Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3)

“No shit.”

  * * *

  Just letting the story out—a bit of the story—should have made Luke feel better, but his body betrayed him. Every cell was on fire for Arielle when he should be at least remembering Cerisse.

  He sighed into the pressure of her body, the softness of her breasts right there under a flimsy top, her nipples practically screaming, Touch me!—all of it making him feel like shit. After Cerisse, he’d sworn off relationships, especially with incredible women who had love on the brain.

  “Trust me, I’m not cut out for what you have in mind,” he said.

  “I think we’ve established that you don’t know what I have in mind.” Arielle tried to sit up, but Luke instinctively snatched her back, wrapping both arms like steel bands around her, refusing to let her go.

  He lifted his legs from the floor, grateful to have ditched his shoes, and stretched out on the sofa, getting her right where he wanted her, where he needed her. Because he’d never needed anything so much as the womanly curves of her body on his, crushing out his admissions and making him remember how good a female could feel.

  Really good.

  “No,” he agreed. “But if what you’re thinking has anything to do with love, it’s not going to happen.” He kissed the top of her head, as if that could take the sting out of his words, and slid her an inch to the left so she wasn’t directly over his dick, which might decide it didn’t care a bit about love or loss or what she had in mind.

  “You need to tell me more,” she said, leaning up enough to look at him. “And quit moving. Or…not.”

  He smiled at the bit of innuendo. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  She narrowed her eyes to near slits. “There has to be more you can tell me.”

  Maybe he could tell her some, but not all. He couldn’t tell her what happened, or how it ended. Mostly because he couldn’t stand to relive the moment and watch the sexy compassion in her eyes fade to horror and disappointment when she learned the truth about him.

  He brushed some hairs off her face, stroking the strands he liked so much, taking a few seconds to let his knuckles brush her cheek. He had to take this conversation in another direction…the obvious and only direction. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Good delay tactic.”

  “It’s not.” But it was. “You are beautiful.” He wrapped a long, silken thread of hair around his finger, searching her face, looking for a flaw that wasn’t there.

  “Was she?”

  He swallowed. “Very.”

  “You’re not over her.”

  “I’m over her,” he assured her. “It’s been four years.” He pulled her closer. “Four long, dry years.” Oh, shit. Why did he tell her that? Now she’d think he was some kind of weird monk desperado.

  She blinked. “You haven’t been with anyone since then?”

  “Is this the celibate girl sounding shocked?”

  “But…but…you’re…”

  “A guy, I know.”

  “And a hot one.”

  His mouth softened into a grin. “You’re hot, too, but it hasn’t made you go out and get lucky.”

  “I’m serious.” She tried to sit up again, but he refused to release even an inch of her. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Not what you’re waiting for,” he said dryly.

  “Then what is it?”

  He couldn’t answer that without telling her the whole story. So he didn’t answer, playing with her hair some more, liking the way it tickled his neck as it tumbled down.

  “Luke?”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for,” he said. “Just being careful, I suppose.”

  She eased herself to the side, laying a hand on his heart. “Is that all?”

  Oh, of course. She could read him. So he better be honest. “It hurt a lot when it ended.” Now, there was an understatement for the excruciating pain that had torn through his heart and soul in the months after he left French Guiana. “Enough that I don’t want to risk anything serious again.”

  She settled closer to him, and he turned so they were face-to-face and body-to-body along the length of the sofa. “Who was she? Another soldier?”

  He shook his head. “No women in the Legion. Her father was an important government official in French Guiana, and I was assigned to be his bodyguard.”

  She frowned slightly. “Not what I thought the French Foreign Legion does.”

  “There’s a lot of things the Legion does that no one knows about, but that was a particularly dangerous part of the world.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “French Guiana? Why?”

  “Not going to say.” The fewer people who knew about the illegal gold mining in Guiana, and the Legion’s dark and dirty efforts to stop it, the better. Plus, it felt like he was betraying…someone who’d already suffered enough because of what happened.

  “I can see you as a bodyguard,” she said, trailing a finger over his chest.

  “Best job of my life,” he said. “Fit like a glove on me, with none of the stupid effing red tape of being a contractor.”

  She looked up. “So, why don’t you do that instead of building houses?”

  He lifted a shoulder, feigning casual. “They like a law enforcement background.”

  “You were in the Foreign Legion, for heaven’s sake. I would think that qualifies.” As he started to reply, she put her hand on his mouth. “And don’t give me this ‘people don’t respect that operation’ business, because Gussie already told me that, and I’m not buying it. If you want to work in that field, why don’t you?”

  “I tried,” he said. “Good friend of mine I met on a mission in Somalia comes from a family who have a security business up in Boston, so when I was up there with Gussie, I went to their offices in Back Bay.”

  “And?”

  His friend’s cousin was some badass former Army Ranger with an eye patch, and that guy would have no sympathy for what happened on Luke’s one and only legit bodyguard assignment. “When I got there, I just didn’t feel it, you know?”

  She gave him a look that said she didn’t know, but let it drop. “What was her name?”

  He couldn’t tell her anyone’s name. “Classified,” he murmured.

  “Funny name.”

  He gave her a look. “It is and it will stay that way, okay?”

  She blinked at his tone. “Okay, but can you tell me what happened that made you swear off all women?”

  “I did tell you. She…died.” A bloody, brutal, unforgettable death.

  “And so you’ll never give anyone else a chance?” The question was soft, not much more than air.

  “I don’t deserve it.” He ground out the words, hating the sound of them. The truth of them.

  “Love or sex?”

  He looked at her. “You don’t think there is a difference,” he said, a slight tone of accusation in his voice. “Am I right?”

  “We’re not talking about me, Luke. We’re talking about you.”

  Touché. “I swore off heartache and misery, which turned into swearing off sex for a while. A long while.” Just saying the word sex made him a little harder, and his body totally betrayed him by rocking ever so slightly into her. “Too long of a while,” he admitted on a sigh.

  She sucked in a soft breath as if he’d actually touched bare skin.

  “We’re like a couple of firecrackers with short fuses,” she said.

  “How long for you?”

  “It had been a while since I’d been seeing anyone seriously before Grandma Good Bear died and I made her that promise, so almost three years total.”

  “Shit,” he murmured softly. “That’s seven years between us. That’s crazy.”

  “Four years for you?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “That’s insane.”

  “Probably not healthy, either.”

  She gave him a slow smile. “We might be killing ourselves and not even realize it.”

  “I’m sure we are.” Because
this conversation was killing him. Along with her body and hair and the hungry look in her eyes. “Arielle, we should…”

  “Masturbate.”

  He choked out a belly laugh. “Trust me, I do.”

  “Me, too. But it’d be more fun with a partner.” She leaned up to look at him. “I’m torn, Luke. I want to wait for that…that person. And I want to have sex with you. And I want those two things not to ruin each other.”

  Her eyes were damp with tears, raw and honest tears. “What should we do?” she asked.

  Oh, the answers he had to that question. “We could…do other things than sex.”

  She laughed. “I think we’ve been doing that for a few days.”

  “No, I mean…” He moved his hand over her body. “Not everything. Some things.” God, he was as bad as a teenager begging for a blow job.

  “That might work.” She didn’t say anything for a long time, but very slowly, so slowly he wasn’t sure what was happening, she slid her leg over his calf, and his thigh, straddling him. “Or it might make things worse.”

  “Let’s find out, Little Mermaid.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her, but moved his hands along her arm, over her shoulder, sliding down to her breast.

  Her lips parted with a soft, soft inhale, her nipple budding against his fingertips.

  Neither one of them said a word or kissed or moved with any kind of fierce, frustrated anxiousness. Everything was slow and still and silent and…almost secret.

  Using two fingers, he picked up the cotton of her T-shirt, piece by piece, lifting it higher and higher. While he did, she spread her fingers over his hip then slowly slid her palm down until she…

  Oh, God. Covered the bulge in his jeans.

  He touched her nipple. She stroked the denim. He palmed her breast. She rocked her hips against him. They both melted a little deeper into each other, lost.

  Her skin was so soft. So damn smooth. She pressed again, harder, until he rolled on his back and brought her with him, putting her body on top so she could rub his full erection.

  He almost howled when she did, bowing her back, giving him access to her breasts. She closed her eyes and let out a whimper that fell somewhere between satisfaction and frustration, riding him harder as he lifted his head to suckle her.

  Her hair tumbled everywhere, her hips moved faster, and his erection slammed against his pants, dangerously, dangerously close to detonation.

  Moaning, she dropped onto his chest, still writhing on him, kissing and kissing until they were both breathless and lost, until he felt her whole body jerk with a wicked, fast orgasm that ripped a groan from her throat.

  His dick pulsed against her as she rested on him for a second, silent but for ragged breaths.

  “That was better than my vibrator.”

  He managed a laugh. “Talk about damning with faint praise.”

  She finally lifted her head. “Thanks for not making fun of me having a vibrator.”

  “Hey, I use my fist.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted. “I have one of those.”

  He almost said, Use it. Almost. But something stopped him. He didn’t want to jack off in her hand. He didn’t even want her mouth on him. Not the first time.

  No, he wanted to be inside her, all the way, buried. Deep. Lost. Complete. “Let’s wait,” he said, almost disbelieving that the words had come out of his mouth.

  “For what?” She sounded equally disbelieving. And disappointed.

  He kissed her nose, then cheek, and finished with his lips over her mouth. “For next time.”

  “Nothing’s going to change, Luke. I still want The One, and you…you are fighting some mighty powerful demons.”

  Damn it. Slowly, he untangled them and eased her off his aching body, silent because what could he say to that allegation? Other than, The truth hurts. And he hadn’t really told her anything. Those demons were way darker than she knew.

  “Can I ask you a question, Luke?”

  “Sure.”

  “What did it feel like? With her? The French woman who broke your heart.”

  Of course. The woo-woo girl would want to know about the feelings. “You mean the sex?”

  “I mean…when you met her and touched her and kissed her. How did you feel?”

  He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Not like this,” he admitted. “None of the…”

  “Lights, buzz, and heart expansion?”

  He smiled. “No, none of the special effects.”

  “So, then, maybe it wasn’t real.”

  He looked at her for a long time, the possibility so new and untested, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Except… “Maybe it wasn’t,” he agreed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Luke took the scenic route to Fort Myers Beach, wending up the coast past shops, hotels, and a preserve. Once they were on the grounds of Mound House, Ari was relaxed enough to let the history of the place wash over her like a waterfall on a summer day. She wasn’t imagining that; the awareness settled deep in her bones, filling her heart.

  She should have made this trip sooner; the whole place felt right to her.

  And Luke McBain felt right, too. He’d left last night, after a few more long—and longing—kisses and come back bright and early for the trip to Mound House. He’d insisted he wanted to go out of interest and curiosity, but something told her he wanted to spend time with her.

  Which was just fine.

  She’d had a restless night, with a lot of replaying of every word, kiss, touch, and…possibilities. She’d awakened with a zillion questions about the “classified” woman, even though her intuition told her loud and clear not to go there. Maybe ever.

  But that left Luke off-limits, at least emotionally. He could probably be on-limits for sex, based on the crazy connection they’d had on the sofa last night. Would she settle for that? Could she not? How long could they keep their hands off each other? she wondered.

  “Do you feel that?” He stuck his hand out the window.

  He felt it, too? “That’s history in the air,” she told him.

  He threw her a look. “Um, I meant the humidity. It’s going to rain today, and that always delays construction. I hope Duane finishes getting the silt fence up.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “Always the pragmatist.”

  “Always,” he agreed. “But since you mentioned it, what does history feel like?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” She looked out her window at the emerald foliage of Florida dotting the sides of the road.

  “I won’t make fun of you, Arielle,” he promised after she didn’t answer for a few seconds.

  “Why don’t you call me Ari, like everyone else?”

  He grinned at her. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not like everyone else?”

  And how many times did she have to tell him she knew that the minute they’d met? But she didn’t remind him now. They’d talked enough about it, and today she wanted to relax, meet with Dr. David Marksman, give the archaeologist some of her samples, and enjoy the museum and the beauty of the place.

  “Really, I’m curious and not being the least bit facetious,” he said. “How does one ‘feel’ history?”

  His question, and the look that came with it, felt genuine, so she nodded, gathering her explanation so she used the right words. Honest words.

  “There’s a certain pressure that I feel sometimes,” she said, tapping her chest. “My grandma used to call it tribal compassion.”

  He shot her a look, the hint of a smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I swear I’m not laughing. It’s your voice. It’s cute when you’re so serious.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m a lot of things, Luke, but ‘cute’ isn’t one of them.”

  “Note to self,” he mumbled. “Arielle isn’t cute. Gorgeous, sexy, kind of adorable, but not cute.”

  Her heart tripped. Why did he do that? And how? “We’ll see how adorable I am when Dr. Marksman
confirms that my samples are priceless treasures.”

  “Why would that make you any less adorable?”

  “Because it will make me fight harder for not flattening that hill in North Barefoot Bay.”

  He shook his head, rounding a wide bend in the road. “If you’ve unearthed priceless treasures in that house, you have my word I will not demolish one inch of the house until it has been thoroughly and completely searched for more. But that has nothing to do with the land Cutter Valentine wants leveled. If that’s made of crushed shells, like we think—and I told you I’m having the sample checked again—then we can level it with no harm done.”

  His words—and all the sense they made—hung in the truck. But something didn’t feel right to Ari.

  “Did you bring the sample that Michelle gave us?”

  “I have it in the back and an appointment to take it to another geological firm. Why?”

  “Would you be willing to leave a small bit with Dr. Marksman, for his opinion?”

  “Of course. Hey, look at that.” As they turned the corner into the acreage that surrounded Mound House, the trees opened up to show sloping grounds, emerald green and lush with palm trees and brightly blooming hibiscus. Atop the hill was the restored mansion, the cream stucco gleaming in the sun with balanced balconies and floor-to-ceiling windows giving the instant air of a Southern plantation house.

  It all looked out over a vast view of Estero Bay, an expanse of deep blue under a cloud-scattered sky.

  “They call it Case House,” Ari said. “Lots of history, changed family hands, and recently renovated to match what it looked like in 1921.”

  “Built on an Indian mound.”

  “It was a different century,” she reminded him. “And the estate has given a ton of money to re-create parts of the actual village that was here thousands of years ago.” She gave him a nudge. “Maybe Cutter would go for that.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “At least the current owners and curators have tried to honor the history and heritage over the years. But back when it was built, they hadn’t had too many concerns about history, which is the way it is all over this country. Oh, and”—she smiled—“they say it’s haunted.”

  He snorted softly and pulled into the lot, parking next to a school bus. A group of kids were standing on the lawn, being talked to by a tour guide or teacher, and another group of older tourists piled out of a minivan.