Keys in hand, Annie Franklin froze just inside the threshold of the Folly Beach house she’d rented. So did the guy in the foyer with his fingers threaded through his hair and his man parts dangling, not unlike the keys in her hand. For about two seconds her gaze swept over a very startled expression and then dove helplessly downward. “My God! What are you doing here?” “I’m sure I could ask the same.” Annie forced her gaze upward, meeting a pair of very blue eyes. The surprise was gone now, replaced with something more like bemusement. Vying for a glimpse inside the house, Lady, her curious Labrador nosed the back of her thighs and Annie made a discomfited sound. “Sit girl! Sit!” she commanded. “Look, there must be some mistake! Is this 1776 East Ashley?” “Yep.” Horrified, Annie dangled her keys between them. “But I have keys,” she said. He, on the other hand, had nothing—not even clothes! “I see that.” Annie peered down at the keys in her hand, as though they could somehow come to her defense.
