Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (39 page)

“I guess the good part is next,” she said. “Endless kissing.”

He angled his head, frowning as he reached into his pocket. “You forgot a step.”

“We’re sealing the deal with Nik-L-Nips?”

“Nope.” He closed his fingers around the strand of pearls he’d picked up yesterday. Slowly, he pulled them out of his pocket and watched her beautiful face light up.

“Didn’t you say the last step is beads for the bride?” he asked.

“Are those the same pearls? They’re evidence.”

“No, these are your pearls. Cutter let me pick fifty of the best he had from the treasure trove, and I had this necklace made for my bride.”

“It’s so authentic.”

“The pearls are the same, right off a ship that’s out there somewhere. Dr. Marksman put me in touch with a Native American artisan who re-created the necklace.”

She fingered them as he reached around to latch them behind her neck, looking up at him with tear-dampened eyes. “I can’t believe I found you.”

He laughed softly. “My girl who believes in things she can’t see? Believe it, Little Mermaid. We are one.” He tipped her chin and leaned close to her lips. “Let’s start that endless kissing now.”

“Mmmm. Except I think my grandmother made that part up.”

“I love Grandma Good Night.”

“So do I,” she whispered as their lips met in the first of many endless kisses.

They made love on the grass until the sun touched the water and wind dried their tears of joy, and the only sound on their hill was a gentle flapping of osprey wings as she passed overhead and let out her sweet call of approval.

The sun has not yet set in Barefoot Bay. There are more heart-wrenching love stories, plenty of pages with favorite old friends, and a whole new “mini-series” on its way to you. Roxanne St. Claire is delighted to introduce readers to
Barefoot Bay Undercover
, a new romantic adventure series featuring fearless heroes, strong heroines, a twist of mystery, and a splash of suspense, all set on the sun-drenched shores of Barefoot Bay! Former spy, current bad boy, and eternal heart throb Gabriel Rossi will be at the center of the series, running a covert operation that will save lives and steal hearts. Of course, there will be an exciting build to his long-awaited love story! Join the
mailing list
to receive a brief monthly newsletter with sneak peeks, series updates, and release dates.

A Sneak Peek at

Barefoot Bay Undercover

by Roxanne St. Claire

Casa Blanca?
Seriously
? Did someone have a Bogart fetish, or had Gabe just landed in Disney Does Morocco, complete with the geometric patterns in the sundried bricks and U-shaped archways? Gabe scanned the sprawling resort tucked into a hidden corner of an island accessible only by boat and one bridge. There wasn’t a single high-rise, nightclub, shopping mall, or Starbucks in sight. The only people were the poor slobs who worked for the privileged bastards who flew in on corporate jets and helicopters to demand seclusion, anonymity, and privacy.

The place was fucking perfect.

At least, perfect for what Gabriel Rossi had in mind. And that was so not what his old friend from the French Foreign Legion had meant when he’d called and asked for a little security consulting advice in exchange for an all-expense trip to paradise.

But Gabe would drag Luke McBain over to the right playground soon enough. First, he had to run the final test. Before he could take the next step and kickstart a plan that had been brewing since he left his old undercover life, he had to see just what kind of yahoos worked at this joint.

Time to play a little game.

Standing in the expansive lobby, he scanned his possible targets. A smokin’ blonde with fake lashes and real tits at the front desk had already taken note of him. Twice. Farther away, two men, both dressed in custom threads, a Rolex visible on one tennis-tanned arm, talked outside of the spa, probably waiting for their wives. A teenage girl sat on a bench under the mosaic, texting and oblivious.

None of them was right for what Gabe had in mind.

To his right, a couple stood in front of an understated Guest Services desk, deep in conversation. The man was about his own height of six feet and had short dark hair, and while he obviously hadn’t done a hundred one-armed pushups at five a.m., like Gabe had, he was buff enough.

Okay. Now we’re talkin’.

Gabe took a few steps closer to the couple and their exchange with a sharply dressed concierge, far enough away not to draw attention. He pulled out his phone and pretended to read messages while listening to their conversation.

Tapping the screen, he opened the interceptor software he’d, uh, borrowed when he left the CIA, and tilted his phone toward the woman’s handbag.

“All right then, Mr. Carriger,” the concierge said. “Your tee time is confirmed, and our driver will pick you up in five minutes at the front door.”

The man turned to his wife, a concerned look on a CEO-handsome face. “You sure you don’t mind if we forgo the boat trip today, Beth?”

“I’m spending the day in the spa, honey. I far prefer that to getting seasick and looking for dolphins.” She laughed and gestured to the concierge. “Married twenty years, you’d think Doug would know that by now.”

The concierge gave a warm nod as he picked up his phone, but Gabe filed the man’s name, Doug Carriger, and snapped a mental image of how he held himself. He watched the man’s facial expressions carefully and pegged an accent someone with a less-trained ear wouldn’t even hear. South of Philly, not quite Virginia. Baltimore.

The concierge leaned forward, listening with one ear to the phone. “I’m sorry we can’t get you into Eucalyptus until eleven, Mrs. Carriger. But this treatment is worth the wait, I assure you. We are the only spa in the entire state of Florida that offers it.”

“I can’t wait. In the meantime, I’ll go back to the villa and sit by the pool. The housekeeper won’t be there, will she?”

“Let me check,” the concierge said, glancing at his tablet. “Poppy’s doing Bay Laurel Villa in about twenty minutes. Would you like me to reschedule her for later today?”

Immediately, Gabe tapped his phone and did a quick Internet search of exclusive spa treatments available only at Casa Blanca while he walked toward a house phone not too far away. The answer popped up on the screen just as Gabe picked up the phone and asked for the Eucalyptus Spa.

While he waited, the conversation continued, the couple unwittingly making Gabe’s mission easier.

“Poppy is a lovely housekeeper, by the way,” Mrs. Carriger said. “I was so touched by the rose petals on the pillow.”

The concierge smiled as if he’d heard the compliment before. “We do love to celebrate anniversaries here at Casa Blanca. And speaking of the big day, let’s talk about tonight’s dinner reservations. May I reserve the private booth in Junonia for you?”

“Eucalyptus Spa,” a cool voice crooned in Gabe’s ear. “How may I help you?”

“I’m afraid I have to cancel my wife’s Ayurvedic treatment. I think for ten, maybe nine thirty? She can’t remember the time.” He glanced at his targets, still arranging their dinner reservations. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Is this Mr. McPherson?”

“It is.”

Some keys clicked. “Yes, we had her in at nine forty-five so she had a few minutes to prepare. Would Mrs. McPherson like to reschedule?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

That business complete, Gabe took a few steps back toward the Guest Services desk, placing himself exactly ten feet away from Mrs. C’s handbag as he typed:
We have had a cancellation in the spa for the Ayurvedic Massage at ten o’clock. Would you like this time slot?

He waited for a phone number to appear courtesy of the interceptor software—a 410 area code, confirming his guess about Baltimore—then hit send. Within a few seconds, Mrs. Carriger reached into her bag and pulled out her rhinestone-encrusted iPhone.

Damn, he was good.

As expected, her face brightened as she read the text. “Well, look at that. They have an opening for me.”

Without a second’s hesitation, Gabe left the lobby, glancing over his shoulder at the front-desk blonde who was still not so surreptitiously checking him out.
Lose the lashes, toots, and we’ll talk.

Outside, he nodded to the doorman and walked slowly until he saw the limo turn the corner to pick up Mr. Carriger for his golf game.

As the glass doors to the lobby opened, he leaned over just in time to see Mrs. C heading into the Eucalyptus Spa for her overpriced fake Indian alternative massage.

He rounded a lush grouping of palm trees, finding the wide stone path that led to the villas. He’d done just enough research to know where Bay Laurel was, the closest and largest of the villas on the property. And enough research to know that this little resort could be the answer he’d been seeking for a long time.

So far, it certainly had potential.

At a soft hum behind him, Gabe stepped to the side to let an electric golf cart laden with housekeeping supplies roll by. As it passed, Gabe kept his head turned away, facing the sapphire waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He easily snagged a towel from the back, hoping it was big enough. But not too big. That would work better.

When he reached Bay Laurel, he glanced around and slipped into the shadows created by a hedge of hibiscus that ran alongside the two-story villa. Tucking himself between the wall and the hedges, he unbuttoned his shirt and shook it off. Then his pants, stepping out of them and standing bare-ass naked. He rolled the clothes up and hid them, along with his phone, wallet, and weapon under the bushes. Now he was truly naked, which would be the only way this would work.

Opening the towel, he had to laugh. It was oversized, all right, an oversized
hand towel
. Not going to completely cover the Rossi family jewels, but that might make this whole process better and faster.

Wrapping it around his waist, more or less, he headed back to the path, the warm tropical breeze cooling his head. Both of them.

If he could do this easily, he might not have the right place. Whatever McBain had in mind for security, Gabe had to know the place was fundamentally safe for what
he
had in mind. He stayed back until he heard another golf cart and quickly moved to place himself exactly where he’d be if he’d come out in a hurry and locked himself out of the villa. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes, pictured Doug Carriger…and
became
him.

He slumped his shoulders, jutted his chin, and copped the expression of a man whose plans had been thwarted by his own stupidity.

The cart moved slowly, driven by a heavyset fortyish woman wearing a bright pink uniform, head buds in her ears, belting the holy hell out of
Amazing Grace
.

“Um, excuse me.” He stepped into the path, strategically holding the tiny towel.

She slammed on the brakes, ended the tune, and two espresso eyes popped, dropped, and drank him in. Disgust fluttered her lids.

Not the usual reaction he got from women, he’d give her that.

“Can I help you, Mr.…”

“Carriger.” He gripped the towel in mock modesty and rounded his vowels like a good Ravens fan. “Doug Carriger.” And let out the sigh of a true idiot. “Locked-out-of-my-villa Doug Carriger.”

Black bushy brows drew closer as she inspected him. “You look different.”

No doubt Doug didn’t have any ink. “Naked’ll do that to a man, Poppy.”

She eyed him, fighting the urge to look down, already pulling out a cell phone. “I’ll call security—”

“No, please. Don’t.” He took a few steps closer and nearly dropped the towel. “I don’t want my wife to know I got locked out, and they’ll call her and make her leave the spa. She’s having one of those Ayu…Aruvu…”

“Ayurvedic treatments,” she supplied, still frowning at him. “Why are you out here?” she asked, the musical Jamaican lilt in her voice going cold with the question.

“I thought the flowers were being delivered, and I wanted to be sure I got them.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Twenty roses for my years with Beth.”

She wasn’t buying it. Probably could tell he would have had to waltz down the aisle at sixteen to be married twenty years. Points to Poppy for keen observation.

“I got the idea from the petals you left on the pillow, so I guess I owe you.” He winked and tipped his head to the door. “Can you please let me back in?”

“You don’t have any identification?”

With each little roadblock, his respect ratcheted up a notch. “Can’t say I regularly stuff my wallet in my backside.”

She wasn’t amused, but lifted her cell. “Well, I stuff my phone in my pocket, so I can call security every time I see a man locked out of his villa.” She finally smiled, a flash of white teeth that didn’t match the serious look in her dark eyes. “Casa Blanca policy.”

Every hotel’s policy, except when he was the one charming the housekeeper. Then again, he hadn’t run into Poppy before.

Voices came from around the bend, the sound of two women chatting, who might swing the momentum in his favor. “Is it Casa Blanca policy to allow guests to stumble upon a naked man on their way back from the beach?”