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dubbed “Most Serious Senior” in her high school yearbook. But Mitch’s laughter made her feel like Lucille Ball reincarnated.
    “Maybe not,” he said between hoots, “but have you ever tumbled naked on a beach with Raoul?”
     
    It had been a long time since anyone had brought a smile to Mitch’s face, much less made him laugh as easily as this woman had tonight. But when the muscles in Claire’s back tensed beneath his fingers, Mitch suddenly sensed the tug-of-war going on in her head. He chided himself for causing it. She was right to resist. They were strangers…and he was out of line.
    Mitch listened to the staccato beat of rain against the roof, remembering the kiss they’d just shared, the way his heart had slammed against his chest at that first tentative touch of their lips, the desire that had risen like an almighty wave to consume him. He removed his arm from her shoulder. “I wasn’t implying we should go to bed together.”
    “You weren’t? I mean, I just thought…” She groaned. “Boy, oh, boy, I really put my foot in it this time.”
    “Not that the idea of sleeping with a sea goddess doesn’t appeal to me, but what I really had in mind was raiding the refrigerator and pantry.”
    “Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’m starved. Let’s make a game of it. I can guess what I’m eating.”
    Mitch found his way slowly into the tiny adjoining kitchen. He rummaged around in the dark, then returned minutes later with paper goods, a bottle of wine, and a sack full of assorted stuff from the pantry. After some awkward maneuvering in the dark, they sat opposite each other in the middle of the floor, the groceries between them.
    “Ready for a taste test?” Mitch asked, straining to see, hoping for more than the occasional hint of her vague silhouette.
    “Bring it on.”
    “Hold your nose.”
    “Why?”
    “The smell might give it away.”
    There was a pop, then a crackling of paper. Mitch grinned. “Here you go.”
    “You sure I won’t regret this?”
    “Trust me.” Her breath fanned warm against his hand as she took a bite.
    “Ughh! It tastes like a cracker topped with slimy dead fish smothered in mustard.”
    “It is a cracker topped with dead fish smothered in mustard. Sardines.” He heard a sputtering sound and guessed she had spit the sardines into the napkin he’d shoved into her hand. “I take it you don’t like them?”
    “You take it right. By the way, next time you say to trust you, I’ll think twice.”
    They continued their picnic, concluding with wine from paper cups. And sometime during it all, every ounce of tension Mitch had carried around since arriving on the island slipped free and disappeared. The tile floor was cool beneath his skin. He leaned back on his forearms, full and content. “How about some music?”
    “Don’t tell me. In addition to being a cameraman and a junk-food connoisseur, you’re also a musician.”
    “Afraid not. But I do have a radio. Battery operated.” Mitch gathered up their trash and set it aside. He scooted backward toward the couch, then felt around atop an end table until he located the small radio. After switching it on; he turned the dial. “Let’s see, our musical options are Reggae, reggae, or reggae. And all with a good deal of static. What’s your pleasure?”
    “Reggae would be nice.”
    “Good choice. I was afraid you might say Tejano, considering all that Latin blood running through your veins.”
    The sound of her laughter aroused him. That wouldn’t have worried him much if it were only lust stirring. While his rationality battled his instincts, he sat back and listened to the music.
    After a minute, Mitch felt her fingers brush his arm. “Let’s dance,” she said.
     
    The shorts Claire had borrowed from Mitch after her shower hung loose on her hips. Through the fabric of her T-shirt, she felt his hands, large and warm against her back. Because of her bandaged foot, she couldn’t dance to the wild beat of