Music floated out of the lounge as they passed, and like lemmings to the sea, they were drawn in. They stood just inside the doorway watching couples move around the floor to the kind of soft, romantic music their parents had danced to a generation ago. He saw the wistfulness on her face, and he touched her bare arm.

"Come on," he said. "Let's dance."

It was a mistake. He knew it the instant that warm body melted into his and he forgot who he was, forgot who she was, remembered only that he was a man and she was a woman and she felt like heaven in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder while he tried to figure out where to put his hands. It wasn't an easy decision. The dress left her bare in all but the most crucial spots, and he finally gave in and rested both hands on the small of her back. Her heat pierced his fingertips and radiated into and through his body. Her hair smelled like violets. He fixed his eyes on a single freckle on her bare shoulder. Beyond it, in the heated spot where their bodies met, the dark hollow between her breasts was visible. He swallowed. Closed his eyes. Buried his face in her hair and clung to her in agony and ecstasy.

Until he could stand it no longer. "Babe," he whispered.

She looked at him, those green eyes hazy from the alcohol. "What?"

"I need some fresh air."

He let her go with a mixture of reluctance and relief. Side by side, they walked down to the beach, both of them thinking private thoughts they didn't choose to share. The alcohol had finally taken its toll, and she was wobbly on the heels. When they reached the sand, she bent and slipped them off. Dangling a sandal from each hand, she walked beside him, every so often listing in his direction. At the water's edge, she dropped the sandals and waded into the surf. He kicked off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs and waded in after her, water washing around his ankles. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he said to her retreating back, "where do you think you're going?"

"Swimming."

"You'll ruin your dress." Hands in his pockets, he watched her wading deeper. "Crazy broad," he said. She was in up to her knees, her dress bunched up around her thighs, a section of hem trailing in the water behind her. "Hey," he said, "that's far enough. Come on back now."

Still holding the dress, she braced her legs against the onrushing waves and turned to look at him. And smiled that Mona Lisa smile. "Come and get me," she said.

He grinned. "Oh," he said. "You're wanting to play games now, are you?"

He advanced on her and she backed away slowly, water lapping at her thighs, the white dress billowing and swirling around her. "Woman," he said, "you're about to fall on your pretty little ass."

"Hah! If I go down, hot stuff, you go with me."

"Too bad about the dress."

He lunged and missed. She shrieked and went over backward, disappearing for a moment before she came up laughing, water running off her like Niagara, that dress plastered to her body like a fresh coat of paint. He held out a hand and she took it, and he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

She gasped and clutched his shirt front in her fists. Heart hammering like a locomotive, he took his sweet time exploring those lush lips. She tasted of salt water and grenadine and warm, willing woman, and this was an even bigger mistake than the dancing had been because she was kissing him back for all she was worth, and he wasn't sure this time he could let her go.

Oh, Jesus, he thought. And finished it: Help me.