Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (29 page)

Footsteps in the hall, fast and light, followed by a soft shriek startled her back awake.

“Elijah! Get back here!”

Suddenly, a tiny strawberry-blond head appeared in the doorway, almost immediately followed by Lacey Walker, who snagged her son.

“Oh, hello!” She choked out the greeting and scooped up the toddler, who shrieked again with joy. “I’m afraid our game of hide-and-seek got out of control.”

“Hi, Lacey,” Ari said, sitting up and fighting a yawn while Luke greeted her.

She looked from one to the other, shifting Elijah’s weight to her hip. “What are you two doing here so late?”

“Just some research,” Luke said quickly.

“My apartment was broken into,” Ari added glumly, knowing Lacey would find out soon enough. The news elicited a gasp from Lacey. “No one was hurt,” Ari assured her. “But Luke’s helping me.”

Lacey shook her head. “I hate to hear about any kind of crime on Mimosa Key. It’s always been such a safe place to live, but we’re growing. The resort, now the baseball team, and a lot of expansion and change happening in a few years.”

“I don’t think this had anything to do with the resort or the Barefoot Bay Bucks coming to town,” Ari said.

“Still.” Lacey shifted the child in her arms, but he arched his back, ready to run again. “Did you call the sheriff?”

“Oh, yeah, and we’re not staying there tonight.”

“Where are you staying?”

Luke gestured to the overnight bag of clothes they’d brought from home. “We’re bunking at Tom’s house with Gussie and Alex.”

“I don’t think so,” Lacey said quickly. “Acacia is empty.” She glanced at Luke. “It’s one of our villas, right on the water. You should stay there. It’s not huge, but you’d be so much more comfortable, and honestly, it’s not booked for a few more days. You’re welcome to it.”

The thought of a whole night in the villa with Luke sent an unholy heat through Ari.

“That is so generous of you,” he said before Ari could answer. “We’d love to take you up on that offer. Right, Arielle?”

As if she could refuse. “If it’s not a problem, Lacey.”

“None at all. Have you had dinner? We can get something sent over from Junonia.”

Gratitude washed over Ari, making her stand and fight back the burn of unexpected tears. “Oh, Lacey, that’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course, no problem.” Lacey tipped her head and patted Elijah’s back with a slow, motherly beat, a hand that could somehow calm anyone and anything. Instantly, Elijah dropped his head on his mama’s shoulder. “You’ve been through a trauma today.”

“We have,” Ari agreed, remembering how so many of the Casa Blanca employees commented on Lacey’s maternal streak. Right now, being mothered felt as good to Ari as it must to Elijah. “And not having to sleep in a guest room or on a sofa at Tom’s house is a blessing.”

“Well, it’s one of our smaller villas, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable,” she said. “And the chef has a pasta special tonight that I’ve heard is getting rave reviews. We’ll send it over with a bottle of wine.” She lifted an eyebrow, taking in Ari’s face. “Or two.”

Ari laughed softly and reached out, giving Lacey and her son a hug. “Thank you. This has been a wretched day.”

“Then get some rest in Acacia and enjoy a good dinner,” Lacey said. “In the meantime, I hope they find whoever did it and throw them in jail. Did they take anything super valuable?”

In truth, they’d taken nothing. Not so much as a piece of costume jewelry. And, somehow, that was even creepier than if she’d been cleaned out. “Just my general sense of security.”

Lacey looked sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Ari. Not feeling like you’re safe in your own home has got to be the worst part. At least tonight you’ll have a safe place to stay and a very strong man to protect you.”

Ari smiled. “True. Luke was a bodyguard in his previous job.”

Lacey lifted her eyebrows, interested. “That’s a handy kind of man to have around. I’ve been thinking about beefing up resort security. Maybe I’ll pick your brain one of these days.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Consider it payback for the villa.”

“Great plan. I’ll call the front desk, and they’ll have a key to Acacia ready for you in a few minutes.”

Elijah wormed and wiggled as Lacey blew a kiss and left them alone. Luke turned again, half-smiling. “Why’d you tell her I was a bodyguard?”

She waited a minute, then answered honestly. “Because you were, and I think it’s cool.”

He pushed away from her computer, standing slowly. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

Bristling, she looked hard at him. “I’d rather you did.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re…” She swallowed hard. “You’re important to me.”

He looked down, avoiding her eyes. “You think that, but—”

“I know that,” she fired back. “I feel that, and I know that doesn’t always mean much to you, but it’s powerful to me, Luke. I feel that you’re important in my life, and I care about your past and what you did and how it happened and how it formed you into the man you are today.”

He suddenly looked…pained. His eyes grew dark, his lips tight and grim, his jaw clenched.

Why did he hate it so much when she cared? What was he afraid of?

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’m not qualified to be in security—”

“Come on, Luke. No one cares that you were in the Foreign Legion and not some more ‘respected’ organization. You did it. You can handle a gun. You worked as a bodyguard.”

“Not a very good one.”

She opened her mouth to launch the next argument, but instead said, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What happened?”

“Short version? The person I was protecting died.”

“How?”

“I killed him.”

“Oh.” She took a slow breath, not sure what to say to that.

“And when I did, the bullet also went right through the heart of the woman I loved.”

She just stared at him.

“So, bottom line, I’m a shitty bodyguard. Drop the subject, okay?”

She mouthed the only possible answer. “Okay.”

Chapter Twenty-three

There were a lot of things Luke liked about Arielle Chandler, chief among them the way she looked as she walked around the back patio of the villa after dinner, pausing to sip her wine, or gaze at the moon over the bay, or dip the very tip of her toe in the bubbles of the Jacuzzi in the corner of the pool.

Her hair glistened in the ambient light from beyond the French doors, and her body, dressed in a gauzy long dress that hinted at the curves underneath, was high on his list of favorite things.

But the thing he really appreciated—especially tonight—was that she wasn’t a demander. He’d dropped a bomb what was now hours ago, telling her something he’d never even told his sister or parents, and she hadn’t once insisted he say more.

Most women would be,
You killed him? And her? Why? What happened?
But not Arielle. They had walked along the stone path to the small villa centrally located at Casa Blanca, and while he opened the wine, she’d showered and changed. After a drink, they shared a delicious dinner.

All the while, they talked about the robbery, the pearls, the mysterious message, and the shipwrecked gold that might or might not be hidden somewhere on Cutter Valentine’s property.

They asked each other questions, they posed possible answers, they strategized about their next move and how they would tell Cutter. After dinner, they took their wine glasses poolside, to the patio that offered a gorgeous view of the gulf and the moon-drenched sands of Barefoot Bay.

But not once did she ask him why he killed two people he was supposed to be protecting.

Maybe she didn’t want to know. Maybe she didn’t believe him. Maybe she hadn’t quite understood.

“I assume at least one of those deaths was an accident.”

The question slapped him. Or maybe she’d been waiting for the perfect moment, which, evidently, had arrived.

She stood at the edge of the Jacuzzi, her toe pointed so she could let the bubbles tickle her toes but not wet her dress.

“You should get in,” he said.

She flicked some bubbles with her toes. “I thought we were camping at Tom’s house tonight,” she said. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

A slight smile pulled. “Like I said, you should get in.”

“Excellent subject-changing technique, Luke.” She lifted her foot, precariously and perfectly balanced on the other one, perched like a flamingo holding wine. “But getting me naked and in the Jacuzzi will not stop me from wanting to know.”

“And here I was admiring the fact that you hadn’t asked.”

“Why would you admire that?”

“I was adding it to the list.”

“What list?”

“Of things I really like about you.”

“Flirting won’t get me to stop asking, either.” She lowered her foot and put it back in the water, closing her eyes and sighing with pleasure and want. “I’ve waited long enough. And I know you want to tell me.”

Damn it, why could she read his thoughts? He
did
want to tell her, but he hadn’t realized it yet.

“Hang on.” He pushed up from his chair and went inside, hearing her deep sigh when he left. In the master bath, he gathered the fluffy white robe hanging on the back door and brought it back to the patio. On the way out, he touched the electronic pad of light switches, one by one turning off every light in the villa and the soft blue beams in the pool.

“Dark out here,” she said as he stepped out.

“That’s the plan.”

“You think I’ll strip in the dark with you watching?”

“I think”—he held up the robe like a curtain—“that you can slide into this, take that dress off, and slip into the hot tub, where you will be shrouded in darkness and a thick coat of bubbles. And by doing so, you will be comfortable, safe, and happy.”

“And you will have me at a naked disadvantage while you spill your secrets.”

He just smiled, because what else could he do with a woman who knew him better than he knew himself?

“Turn around,” she ordered as she tugged at her top.

He lifted the robe higher and turned his head away, listening to the rustle of her dress, a whisper of air as it hit the cool bricks that surrounded the pool.

His blood stirred as he thought about how easily he could turn and admire her some more. The brush of silk against skin made him imagine her stepping out of panties. Oh, man. She grabbed the robe from him, but he stayed turned, eyes closed.

“Go over to the chaise,” she ordered.

He did, sitting back where he had been and not looking until he heard a sigh of utter contentment over the rumble of the bubbles.

“Oh, this is heavenly,” she said, nothing but a dark head visible over the dancing bubbles. If he peered harder, once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he might be able to see the watery view of her breasts, but not much else.

His mouth went bone dry as he prayed for that night vision to come to life.

But first he’d have to make some confessions. He took a deep drink of merlot, bracing for the inevitable demand to—

Something soft hit him in the face. A black thong.

“Are you going to tell me now?”

He closed his fingers around the tiny piece of silk, the faintest whiff of woman way more of a hit to his brain than the wine. Threading the material through his fingers, he set the thong on his lap and smiled at her.

“Only because you asked so sweetly.”

He drank again, draining the glass, considering going inside to open the second bottle, but she’d left her glass on the table, half-full, and he didn’t need to be drunk to do this. Did he?

“Luke?”

He nodded, waving the underwear in a half-hearted plea for a minute to at least start the story right. “My job was to guard the family of the prefect in French Guiana.”

She sat up enough to show the rise of her breasts, momentarily forgetting her nakedness. “Why exactly did they need to be guarded?”

“Because of the gold.”

“What?”

He nodded, understanding her surprise. “There’s an illegal and highly dangerous gold trade in Guiana. The French think the gold belongs to them, but the locals, the Wayampi, feel differently. It’s complicated. And deadly for so many people.”

Neither of them spoke while he took a few seconds to accept that he was going to do this. He was going to tell her
everything
.

“Prefect Georges Pacquet was appointed by the French president to more or less keep order in the country. Madame Pacquet chose to remain in France in their Paris apartment, but Cerisse accompanied her father to the rough and tumble jungle of French Guiana.”

“Cerisse? That’s a beautiful name. Was she beautiful?”

He smiled at the interruption and nodded. “She had blond hair and blue eyes and a nice body.”
Nice
being the understatement of the year.