She was still wearing the blanket, and little grains of sugar glimmered like bits of crystal in her hair, in her eyebrows, on her skin. Barefoot, she made her way toward him through the clean brown sand.

“I’m sorry, Shay,” he said gruffly when she finally stood facing him, her wide hazel eyes unreadable. “I don’t believe I did this—”

She raised the fingers of one hand to his lips, silencing him. Hidden birds chirped in the towering pine trees that edged the beach; gulls squawked in the distance; the tide made whispery music against the shore. It was a poetic interlude where only the earth and the waters spoke.

A primitive, grinding need possessed Mitch; he wanted Shay, craved her. But he didn’t dare touch her, or even speak. How was he going to explain this?

Her fingers moved from his lips to caress his jawline and then trace the length of his neck. He shuddered with the aching need of her.

“They forgot to fill the water tank,” she announced.

Mitch had been expecting a glorious, violent rage, expecting anything but this inane remark. He gaped at her, and his breath sawed at his lungs as it moved in and out. “What?”

“There isn’t any water for the shower,” Shay answered, holding the blanket in place with one hand and stroking Mitch’s neck with the other. “In the RV, I mean.”

She was a constant surprise to Mitch; just when he expected her to be furious, she was quiet. Or was this just the calm before the storm? “A shower?” he echoed stupidly.

Shay’s lush lips curved into a smile. “If you’d just had a half ton of sugar dumped on you, you’d want a shower, too.”

His frustration doubled and redoubled. Was she tormenting him deliberately? Was she making him want her, just so she could exact revenge by denying him when his need was greatest? “Dammit, Shay, I just shanghaied you and you’re standing there talking about showers! Get back in the RV and I’ll take you home.”

The sweet lips made a pout. “I told you,” she said. “I’m covered with sugar. I can’t go home like this.”

It was revenge; Mitch was sure of it. He made a growling sound in his bafflement and started to turn away. She caught his arm in her small, strong hand and urged him back around to face her.

The blanket seemed to waft to the sand in slow motion and Mitch couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

Shay stood on tiptoe, and when her lips touched Mitch’s, he was lost. He groaned and gathered her to him with both hands, her soft flesh warm and gritty beneath his palms. He lowered her to the blanket, taking no time to smooth it, his mouth desperate for hers, his hands stroking her, shaping her for the taking. But he denied himself that possession, denied her, choosing instead to break the kiss and taste Shay’s sugared breasts, her stomach, her thighs.