Read Online Club Cupid by Stephanie Bond - Free Book Online

brought the bottle to her mouth and drank deeply. The wind had picked up a bit, carrying sand and teasing the ends of his drying hair. Her unspoken words hung in the air between them. And you’re a bartender.
    “That’s right,” he said cheerfully, as if he’d read her mind. “I corrupt souls, and he saves them. Fork?” He handed her a tiny two-prong utensil, then pulled a white net sack out of the cooler, heavy with shiny red-shelled delicacies.
    “Crab legs?” she murmured in delight. “I’m impressed. All we’re missing is drawn butter.”
    In answer, he lifted a small plastic container. “A few minutes in the sun, and we’ll have warm, drawn butter for dipping.”
    Amazed, she shook her head as he leaned to the side, stretching to set the bowl on a smooth rock in the sun, just outside their little island of shade. Frankie inhaled the fresh air and stared up into swaying palm fronds. She couldn’t believe how her life had changed in the last few hours. By all rights, she should be insane with worry over losing those documents, but Randy Tate, Good Samaritan and self-proclaimed Conch, was having a decidedly calming effect on her.
    “I think I’ll have a beer after all,” she ventured. For Oscar, she thought guiltily, who’d asked her to have a drink for him. Of course, he might not appreciate the fact that she was having his drink with a half-naked sun god.
    Her companion nodded, then decapitated a second iced bottle and handed it to her. Frankie sniffed the musky aroma, then lifted the bottle to her mouth tentatively under his amused gaze. The cold liquid splashed down her throat smoothly, the full bloom of the nutty bittersweet taste flowering on her tongue only after she swallowed. Her grimace elicited a laugh from Randy as he situated the bag of crab legs between them.
    “The last drink will taste much better than the first,” he promised with an easy grin. He cracked a fat crab leg in several places with his strong fingers, and offered her the succulent prize.
    Her mouth already watering, Frankie separated the broken shell and used the miniature utensil to pull out a chunk of white meat as thick as herthumb. Unwilling to wait for the butter, she plunged the morsel into her mouth, moaning with pleasure. “This is wonderful,” she said thickly.
    Randy’s eyes danced as he forked a piece into his mouth. “Nothing better than long, tasty legs.” His hungry gaze flicked over her gams, and Frankie swallowed the second bite without chewing.
    To keep from replying, she took another drink from the mahogany-colored bottle. He was right—the beer tasted better this time.
    “Who’s Oscar?”
    She blinked. “Hmm?”
    Randy tossed a spent crab leg aside and cracked another. “The guy you called to wire you money. Boyfriend?”
    Frankie swallowed and attempted an offhand laugh. “O-Oscar? Not really.”
    “Good. Otherwise I’d have to question your judgment.”
    She bristled. “Why?”
    A few strands of shiny pecan-colored hair fell over his ear as he passed her a crab leg, then retrieved the bowl of butter. He seemed to take his time removing the lid with his wide, blunt-tipped fingers, and she unwittingly followed every move. “Because,” he said with a lazy grin, “the man would have to be downright stupid to let you go on a cruise by yourself.”
    For a few seconds, Frankie basked in the heat of his compliment, experiencing a rush of pure feminine satisfaction. Then a stubborn sense of loyalty seized her. “As a matter of fact, Oscar wanted to come with me, but I convinced him we both couldn’t be spared from the project.”
    He laughed. “And good old Oscar went along with that?”
    Frankie frowned. “Of course. He’s a responsible man.”
    “Can’t get up the nerve to tell him you’re not interested?”
    Her acute anger triggered a flash of reality, during which she looked at the situation through Randy Tate’s eyes: she was a stranded, half-dressed tourist, seemingly ripe for the