Trading Places. Ruth Dale Jean

usually included Tabitha, unfortunately, but was otherwise enjoyable. In the afternoon, Alice swam, and when she swam Jed swam. He looked even better in a swimsuit than he did in the gym in shorts and T-shirt.

      Intermixed with this in coming weeks would be appointments. But instead of her going out, everyone would come to her: masseuse, hairdresser, nail technician—name it and someone would be there in a flash to polish or paint.

      This was easy! She could do this.

      Sharlayne, Alice decided, was little more than a canvas upon which professionals worked their magic. The basic canvas was good, but what those magicians achieved was true art.

      This existence was pure luxury, but nearing the end of the first week, Alice was already wondering if life in a gilded case was life at all.

      Rolling over on a canvas lounge next to the pool, she opened one eye. Jed sat on a nearby chair, writing on a clipboard balanced on one bare golden thigh. In repose, his face reminded her of a statue of a Greek god. In repose was the only way she’d seen it since their kitchen encounter.

      “What are you doing?” she asked.

      Without looking up, he said, “Working on the specifications for a new security system.”

      “Oh.” Bor-ring. “Would you mind rubbing a little more sunscreen on my shoulders? I feel like I’m burning.”

      He didn’t move. “You could get out of the sun.”

      “Too much trouble.” She wiggled deeper into her lounge. “Please? Pretty please with sugar on it?”

      “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

      He rose, towering over her, and she closed her eyes. “The sunscreen’s right there.”

      “I see it.” A moment’s silence and then his hands settled over the curve of her shoulders.

      She groaned. “That feels great,” she murmured, reveling in the firm manipulations of his hands on her bare skin. “Ummm…don’t miss anything. I don’t want to get burned.”

      “Seems unlikely.” He withdrew his touch and her eyes snapped open. “If anyone gets burned,” he muttered, “it’ll be me.” He squeezed a glob of sunscreen onto his hand and slapped it on his upper body.

      Then he grinned.

      She was certain she’d never seen a smile on his face before. Surely she’d remember it, for it carried more sheer star power than she was ready to handle. Lips parted, she watched him turn back to the clipboard.

      “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need to make a few calls to fill in the blanks on this.” He waved the clipboard. “If you need me, just sing out. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinner.”

      He moved outside her field of vision with the stride of a lion. He looked so good, so self-contained and in control, that it made her short of breath. Pushing up, she scooted around to plant her feet securely on the redwood deck.

      Light reflected off the glittering emerald pool nearly blinded her. Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes. She was playing with dynamite and she knew it.

      Sure, it was fun to flirt with such an attractive and uptight specimen of male pulchritude, especially knowing that whatever she did would be on Sharlayne’s head and not her own…so to speak. It kind of freed up the old libido.