Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (4 page)

Just then, Tom came up behind Gussie, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Good luck with that, Ari,” he said. “My
fiancée
is too happy to stop talking.”

After another flurry of hugs and handshakes, the bride and groom came rushing over to share the moment of Gussie’s engagement, the friendship between the three women palpable even to a virtual outsider like Luke.

He had to hand it to Willow. Most brides would go bat-shit if someone in their wedding party borrowed the limelight like that, but these three seemed to be more like family than friends, and it was clear Arielle and Willow were genuinely happy for Gussie.

Luke stepped back to let the small crowd around them grow, taking a moment to drink in his sister’s obvious joy. But, after a few seconds, something drew his attention right back to the black-haired beauty who was standing awfully close to the best man, sharing a laugh with him.

Uh, sorry, SEAL.

Luke stepped closer to her and leaned down to put his mouth near her ear and let his lips graze that hair that reminded him of satin sheets. And being in them with her. “I thought I was the one—”

She froze for a second and slowly looked up at him, slaying him with a look of hope and heat in her soulful eyes.

“—who was going to amuse, dance, and kiss you,” he finished.

Her lips lifted into a smile. “Oh, you are.”

He angled his head toward a table in the back in silent invitation.

“After the pictures,” she whispered. “I’m all yours.”

For some reason he didn’t really understand, those words ricocheted around his chest and squeezed everything into a knot. He hadn’t met a woman he wanted so much in…hell, a long time. And the last time…

Well, that was the last time. But right that second, watching Arielle walk away, he forgot every other woman on earth.

Chapter Three

Ari skipped the champagne during the photo session, but she had a buzz anyway. The same fuzzy-brained sensation that started when Luke McBain knocked her off her feet still hummed through her during picture taking, making her a little giddy with anticipation.

After the last shot, she worked her way across the dance floor under the tulle canopy stretched over the cool sands of Barefoot Bay, and the lightheaded, fluttery feeling only intensified.

Was that because the universe had so instantly gone to work to put them in the same place at the same time—oh, how Grandma Good Bear would love that!—or was it because he’d flirted so hard, it made her
think
he felt the same sensations, too?

In other words, were these feelings fact or fiction? Since childhood, Ari had balanced that particular tightrope in life and learned that time would tell. She just hoped that it told her this was real and not imagined. So, until she figured that out, she’d be totally cool and not do something bold, like lean over and kiss him. Or even casually touch the tanned and strong forearm that he’d exposed by rolling up a sleeve.

Luke stood as Ari arrived at the table in the back, pulling out a chair with a smile so easy and sexy she’d have probably wobbled if she weren’t barefoot. As she took the seat, she got slammed with a scent that smelled all earthy and woodsy and like the sun had set on his shoulders. And, of course, the minute he sat down, she forgot all her promises to be cool and put her hand right on that masculine forearm.

Which was so not cool—the move or his arm. His skin was warm, with a dusting of dark hair, corded muscles, and one long vein that she imagined pumped very hot blood.

She used the bubbly he’d put at her place as her excuse for what she hoped appeared to be a casual touch. “Thanks for the drink.”

“I believe it was on my to-do list.” At her questioning look, he added, counting on four fingers, “Drink, amuse, dance, and uh…”

Kiss. He let the unspoken word hang long enough to make them both smile at their first inside joke.

She lifted the champagne to him. “On to number two, amusement. Are you having fun?”

“I’m people watching. And by people, I mean you.”

She laughed, the compliment as effective as the champagne. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough; Gussie told me about you.”

“Today?” Damn, her voice cracked. Gussie couldn’t possibly have had a chance to spill any more beans, had she? She’d been one inch from Ari for the last hour.

“No, no. While we were up in Massachusetts with our parents a few weeks ago. She talked a lot about her business here and, of course, Tom. She told us about you and Willow. And Tom.” He grinned and gave a playful eye-roll. “Mostly Tom.”

“And now he’ll be your brother-in-law. So what did she tell you about me?”

“Let’s see.” He thought about the question for a moment, maybe mulling over how much to tell her. “You’re a compulsive gambler who likes to bet on Milk Duds.”

She made a face. “Not Milk Duds! I wouldn’t waste a wager on something so pedestrian. And, trust me, your sister’s the gambler, not me. But when I do bet her, it has to be rare, vintage, or mouthwateringly delicious candy to make it worth my while.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What do you like?”

You
. She recovered before the word slipped out. “Nik-L-Nips,” she said easily.

He fought a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You know, the wax bottles with syrup in them you probably drank as a kid.”

“That’s what they were called?” He curled his lip, which only made him cuter. “Disgusting shit, especially the wax-biting part.”

“Ah, the wax bite is an art. I’ll teach you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “The only thing that should come in a bottle with wax around the top is good wine. Not blue sugar juice.”

For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and Ari heard nothing but that buzz in her head. She could banter with him all night long. “Blue is my favorite. It makes your lips blue.”

A dare in his eyes, he licked his lips, and the sight of just the tip of his tongue sent a blast of heat through her. “So, what else did your sister tell you about me?” she asked quickly.

“Let’s see…” He tapped the table and notched his chin toward the centerpiece. “That your staging and designs for the weddings are spectacular.”

She gave a shrug. “I try. I like things to look a certain way, for impact.” She reached out and rearranged the one cheery sunflower tucked into the arrangement of cobalt orchids spilling down to the table. “I balance the expected with a twist. I tell the brides it’s what their married life will be like.”

He laughed at that. “Good skill to have. How’d you pick that up?”

“I studied interior design, but my first job out of college was as a receptionist at a bridal consulting firm. I took to the business and discovered there’s actually a big role for a designer in weddings, so I worked my way up the ranks until I met Gussie and Willow and we started this company.”

“Interior design?” Interest and the spark from a torchlight turned his eyes closer to gold than green. “Wow, that’s a fortunate coincidence.”

She lifted both her brows, not at all sure what to make of that comment.

“Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “You don’t believe in stuff like that.”

“But if I did, why would that be fortunate or a coincidence?”

He leaned on the back legs of his chair, the fine white linen of his dress shirt pulling across well-developed shoulders. “I might need a designer.”

The way he said it, low and sexy and slow, sent all the symptoms she’d been fighting into a higher gear. “Why? Did you buy a house you need to redecorate? Here? On Mimosa Key?” Oh, great. She sounded all eager and hopeful. She covered with a sip of champagne, as if his long-term living plans were nothing but small talk. Which they would be if he weren’t…special.

“Actually, I am going to be staying in Gussie’s apartment for a while.” He let his chair hit the temporary wooden floor with a jolt. “Right under you.”

Oh, he was good. Smooth and sexy. “Really. For how long?”

“As long as it takes.” He gave a teasing laugh, as if he caught the genuine interest in her question. “I’m working on a project for a while.”

A whole different set of nerve endings sparked. A
project
. “Something to do with backhoes and bulldozers in North Barefoot Bay?”

“Something.” He rocked back again, eyeing her. “So what’s this business about you being, what did Gussie call it, woo-woo? Are you a witch?”

“My father’s a pastor, so don’t let him hear you call me that.”

“A preacher’s daughter, huh?” He kicked up a half smile.

“Yes. But my spiritual side actually came from my mother’s mother, who was part of the Miwok Indian line of Northern California. All my ‘woo-woo,’ as you call it, comes from Grandma Good Bear.”

“That’s her name?”

“Was. She passed. Her real name was Uzumati, which means bear, but I always called her Grandma Good Bear since I was a baby, and it stuck. And she was a shaman, so she could out-woo-woo anyone.”

The chair came down slowly, and intrigue tapered his eyes. “So what does woo-woo mean? You commune with clouds and howl at the moon?”

She laughed lightly. “Very little howling. Really, all it really means is I’m a good judge of character and I trust the universe.”

“To do what?”

“What it’s supposed to do.”

Another look skyward communicated his skepticism. “I’m not woo-woo,” he said. “But I am a good judge of character. A superior one, actually.”

“Oh, really?” If that were true, wouldn’t he sense the connection and bond between them? He would if he were what she thought he might be. That was the rule, right? He would know the minute she knew; no one had to be told they’d met The One.

She took a sip of champagne, weighing all the different questions she could ask him. “Gussie’s hardly had a chance to tell us much about you,” she said. “All I know is you two reunited in France after you hadn’t seen her for years and that you were in the French Army.”

“That’s the abridged version. And it was the French Foreign Legion, which is definitely
not
the French Army.” He shifted a bit and took a drink.

“Then what is it, if not the French Army?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate, sensing the faintest discord emanating from him. Was it her or the topic?

“Exactly what you’ve heard. An army of mercenaries who fight wars for money.” He sliced her with his gold-flecked eyes, narrowing them until the thick lashes touched. “I don’t talk about it.”

Okay then. The topic and not her. “Is there a code of secrecy or something?”

Very slowly he shook his head, a vein lightly throbbing in his neck, the thin half-moon scar at his temple white against tanned skin, all playfulness gone. “I simply don’t talk about it.”

She nodded, as her natural ability to read people hit a brick wall.

He put a single finger over one of her knuckles, the slight contact like a spark silencing her thoughts. “We were talking about my superior ability to judge character.”

A little disappointment tweaked that he wouldn’t confide in her, which made her wonder if all these crazy sensations were one-sided. Or, worse—the dreams of a desperate woman.

She slipped her finger out from his touch. “You want to bet?” she asked.

“On what?”

“Anything. Remember, according to your sister, I’m a compulsive gambler.”

He gave her a slow half smile. “Would it be horrible of me to make a joke about Native Americans who love to bet?”

“Well beyond horrible.”

“You’ll bet on
anything
?”

She had to laugh at his incredulity. “Pretty much, and since you’re a rookie, we’ll make it easy.” She lifted her glass and gave a questioning look. “Loser goes to the bar?”

He gave her a sideways look. “It’s an open bar, Arielle.”

“Everyone calls me Ari.”

“I’m not everyone,” he reminded her. “And I like Arielle. It suits you. It’s…” He eyed her, scrutinizing her face, openly studying her every feature. With each passing second, she could feel heat rising, her dress suddenly feeling constricting around her chest.

“It’s rendering you speechless,” she teased.

“Arielle is mysterious and deep, like your eyes. What does it mean? I bet it refers to some ancient spirit or the goddess of all living things.”

She almost bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You’d bet that?”

“Yeah,” he said after a second, inching slightly closer. “I’ll wager there’s a profound significance to your name and it has a deep meaning to your parents.”

Oh, boy. Like taking Jujubes from a baby. A very sexy baby. “What are we betting?”

“A dollar.”

“Fine.” She held out her hand, and he closed his fingers over hers, and damn it all if the Fourth of July fireworks didn’t explode up her arm. Why did he have this effect on her? His eyes flickered a little, and he added some pressure.

He feels the same way.

The thought made her throat dry, but she gave a hearty shake. “A dollar,” she confirmed.

Once again, it took a few seconds too long to let go of each other’s hand.