Sandra Marton - Romano's Revenge

But it wasn’t a pool, it was a stage, and she hadn’t burst free of the cardboard cake. She’d gotten tangled in it. And while she was still blinking and fighting furiously to extricate herself from the horrible chunks of cardboard, two things happened, almost simultaneously.

The first was that she realized that the “something” she’d forgotten were her low-heeled, sensible white shoes. They were still on her feet.

The other was that a man, a blur of muscles and blue eyes and black hair, had come to her rescue.

“Just put your arms around my neck, honey, and hang on.”

“I am not your honey,” Lucinda said. “And I don’t need your help!”

She slapped at his hands as he reached for her but his arms closed around her, anyway. The crowd cheered as he hoisted her into his arms.

“Go for it, Joe,” somebody yelled, and the man grinned, right into her eyes.

“Love those shoes,” he purred, and when the crowd cheered again, he bent his head, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her.

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