The Soldier's Twin Surprise. Judy Duarte

Clay took a sip of his cola, wishing he’d gotten another beer instead.

      “I’m surprised she let you play football,” Rickie said.

      He laughed. “I grew up in Texas. We love high school football.”

      “You’re damn straight,” Rickie said. “Friday Night Lights and all of that. Did your mom go to your games?”

      “Hell, she sat in the front row for every single one. And once, when I was sacked especially hard, she ran out on the field to make sure I was okay. The coach had to tell her to back off and return to the bleachers.”

      Again there went that pretty, heart-strumming smile that lit her honey-colored eyes. “Your poor mom.”

      “Maybe so. But she would have been better off having a girl.” One like Rickie, who would have enjoyed baking cookies with her or sitting in a cozy chair reading storybooks. A girly-girl who wouldn’t mind sticking around the house all day instead of messing around with the guys and getting ready to jump on any wild-ass idea that Clay or his friends thought would be fun and exciting.

      “Hey, Bullet!”

      At the sound of Poncho’s voice, Clay looked over his shoulder to see his buddy manning the grill. The ladies had moved over to the grassy area, too. And from the looks of it, the evening’s festivities had begun.

      “The hot dogs are just about ready,” Poncho called out. “Come and get ’em.”

      “I’ll bring a couple of plates back for us,” Clay told Rickie.

      When he returned, one plate was loaded with hot dogs. The other held a couple of paper cups filled with condiments.

      “Oh my gosh.” Rickie laughed. “Who do you expect to eat all of that?”

      He shrugged. “I thought you’d want more than one.”

      “No, I’m not very hungry—or a big fan of food that comes wrapped in a bun.”

      He handed her the empty plate. She took it, then reached for a hot dog from the stack. When he sat beside her, this time sitting on the edge of her towel, he asked, “So what kind of food do you like?”

      “Anything served in a tortilla.”

      “Tacos and burritos, huh? I like Mexican food, too.” Clay reached for a hot dog, just as Duck turned up his iPod, which he’d programmed with all his favorite country-western tunes.

      “Ooh,” Rickie said. “I love Toby Keith.”

      “Me, too. Apparently we have a lot in common.”

      “We do?”

      Clay nodded. “We both grew up in small Texas towns. And we like football, Mexican food and country-western music.”

      “That’s true,” she said.

      Rickie was a girl after his own heart—at least for the rest of the weekend. He was batting a thousand when it came to finding things to like and admire about a woman he wasn’t ever going to see again.

      Yet that didn’t matter. Not on a night like this. Maybe it was the tropical breeze, the moonlight glistening on the water or the soft sounds of a sultry ballad that played in the background.

      Hell, maybe it was her. Or just him.

      Whatever it was, the air was filled with sexual promise.

      A glance at his buddies proved that. They’d already formed couples.

      Had Rickie noticed? Was she feeling it, too?

      As another tune began to play, something alluring and suggestive, Clay cut a glance at Rickie and tried to read her mood. She was still seated, but she’d closed her eyes and was gently swaying to the music.

      Clay got to his feet, and when she looked up at him, he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

      Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she was going to decline. But she surprised him by slipping her hand in his and letting him draw her to her feet, away from the light—and the others.

      * * *

      Clay couldn’t believe his luck. He’d wanted to get his hands on Rickie ever since he first laid eyes on her, and now he was dancing with her in the sand.

      She felt so good in his arms. Their swimsuits left little to the imagination and didn’t provide much of a barrier, so he held her skin to skin.

      The coconut scent of her sunblock mingled with the tropical fragrance of her shampoo, something floral. It was an interesting combination. And intoxicating.

      Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against his chest, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. But they weren’t just swaying to the music, lulled by the beat. There was a lot more than that going on. Pheromones filled the night air, and his hormones were pumped and at the ready.

      He ran his hands along her back and over the tiny bow she’d tied to hold her bikini top in place. It wouldn’t take much to remove it. Just a little tug on one of the strings.

      It might be a tempting thought, but it wasn’t one he’d put into action. Instead, he continued to caress her sun-kissed skin until he came dangerously close to the small piece of red fabric that barely covered her lovely backside. It took all he had to refrain from moving lower, from stroking her...

       Watch yourself, man. Don’t ruin the moment.

      He wished it would last forever, but it wouldn’t. Minutes from now, the last chords of this song would fade. Then they’d return to where they’d been sitting in the sand. Or maybe Rickie would say good-night and leave him out here alone.

      If that happened, he’d deal with it. Like they said, all good things must come to an end.

      And then they did. All too quickly. The music that followed the love song had a lively beat, one that lent itself to a Texas two-step. Something better suited for a crowded dance floor on a rip-roaring Saturday night than a moonlit tropical beach.

      Rickie was the first to draw away, breaking their embrace and dashing the romantic mood—until Clay took a close look at her face in the soft amber glow of a distant porch light.

      When she looked up at him and smiled, his body hardened with desire for her, and he damn near stopped breathing.

      “What do you think?” she asked. “Should we take this inside?”

      “Good idea.”

      Granted, she might only be suggesting that they go indoors, turn on her favorite playlist and dance in private, but right now, with his hormones raging, he’d follow her anywhere.

      She took him by the hand, led him across the grass and to the front of the bungalow. After opening the door, she stepped inside and flipped on the light switch. He followed her in.

      He still wasn’t sure what she had in mind until she crossed the room, headed for the sliding glass door that provided a beach view and drew the shutters, securing their privacy.

      Apparently, they were both on the same page. He scanned the single room that provided a sitting area, a kitchen and a double bed. It was small, but nice. Clean and cozy.

      He took a moment to check out the simple island decor, the framed surf posters, a watercolor of a sailboat on the high seas, a display of conch shells on a shelf near the wall-mounted television.

      “This place is pretty small,” Rickie said, “but big enough for me.”

      She’d implied earlier that someone might join her here. He suspected she hadn’t wanted him to think she was all alone. But apparently, she felt comfortable with him now.

      She closed the distance between them and studied his face, his mouth. She lifted her index finger and wiggled it at him. “You have a smidge of mustard on your lip. Do you mind if I...?”

      He probably ought