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Authors: Roxanne St. Claire

Tags: #love_contemporary

Barefoot by the Sea (11 page)

BOOK: Barefoot by the Sea
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“No.”
“No? Then what are you advising?”
“Same thing I advised earlier today. Give the guy a chance, Tess. Have dinner, find out what he’s made of, get beneath the sexy exterior and let go and enjoy yourself.”
Tessa looked hard at her reflection, meeting the challenge Lacey offered. “In other words, forget about a baby.”
“Just have fun tonight,” Lacey said. “The other stuff will work itself out. And don’t forget everyone’s coming over later for a nightcap, so you better join us.”
By everyone, she meant Jocelyn and Will, and Zoe and Oliver. And…Tessa. “Seventh wheel.”
“Oh my God, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Bring John.”
She tried to imagine how that would unfold: Tessa showing up for a late-evening gathering with her three best friends and their significant others. Awkward or awesome?
“Unless you’re otherwise occupied.” Lacey’s meaning was all too clear.
“We’ll see.” And they would. “But I’ll give him a chance, Lace. I will.”
“Good girl. See you later, I hope.”
She didn’t commit to that, though. One step at a time. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and took the first one.

 

Ian paced the living area of Tessa’s undersized house after she’d closed the hallway door and left him to wait for her. No bigger than a roomy one-bedroom apartment, the bungalow was part of an enclave of similar structures built for high-level employees of the resort.
Convenient, because if he lived in one, he’d be right next door to Tessa, and the more contact they had, the faster he could get his impulsive marriage plan into action. Things were already going swimmingly.
He paused at a bookshelf next to the TV, perusing the titles. A smattering of fiction, but mostly books on gardening, greenhouses, horticulture, hydroponics, permaculture, harvesting, and—
huh
?
He crouched down to make sure he’d read the title on the pink spine correctly. Yes, he had.
Every Drunken Cheerleader…Why Not Me?
He pulled out the book to look at the image of a pregnancy test reading “Not Pregnant” on the front cover.
Behind it, he found another row of books, all blocked by gardening titles. He eased out a few and found a treasure trove of books all on the same subject, with titles that sang the same song.
Empty Womb. Having Hope. Boosting Your Fertility. Inconceivable. What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting.
“Looking for a particular title?” He whipped around to see Tessa standing in the doorway in a simple black dress, sleek heels, her hair falling around her shoulders. Damn. At least he wouldn’t have to pretend to be attracted to her.
He straightened slowly, still holding a book. “
Five Hundred Ways to Get Pregnant
. Who knew there was more than one?”
She fought a smile, but her color was high. “You’d be surprised.”
“Nothing surprises me.” He set the book down on the table and gave her a thorough once-over. Twice. “Not even how gorgeous you clean up.”
She gave a self-conscious half-laugh. “You got the job, John. Flattery isn’t necessary.”
Actually, it was. He didn’t have a minute to waste. “Not flattery, honesty.” And he meant that. Coming closer, he reached out for her hand. “Thanks for saying yes to dinner with me.”
She reluctantly gave her hand, her dark eyes lit with distrust and a little confusion. Smart girl.
“Consider it part of your job training,” she said. “I’m happy to tell you everything you’ll need to know about working at Casa Blanca.” She managed to tug out of his fingers.
“You think that’s why I want to have dinner with you?” He shook his head, laughing softly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
She held his gaze for a beat, a thousand questions passing through her eyes.
Don’t ask them, Tessa, ’cause I won’t answer.
“I don’t date much,” she finally admitted.
“Then I’m doubly honored.” He stepped closer and put his hand on her back. “You sure you won’t change your mind and let me take you on the bike?”
“In a dress?”
“Maybe too adventurous,” he agreed. “But we can take a ride tomorrow. After breakfast.”
She turned to the door, but he heard her laugh.
“What? You don’t eat breakfast?”
“You’re good, you know that? Really, really good.” She led him to a mud-splattered Toyota pickup, the back bed loaded with bags of soil and some gardening tools. “I’m afraid my truck isn’t much more elegant than your bike.”
“It works for me. Do you want me to drive?”
“No, I’ll drive.”
“Then at least”—he scooted ahead of her—“let me be a gentleman who gets the door.”
She let him open it. “The same gentleman who suggests breakfast before dinner?”
Trapping her with the door and his arm, he leaned into her from behind, inhaling deeply to get a whiff of something as sweet and floral as the explosion of purple flowers lining the driveway. “I’m optimistic.”
He felt her draw in a steadying breath before sliding behind the wheel.
He rounded the truck, hoping he still had his touch in the dating department. He’d done little more than pick up stray women for easy sex in the past few years. Now he was a man on a mission.
A mission, he conceded, that was made much easier by how good she looked and sweet she smelled. He could fake a lot of things, but he sure didn’t have to fake the chemistry they both felt.
Was that a good thing, or was it only going to make his full-scale seduction worse?
“There a problem, John?” Tessa asked as he got into the passenger seat.
Yes, damn it. There were so many problems he didn’t know where to start. Every time he had a second, third, or fourth thought, he’d simply remember why he was doing this: Shiloh and Sam. He wanted them back in his arms and in his life. If some nameless face on a Protected Persons review board said he needed a marriage certificate to reach that goal, so be it.
“Nothing we can’t solve over dinner.” He added his very best smile. “And breakfast.”
Chapter Nine
John approached the hostess stand oozing confidence and control. “Brown,” he said quietly. “Sorry we’re a few minutes late.”
Tessa lifted both eyebrows in surprise, glancing around the quaint Italian restaurant tucked into an obscure Naples neighborhood. “You made reservations?”
“I told you I’m optimistic.” He put a possessive hand on her back to guide her.
“You called while I was changing?”
“No, after I left you this morning.”
And there went those warning bells again. The same ones she’d heard the second time a stranger called him an upstanding citizen and the same ones that had deafened her when he studied her profile so intently in the car.
“First of all,” she said as she tucked into the back booth. “I wouldn’t call what you did ‘leaving.’”
He slid in next to her. “What would you call it?”
She glanced sideways. “Unexpected. But I overstepped my bounds with personal questions.”
“Not at all.” He was close enough that she could feel the heat and strength of him, the power of his thigh next to hers, the pressure of his shoulder. Instead of feeling trapped, though, she felt very—secure.
Which was flat-out nuts. “Are you really going to sit on this side of the table?”
He chuckled softly. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No, but I can’t see you.”
He instantly transferred to the seat across from her with remarkable agility and speed for a man who had to be six-one and a good—no, a
great
—one-ninety. “You’re right. Better to look than touch.” But he reached across the table for her hand. “Although who says I can’t do both?”
She let him close his fingers around hers, shaking her head.
“What?” he asked, all innocence and sex appeal.
“Stop pretending.”
John’s expression changed instantly. All the light and laughter went out of his sky-blue eyes, and his mouth grew serious. He looked almost guilty. “I’m not pretending.”
Way in the back of Tessa’s head, she heard that warning bell again. “I meant stop pretending that this is perfectly normal.”
“Dinner dates aren’t normal?”
“This,” she said, freeing her hand from his grip to gesture from her to him and back again. “Like I said, we had a rocky start and you flounced out and—”
He gave a belly laugh. “I can honestly say I’ve never been accused of
flouncing
.”
“I mean as much as a man your size can flounce.”
He leaned forward, managing to snag her hand again—not that she actually made it that difficult—to weave his fingers through hers.
“Hey,” he whispered, the single syllable as crazy-sexy as any kiss. “Pay attention, now. Here comes the grovel.”
“Better make it good.”
He cleared his throat and tightened his grip. “I am abjectly apologetic for any unexpected, abrupt, or rude flouncing”—the word made him have to fight a smile—“that I may have done this morning.”
“And…”
“And? You want more groveling?”
“I want an explanation. Why did you leave so suddenly?”
For a moment he didn’t speak, but she could tell his mind was whirring and he had trouble swallowing. So whatever he said next would be a lie. She knew it.
“I was hiding something.”
“I knew it.” She leaned back, a smug satisfaction taking hold.
“You did?”
“I knew you were not being straight with me.”
A slow, evil smile curled his lips. “That’s sort of the problem, Tess. I was being, uh, straight.”
She frowned, not following at all. “No you weren’t. You were being evasive and secretive. Two of my least favorite things, I might add.”
He winced. “Well, I had good reason.”
“What was it?”
“You couldn’t tell?” He looked a little relieved. “Well, you’d have figured it out soon enough.”
She still couldn’t make sense of that. “Figured what out?”
“What I was hiding.”
“What were you hiding?”
He lifted both brows like he couldn’t believe she didn’t know. When she shook her head slowly, unable to figure it out, he slowly glanced down at his lap, then back to her, the smile broadening.
“I was sure you’d see how much you—you know,
affected
me.”
She stared for a moment, part of her wanting to hoot a laugh and call Zoe, the only person who would truly appreciate that excuse. And part of her wanted to squirm at the thought of him
affected
.
He had danced around her questions, given evasive answers, and walked out because he was aroused? No. Not possible. “Yeah, mud boots and gardening clothes do that every time to a man.”
“I could see past the boots and dirt. And, what can I say? I liked it.” He leaned forward, a glint sparking like gas flames in his eyes. “Didn’t you feel it, too?”
Yes. “No.”
He laughed. “Now who’s lying?”
She was.
“So, am I forgiven?” he asked.
“You’re trying to tell me that you went to all the trouble to try and get that job and made world-class, five-star, mouthwatering avocado soup and bolted out the door because you were…” She let her eyes fall to the table that hid his crotch. “Uncomfortable.”
“Worse than uncomfortable.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Like a two-by-four, woman.”
Oh, God. She wanted to laugh, but more than that she wanted to crawl over the table and kiss the living hell out of him. And feel that two-by-four.
“So you left.”
“Abruptly,” he acknowledged. “A bit overwhelmed, too.”
“And then you decided to take the job after all.” She played through the logic, and, like everything else about him, it left her mystified. “Why? I mean, if you think these…issues will affect you when we work together.”
“Oh, they will.” He came closer, seeking her hand again. “They definitely will.”
Her pulse kicked as he tugged her fingers, pulling her closer like he had her on a string. “Why isn’t that a problem?”
“Because.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ve decided not to let it be a problem.” He touched her knuckles with his lips. “It would be crazy not to give in to this chemistry, don’t you think?”
She stared at him, not really sure what “crazy” was anymore.
“Don’t you feel it, too?” he asked.
What, the dry mouth, a racing pulse, weak knees, and the female version of
affected
? Yeah, she felt it all over. “A little,” she admitted.
“A little?”
A lot. “I definitely thought—think—you’re attractive. And terrifying,” she added impulsively.
“Tessa.” He pulled her hand closer to him, both hands around one of hers now. “This attraction is real. And powerful. And, please God, tell me it’s mutual.”
She couldn’t tell him anything. Because the warning bells in her head were ringing like it was Christmas and she shouldn’t have received this particular gift.
But why not? Didn’t she deserve that same kind of knee-weakening magnetism her friends felt when they’d met their one true loves?
One true love?
What the hell was wrong with her?
“It’s not mutual?” he asked, the tiniest note of desperation in his voice.
“You move fast,” she finally said. “Way, way, way too fast.”
“That’s why I left. Because I know myself. I know when I feel something this powerful it isn’t something I can fool around with. I was—okay, I’m going to admit it, now. I was scared.”
Not a chance. “You don’t look like a guy who scares easily.”
“I don’t.” He lifted her fingers to his mouth and leaned closer for another knuckle-kiss. “But you scared me.”
“Why?”
“Because when I look into your eyes, I see…”
She silenced every warning bell, demanding them to stop and let her hear what it was this gorgeous, complicated, surprising, astonishing man saw when he looked into her eyes.
BOOK: Barefoot by the Sea
3.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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