Free Five's A Crowd by Kasey Michaels Page B

last night. Thinks I’m a lucky, lucky man—then had me sign his sneaker.”
    Taylor sniffed as she began doing a few stretches of her own, never realizing that watching her body in motion could be as interesting to Holden as his exercises had been to her. “You are a lucky man. You’re still alive.”
    “Now, now, be nice, Taylor,” Holden said as they walked down the path to the sidewalk, heading for the beach to start their run. “After all, you’re going to have to unclench those fists long enough for me to slip a ring on your finger.”
    Taylor stumbled over a nonexistent bump in the sidewalk and nearly went sprawling before Holden caught her. This was going on too long, going to far—and she was going to put a stop to it, just as soon asshe figured out how. “There will be no ring,” she told him, suddenly breathless, not to mention nervous. “No ring, no engagement party, and definitely no flesh-colored leather wedding leotard. Or haven’t you heard that one yet?”
    “Tiffany,” he said, rolling his eyes as they climbed over the path cut into the dunes and entered the wide, deserted beach area. “She’s got a vivid imagination.”
    “She also has green hair, or so she promised before she went to bed last night. And another hole in her ear, courtesy of Honey Buns and his handy-dandy ear-piercing punch—he has his own, you understand. I like Tiffany, like her very much, but somebody has to sit on that kid—and soon.”
    “Love Buns.”
    Taylor looked at him quizzically as they neared the water’s edge, the rising sun painting a golden stripe from the horizon to the shore, turned toward the sky blue water tower in the distance and began to jog on the wet sand. “What?”
    “Love Buns,” Holden repeated. “You called Lance Honey Buns. But that’s all right. Anybody can make a mistake.”
    “Lance is a mistake,” Taylor groused, her ponytail slapping back and forth behind her as she lowered her head, ready to break into her first full-out run that would last a good two hundred yards. “Butthen, I imagine she’s only following in her father’s footsteps. It’s a shame. Now, I’m out of here!”
    H OLDEN LET HER GET a head start, because he could outrun her easily and because he enjoyed watching the way she moved—gracefully, like a young gazelle, all golden tan and honey hair, unaware or uncaring of her own beauty, her own attraction.
    Then, feeling the need to burn up some excess energy, he slowly accelerated, running as if the entire Dallas Cowboys defense was after him, holding an imaginary ball to his chest with his left hand, his right arm held out straight. He zigzagged down the beach, not stopping until he crossed the width of the sand to collapse on the steps leading to the very beginning of the boardwalk.
    Breathing heavily, and with his right shoulder aching—not that he’d tell Taylor that—he lowered his head to his bent knees and took in huge gulps of air, trying to slow his heartbeat.
    “Show-off,” Taylor said a few moments later, collapsing beside him on the wooden steps.
    “Show-off? What do you mean? I was just getting some of the kinks out.”
    “Sure,” Taylor agreed facetiously. “And those three drooling women up there behind us, freezing their very visible buns off trying to impress you, had nothing to do with those moves you were putting on,huh? I kept waiting for you to stiff-arm a sea gull, then spike the ball in the end zone.”
    Holden tipped his head back and looked up at the boardwalk. Sure enough, there stood three very lovely, very young, bikini-clad ladies posing against the railing. They immediately called to him by name and waved to him.
    Obviously, his presence in Ocean City had hit all the television stations, and the newspapers, as well.
    “Son of a gun,” he said, waving back, knowing he always noticed beautiful women. “I didn’t even see them. Must be getting old.” And then he frowned. Why hadn’t he seen them? Because you were too