No Tan Lines (23 page)

Dune moved along the black wrought iron railing that wrapped the fifth-story terrace and looked out into the night. He faced north toward Barefoot William, and from what he could see, fans now packed the boardwalk. Traffic was heavy on the side streets. Car engines revved, and horns honked. The scene was festive, uninhibited, and as energized as Mardi Gras.

Overhead, a small aircraft circled, ready to land at the local airport. Shortly thereafter, a helicopter lifted off. The Barefoot William charter chopper gave twilight tours along the coastline.

The sun split the horizon, sending fireball reds and oranges across the sand while gilding the Gulf of Mexico gold. Dusk soon diminished all color, and the edge of night flipped the timers on the city lights. The revelers seemed to glow in the dark.

Dune silenced his mind. Lynn Crandall had knocked him off his mark, and he needed to center himself. He breathed deeply, as if preparing for a match. He drew in the peace, the quiet—

The sudden rustling of tall hibiscus shrubs turned his attention toward a corner of the terrace. The outside sconce caught a flash of a dark ponytail, a bare calf, and one sandaled foot. A woman.

Material ripped, and a branch broke as she tugged her T-shirt free. She fell out of the bushes and landed flat on her ass. She shoved to her feet as fast as she had fallen. She wobbled a little.

Paparazzi?
Doubtful. She didn’t have a camera.

A fan?
If so, she didn’t rush him.

Curious, Dune crossed to her. He checked her out as she brushed herself off, then straightened. He guessed her height at five foot two, give or take an inch. Her hair was brown; her eyes, the color of evergreen. Orange reading glasses sat crookedly on her nose. Her earrings were flowers, but two different styles. One was a pink carnation, the other, a purple tulip.

She had nice skin, he noted, fair and soft-looking. Youthful. He guessed her to be twenty-two or three, too young for his taste. Her lips were full but pursed. Her body was hidden beneath an oversized
Beach Heat
T-shirt and baggy gray leggings.

She was staring at him now, not with wide-eyed admiration but rather blankly. He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to speak. Not a word was forthcoming.

He rolled his shoulders. There was only one main entrance onto the terrace. He wondered how long she’d been hiding and how much she’d heard of his conversation with Lynn Crandall.

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

She hesitated. “Sophie.”

“I’m Dune Cates.”

“Better known as ‘prick’ and ‘bastard’?”

He ran one hand down his face. “You heard?”

“I was on the balcony long before you arrived,” she said. “Your girlfriend ripped you a new one.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he corrected. “You should’ve made your presence known.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“There were only two of us.”

“That’s two too many for me.”

He tilted his head, looked down at her. “What were you doing in the bushes?”

“I’m clumsy.” She sighed. “I tripped on a planter and took a nosedive right before you arrived.” She patted her waistband. “I have an invitation. I wasn’t spying on you. I was merely on the outside, looking in.”

Dune wondered if she worked at the hotel or if she was employed by the Saunders Group. “The action’s in the ballroom. Drinks, music, press.”

“I’ll move inside once the auction starts,” she said.

“You plan to bid?”

“Bid and win. I want to play in the event.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You’re short.”

“My partner will be tall.”

True, all the top-ranked male players were six-two or more, and money talked at the auction. While appearances could be deceiving, Sophie didn’t look rich enough to win a partner. And landing in the bushes showed her lack of coordination.

The French doors to the ballroom opened, and Mac James called out, “I heard Lynn broke up with you, dude.” He chuckled. “She’s hoping no one bids on you.”

Dune shook his head. “Lynn will be greatly disappointed,” he said. “My fans won’t let me down.”

“The auction starts in five,” said Mac.

“I’ll be right there.” He looked back at Sophie. She stood in shadow, a small smile on her face. “See you inside?” he asked, including her. He was always nice to the fans. She nodded.

Sophie watched him leave. Dune hadn’t remembered her, but that was to be expected. They’d met seventeen years ago, when she was seven, and he, eighteen.

She could still recall that long-ago moment. Dune Cates had made a big impression on her. It had been a Friday, and she’d been on her bike, riding home from school. Her backpack had slipped off one shoulder and knocked her off balance. She was a chubby, uncoordinated kid, and when her bike tipped, she fell hard.

Her glasses flew off, and the zipper on her backpack split. Her books skidded across the pavement.

She had so many books to gather. Her last stop of the day had been at the elementary school library. With the weekend ahead, she’d stocked up on reading material. She wasn’t into sports but found a great escape in fairy tales.

A horn had honked, and a car swerved around her. She looked up and noticed she’d stopped traffic. The more she hurried, the clumsier she became. Books dropped as fast as she picked them up.

Her classmates passed her on their own bikes and snickered. She wasn’t popular. She had only one close friend, whose mother picked her up each day.

No one came to help her, until Dune Cates slowed down.

She heard a motorcycle come to a stop and saw a teenage boy dismount. He came toward her, wearing a Barefoot William volleyball jersey, worn jeans, and beat-up Nikes. He stood over her, so very tall. She leaned way, way back to get a look at his face. His blond hair was long, and his eyes were a lion-gold. A heartbeat of seconds, and he became her first crush.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he collected her books.

“Sophie,” she told him.

“I’m Dune.” Last names were never exchanged.

In less than a minute he replaced her books in her backpack. He fooled with the zipper and got the teeth back on track. He then helped her to her feet.

“Nasty cut,” he’d commented about the scrape on her chin.

She’d ignored the cut until it started to bleed. She touched her fingers to the sore and winced. She needed a Band-Aid.

He returned to his motorcycle, flipped open the small storage compartment behind the seat, and retrieved a wet wipe and a superhero Band-Aid. Sophie thought it was the greatest Band-Aid in the world. Dune gently applied it over her scrape after using the wipe.

“I have a sister,” he said. “Shaye’s a tomboy. She prefers Superman to Cinderella.”

Sophie favored Snow White.

He went on to pick up her bike. He tested the front wheel to be sure it was straight after her fall. He then handed her the backpack. “Can you make it home now?” he’d asked.

She’d given him a small, shy smile. “I’m almost home.” She had six blocks to go before reaching her gated community.

He’d patted her on the shoulder and said good-bye, then climbed back onto his motorcycle and started the engine with a rumble. She’d watched him ride off, and a piece of her child’s heart had gone with him.

It had saddened her years later to learn he was a Cates and therefore off-limits to a Saunders like herself, but she’d never forgotten his kindness.

Tonight, Dune had once again towered over her, yet she hadn’t felt dwarfed. She liked his shaggy blond hair and lean face. He wore the cocky confidence of being at the top of his game, of knowing his worth and accepting his place.

Eleven years separated them, but Sophie disregarded age when it came to the heart. She’d been a fan of the man for as long as she could remember. Hero-worship came into play. She’d come to the cocktail party to catch a glimpse of him. And she had every plan to bid on him.

She drew on all her inner reserves. She didn’t like crowds. She preferred solitude. Tonight she forced herself to slip inside the ballroom, even if it meant hugging the wall, which she did.

She stared in awe as the Cates and Saunders families came together for a common cause. This moment had been a hundred years in the making. This was a historic night.

She scanned the room and found Shaye Cates standing by the dolphin ice sculpture at one end of the buffet. The woman was as gorgeous as she was courageous, Sophie thought. She fought for her family and all she believed in.

Trace Saunders stood a few feet from Shaye. Sophie saw him glance at her, all hot and hungry-eyed when he believed no one was looking. Shaye would then blush, but she didn’t walk away.

Sophie’s romantic heart skipped a beat. They were involved. She could feel their heat clear across the room. When had they become a couple? she wondered. Not a public couple, but two people meeting in secret.

Her stomach sank. Should her assumption prove true, Shaye and Trace would face considerable controversy. Their families wouldn’t accept a marriage between these two rivals. They would have a lot to endure.

She had no time to dwell on their situation. The auctioneer mounted the dais, and the pro players gathered on his left. He went on to rattle off their names and statistics, then opened the bidding.

No player sold for less than a thousand dollars. Lynn Crandall went for two thousand and Mac James for five. The crowd was heating up, getting rowdy, in anticipation of Dune Cates. He was the hometown boy, and there were both new fans and old friends to raise each bid. He’d left behind numerous girlfriends when he’d qualified for the tour. They were all in attendance.

A few older women were eyeing him as well, all stylish cougars with unlimited funds. Sophie would have to match their bids. She inched along the wall, pushing aside the long, sheer, swagged drapes to get closer to the front.

“Dune Cates, everyone,” the auctioneer called out, and Sophie focused on the man at center stage.

He made her heart race, and she didn’t even know him, outside of exchanging a few words on the balcony. She wasn’t foolish enough to think him perfect, but physically, he did it for her. She loved tall, athletic men.

“Three thousand.” A woman near Sophie placed her bid. Dune smiled.

The brunette was far more his type than Sophie would ever be. Tanned to a berry-brown, the woman stood tall in her bikini top and short-shorts. She reminded Sophie of Lynn Crandall.

Women went nuts for Dune. They also joined forces and combined finances to bid on him. Finally, a group of five offered seventy-five hundred.

Sophie knew what he was worth to her and how much she could spend. The room grew quiet as everyone waited for the auctioneer to close the bidding.

“Going once, going twice,” said the auctioneer, all the while scanning the ballroom for a final offer.

Do or die.
Sophie cleared her throat, yet her voice was more squeak than shout when she raised, “Ten thousand.”

Women loudly bemoaned the fact that Dune had slipped through their fingers. Curious gazes soon settled on Sophie. She knew what they saw: someone short, her ponytail messy, her clothes a last-minute grab. It had taken two hours for her to talk herself into attending the cocktail party.

She was far from pretty, yet a cosmetologist had once told her that she had great skin. She always protected it from the sun.

The auctioneer waited several beats before rapping his gavel. “Sold!” he yelled, and he motioned Sophie toward the dais.

Necks strained, and she heard a few snickers. She didn’t care. She’d set out to win Dune Cates, and she had. She hoped this wasn’t the biggest mistake of her life.

She tripped over her own feet, twice, as she worked her way through the crowd. Silence held sway in the room. She heard a sharp intake of breath from near the buffet but ignored it. She wouldn’t let anyone discourage her.

Dune’s smile relaxed her. He reached out his hand and helped her onto the small stage. He looked at her curiously, seemingly surprised at seeing her again so soon.

“Dune Cates,” the announcer said, “meet your amateur partner ...” He held the microphone before Sophie, waiting for her name.

She licked her lips, then said, “Sophie Saunders.” A stunned silence swept the ballroom, followed by moderate applause. The quiet lasted only so long. Soon questions rose all around her.

“Isn’t she Trace’s sister?”

“A Cates-Saunders matchup?”

“She sure is short.”

“Dune doesn’t look happy.”

Her name had set him off, Sophie realized. Dune was pissed. Tension rolled off him in waves. He clenched his jaw so tightly, she was certain he’d crack a back tooth.

He took her by the hand and led her off the dais. His grip was firm, and his stride was long. She could barely keep up. They had nearly reached the main entrance when her brother, Trace, stopped them cold. Sophie was not surprised to see Shaye Cates by his side.

“Hello, Sophie,” said Trace. He curved his arm about her shoulders, a very protective gesture.

Eight years separated them, but he was her big brother and had always looked out for her. His expression questioned her sanity. He waited patiently for her to explain.

“I love volleyball but seldom get to play,” she said. “I’m too shy, too short, and too clumsy. I was able to buy into the tournament. I bid on Dune, and we’re now partners.”

Dune cut her a look. “I had no idea you were a Saunders.”

“My money’s not good enough to support your town?” Her boldness surprised not only her, but the others, as well. She wasn’t known for raising her voice. She’d never stood up to anyone, yet she refused to back down now. The tournament was all-important to her. This was her weekend with Dune.

“You spent a lot of money,” said Shaye.

“It was mine to spend,” Sophie justified. “My trust fund’s collected a lot of dust.”

“Sophie, Sophie,” Trace said, unable to wrap his mind around her bid. “Dune’s injured, and you’ve only played volleyball twice in your life.”

“That’s three times, including tomorrow,” she said.

“I wish you’d reconsider,” said Trace. “You fly like Peter Pan.”

Dune wasn’t a whim. He fascinated her. He had for years. “I’m not changing my mind.”