Sam sprung away from the woman in the red bikini, nearly dropping her on the floor. He had no idea where to look or what to do with his hands.

Not true. He wanted to put them back on her sumptuous body—the one he'd only just begun to explore. But the sound of his new boss's voice had interrupted the treasure hunt.

He had only been employed by Mrs. Marino for a few days, yet her loud tone was instantly identifiable. Not able to meet her eyes and hoping in vain she didn't recognize him, he studied the ground.

"Oh, here it is!" exclaimed his partner in crime, a little too much excitement in her voice. "My contact. I found it!"

The ruse was pretty lame. Sam had no doubt the resort owner couldn't have missed their entwined bodies searching for something else altogether.

He glanced over to find his kissing partner on the floor, on her knees. A flash went through his mind of something else he would rather her be doing down there, but that wasn't going to happen. Not right now, at any rate.

"Thanks for your help, young man."

Young man? He couldn't be much younger than her, this crimson-clad stranger, around whom all sense of willpower had evaporated with one come-hither stance. Still, he chose to play along.

"You're welcome."

His mumbled response didn't receive a reply. As usual, the help was quickly forgotten in the presence of another client. Mrs. Marino helped the woman upright and he moved away from them, toward the door.

"Oh, Brenda, hey. I didn't know you were around today," his temporary paramour exclaimed, a little over-exaggerated. He assumed discretion was the better part of valor and left, slipping through the curtains and into the space between the cabanas.

The bright sunlight accosted Sam as he hit the hot pool deck. The bar area beckoned, offering sanctuary and the opportunity to lie low. In truth, as he nodded at Ryder—the other bartender on duty—Sam decided he really needed a drink.

He poured himself a tall glass of papaya juice, refraining from adding a shot or two of vodka. There had already been enough club rules broken today. No need to give his new boss any more reasons to fire him. He needed this job.

Since losing his last position, money was always on his mind. Being homeless in Southern California wouldn't be so bad; it didn't really get cold in this part of the country. Not like back home, where winter was a real season, with snow measured in feet and water turning to ice in more than just drinking glasses. Yet, he didn't relish living on the beach. A big brand-name gym had opened up down the boardwalk and with more customers flocking to the dollar-a-month membership fee, the independent gym he'd been working at was forced to cut staff. With no seniority, he'd been the first man out.

He'd enjoyed being a gym instructor. The job had given him a sense of worth and losing his means of income had hit him hard. The owners had said they intended to hire him back when business got better. Things hadn't improved and he'd been forced to search for another way to bring in the dough.

Used to starting anew, he'd found other ways of getting his hands on cash. Discovered how to be resourceful. In the past, he'd learned a hard lesson about relying on the kindness of others—or their notion of obligation—to make ends meet. That "kindness" came with strings attached. Or, in Sam's case, big heavy ropes, the kind usually attached to anchors. He'd made a choice to be anchor-free.

The stretch between jobs had been longer this time, and with his savings gone, he was living paycheck to paycheck. And since most of his pay went to rent, the money left over didn't leave a lot for incidentals like food.

Access to free sustenance was a perk of the new job, the all-inclusive nature of the resort extended to the staff as well as the guests. One simply had to go about it the right way. One of those ways was to make friends with the other staff members.

For most of his life, finding friends had never been much of a problem. He wasn't sure why; it just always happened. Of course, he wasn't naïve enough to believe his good looks were appreciated by all types of folks. In Sam's mind, he was more boyish rogue than classic Hollywood stud, yet he was able to use it to his advantage. "Boyish" was approachable. "Boyish" was forgiven for silly blunders—like getting caught making out with the guests.

Sam sipped the cool juice and licked his lips. His mind filtered back to recent events in the cabana. The taste of the woman's mouth on his, the sensation as he ran his hands over her silky-smooth skin, the way her body fit when crushed against his.

The moment he'd turned and noticed her sitting on the lounger, he'd been struck with a need to be with the bikini-clad woman. It had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He'd almost had to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder and taking her back to his cave to have his way with her. What had she done to him?

He gulped the rest of the chilled contents of the glass, attempting to extinguish the reignited fire. One glass wouldn't do it. He refilled the cup then downed it as well. Poured a third glass. This woman had stirred up a permanent volcano under his skin.

It wasn't like him to walk away from his responsibilities for the promise of sex, but one look from her and all reason had flown out the window. He couldn't quite believe what had happened. If his boss hadn't interrupted them, sex was where they were headed. He was sure of that.

What got him the most was when she'd smiled at him. A beautiful smile. One capable of stopping an elephant in its tracks. Yet, behind the expression, he'd sensed sadness. No, desolation. His longing intensified, shifting to an immediate need to protect her, to do whatever he could to make her better. Even if it involved nothing more than holding her hand.

This new rush of sensation had thrown him off balance. His feet had betrayed his eagerness, causing him to stumble as he'd crossed the pool deck. How could a stranger have such an effect on him?

By the champagne flutes, Ryder leaned against the bar, arms folded, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "See you've met Ms. Stinson."

Sam squeezed his glass. Had he witnessed the seduction? Seemed so. "Who is she?"

"The woman I'm going to marry, once she notices me of course." Ryder, normally a man of many grunts and few words, went Shakespearean on him. "Her name is Ali Stinson, but up until a few months ago, she was Mrs. Jack Blackhorne."

"Someone walked away from her?" Sam couldn't understand how she could be divorced.

"Dude, tell me about it." Ryder's noggin swung like a bobblehead. "I mean, the guy has enough money, he could bag any woman he wanted. Still, that woman is fine." He elongated the last word for effect.

Ali came from money. It wasn't surprising, given the outfit she wore. He wasn't a connoisseur of woman's clothing, but one of his first jobs after arriving in LA had been an assistant to a famous fashion designer, sourcing fabric and keeping her fueled with coffee.

The business intrigued him, always on the search for what to do with his new life. He'd paid attention to what people reacted to, where price points broke, and he had learned how to tell quality from flashy trash. Ali oozed quality. Not many people would probably notice the difference, but he'd bet his last dollar she'd scoured the universe to find the red lipstick coating her lips. A perfect match for her bikini. In a past life, he'd talked daily to women like her, and to them, these little things mattered as much as world peace.

"So, this Blackhorne guy is rich?" asked Sam.

"Rich? No. Jack Blackhorne blew past 'rich' when he was still in diapers. Boatloads of money. Armadas. The family is in pharmaceuticals. Been making money off other people's pain for decades." Ryder lowered his voice. "I overheard Mrs. Marino saying even though Ms. Stinson got everything she asked for in the divorce, including the mansion and a bunch of other big-ticket items, this wasn't even a drop in the bucket for her ex-husband. Said he wouldn't even notice the change in his bottom line."

Sam did his best not to roll his eyes. In this world, there were a few people with far too much money and too many people with far too little.

"Rumor has it," continued Ryder, "Blackhorne only married her for her family connections. The Stinson family has a lot of blue blood running through it, if you get what I mean."

Sam tried not to wince. He grasped exactly what Ryder meant.

Why did pedigree hold so much weight in this world? Just because some dead relative decided 250 years ago to be a rebel and board a boat called Mayflower to start a new life in this country, their descendants were afforded some upper-class status. Hell, this country tore down its history daily to build bigger and better buildings. For some reason, membership in the blue-blooded elite club got you through doors no amount of money could.

"The Blackhornes are new rich, and apparently Jack has big plans when it comes to politics," Ryder confirmed. "Ms. Stinson was supposed to be his ticket. The man throws it all away to screw around with his secretary. Dumb, dude. So dumb."

Sam agreed. The information regarding Ali's ex-husband was interesting, but he wanted to understand more about the woman herself. Such as, was she a regular at the club? Before he had to ask, Ryder filled in the gaps.

"So, anyway, she's, like, single now. And loving the new life, according to Mrs. Marino. From what I see, I'd agree. The woman has an easy time of it. You know she has three of those cabanas permanently rented for her? Likes her space from the 'regular' guests. Spends her days strutting around in the sexiest stuff you have ever spotted. She has this one white outfit, man, it would make a blind man salivate."

The back of Sam's neck tingled in ire, not appreciating the way Ryder spoke about Ali, as if she was a piece of meat to be ogled. This time, he did steer the conversation in another direction, cutting Ryder short by asking how well Ali was acquainted with the boss.

"Dude, those two are thick as thieves. When Mr. Marino isn't around, Ms. Stinson spends a lot of time here with the boss's wife."

This was music to his ears. At last, Sam discovered the news he wanted. Ali would be coming back to the resort. He would have another opportunity to...well, he wasn't sure what, but he wanted a chance to try something. It's not like he could ask her on a date.

He'd just about managed to cool himself down when he spotted a certain red bikini heading straight for him.