No Strings Attached (4 page)

Dune stared at her.

Mac grinned. “Sophie, babe,” he said, lowering his voice. “Dune’s active, but not
that
active.”

“Enough on my sex life,” Dune said sharply.

Mac ignored him. “Two cases would work nicely for me.”

Sophie reached for a pen and paper.

“Don’t write down his order.” Dune placed his hand over hers, stopping her. “He’s playing you.”

His palm was warm and covered her entire hand. She wanted to turn her hand over and lace her fingers with his. Just for a second. That second ticked by.

Dune released her before she made a fool of herself. He hadn’t shown any interest in her. It would be unwise to make the first move. He might reject her.

Her hands shook as she rang up and bagged his items. She was so nervous she gave him a dollar too much in change, which he returned.

Mac came next. She had his order ready to go in half the time. She then excused herself to change clothes.

She enjoyed working at the general store. Abby Cates had given her a small closet in the storeroom to hang several outfits. She had her nomad layered beachwear, two hats, a Windbreaker, several tops, and a pair of navy cropped slacks.

She kicked off her flip-flops, then slid off her red tank and khaki shorts, down to her gray lace bra and high-cut panties. She loved feminine, romantic underwear. Satin felt intimate and pleasurable against her skin.

She’d never been more excited. She was about to have lunch with Dune. Mac was the perfect buffer. He’d keep the conversation going. He talked enough for three people. Sophie never had much to say.

It took her only six minutes to dress. She felt comfortable in her pale pistachio silk blouse and cropped pants. On a whim she’d bought a pair of blue-and-green striped Keds. She found them fanciful. She wore them now.

She grabbed her brown leather hobo bag and left the storeroom. Her heart slowed along with her steps in the short hallway. What a difference a few minutes could make.

She’d left Dune and Mac alone by the counter; as she returned, she found the men surrounded by women near the magazine rack. Six to be exact.

All wore inviting smiles and string bikinis.

All touched and flirted and wanted more than autographs.

The men didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit.

Dune leaned against the wall. His smile came easily, warm and welcoming.

Mac openly loved the ladies. He curved his arms over the shoulders of the two closest to him, grafting them to his side.

“The Blue Coconut, tonight,” she heard Mac say. “Bring your friends.”

Sophie had heard of the peanut bar there, but had never been invited to party. Beer for a quarter brought in an early crowd. Customers ate unshelled peanuts and dropped the hulls on the floor. Darts, pool, and a jukebox rounded out the night. Fun for some, Sophie guessed. She, on the other hand, preferred a good book.

Her insecurities took hold and she felt suddenly out of place. Her clothes covered her from neck to knee, whereas the beach babes flashed cleavage and flossed their butt cheeks.

Sadness settled on her chest. Disappointment turned her toward the back door. She could sneak out and take to the alley. Dune and Mac wouldn’t miss her. They had six willing women available for lunch and much more.

She tripped over her feet in her retreat, banging her shoulder against the wall. Another bruise, she sighed. She wished she were more coordinated.

Her hand was on the doorknob when the masculine scent of sunshine and lime warned of Dune’s approach. “Running out on us, Sophie?” he asked, drawing out the words. “Mac won’t be happy.”

Mac
wouldn’t be pleased, which meant Dune didn’t care one way or the other.

Sophie sighed and her shoulders slumped.

She decided she wasn’t hungry after all.

Two

T
he doorknob clicked and sunlight lit the hallway. Dune Cates was so stunned he was slow to react.
Sophie leaving?
What the hell?

She had both feet out the door by the time he made his move. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back against him. He had big hands, even for a man. One hand could fully clutch a volleyball. His fingers were long; his palms were wide. His grip tightened as her body twisted and she lost her footing. He set her upright, but not before his fingertips grazed the outer softness of her right breast. She inhaled sharply. Stilled.

He sucked air as well when she slowly turned to face him. She was short and touched him low. Her shoulder brushed his upper abdomen and her hip swiped his thigh, just south of his balls. Her scent made his entire body flex. Vanilla, a hint of baby powder, and inexperienced woman blended with her body heat. Their tight space got very warm, very fast.

His cock stirred. He released her so quickly she hit her funny bone on an aluminum ladder standing nearby. She winced and rubbed her elbow. She frowned at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He stared at a bottle of bleach on a high shelf, which took his mind off his erection. Big Word, Little Words. Clorox, he read the label on the bottle.
Or, ox, lox, loco
. He slowly got his body under control.

Sophie looked up just as he gazed down. Her eyes were wide; her full pink lips were slightly parted. Her expression was shy and unsure. Hopeful and wistful.

He grew uneasy. He’d been around enough women to know that look. Hers was the look of expectation. Expectation often came with a crush. A crush would make Sophie vulnerable.

He couldn’t be absolutely certain she was into him, but he planned to be cautious. She was too sweet, too shy, to get caught up in his chaos. His life was unsettled and he needed to concentrate on his career and not another person.

He had the urge to take a giant step back. To give them both some breathing room. Unfortunately the hallway was cramped and the space was limited. He wore leather sandals and his bare toes now bumped the white rubber tips on her blue-and-green striped Keds. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets, put on his game face, and forced a calm tone he didn’t feel.

“You agreed to lunch,” he said, watching her closely.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” she quietly returned.

“Why would you think that?”

“Those women.”

“Which women?” he asked.

“The ones you were talking to.”

“When?”

She looked as confused as he felt. “A few minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“By the magazine rack.”

He finally understood. He’d smiled at the sexy six, then tuned them out. He’d kept one eye on the hallway, on the lookout for Sophie. She was his priority.

The girls had come on strong, but Dune hadn’t weakened. They had extra tickets for an afternoon booze cruise and were looking for hook-up buddies. They wanted to get down and dirty and drink.

Dune was familiar with
Tide One On,
the luxury ship docked north of Barefoot William. On sunny days the cruiser dropped anchor ten miles off the coast. Those onboard enjoyed food, drink, and music. A small swimming pool on the lower deck cooled and soothed sunburns. A hot tub bubbled and steamed on the upper deck. Swimsuits were optional.

What happened on the Gulf stayed on the Gulf.

It was a wild time.

Mac had shown some interest in the cruise but, in the end, he’d kept his word to Sophie. Mac could always take Dune’s speedboat out to the party yacht later in the day.

He held her gaze now. “What about the women?” he asked.

“They’re tan, beautiful, and”—her voice lowered a little—“fun.”

“You’re not fun?” he asked.

“Not that fun.”

“There’s something to be said for cute and shy,” he said, right before he ruffled her hair.

Sophie blinked. Her face fell and her disappointment showed. His friendly gesture had somehow hurt her feelings. He wasn’t certain what he’d done wrong. Neither did he know how to fix it.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes, then led him down the hallway. She dragged her feet. The rubber on her Keds scuffed the wooden floorboards.

He followed her, his gaze focused on her backside. Her brown hair brushed her shoulder blades, shiny and loose. Her spine was straight. Her ass was shapely. He liked her walk; he found the roll of her hips appealing.

He was slow to look up once they reached Mac. Mac cocked an eyebrow and Dune locked his jaw. Damn, his partner had caught him eyeing Sophie’s butt. Mac’s grin was knowingly evil.

Don’t go there,
Dune glared at him.

Mac’s smile only got bigger.

Dune’s neck grew warm.

Mac let him off the hook. He took Sophie by the hand. “I’m starving. Let’s feed me.” He led her down the aisle toward the front door.

The aisle was narrow and the two bumped against each other with each step. Their contact was minimal, yet Dune found it irritating and way too intimate.

Mac continued to hold her hand as they made their way to Molly Malone’s. Dune frowned. They looked like a couple. Sunbathers came off the beach, ready for lunch, and jammed the boardwalk. The crowd forced Dune to fall in step behind Mac and Sophie when he would’ve preferred to walk by her side.

Mac loved women, that was a given. There were three of them going to lunch, yet Mac was turning it into a twosome. His interest in Sophie frustrated Dune, even if it was no more than friendly flirting. Dune couldn’t hear their conversation, but Mac’s easy grin and occasional wink drew Sophie’s soft smile. She relaxed in his company.

A dozen people stopped Dune on his way to the diner, all requesting autographs. He never refused a fan. Sophie and Mac had disappeared by the time he signed baseball caps, volleyballs, and Frisbees.

He looked around when the crowd cleared. Where the hell was Mac? Dune wondered. Mac was a crowd-pleaser, yet today he’d split with Sophie instead of entertaining his fans. Dune didn’t like him sneaking off.

He jogged the rest of the way to the diner. Customers clustered at the door, patiently waiting to be seated. The tables were filled, but three counter stools stood open. Dune watched as Mac guided Sophie to the counter. His hand pressed low on her spine as they wound around the four-tops.

Mac nudged Sophie to the far end, where she took the stool against the wall and he scooted in beside her. Dune crossed the diner and dropped down next to Mac.

“Hey, Dune, welcome home,” his cousin Violet said as she filled water glasses and grabbed napkin-wrapped silverware for her customers. “Give me a sec. I’ll be right with you.”

Dune swiveled his stool and looked about. His Aunt Molly had remodeled. The colors reflected the beach, aqua and sand tones. Blue leather booths replaced the cracked and torn black seats. The light brown tiles were an improvement over the scuffed gray linoleum.

One wall was decorated with restored vintage photographs, each one depicting the growth of Barefoot William. One black-and-white photo showed the original fishing pier under construction. Another pictured the boardwalk with only three shops. In the largest of the photographs, ten big boats were scattered offshore. Commercial fishing had supported the town for fifty years.

Dune’s favorite photo was one of his great-great-great grandfather William Cates, taken on the beach at twilight. A breeze lifted his gray hair off his face and fluttered his white shirt. His pant legs were rolled up as he stood ankle deep in the waves, fishing from the shoreline.

Dune’s ancestors had kept a tight hold on the growth of the town. Family and relatives owned and operated every business and entertainment along the boardwalk and pier. Their roots ran deep.

Only Nicole Archer, owner of The Jewelry Box, wasn’t immediate family. She was involved with his second cousin, Kai. Everyone figured she was close to being a Cates. They would eventually marry.

A busboy cleared off a table near the counter and the clatter of dishes drew Dune back to Sophie and Mac. He noticed Mac leaned into her, conversing quietly so Dune couldn’t quite hear.

Sophie listened, but said very little. Her responses came in a nod or small smile. Mac was charming, and she was being charmed. Son of a bitch.

Dune set his back teeth. It was time to break them up. She was his friend, too. He wanted some time with her. He nudged Mac with his elbow, kept his voice low. “Put Sophie in the middle.”

Mac had the balls to smile. “Like a sandwich?”

Dune ignored him. “Just make the switch.”

Mac shrugged. “She’s not saying much.”

“Maybe she’d rather talk to me.”

“Feeling confident?” his partner challenged.

Not necessarily so. Sophie hadn’t spoken to him since he’d ruffled her hair. “Talk to the wall for a while,” he said.

Mac stood. “Musical stools,” he said to Sophie. “It’s time to switch.”

Her eyes went wide. “You want me in the middle?”

“Kinky, babe.” Mac took hold of her shoulders and slid her next to Dune. “If he bores you, we’ll change back,” he said.

Sophie swiveled toward Dune. One of her knees bumped his thigh. Her color rose. “You’re frowning,” she said, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine now,” said Mac as he settled on his stool. “That’s his happy face.”

Dune glared at Mac. For whatever reason, Mac was riding his ass. He held himself in check, not wanting to give himself away. He liked having Sophie next to him. The counter stools were close together and with each sideways shift of their bodies, his denim thigh brushed her silk slacks. They seemed almost attached in the small space.

He made the mistake of shifting too sharply just as she changed positions. It was a moment neither of them could’ve expected or predicted. Her short legs were parted and his knee pushed in. He accidentally kneed her.

Kneed her in the crotch.

The moment was imprinted in time. Jarred toward him, she shivered. Naïve awareness pressed her thighs together which only drew him deeper into her. Her softness held him tight.

His muscles flexed, bunched, knotted. His dick stiffened. He hadn’t bothered with his boxer briefs that morning. The bulge in his jeans stretched long and hard. Zipper tracks now marked his cock.