Club Cupid

“What kind of papers?”

“Documentation for a computer project I’m heading up.”

He looked perplexed. “You’re on a cruise and you’re worried about your job?”

Frankie scoffed. “That silly Valentine’s cruise wasn’t my idea. My cousin asked me to be her bridesmaid, and I had no choice, even though the timing couldn’t have been worse.”

“Chained to your desk, huh?”

She lifted her chin. “My career is the most important thing in my life.”

“Too bad. But if it’s any consolation, you’re the best-looking computer nerd I’ve ever met.”

Frankie felt herself blush, but held her ground. “My job depends on recovering that portfolio.”

Frowning, Randy scratched his jaw. “Is this some kind of top-secret project?”

“No.”

“Then there has to be copies of this documentation somewhere, right?”

She winced and shook her head.

“Is that typical?”

She winced and shook her head again.

“Ouch.” He exhaled noisily, then shrugged. “Oh, well, in Key West when things get tough, the tough go to the beach. How about it?”

Frankie swallowed at his abrupt personality change. So much for the multifaceted theory. “The beach? Isn’t it a little late?”

He grinned. “Like you said, we move slowly down here. Late afternoon and early evening are the best times to miss the tourists—no offense. Do you swim?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Great.” Randy unfolded his sunglasses and walked toward his bike. “Let’s go.”

Her mind raced. She couldn’t just sit around getting a suntan while her entire career evaporated. Maybe if she could find a computer with basic software, she could re-create from memory the design document Oscar needed. It was worth a shot. “Do you have a computer?”

He stuck his tongue into his cheek and gave her an amused smirk. “No.”

Fighting her disappointment, Frankie asked, “Public library? A school perhaps? Somewhere I can gain access to a computer for a few hours?”

But he simply shook his head. “Not this late in the day. And not tomorrow, either—nothing is open on Saturday except the retail shops.” He straddled the bike and looked up. “Come on, there’s nothing more you can do here.”

Frankie considered the wisdom of parting company with the good-intentioned beach bum. “I have to pick up my money.”

“We’ll stop along the way.”

He extended his hand to help her on, and Frankie hesitated. “But I have to find a place to stay—”

“I’ll make sure you get a place to stay.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Listen, Red, a little R and R would do you a world of good. Look around—you’re stranded in paradise. Have a little fun.”

She wavered.

“We’ll make a few stops along the way to look for your bag,” he added. “The guy might have ditched it in a Dumpster.”

Feeling like Alice in Wonderland hovering above the rabbit hole, Frankie relented. He was right—camping out at the police station wouldn’t help her recover her bag any faster. And she hadn’t had a vacation in the year since the project started. Maybe the sun and sand would do her some good. Besides, his Dumpster theory was a slim, but reasonable, possibility. She smiled and took his hand. “Okay.”

His warm grin was reward enough—settling into their body-hugging riding position was purely a bonus. They stopped at a floral shop that doubled as the wiring office and woke up the napping shop owner, but her money hadn’t yet arrived. The man yawned and wrote down Randy’s pager number, promising to notify them if the wire came before he closed.

Par for the day’s course, Frankie thought wryly. Next, they drove down four different alleys where Randy hoisted himself up and poked around in commercial trash bins, but didn’t find the briefcase.

“Sorry,” he said after restarting the engine and turning to her. “Don’t worry—it’ll show up.”

A compulsion to believe him welled in her chest. This man had a powerful effect on her, lending a sense of security while triggering every defense mechanism in her body. Alarms pealed in her ears, yet she was touched he’d go to so much trouble for a stranger. “Thanks for looking.”

“The ride to the beach will be longer, so hang on tight.”

“But I don’t have a suit.”

He grinned. “I have to make a stop along the way—we’ll pick up a suit for you there.”

Her arguments exhausted, Frankie gave in and tried to put her spiraling career out of her mind. The ride was cool and flirty and just plain fun, she decided as laughter bubbled up in her chest. Randy had tied her hat to the seat, leaving her hair to whip around her face and neck with abandon. She didn’t want to think too much about the pleasure of pressing herself up against her Good Samaritan, a man she barely knew, but who’d already hinted he found her desirable.

A memory surfaced, reminding her of a time in college she’d found herself attracted to a James Dean type, a dropout who hung around the student center to pick up girls. He’d flirted with her outrageously, constantly asking for a date. She’d been tempted, but frankly, the guy’s reckless style had frightened her a bit. With Randy Tate she didn’t fear for her safety, but she definitely felt as if she were walking a balance beam with responsibility on one side and hedonism on the other. The vertigo was absolutely heady.

All too soon, they were on the coast and he slowed, wheeling into the driveway of a large house encircled by a stone wall. The pale stucco structure resembled a hotel, the jungle-thick landscaping picture-perfect.

“Good friend of mine,” he yelled over the rumble of the motorcycle as he wheeled into a long crowded driveway as large as a parking lot. “I need to pick up his liquor order for the week, and I’ll find you a suit.”

When he shut off the engine, Frankie could clearly hear music on the other side of the vegetation. She climbed off the bike and squinted into the blazing sun.

“You’re a natural,” he said, nodding to the bike. He knelt and untied a canvas sports bag. “You were in perfect sync with me.”

Frankie patted her wild hair, tingling at his offhand compliment.

He stood and wiped his hands on his back pockets, then tossed her a knowing smile. “When a person moves that well with a bike, it’s a safe bet they’re good at other things, too.”

Desire sparked low in her stomach, burning away any clever retort she might have conjured up.

His eyes danced. “Like windsurfing, for instance.”

Her tongue finally recovered. “Is it similar to sailing?”

“You sail? Excellent.” His grin was full-fledged as he moved toward a stone path beside the house. “Red, this could be an interesting couple of days.”

Her heart pounded at the innuendo in his voice. A beach fling hadn’t been in her plans, but two days in the company of a gorgeous man would definitely take her mind off the bedlam that awaited her in Cincinnati. And tantamount to attempting a back-flip aerial on that balance beam, her conscience whispered.