Beth melted into the shelter of his embrace. Her damp, sun-warmed skin met his and she sighed. She wore a red bikini top and her own stringy-hemmed cutoffs.
Slowly, she raised her face. The top of her head barely grazed his shoulder. She had to stand on her tip-toes even though he was leaning down—then their lips met, and the brilliant rays of sunlight falling through the pines illuminated his face like that of a saint in a stained-glass window. “Saint John,” she laughed.
He laughed with her.
Beth shook her head to clear the memories.
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