could barely swallow. The food settled like a lump in her stomach.

She went to wipe her mouth, only to have her napkin slip off her lap. Dune passed her another from the napkin holder. Their arms brushed; a reminder of his solidness and strength and her need to firm up. She didn’t get much exercise beyond volleyball.

“What are you plans for the afternoon?” he asked her.

She didn’t want to worry him or have him think poorly of her. He’d shot down her ideas, which she still planned to explore. “I’m going to visit store owners,” she said, and meant it. She’d check out the shops after her session with Rick. “I need to invest my time wisely. I’m thinking Goody Gumdrops.” Shaye’s penny candy store. “Or Three Shirts to the Wind.” A popular T-shirt shop.

“Don’t forget the Chamber of Commerce,” Dune added.

Last on her list. “I’ll stop by.” She would poke her head in the door. That way she could honestly say she’d been there. She gave him a small smile, then asked, “How about you, lots to do?”

“I need to stop at Pet Outfitters and buy some dog toys for Ghost.”

She blinked. “Ghost?”

“My Weimaraner,” he explained. “I have a beach house in Malibu, but I’ve yet to buy a home in Barefoot William. My mother’s allergic to fur, so we stay with my grandfather when I’m in town. Mac snuck in the back door and claimed a guest room, too.”

“Where does your grandfather live?” Sophie asked, curious.

“Frank lives in a stilt house on lots of acreage,” Dune said. He grinned. “He has a long list of repairs lined up for me to do. Today I’ll replace the broken boards on the porch.”

Mac sucked the last of his vanilla shake through the straw. Sucked it loudly. “Beware of the nail gun, dude,” he said. “I remember—”

“No, you don’t.” Dune stopped him short. “He has a lousy memory.”

“I’ve got total recall,” said Mac. “You shot yourself in the foot and required twelve stitches.”

Dune shrugged. “Small scar.”

“Should anyone care about my whereabouts,” Mac continued, “I’m headed to Three Shirts to buy a change of clothes. Then I’ll be borrowing Dune’s speedboat to locate
Tide One On
. I’m going to play.”

“You’ve got six willing playmates,” said Dune.

Mac nodded. “Odds are good.”

Violet brought his second burger. Mac dug in. Sophie nudged him, making sure he chewed. She was fond of Mac. She admired the way he lived life, always self-assured and at a dead run. His humor and arrogance would appeal to many women. Just not to her.

She preferred all that was Dune. He was mature, stable, and evaluated his next move. He had both feet on the ground. Levelheaded worked for her.

“Do you have room for dessert?” Violet offered once Mac finished his burger and she cleared away their dishes.