spoke intimately to each other.
Ah, young love, thought Chris Halloran as he watched them pass. Had he ever been in love like that? And once you lost it, could you ever get it back?
At the edge of the water, Audrey Vance stood barely covered by a pink bikini. Her slim, tanned legs were planted apart in the sand. She beckoned for Chris to come and join her.
Chris smiled at her and waved no thanks. Audrey was an actress who photographed like a dream, but couldn’t act her way into a high-school play. Thus, her appearances on various television series were mainly decorative. Chris had enjoyed her enthusiasm during their stay in Mazatlan, but he was beginning to think it was time he went back to work.
Audrey struck a pouting pose and shook her head at him in exasperation. Chris tipped the straw hat down over his eyes and lay back on the beach towel.
A moment later, cool droplets of saltwater splashed on his chest and stomach as Audrey stood over him shaking out her hair.
“Come on,” she said, “swim with me.”
“I’m resting.”
“Shit, you can rest any time. I want somebody to swim with me.” She reached down and lifted the hat from his eyes. “Maybe I’ll go and ask that beautiful young stud who works around here. That Roberto. I’ll bet he’d come swimming with me.”
“He might at that,” Chris said, “but you might have a problem with his girlfriend.”
“Come on, Chris, don’t be an old fart.” She kicked sand across his bare stomach, then ran lightly toward the water, laughing back over her shoulder at him.
With a sigh Chris pushed himself to his feet and jogged over the sand after the girl. While he was in Los Angeles Chris kept in shape with twice-weekly workouts at the gym, along with tennis and handball. Swimming, however, had never appealed to him. Even when he lived at the marina, he rarely used the swimming pool, and went to the beach only to play volleyball.
He followed Audrey as she splashed happily into the surf. The water was bathtub warm, and the waves were low and gentle. The girl swam easily ahead of him with long graceful strokes while he tried to keep up with his own windmilling version of the crawl.
Fifty yards offshore, Audrey stopped and waited for him, treading water. When he splashed up beside her she wrapped her arms and legs around him and gave him a big open-mouthed kiss. They sank together slowly below the surface:
Chris came up sputtering and blowing as the girl bobbed up like a dolphin beside him.
“What are you trying to do, drown me?” he said between coughs.
Audrey tossed the wet hair out of her eyes and laughed at him. Chris tried and failed to hold a stern expression.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said.
She swam over close to him and slipped one hand under the waist band of his trunks. “Have you ever screwed under water?”
“Sure, lots of times.”
Abruptly the girl’s mood changed. She backed off and looked at him. “You’ve done just every damn thing, haven’t you?” Without waiting for a response, she struck out toward the beach.
No, he thought as he swam slowly after her, not quite everything. Sometimes, though, it seemed he was trying. Until three years ago he had lived a fairly quiet bachelor life. He raised a little hell on weekends, did his share of womanizing, but on the whole led a life devoid of extreme highs and lows. Then came the urgent call for help from Karyn Beatty. Answering that call had plunged Chris into a night of hell in the mountain village of Drago, and had changed his life forever.
After the horror of Drago and the fire that destroyed it, there had been the nerve-shattering six months he and Karyn had spent trying to run away from it. When he finally returned to reality he had quit his job and gone into partnership with solid Walt Eckersall, who allowed him to take off two or three months a year. He had moved out of the swinging-singles apartment and rented a house in Benedict Canyon, where he could party
Ah, young love, thought Chris Halloran as he watched them pass. Had he ever been in love like that? And once you lost it, could you ever get it back?
At the edge of the water, Audrey Vance stood barely covered by a pink bikini. Her slim, tanned legs were planted apart in the sand. She beckoned for Chris to come and join her.
Chris smiled at her and waved no thanks. Audrey was an actress who photographed like a dream, but couldn’t act her way into a high-school play. Thus, her appearances on various television series were mainly decorative. Chris had enjoyed her enthusiasm during their stay in Mazatlan, but he was beginning to think it was time he went back to work.
Audrey struck a pouting pose and shook her head at him in exasperation. Chris tipped the straw hat down over his eyes and lay back on the beach towel.
A moment later, cool droplets of saltwater splashed on his chest and stomach as Audrey stood over him shaking out her hair.
“Come on,” she said, “swim with me.”
“I’m resting.”
“Shit, you can rest any time. I want somebody to swim with me.” She reached down and lifted the hat from his eyes. “Maybe I’ll go and ask that beautiful young stud who works around here. That Roberto. I’ll bet he’d come swimming with me.”
“He might at that,” Chris said, “but you might have a problem with his girlfriend.”
“Come on, Chris, don’t be an old fart.” She kicked sand across his bare stomach, then ran lightly toward the water, laughing back over her shoulder at him.
With a sigh Chris pushed himself to his feet and jogged over the sand after the girl. While he was in Los Angeles Chris kept in shape with twice-weekly workouts at the gym, along with tennis and handball. Swimming, however, had never appealed to him. Even when he lived at the marina, he rarely used the swimming pool, and went to the beach only to play volleyball.
He followed Audrey as she splashed happily into the surf. The water was bathtub warm, and the waves were low and gentle. The girl swam easily ahead of him with long graceful strokes while he tried to keep up with his own windmilling version of the crawl.
Fifty yards offshore, Audrey stopped and waited for him, treading water. When he splashed up beside her she wrapped her arms and legs around him and gave him a big open-mouthed kiss. They sank together slowly below the surface:
Chris came up sputtering and blowing as the girl bobbed up like a dolphin beside him.
“What are you trying to do, drown me?” he said between coughs.
Audrey tossed the wet hair out of her eyes and laughed at him. Chris tried and failed to hold a stern expression.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said.
She swam over close to him and slipped one hand under the waist band of his trunks. “Have you ever screwed under water?”
“Sure, lots of times.”
Abruptly the girl’s mood changed. She backed off and looked at him. “You’ve done just every damn thing, haven’t you?” Without waiting for a response, she struck out toward the beach.
No, he thought as he swam slowly after her, not quite everything. Sometimes, though, it seemed he was trying. Until three years ago he had lived a fairly quiet bachelor life. He raised a little hell on weekends, did his share of womanizing, but on the whole led a life devoid of extreme highs and lows. Then came the urgent call for help from Karyn Beatty. Answering that call had plunged Chris into a night of hell in the mountain village of Drago, and had changed his life forever.
After the horror of Drago and the fire that destroyed it, there had been the nerve-shattering six months he and Karyn had spent trying to run away from it. When he finally returned to reality he had quit his job and gone into partnership with solid Walt Eckersall, who allowed him to take off two or three months a year. He had moved out of the swinging-singles apartment and rented a house in Benedict Canyon, where he could party
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