Free Tryst by Cambria Hebert Page B

climb it that way.
    Can I just say I learned two things:
    1. I hated cats.
    2. I had no idea how strippers “worked” a pole because it wasn’t easy.
    I released the pole and stood staring up at the cat. He gave me a pitiful meow , and I rolled my eyes. “Sure, now you want my pity.”
    There was really only one thing to do. Call the fire department. Maybe they would send out some hot, muscle -bound guy with a ladder that I could ogle as he saved the day.
    “Ha!” I told the cat. “Who has the last laugh now?”
    I turned away, toward my house to get my cell phone. I heard the sound of a slamming door, but I didn’t bother to turn and look.
    “What the hell is going on out here!” roared a vaguely familiar voice.
    I stopped in the sand.
    It couldn’t be…
    “Who the hell are you?” he roared.
    I spun on my heel.
    Blond hair flopped into his eyes, unshaven jaw, chiseled cheekbones, hulking shape…
    It was the guy from last night.
    I could only pray he didn’t recognize me.
    “My cat is stuck .” I pointed up at Salty. “I was just going to call the fire department.”
    “You just can’t stay out of trouble , can you?” He crossed his arms over his very broad chest. His very naked, smooth chest.
    Holy suntanned muscles.
    So much for him not remembering me. “It’s not my fault he raced up that pole like some circus act.”
    “He was no doubt trying to get away from you,” he muttered, staring up at Salty. Then he looked back at me. “That’s your cat?” he asked, his voice filled with doubt.
    “It’s my Aunt Ruth’s cat .” I clarified. He didn’t need to know she wasn’t my aunt. “I’m housesitting for her.”
    “You’re living next door?” He said it like it was the most annoying thing in the world.
    “I’m just visiting.”
    “Yeah?” He sauntered over toward me. The wind off the water blew around us, ruffling the blond hair around his head, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his very well-defined chest shifted as he moved.
    Instead of staring at his rock-hard body , I looked at his face, taking in the features I wasn’t able to see last night.
    His eyes were blue. Like a deep ocean blue. His skin was tan, the kind of tan one only got from living at the beach , and judging from the lightness of his eyebrows, he was a natural blond. He looked like he was born and raised in the sand. His skin was smooth and his biceps were round and solid.
    He drew closer, towering over me like he was some giant and I was his dinner. Those beautiful blue eyes were narrowed and from this distance , I could see they were slightly bloodshot.
    Maybe he was an alcoholic. But weren’t alcoholics friendly?
    “Let me fill you in on how things work around here,” he said, stopping so we were practically toe-to-toe.
    His breath didn’t smell like alcohol. It smelled like coffee. The big , fat jerk had coffee and I didn’t.
    “This is a quiet stretch of sand. All the people in this area live here, year round. We mind our own business . We stay out of each other’s way. We definitely do not let our cats loose and then come out on the sand at the crack of dawn, bellowing like some kind of crazy person.”
    “What are you, like , the beach police?” I retorted. I held up a hand. “No wait, I know. You’re neighborhood watch.” I couldn’t help it. I giggled.
    Judging from the dark scowl on his face, he wasn’t amused.
    I sighed, he was totally ruining my whole “new day” approach to life this morning. “I have no intention of disturbing your peace. It’s the reason I’m here too. I’ll just call the fire department, get my cat, and we won’t have to see each other ever again.”
    I spun to go inside and get my phone. Just like last night , he stopped me. This time, instead of taking my wrist, he palmed my hand, pulling me back around. I yelped and pulled my hand away, shaking it a little as if to get rid of the pain.
    “What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, his