experience.”
Translation: Tina didn’t get it and Gladys had given up. Poor Hank, Samantha thought, not envying his predicament. “So what’s the deal with this Belle of the Beach contest?” she asked after a moment. “I saw a flyer next to the front desk.”
Hank crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his eyes and snorted. “It’s hell.”
“Surely it’s not that bad. Business certainly seems to be booming.”
Hank blew out a heavy breath, rubbed a hand over his face. “It is, and it’s all due to the pageant. Nevertheless, I wish that Mayor Flannagin could have come up with another way to boost the end-season besides this.” He rolled his eyes. “Hell, anything but this.”
“Funny,” Samantha said. She arched a brow and regarded him with amusement. “I would have thought that a bunch of gorgeous women on your sand would have been right up your alley.”
He flashed a smile, unwittingly kicking her pulse into overdrive. “Me, too, but it’s not.” His altogether-too-hot gaze did a lengthy sweep over her body, causing a tornado of tingles in her belly. “You should enter.”
A nervous flutter winged through her chest. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nah,” she hedged. “I’m not the beauty pageant type.”
“You might be surprised,” Hank told her. “Besides, this is no ordinary pageant.” His amused gaze tangled with hers. “‘There’s more to being a Belle than just a pretty face.”’
Samantha grinned, recognizing the line from the flyer. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” he told her, warming to his subject. “The official contest kicks off tomorrow and secret judges will be milling around grading contestants on personality, charm, grace and graciousness. The final contestants will compete in Redneck Jeopardy. And there’s no swimsuit competition. Instead Belle contestants will have a fried chicken and iced tea cook off.”
“What?”
He nodded and poked his tongue in his cheek. “You heard me,” he repeated, laughing. “Hell, every southern belle should know how to fry chicken and make iced tea.”
“That is so sexist,” Samantha replied, appalled.
A deep, wholly sexy laugh rumbled up his throat. “Take it up with Mayor Flannagin. This was his brainchild.”
Smiling, Samantha shook her head. “Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.” Still, she wasn’t surprised. This was exactly the sort of thing she could expect from her little hometown. It was as exasperating as it was endearing.
“Yeah, well, an unbelievable prize package goes to the winner. An all-expenses-paid trip for two to the Bahamas, a fully loaded SUV and ten grand in cash.” The corner of his mouth tucked into a grin. “Hard to beat that. The contest committee decided to keep the entry fee minimal in order to increase participation.” He shrugged lazily. “More entries, more tourists. More tourists, more money.”
Made sense, she supposed. Still, a fried chicken and iced tea contest? Please.
Hank pushed away from the bedpost. “There are entry forms at the front desk and registration ends today,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You should enter. What have you got to lose?”
To her absolute amazement, she found herself seriously considering it. She might not be the most gorgeous woman here, but she was definitely intelligent, had a pretty good personality, considered herself charming and gracious. Anticipation hummed along her nerves as the idea gained momentum. As for talent, she was no Mariah Carey, but could sing a decent ballad. And, thanks to her mother, she could fry one helluva chicken. She certainly wouldn’t be a shoo-in, Samantha thought consideringly, but she had a shot. She definitely had a shot.
Furthermore, she could use a new car, had always wanted to travel and she could definitely use the cash. If she added ten grand to her nest egg, she could go ahead and move back home. Could be close to Hank. It would be tight, but she could still do it. Her insides grew jittery with cautiously hopeful excitement.
Hank was right. What did she have to lose?
Samantha bit her lip, looked up and her gaze bumped into his. “Forms are at the front desk?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I’ll change into my suit, grab a bite to eat out by the pool and look it over.”
He nodded, seemingly pleased. “Good.” He paused. “It’s great to have you back, Sam. You, uh, look fantastic,” he added, looking somewhat uncomfortable. And no wonder—he’d never had cause to issue a compliment before.
Her heart warmed all the same and she flashed him a smile. “It’s great to be back.”
“Any particular plans for this vacation?” he asked lightly. “A trip to Dauphin Island? Fort Morgan?”
Those were her usual haunts when she came to town, but Operation Orgasm wasn’t going to leave her much time for those pursuits. “Nah, no plans per se,” Samantha said evasively, unwilling to meet his gaze lest he discover her true intentions. Which was ridiculous. Why did she care if he knew what she was about? He’d never hesitated to share his plans about women with her. He’d always been heartbreakingly honest about his lovers.
Samantha moved to the foot of the bed, opened a suitcase and fished her bikini from one of the front pockets. She tossed it on the bed, then dug around for her sunblock. Unless she wanted to fry and freckle, she had to cover herself in SPF thirty-five. She was fair complexioned, but could turn sort of peachy if she played her cards right. She’d primed her skin last week with a few trips to the tanning bed, so hopefully she wouldn’t burn.
She could feel Hank’s gaze on her, could feel him studying her, checking for a secret via retinal scrutiny. “When you say per se…just exactly what do you mean?”
Where the hell was her sunblock, Samantha wondered, growing slightly annoyed. She knew she’d packed it. Remembered shoving it into the bag. She pilfered around a little more, nudged various items aside. Exasperated, she jerked a couple of magazines and small boxes out of the pocket, absently set them aside. Honestly, this was ridiculous. She knew she’d packed the damned—
Hank’s wicked chuckle interrupted her irritating quest. Something about that laugh made her spine prickle with foreboding.
When she looked up, he held her bikini bottoms in one hand and a box of glow-in-the-dark extra-large condoms in the other. “Care to explain?” he asked.
Though she longed for the floor to open up and swallow her—knew that her cheeks were blazing with embarrassment—Samantha managed to force a smile, lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and huffed a dramatic sigh. “Well, if I need to, I will. Though I must confess I would have thought that a man your age would have a general idea of what condoms were used for. In fact, I distinctly remember you carrying one in your wallet back—”
He smirked. “Cute. But that’s not what I meant.” His eyes narrowed and he twirled her bikini bottoms around his index finger. “Since when are you packing enough rubbers to outfit the defensive line at the state college?”
Samantha straightened and calmly snatched her prophylactics from his unsuspecting
