“Know what, Ana?”

“What?” She slipped off one shoe and shook sand out of it.

“I like you.”

Her head snapped up and her bare foot dangled a few inches above the sand. “You sound surprised.”

He laughed. “I guess I am.”

“That’s because I’m a woman, yet you’re seeing past what I look like on the outside.”

“It’s a shame that people let appearance count for so much, isn’t it?”

She bent down to replace her shoe. “Yes, it is,” she murmured quietly. She guessed that he was thinking Ana Ramsey had been denied happiness because she was plain. Little did he or anyone else realize that beauty could bring its own kind of unhappiness.

“Did you let me win?” he asked suspiciously.

“Sure.”

“That’s sexist, too, you know.”

“Our friendship is so new, I didn’t want anything to upset the balance.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. If it had been any woman other than Ana Ramsey, Trent would have thought she was flirting.

“Ready to do some distance?”

“You betcha.”

He set out at a run, and she fell into step with him. Before they had gone far, she realized just how outclassed she was. She waved him on, panting, “Go ahead, take your time, I’ll wait here,” before collapsing onto the hard-packed sand.

It was almost a half hour before he returned. He cooled down, jogging in ever-smaller circles around her, before finally dropping down beside her.

“If I had a lily to stick in your hands, you’d be the picture of a cartoon corpse,” he teased. She was lying flat on her back, ankles crossed, hands folded over her tummy.

“Be quiet. I’m napping.”

“Good idea.” He lay down and stretched out beside her. “The sand’s still cool.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

He studied her profile. Rolling to his side, he propped his hand in his palm. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Stunned by his words, she turned her head. “What?”

“I think there’s some deep, dark mystery lurking in your past.”

“Don’t talk crazy.” She turned her face skyward again.

“Some sadness.”

“No more than most people experience.”

“What are you doing sequestered in my aunt’s house, Ana?”

“What are you doing there?”

“You know what I’m doing there-letting my shoulder heal. I was living too hard in Houston, not getting enough rest.”

“Why didn’t you just discipline yourself?”

“I’ve got a weak character.”

She laughed softly at his confession. “When Ruby told me you’d be staying temporarily, I thought you were probably hiding from a greedy ex-wife and her divorce lawyer.”

He noticed that her breasts moved slightly when she laughed. Once a sexist, always a sexist, he thought ruefully. But, hell, he was a man, wasn’t he? “I’ve never been married.”

“No?” she asked, looking at him again.

“No. How about you?”

“I was married. Years ago. When I was very young.”

That surprised him. And more than mildly. He was even more certain than ever that there was more to this woman than she let on. “Hm.”

She rolled to her side to face him. “‘Hm.’ How eloquent. But you can forget what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“That I’m nursing a broken heart and trodden spirit because a rotten husband did me wrong.”

“Isn’t that the way the song goes?”

“Not in this case. When my marriage was dissolved, it was by mutual agreement, a decision based on what was best for both of us.”

“Then you still haven’t answered my question, although I congratulate you on trying your damnedest to sidetrack me. What are you doing in hiding?”

“I’m not in hiding!” The vehemence of her protest betrayed just how accurately he had hit the target.

“Come on, Ana. An intelligent, attractive, talented woman like you doesn’t take up residence in a boardinghouse with an elderly lady unless she’s forced to do so.”

“I wasn’t forced. It’s by choice that I’m here. And you didn’t think I was attractive until this morning, when you decided to be my friend rather than an oversexed nuisance.”

“I’ve always thought you were attractive.” As he spoke the words aloud, he realized they were true. In the strictest sense of the word, he had been attracted to Ana Ramsey

from the moment he’d first seen her. “All right, granted, your clothes leave a lot to be desired,” he said in response to her dubious expression “and you’re not… not…”

“Pretty,” she supplied bluntly, enjoying his discomfiture.

“Not in the classical sense, no. But I like being around you. And don’t start in on that sexist, chauvinist junk again. I’m complimenting you in a purely platonic way. I like be in with you. I’m relaxed with you in a way I can’t be with any other woman of my acquaintance, because I’m under no pressure to maintain my macho image. Do you know

what a pain that is to live up to?”

“I can imagine,” she said distractedly. She, of all people, knew what it was to live up to an image, but her mind wasn’t on that… because at that moment she realized that they were lying face to face on the lonely beach very much like lovers. Her body was feeling mellow and warm. And seconds before he had complained about having to live up to a macho image, she had been thinking just how beautiful his muscular body was.

She liked the tangy smell of his healthy sweat mingled with the salt air, liked the tumbled disarray of his wind- tossed hair, liked the way individual grains of sand clung to his damp skin. Her mouth went dry as her eyes traced the pattern of his chest hair. It swirled around neat, flat nipples and spread over his chest like a dark net.

“Well, it’s a real pain,” he continued, unaware of the delicious tingling his body was causing in her tightening nipples. “Because I’m a single, professional jock with a swinger’s reputation, every woman I’m around expects me to… well, perform. It’s nice to have somebody like you just to talk to.” He raked his hand down his face. “Jeez, talk about a jerk. Don’t I sound like one now? It’s just that I don’t remember a time I’ve lain in the sand with a woman and not made love to her.”

The forbidden, unthinkable idea took hold as they lay there looking at each other. Even if their bodies didn’t participate, their minds indulged, engaging in erotic fantasies.

She thought about touching him, about laying her hands on his chest and moving her fingers through his fleecy chest hair.

And he thought about slipping his hands beneath the top of her gray sweat suit and discovering the shape of her breasts.

She thought about the brevity of his shorts and what was beneath them.

And he thought about kissing her, of introducing his tongue into her mouth to see what she tasted and felt like.

She thought about him rolling her to her back and covering her with his hard, powerful body, entwining his legs with hers.

And he thought about rolling her to her back and covering her tall, slender frame, entwining his legs with hers.

Suddenly the mental images began to have profound physical effects that were too much for either of them to bear.

He reacted first, jumping to his feet and extending his hand to help her up. She looked at his hand for a hesitant moment before accepting it.

His long, hard fingers, accustomed to grasping a football, wrapped around her hand and held it as they strolled back to the car. He kept the conversation lively and jocular, because he felt guilty about thinking of her as a sex object.

Mentally Rana shook herself, forcibly shrugging off the sexual arousal that had held her captive. She and Trent were buddies, friends, pals. That was what she had wanted, what she had demanded. No entanglements with men for Rana. Uh-uh. And for Miss Ramsey, such romantic notions were out of the question.

Trent paid lip service to seeing past a woman’s looks now, but in a week or two, when that virile body got hungry, he wouldn’t select a Miss Ramsey to satisfy its sexual appetite.