“Maybe. He said he had to go into his office and ‘check some things’ and he promised to get back to me this afternoon with the details. In the meantime, to keep from going crazy with worry, he suggested I should go to the beach. To keep my mind off… things.”
Whelan sat up in his chair, took off his sunglasses, and considered her for a moment. Then he leaned over and gently kissed her on the lips.
“So, that’s all I am to you? A distraction?” He kissed her again before she could answer.
Traci found herself slowly leaning into Whelan, and the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, savoring the unexpected tenderness of his embrace.
After a moment, she reluctantly pulled away.
“Is this a good idea?” Her voice was shaky. Hell, her whole body was shaking, vibrating with a combination of lust and apprehension.
“Depends on your point of view,” he said. “It felt like a good idea to me, and I sorta got the general impression you were kinda into it too.”
“I kinda was,” she admitted, with a guilty smile.
She looked around. Their patch of beach was deserted, with the exception of a trio of seagulls who were pecking at something at the water’s edge.
“Nobody is watching us,” Whelan said, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Nobody cares. We’re just two adults, stealing kisses on the beach. What could be better?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No. You’re making it complicated. Here’s the deal. I like you, and you don’t seem to find me too repulsive…”
“Not repulsive. But you’re an employee. And this is against company policy. It’s right there in the employee handbook. Page four, paragraph seven.”
“‘The Saint discourages romantic relationships between employees and expressly forbids any expression of such relationships on company property,’” Whelan intoned.
“You looked it up?” Traci was impressed.
“And memorized it word for word.”
“But did you see the next paragraph? The one that says—”
He cut her off. “Supervisors are expressly forbidden from pursuing relationships with subordinates. Infraction of this policy will be grounds for immediate severance.”
Whelan flashed a wicked grin. “See, that’s not a problem. My supervisor is a grizzled sixty-year-old with a beer belly and a mullet, named Manny. And I am in no way interested in pursuing a relationship with him, nor he with me. In fact, he’s married.”
“But, I mean, we’re on company property,” she said feebly.
He got up and jogged over to theNO TRESPASSINGsign. A minute later, he was back. “According to that sign, this is Bonaventure County property.”
“Technically, I guess that’s true,” she admitted.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s cut the nonsense and go for a swim—at the non-Saint-owned beach. If you’re nice, I might let you demonstrate your lifesaving techniques on me.”
Traci let herself be dragged toward the water, her hand still clutched in his as they ran into the surf and leapt into the waves.
The shock of the cool water was delicious on her sun-warmed skin.
Whelan released her hand and she dove under, did a scissor-kick, and emerged from the water a few yards away from him.
He swam toward her, doing a lazy crawl.
“You look happy,” he said, when he reached her side.
She flung her arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard on the lips. “I am happy,” she said, surprising herself. “It’s crazy. My professional life is cratering, I might lose my hotel, but right now, in this moment, I feel happy. I’ve just kissed a hot guy, and I’m at the beach, in the ocean. I haven’t swum in the ocean in years. It feels amazing, and right now, that’s all I want to think about.”
Whelan pointed at his chest. “Hot guy, huh?”
