[It’s evening in Belize and wedding planner Sarah has been taste-testing the bride and groom’s choice of a wedding drink, "sex on the beach." She’s asked Ric, the resort manager, to give her the recipe.]

Ric returned with the recipe.

She studied it. Appropriately tropical, and not too heavy on the booze. “Okay, so you’ll make sure you get sufficient quantities of all the ingredients? And serve it in pretty glasses like this with hibiscus blossoms for decoration?”

He chuckled. “D’you ever quit working?”

“I’m stopping now. For the rest of the evening. As of this moment, I’m just a girl on holiday.”

“Enjoy.” He touched her bare shoulder, but his warm fingers raised no sexy shiver.

Strange, how finicky her pheromones were. Ric was gorgeous and no doubt damned skilled in bed as well. Yet he didn’t rouse the slightest hint of lust in her sex-starved body.

Sarah took another sip of the yummy drink. Pheromones were a product of evolution, of centuries of Darwinian fine- tuning, honing the mating instinct. So, if she was correct that there was one right man for her, he must be the one her pheromones were waiting for.

Then it would be her turn for the fabulous wedding. And by then, she’d have scoped out the best locations in the world.

Another martini glass appeared, and she realized she’d finished her first drink. Sex on the beach sure went down easily. “Thanks,” she told Ric, “but that’s it. I have to be functional tomorrow.”

She slid down in her chair, lifted her bare feet to the opposite one, and let the sweet, juicy blend of flavors ease down her throat. Tonight was hers to enjoy the murmur of the ocean, the rustle of palm fronds, the scent of orange blossoms born on the soft breeze.

“Sex on the beach?” a male voice asked. The soft, husky sound seemed like part of a tropical fantasy.

“That would be nice,” she said dreamily. Then the world came into focus, and she gaped at the man standing beside her. No, make that the hottie.

Hot enough that every sense zapped into red alert.

It was the guy she’d seen at the bar, and his front view was even better than his back. Tall and nicely muscled, he wore cargo shorts that hung low on lean hips and a black tank top that revealed more than it concealed. His face was great, too, its masculine features set off by an abbreviated mustache and goatee and a tight cap of black curls.

“Sorry.” She hoped the dim light concealed her blush. “What did you say?”

He gave a lazy, infinitely sexy grin. “Asked how you felt about sex on the beach.”

Oh my. Here was the zing of pheromones. Her skin pricked into goose bumps, and something hot and juicy surged through her blood and made her pussy throb. Wow, right on target. Her body definitely felt the urge to mate.

“Um, you mean the drink?” she stuttered.

God, his eyes were amazing. Hazel green, startling against his dark skin. Gleaming with humor and definite interest. “Not really, but it’ll do for a start.”

Jesus. The hottest guy she’d ever met was hustling her, and she was acting like a nervous schoolgirl. She pulled herself together. “I think sex on the beach is . . .” Okay, Sarah, you can do this. Slowly she took another deliberate sip, savored it, let it slide down her throat, then ran the tip of her tongue around her lips. “Mmm. Sweet and slow,” she drawled, “with an underlying edge. Delicious and addictive.”

His eyes widened in appreciation. Uninvited, he took the chair beside her, his bare knee brushing seductively against her leg. “A recipe that’s just right for a tropical night.” The gaze he leveled at her held a challenge.

“And it’s definitely a beautiful tropical night.” Even if it was alcohol talking, it had been a long time since she’d felt so liberated and sexy.

“Nights in the tropics are always special. With the right company.”

How many tourists had this local Lothario used these lines on? But why should she care? This showed every sign of turning into her lucky night, one to gloat about to her friend and partner Andi, and to remember when she was back home in rainy, gray, dateless Vancouver.

She extended her hand. “I’m Sarah.”

He held it firmly, warmly in his. “I’m free.”

Free? What an odd thing to say. Did he mean available, or was he clarifying that he wasn’t selling sex to a tourist? Both, she guessed.

He definitely wasn’t her Ken doll, her Mr. Forever, this man who hadn’t shared his name. But what the hell, while waiting for Mr. Right, a girl’s body could dry out and shrivel up from disuse. At home she had a drawer of sex toys, but this guy would make a far sexier plaything.

Jeez, what was she thinking? He was a complete stranger.

Besides, what if all he had going for him was good looks? She ought to check out the merchandise before she indulged in any more wicked thoughts.

“Want a taste?” She took a swallow of the drink. Then, instead of handing him the glass, she leaned toward him, heart racing. She could do a pretty slick pickup, if she said so herself.

“Definitely.” Without hesitation he closed the distance between them and touched his lips to hers. Softly, gently, he flirted with her mouth, dropping teasing kisses, sucking her flesh, and nipping lightly. He smelled of some ocean- tangy shampoo or aftershave, and his breath was scented with rum. As he moved his mouth over hers, the short hairs of his mustache brushed her upper lip, sensuous and arousing.

It was all she could do to hold back a moan. They hadn’t even parted their lips, and her body was sparking like it was ready to combust.

She darted her tongue across his lips, and he opened them in an invitation she eagerly accepted. His mouth was hot, sweet, and tropical.

Oh, man, the merchandise definitely lived up to the ads. Tonight she was free from responsibility, so why not enjoy another round of sex on the beach? The literal kind.

No, wait. It wasn’t safe to wander off with a stranger, no matter how tempting he was. But he’d been talking to Ric . . . “Excuse me a minute.” She stood up.

Sarah gave her hips a sexy sway as she strolled toward the ladies’ room. When she reached the bar, she paused and glanced back. The man, sprawled in the rattan chair like a big black cat, made no bones about watching her, and the grin that kinked his full lips was knowing, confident, verging on arrogant.

He thought she was a sure thing.

Was she?

With her back to him, she leaned across the bar and whispered to Ric, “Can you vouch for that man?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “In what sense, Sarah? I haven’t personally experienced his talents, if that’s what you mean.”

“Jesus.” The plight of the redhead; she knew her cheeks were pink. “I mean, is it safe to, uh . . . Would you let your sister date him?”

“If she wasn’t married. Don’t you know? He’s—”

“That’s okay, thanks.” She cut him off, not wanting to hear if the pickup artist was someone she might see around town: a cashier at the grocery store, a waiter, a surfing instructor. All that mattered was, he was hot, it wasn’t dangerous to go with him, and he wouldn’t be asking for money.

Sarah went into the ladies’ room and studied her reflection. Her hair, in its short, deliberately messy wash- and-wear style, looked sexy. Her pale skin, which she always sunscreened liberally, was lit by a flush that made her blue eyes look bright and sparkly.

A flush of arousal at the thought of sex with . . . whatever his name was.

No, she wasn’t going to ask. This was a one-night fling. The less information, the better.