Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) (38 page)

But she’d heard the promise since childhood and stubbornly clung to the hope that it was true. Mom had assured her she’d recognize her one true love by the way her heart would feel like it was literally expanding in her chest, because it was “making room for love that will last a lifetime.”

Dad said her spine would tingle, sending sparks out to her fingertips that couldn’t be stopped until she touched the man who was destined for her. Just to make things worse, her sister had found The One and told Ari it hurt to look at her beloved because white lights went off in her head when they met, and her brother, just as fortunate, said he’d gone numb when he laid eyes on a woman he married six months later. None of them, reportedly, could breathe.

Frankly, they all sounded like they needed a drink, or had one too many. But Ari, the youngest and most impressionable, believed they must be on to
something
since they were all happily married, lovingly connected, and wonderfully in love.

But she was not, and had never been. How did the universe explain that?

The flutter of bird’s wings pulled her attention, as though the answer were right over her head. She looked up, expecting an ibis or even a seagull, but big, black wings beat the air, the long gray tips spread wide and menacing over her.

A vulture. She ducked instinctively as the bird swooped low, dropped a massive dollop of poop on the ground, then soared back into the air like a poor man’s eagle.

“Eww!” She backed away, disgust and disbelief rocking through her. Is
that
what the universe thought of her dreams and longings? A vulture who pooped all over…

What
was
that? The bird dropping had landed on something white, shiny, and long that looked like an ivory-colored snake curled into the grass. Ari stepped closer and leaned over to examine a string of tiny misshapen stones curled along a section of dirt.

Were those…
pearls
?

Leaning over, she squinted at the row of at least a dozen stones, the droplets of bird doo still wet on the ridged surface. Reaching into the pocket of her shorts, she fished for a tissue or receipt or, much more likely, a candy wrapper, but came up with nothing that could wipe the stones clean.

So she’d have to man up and touch them, because they were absolutely stunning. Kneeling closer, she squinted at the bluish-purple color of the largest stone. Wiping her hand on her shorts, she extended two fingers gingerly toward the end of the strand.

These were not your basic jewelry-store freshwater pearls. These had an ancient, handmade look, the string between each pearl clumsily knotted and frayed with age. A memory came drifting through her mind, barely more than a wisp of smoke, but Ari closed her eyes and went back to a Native American festival she’d once attended with her mother.

There were pearl necklaces among the artifacts, found in…
Indian burial mounds
.

She gasped, blinking at the punch of realization. What if this hill—on an island that had no other hills—wasn’t a
hill
at all?

What if—

A rhythmic pounding broke the silence, but not a bird’s wings this time. The sound was steady, strong, a drumbeat of…feet.

Ari whipped around to see a man jogging—no, seriously
running
—full speed toward her, bare-chested and bronzed.

She blinked as if the sun were playing tricks on her, highlighting the glistening muscles of his torso and abs, the powerful thighs as he took each stride, the tanned, sweaty shoulders held straight and strong as he powered up the hill, directly at her.

He had earbuds in, short, dark hair, and a mouth set in a grim line. He wore sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but he made no effort to change his path as he barreled forward.

It happened so fast. With no time to stand, she threw herself back with a shriek to get out of his way, but he stumbled over her foot and barked a word that sounded like a black curse in a foreign language. He danced a little to get his balance, and the sunglasses went flying.

“Whoa!” He fought to stop his own momentum “Where the hell did you come from?”

Her? What about him? “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Running up a hill.” He practically spit the words at her, wiping sweat off his forehead, his chest heaving with a shallow breath. “What are you doing here?”

Really? It was
her
fault he rammed into her? “How did you not see me?”

“My eyes were closed.”

What
?

“In the zone,” he added, as if that explained why anyone would run with eyes closed and ears plugged. He reached for her hand to help her up. “You okay?”

She started to wave off the help, but he clasped her wrist, wrapping huge, masculine fingers around her, giving her an effortless tug that brought her right to her feet. She still had to look up at him and still needed to squint, but not because of the sunlight. Because he was as menacing as the vulture who just bombed her.

He wasn’t handsome, not in any conventional way. Just rough and dark with heavy whiskers over a jaw that looked like it might have met a few fists in its day. And big. His chest and shoulders dwarfed her, with cuts to define every single muscle.

“Really sorry,” he said again. But he didn’t sound sorry, or look it, either. He scanned her face and made no effort to unlock his grip on her wrist.

She should yank free. She should step away. She should stop staring. She should…breathe.

But right that minute, bathed in sunlight and pinned by a green-gold gaze the color of hammered bronze, Ari Chandler couldn’t do any of those things. Because her whole body was kind of tingling and buzzing and sparking, like she’d just stuck her entire arm in an electrical socket.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “’Cause you look like I rung your bell.”

He rang…something. There was no other explanation for how lightheaded she suddenly felt.

“I…I’m…I think…” Words failed her. No chance of a coherent sentence.

His brows pulled into a frown as he gently turned her arm and placed a thumb over her pulse, which just hit warp speed.

“Whoa. Your heart’s going faster than mine.” He started to tug her back to the ground. “I have some water in my truck. Should I get it?”

Ari let him guide her to the ground, staring up as he crouched in front of her. “Who runs with their eyes closed?”

“I was trained that way.”

“For what? Suicide missions?”

“Something like that.” The words, low and charged with mystery, sent another cascade of chills down her spine, a shocking feeling that had no place dancing over her in this heat and humidity.

“Really, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I’ve never seen another person in all the times I’ve been here.”

He glanced around. “I’m checking the place out.”

“With your eyes closed?”

He almost smiled, just enough to show a hint of dimples and straight white teeth. Just enough to take the edge off his face and turn it into something…arresting. She needed to look away, but all she could do was blink at the white lights flashing behind her eyes.

Had she hit her head or…or…oh, no.
No
.

“No,” she murmured. “No, this isn’t…you can’t be…no.” This wasn’t possible.

“No…what?” he asked, concern darkening his eyes. “I can’t check the place out? I have the owner’s permission. Do you?”

But it
was
possible. He could be… No, that was her imagination, not the universe answering her plea. Right? “No.”

For one long, suspended second, everything around her became crystal clear, making her hyperaware of every color, scent, and sound. The slow roll of a bead of sweat, trickling over a scar on his temple. The flecks of amber and jade that somehow mixed to make his eyes a haunting shade she’d never seen before. The timbre of his voice, low and sweet, even the rhythmic breathing as the run caught up with him, was musical. He smelled like sunshine, and his hand, still wrapped around her, was like a hot brand of man against her skin.

“Miss?” She blinked at him, letting the very real possibility of what was happening sink in.

He was The One.

“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, making her jump. “Do you know your name?” he asked sharply.

“Arielle Chandler.”

“Place of birth?”

“Sacramento, California.”

“Husband’s name?”

“I don’t have one.”

His eyes flickered. “Phone number?”

The paused, but not because she couldn’t remember it. Because his smile went from
almost
to
full force
, and the impact kind of…hurt.

She could practically hear her sister’s voice describing the same thing.

“No way!” She shook her head, still not believing it.

“Hey, it was worth a try.” Still smiling, he leaned back on his haunches. “Since you’re coherent enough to turn me down, I guess you’re okay, Arielle Chandler. In fact, you’re…” He let his gaze drop over her. “Fine.”

And every cell in her body just went numb.

After a few seconds, he scooped up his sunglasses and stood. “So, by the way, if you don’t have the owner’s permission, you won’t be able to come here when construction starts.”

She looked up at him, digging deep for some semblance of sanity and cool, when all she wanted to do was jump up and down and tell him exactly who he was. Her future…

Wait a second.
“Did you say construction?”

“That old shack that got messed up in Hurricane Damien? It’s history, along with this hill, which the owner said will block his water view when he builds his new house.”

Another, different kind of buzz hummed through her head. “It’s history?” Yes, it
was
. Her gaze shifted to the right, to the string of pearls not an inch away. “How can you get rid of a hill?” Especially when it might not be a “hill” at all?

He lifted one mighty shoulder, as if she’d asked how to remove an ant hill…and not something that might be sacred ground. “Easily with a front loader and a bulldozer.” He wiped some more sweat and lifted his eyes to the water. “I personally think he ought to put the house up here for the best view, but hey, I’m just the builder, not the guy with the money.”

She pushed up, sputtering a little. “You can’t build on this.”

“Oh, he can and will. Well, I will. He’ll just pay for it.” He angled his head and looked closely at her, his stare so intent her heart ached like it was…expanding.

For the man who wanted to bulldoze sacred ground? Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

“You positive you’re okay?” he asked, sliding on his sunglasses.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“All right, then. Maybe I’ll, uh, run into you again.” He gave a quick laugh at the joke.

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” She closed her fingers around the pearls. She’d have to find out the truth about these and this land. And if it turned out she was sitting on a Native American burial ground, this man would
not
bulldoze it away.

She’d do anything to stop him…even if that cost her The One.

Thank you for reading
Barefoot in Lace
!
The book is lendable, so please send it to a friend you think might like a vacation in Barefoot Bay! Of course, you can leave a review if the spirit moves you—that helps Roxanne reach new readers, too. Have something to say? Roxanne loves to hear from readers, so feel free to email her at
mailto:[email protected]
or sign up for the mailing list on the home page of her website,
www.roxannestclaire.com
. You can follow her on Facebook (
www.facebook.com/roxannestclaire
) and Twitter (
www.twitter.com/roxannestclaire
) for news, excerpts, contests, and more!

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About the Author

Roxanne St. Claire is a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of nearly forty novels of suspense and romance, including three popular series (
The Bullet Catchers
,
The Guardian Angelinos
, and
Barefoot Bay
) and multiple stand-alone books. Her entire backlist, including excerpts and buy links, can be found at
www.roxannestclaire.com
.

In addition to being a six-time nominee and one-time winner of the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA Award, Roxanne’s novels have won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense three times, and the Borders Top Pick in Romance, as well as the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Maggie, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, the Award of Excellence, and many others. Her books have been translated into dozens of languages and are routinely included as a Doubleday/Rhapsody Book Club Selection of the Month.

Roxanne lives in Florida with her husband and two teens, and can be reached via her website,
www.roxannestclaire.com
, or on her Facebook Reader page,
www.facebook.com/roxannestclaire
, and on Twitter at
www.twitter.com/roxannestclaire
.

Books by Roxanne St. Claire

The Barefoot Bay Brides

Barefoot in White

Barefoot in Lace

Barefoot in Pearls

The Barefoot Bay Billionaires (Contemporary Romance)

Secrets on the Sand
 

Seduction on the Sand

Scandal on the Sand

(Also available as a specially priced boxed set called The Barefoot Billionaires)

The Barefoot Bay Quartet (Contemporary Romance)

Barefoot in the Sand

Barefoot in the Rain

Barefoot in the Sun

Barefoot by the Sea