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“Scottish, Italian, Puerto Rican. That’s an excellent mix.”

“Yeah, some people don’t believe I’m part Puerto Rican. Because I’m blonde. So that can get weird.” I eye him, wondering if he’s going to say something stupid or fall back on some stereotype. Or ask me to speak Spanish. I hold my breath.

“I’ll bet it does, because people are uninformed. But it’s not that unusual, a blonde Latina. There are plenty.” He shrugs.

I let out my breath and when I’m about to reach for the champagne, Nina’s voice cuts through the air.

“Enough talking. Let’s try getting a little closer, like you were by the wagon,” Nina hollers, her voice mixing with the surf.

I scoot in to him, feeling his warmth. “Are people staring at us?”

“Do you care?” He grins.

“Not one bit.” As if it has a mind of its own, my hand sets the empty champagne glass down. It topples over onto the blanket, and my hand finds its way to his chest. I can feel the hard muscles underneath his shirt. What am I doing? He’s a parent. He’s a stranger.

He’s cupping my jaw and pressing those full, sensual lips of his to mine…