Holly Hamilton’s fingers stiffened in the sand. Only one thing mattered. Anonymity. And she’d just lost it.
In a singsong voice the little girl with the glob of zinc oxide on her nose who had materialized beside Holly’s beach towel continued, "And you still don’t got your panties on." No matter how intensely Holly shushed the pigtailed child, high-pitched giggling accompanied by a great deal of jumping up and down continued.
Holly tugged at her swimsuit, then pushed herself up into a sitting position. Heads were already turning in their direction as she pulled the brim of her straw hat to her nose. "Does your mother know where you are?" she whispered through clenched teeth.
Oblivious to Holly’s question, the child continued loudly, "I’m gonna tell my daddy. I am. And my Uncle Scotty. He’s got your poster too. The gold one."
Holly began struggling into her caftan, determined to put a quick end to her afternoon on the beach. She’d specifically chosen the isolated and normally less crowded Dune Island Beach over one closer to her cottage. She’d been so careful, so discreet… so stupid to venture out. Holly jerked the hood over her head and readjusted her sunglasses and hat just as the child’s mother arrived.
"Nina! Here you are. You scared me half to death."
The mother grabbed the child by the elbow and began leading her away. "Haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers?"
"But Mommy, it’s the naked lady," the child protested.
Holly quickly scanned the beach to see who might have overheard. The good-looking man she’d been peeking at shifted lower in his beach chair. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe that smile underneath his sunglasses had nothing to do with him recognizing her. She took a shallow breath and held it. Several prickling seconds later she released it. "Maybe" wasn’t good enough.
ESCAPE blinked in Holly’s mind’s eye like a throbbing neon sign. When would this all end? It had been over a year since she’d left modeling. Over a year since she’d finally decided what she really wanted to do with her life. And now celebrity had reared its unwelcome head again! Shoving the rest of her possessions into her tote, she looked toward the path leading back to the changing pavilion. Three college-age young men singing the Morning Glory Soap jingle were heading straight toward her. My God, she thought, they’re coming at me from all directions.
"I’m telling you, Dougie. Older women. Take the Glory Girl…" one of the young men began.
Momentary silence. Then, in unison, the three young men yowled lustily.
Holly froze at the mention of the Glory Girl. Things couldn’t get any worse… unless the handsome stranger had heard, confirming his possible suspicions about who was hiding behind the dark glasses and hat. She chanced a look in his direction. He hadn’t moved one muscle of his gorgeous body, but the college trio was moving closer and getting louder. She cringed at the next remark.
"Tush. Pure and simple. Ah, what a piece! So round. So smooth and tight. So squeezable."
"Nah. It’s that surprised look in her eyes. They say her husband took the photo without her permission, and since their divorce he’s been making a fortune from the posters. The concept is really retro. Like pure 70’s stuff. Right Sean?
"Right. Right. Not skanky. Classy.
"The man’s a genius, I mean, putting it out in three colors. Which one did you get, Ryan?
Ryan threw open his arms. "One? Out of respect for our school colors I have the red one and the blue one.
Hearing their every word, Holly’s hands tightened along the edge of her hat brim. Stuart Hamilton, ex-husband and rat, was going to pay for all this humiliation. But first she had to escape from Dune Island State Park and make it back to the Cape Shell beach house. Then she had to call her lawyer to find out if capital punishment was yet in effect in New York. Maybe murdering Stu wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. Grabbing her tote and her towel, she made a dash for the path.