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Trapped In Temptation #4

Sandy Duncan expects a nice, quiet vacation down at the beach. What she finds is trouble, and lots of it, but a handsome man offers to help her through her ordeals. She distrusts his intentions, but his warm heart and body tempt her to accept his offer. Their icy relationship melts to steam as he shows her how to live, and love, on the beach.

Publisher: Crescent Moon Studios, Inc.

There was the sand, surf, and the sensual feeling of the warm wind on my bare skin. Above me sat my handsome lover. He smiled and his teasing hand slid up my naked thigh. I groaned and leaned into his touch. His flesh against mine ignited a hot fire of lust inside me. Only he could quench the flames of my desire. If only he would take me and make me his. I would succumb to his soft touches, his sweet kisses, his burning eyes. Everything about him made me squirm and moan.
He chuckled and his fingers toyed with my thong. “Do you want more?” he whispered to me.
“Yes. . .” I murmured.
“One teaspoon or two?”
I blinked at my lover, and suddenly it wasn’t my lover. In his place was a man of about fifty with leathery skin and an impatient scowl. Gone, too, was my laying on the sandy beach. I stood on a boardwalk within spitting distance of the white sands of a long, crowded beach.


People walked to and fro, aware of the low sun in the eastern sky. The slim women showed off their fit forms and the young men sported swimming trunks and well-muscled bodies.
I wasn’t fit, nor was I quite prepared for the beach. Only an hour before I’d gotten off my plane and into this small, hot paradise. This was my vacation, and I started it by going to the first iced tea stand I could find.
“One teaspoon of sugar or two?” he persisted.
“Oh, um, two, please,” I replied. My lustful mind had wandered into erotic territory while waiting for my order. I blamed it on handsome men and the hot sun above me. “How far is it to the Lobster Bungalows?” I asked the iced tea stand vendor.
He nodded to the area over my left shoulder as he plopped in a couple more bits of sugar. “That way and about a mile along the beach. Can’t miss ‘em, or the check-in office. They’re colored red like an uncooked lobster.” He looked me over as I handed me the drink and I handed him my card. “You staying there long?”
“For a week,” I told him.
He raised an eyebrow and leaned over the long, narrow counter between us. “Those bungalows aren’t cheap,” he warned me.
I smiled and nodded. “I know. I saved up for a whole year to get one of them.”
“Well, hope you have a fun time,” he returned.
I hitched up my backpack that contained my earthly belongings and nodded. “Thanks. I hope I do, too.”
With my drink in hand I veered away from the vendor stand and faced the beach and the direction of my home-away-from-home. A winding path of weathered old boards wound along the top of the beach. I noticed most people avoided the boards and instead opted for the sand, but I didn’t know why until I walked across a dozen of them. Their wooden foundations were rotten so that half the boards shifted underfoot.
Unfortunately, I had my tennis shoes on and not my sandals, so the sand wasn’t the best option, or so I thought. I slipped and slid along the rotten boards until one particularly malevolent one slipped a few inches beneath me. That was enough to throw me off balance. I tipped over like the leaning tower of Pisa, but where it failed I succeeded. I would have fallen to the ground if a pair of strong arms hadn’t caught me.
I looked up into the smiling face of a handsome young man. He was about thirty years old with clear hazel eyes and sandy hair colored by the sun. His skin was tanned, and he had a smile that made my heart thump to the beat of a drum manned by a sugared-up monkey. The man wore swimming trunks, and nothing else.
He righted me back onto the boardwalk, but I was so dazed by his looks that I tripped and stumbled towards the sand on the other side of the plank walk.
“Whoa, easy there,” he teased as he caught me again.
His strong arms were soft to the touch, and the heat from his body slipped over into mine. I trembled at his gentle touch, and my body ached for more.
“I could get used to this. . .” I murmured.
“What was that?” he asked me.
I blushed and turned my attention to the interesting sand grains on the ground. “I-I just said thank you. For catching me.”
“Twice,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, twice,” I breathed. I was tempted to attempt this suicidal behavior a third time, just to get a nice, even number.
“You should watch where you step. These old boards don’t handle weight very well,” he advised.
His words were like claws across the sensitive tissue of my weight insecurity. I shrugged off his hands and stepped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I growled.
The smile didn’t slip from his lips as he held up his hands in front of himself and took a step back. “Not what you’re thinking. These boards are so old and rotten that a five-year old could make them bounce,” he assured me.
I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “But I’m not a five-year old, am I?”
He tilted his head to one side and allowed his eyes to sweep over my form. I blushed and, even though I was clothed in shorts and a shirt, I covered myself with my hands. “No, you’re much more of a woman than a five-year old.” He lowered his hands and nodded at my large, baggy shirt. “But why do you wear something like that? You’d look a lot better in a bikini.”
“Because the rest of the beach disagrees with you,” I snapped.
He folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his chin in one hand. “You know, I don’t know if your words are enough of a thank-you,” he mused.
I frowned and leaned back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He chuckled. “Not what you’re thinking, but I wish it was what I was thinking.”
“Y-you don’t even know me, but I think I’ve learned enough about you,” I quipped.
I spun so I faced forward and marched down the boardwalk. The planks decided to take away my dignity when one of them popped up beneath my foot. I yelped and fell-face first towards my woody arch-nemesis, but strong hands were once again there to rescue me. The stranger swept me into his arms so I was turned upward and faced his smiling face.
“You’re clumsy,” he teased.
“And you’re an ass,” I quipped.
“Then I wonder what you’ll think of this.” He swooped down and caught my lips in a searing, toe-tingling kiss.
Heat spread from our union down my body and pooled between my legs. A strong, desperate ache surged in my body, and I had to stifle a groan. I pushed him away and gasped for breath. My cheeks were flushed and my mind swirled with thoughts of silk bed covers and clothes on the floor.
The man chuckled. “Something wrong?”
I frowned and shoved my hands hard against his chest. We separated and I made sure to land solidly on my feet on the sand. “Nothing two hundred miles from you won’t fix,” I retorted.
I turned my back on him and headed down the beach, but I avoided using the boardwalk. In a few seconds I heard the sound of feet crunching on the sand behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and my face drooped when I noticed I had a familiar follower.
“I think I can handle myself,” I told the stranger.
He grinned back at me. “I don’t doubt it, but you’re going my way.”
I stopped and gestured down the beach. “Then ladies first,” I invited him.
He chuckled and bowed to me. “If you insist.” He tromped down the beach ahead of me, and didn’t look back. I almost wished he would have, but my stupid feminine pride told me to stop wishing for girlish fantasies of love.
I waited for him to round a sand dune fifty yards off before I followed. The winding edge of the beach took me around the same dune. The beach stretched out in front of me, but the stranger was gone. However, there were a few bungalows to my left and a hundred yards off that caught my attention. They were painted lobster-red.
I walked over to them and inspected my temporary abode. Each of the squat buildings, of which there was three, had a small open-sided deck that rose a foot off the ground. The buildings were positioned ten yards shy of the beach in the tall, scraggly beach grass. Their siding was made of salvaged wood taken from the beach, but there were new vinyl windows that had great views of the sand and ocean.
I felt fortunate to have one of these bungalows. There wasn’t another building as close to the beach as these ones. Even the new hotels had to keep a fifty-yard distance because of regulations. The Lobster Bungalows were over fifty years old and grandfathered in, and thus exempt from such restrictions.
I noticed one of the bungalows had a sign on the door. Check-in here. That was my target: the main office. I climbed the few rickety steps onto the porch, strode across the paint-peeled deck and knocked on the door. I started back when the door swung open and a woman stuck her head out.
She was about sixty with graying hair on her temples and a scowl on her lips. Her attire, a bikini and jean shorts, was the usual clothing for someone forty years her junior, and it showed. Her wrinkles poured over the top of her waistband and her-ahem, assets had depreciated a few decades before. She had a healthy tan that gave her skin a leathery look.
“Whadda ya want?” she growled.
“I-I’m here to check in for my reservation. My name’s Sandy Duncan,” I told her.
The woman frowned and raised her arm to look at her watch. I noticed there was a white patch of skin beneath her watch. “You’re early.”
“So my room isn’t ready?” I guessed.
She dropped her arm and looked at me with an indifferent expression. “Nope.”
“Should I come back in a few hours?” I suggested.
“Won’t be ready then, either.”
“When will it be ready?”
“Two weeks.”


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Mac Flynn
Mac Flynn