The Deep Blue Alibi

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"Forget it, Steve. I'm not having sex in the ocean."

"C'mon," he pleaded. "Be adventurous."

"It's undignified and unsanitary. Maybe even illegal."

"It's the Keys, Vic. Nothing's illegal."

Steve Solomon and Victoria Lord waded in the shallow water just off Sunset Key. At the horizon, the sun sizzled just above the Gulf.

"In this light, you're really magnificent," he said.

"Nice try, hotshot, but the bikini stays on."

Still, she had to admit that there was something erotic about the warm water, the salty breeze, the glow of the setting sun. And Steve looked totally hot, his complexion tinged reddish bronze, his dark hair slick and lustrous.

If only I didn't have to drop a bombshell on him tonight.

"It'll be great." He slipped his arms around her waist. "A saltwater hump-a-rama."

Dear God. Did the man I think I love really say "hump-a-rama"?

"We can't. There are people around."

Twenty yards away, a young couple with that honeymoon look-satiated and clueless-peddled by on a water bike. On the beach, hotel guests carried drinks in plastic cups along the shoreline. Music floated across the water from the hotel's tiki-hut bar, Andre Toussaint singing "Island Woman."

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