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Julia was uncomfortably aware that the man behind the dark glasses was giving her body a thorough examination. She fumed inwardly that he would think her too stupid to know, even without seeing his eyes, exactly where he was looking.
The tilt of his head told her that Sherman Wilson was finding her breasts most interesting. A slight dip of his tanned, bald head and this time an even longer study of her hips and tummy … then, even lower. He was looking directly at her most intimate place. Julia shifted her legs uncomfortably and felt a flush of embarrassment creep to her cheeks. His silence continued.
He had virtually trapped her when he nodded to her to sit at the end of his deck chair. A nod from Mr. Wilson was an order, she reminded herself. He owned The Buccaneer Inn and Resort. He employed her mother, and it was Julia who had come looking for the man. She wanted to work at The Buccaneer-and, for the moment, she knew that fact gave him staring privileges.
She was terribly naive, she accused herself, as she waited for him to speak. Now she was certain the resort manager had been teasing when he said she’d catch Mr. Wilson in a good mood if she went to him during his private cocktail hour at his poolside cabana.
“Wear a swim suit that’ll show him you’re a big girl now,” was the last bit of advice. “You know he’s not seen much of you since you were a kid.”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.