Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

  “I promise.” She eased her hand out of his and looked at the drive. “Is this going to make me cry?”

  “That’s not,” he said. But then he looked at her like he was finishing that sentence in his head. The book wouldn’t make her cry, but something would.

  Was he going to leave her and break her heart? Maybe. Probably. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop the way she felt about him any more than she could stop breathing.

  “I’ll be over tonight,” she told him. “Get the rose petals and candles ready.”

  He smiled and watched her as she walked into the house, knowing that he was trying to let her down gently and that this brief sexual interlude was all they were ever going to have. She squeezed the thumb drive, holding tight to the little piece of him she did have.

  It would have to be enough, then.

  * * *

  Trying to stay busy, Nick made some arrangements and phone calls and didn’t finish until he had everything he needed for tonight to be perfect.

  Except the one thing he needed most: the balls to tell Willow the truth.

  He paced the villa, in and out of the patio, staring at the horizon, digging his fingers into his hair and dragging his hand back with each heavy sigh. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lay Willow down on that bed and make love to her and a few days later have her find out that he was the world’s biggest dick…for “her own good.”

  She hated to be manipulated, and that’s exactly what he would be doing. Still, her father’s words echoed, so familiar since they’d been haunting him for ten days.

  So who has more at stake?

  Willow. Willow was the one who had the most at stake.

  A young man trying to get laid… No. He wasn’t a young man trying to get laid, despite what Donny Z thought. Nick’s game with Willow had gone way past a “favor” to help her lose her virginity to something…more.

  …with the least amount of white water before he ships off to his next assignment and has nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach…

  Donny was wrong there, too. Nick didn’t care about creating “white water” because there didn’t have to be any if he told her the truth. Nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach? Sorry, but they’d sailed past nice a few weeks ago. He cared about her. Deeply.

  …or a family that desperately needs and wants old heartaches to disappear?

  Wasn’t there a better way than ambushing her? Man, how could he have been so blind? He not only had to tell Willow, he had to help her deal with the shrapnel to the heart after the Z-bomb detonated. But how? When?

  Tonight, of course. But he knew what he had to do first.

  He moved like a man going into combat, certain and fast. Grabbing his phone, he clicked onto the Internet, got the phone number he needed, and dialed.

  “Ritz-Carlton Naples, how can I direct your call?”

  They’d never connect him if he asked for a celebrity, but he distinctly remembered the room number when he and Misty had visited. “Suite 1601, please.”

  The phone was answered on the third ring, a soft, female voice. “Hello?”

  Shit. He wanted Donny, not Ona. “Is Donny Zatarain available?”

  “He’s not here at the moment. Message?” He recognized Ona’s distinct inflection and had no doubt Donny had relayed everything he and Nick talked about on the veranda that night.

  “When do you think he’ll be back?”

  “Is this Nick Hershey?” Ona asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She cleared her throat lightly. “Perhaps I can help you. Is there a problem with my daughter?”

  Yes, there was a huge problem with her daughter. But this woman was the master manipulator, and he didn’t completely trust her. “I really need to talk to your husband.”

  “About?”

  Now what? Lie or suffer the consequences? “He’d mentioned my jamming with the band and…” The lie caught in his throat, his brain buzzing too loud to even come up with a good rationalization.

  “And that’s why you’re calling?”

  No. It had nothing to do with that. He hesitated, rooting around for something that wouldn’t be a lie, but wouldn’t be the truth he wasn’t ready to share. “Among other things.”

  “He’s golfing.”

  “Can you have him call me when he gets in?”

  “My, it sounds urgent.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”

  It would be so easy. But he’d made his assurances to Donny, not his wife. He should have this conversation with him. “Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my number.”

  “Of course, go ahead.”

  He recited the number and then paused, waiting for her to say good-bye.

  “How’s Willow?” she asked, the question throwing him.

  “She’s…” Beautiful. Funny. Sexy. Perfect. Everything he ever wanted in a woman. Holy, holy shit. When did that happen? “She’s great.”

  Ona laughed softly. “I know she is, Nick. Is she happy?”

  “She is now,” he said quickly. But won’t be when she finds out he was party to this operation.

  “Does she laugh a lot?” Ona sounded like she really cared.

  “All the time,” he assured her.

  “I always loved her laugh,” Ona said. “It’s musical with that little lilt when she catches her breath.”

  “Yeah, I love that, too.” In fact, he loved…everything about her.

  “Oh.” She barely whispered the word. “You love her.”

  “I…I…” Can’t admit that right now. Not yet. Not until he made everything right, then he’d figure out how he felt. “She’s an awesome woman, Ona.”

  After a long beat of silence, she said, “I’ll tell Donny to call you. Good-bye now.” She hung up, leaving him feeling incredibly hollow and frustrated. Probably the way she’d made Willow feel her whole life.

  Without having any writing to do, he felt a little lost. And he couldn’t do anything until he talked to Donny, so he pocketed his phone and took a ten-mile run up and down the beach.

  Afterward, he was still anxious. Stripping down to nothing on his patio, he set his cell phone on the table and dove into the pool, making sure not to stay under too long to miss Donny’s call.

  He kicked hard, easily getting from one side to the other before much of a thought formed in his head. Of course, the only thought he had was…Willow.

  Willow who made his body burn with desire and his heart heavy with affection. Willow who somehow got under his skin and in his head and helped him see the futility in rewriting his past. Willow who…deserved to know the truth.

  He shot up for air, his eyes closed, the jangle of his phone so loud it stunned him.

  “You want to take this?” He opened his eyes to stare up at Willow, who held his phone out to him. Did it say Donny Zatarain on the screen? Guilt and fear squeezed.

  “Not now,” he said. How could he? “What are you doing here?”

  She turned the phone over and looked at the screen. “You sure? It’s an LA phone number. Maybe your brother?”

  Shit. Shit. “No, no. Just put it down. He can wait. Are you okay?” he asked. Had she somehow figured out his secret before he could tell her?

  She set the phone on the glass tabletop and turned to him. “I want to talk about your book.”

  “You do?” He wiped some water out of his eyes to get a better look at her expression and read her feelings. “Did you like the end?”

  For a moment she didn’t answer, but stood very still, looming over him. She had her hands on her hips, a long, tight red skirt accenting her narrow waist and curves. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale, her breasts nicely outlined in a tight, cotton button-down blouse tucked into the skirt.

  “It couldn’t have been easy,” she said, taking a single step along the side of the pool, the click of one very high heel and then the other like a clock ticking down to…trou
ble.

  “What couldn’t have been?”

  “The helicopter scene. You were right. It made me teary.” She took a few more steps, rounding one corner, her gaze on him, her fingers on the top button of her blouse. And then the second. And then the third.

  “It…did?”

  “I thought you handled it beautifully.” She slid the blouse out of the skirt and let the fabric spread open, revealing a sleek cream-colored bra of sheer lace. So sheer, he could see the dark circles of her nipples and feel the first surge of blood to his lower half. He moved in the water, hoping it would cool him off.

  He couldn’t do this until he told her the truth.

  “I especially loved that last kiss.” She slipped out of the blouse, letting it flutter to the patio, continuing her slow, predatory strip-walk around the pool. Helpless, he stayed rooted in one spot, doing nothing but pivoting to follow her.

  “You know what you did, don’t you?” she asked.

  She reached around to unzip the skirt, the zipper making a slow, scraping sound.

  He tried to swallow. “I’m not sure.” Of anything.

  She turned around, giving him a view of her backside as she very slowly slid the skirt over her hips, revealing tight, taut, round ass cheeks covered by nothing but a lacy thong in that same sweet cream color.

  The skirt hit the ground, and Willow stepped out of it, still in her sexy, black high heels, her crazy-hot thong, and her too-sheer-to-think bra. Nick drank in every curve, every line, every single sexy inch of her. She kicked the skirt away, reached up and flicked the hook of her bra, and turned again, inching the straps down her arms to show him her beautiful breasts.

  “You let her go.”

  “What?” He couldn’t even begin to follow the conversation. “Let who go?”

  “Christina. Charlotte. The past.” She was topless now, naked but for the thong and, shit, those shoes that screamed for sex. Sex he couldn’t and wouldn’t have until—

  The phone rang again, freakishly loud and horrifically intrusive. She raised an eyebrow. Maybe. It was hard to get all the way up to her face with the heavenly view of her body.

  “Ignore it,” he managed. “What do you mean…I let her go?”

  “You’re over her. She died in the book, as she did in real life, and Gannon was able to own up to what happened and tell her family at her service.”

  “I never did that.” He didn’t want to talk about Charlotte now. His body was humming with need, and his heart was heavy with shame, and his phone was screaming with a call he had to take but…

  She stepped out of the thong, leaving it on the patio.

  “You did it in the book, though.” She took a few more torturous, fully naked steps, then reached the stairs in the shallow end that led into the pool.

  Very deliberately, she toed off one shoe, then the other. And started her descent toward him.

  “The book ends beautifully, Nick. You didn’t need me at all.”

  Oh, but he did. He needed her so much that nothing could stop him from reaching his hands out for her. One touch, then he’d tell her. Then he’d spoil this perfect, sexy, electrified seduction, but he had to.

  “I want to know how you did it. How did you come to terms with the past without actually rewriting history?” She came into his arms as smoothly as the water, folding into his embrace, pressing her gorgeous body against his, the chill of the water making her shudder slightly in his arms.

  “I met you.” He didn’t even know where that came from, but it was the absolute truth.

  She looked up at him, confusion in her baby-blue eyes. “Me?”

  “You.” He kissed her forehead and hated what he had to tell her, but not all of it. Not this part. Tipping her chin back, he took a long, long look, appreciating what would surely be the last affectionate gaze he received. “I never met anyone like you, Willow. I’m absolutely, completely, and totally smitten. You inspire me and excite me and”—he closed his eyes—“deserve better than me.”

  She tightened her grip around his waist, laying her head on his chest. “Better? I thought you were over it, or at least on your way, after writing all that.”

  “I’m in a better place as far as what happened in Iraq,” he replied. “But I have to tell you something—”

  “Hello! Hello, anyone home?” The woman’s voice echoed from inside, yanking them apart.

  “Don’t any of the maids knock at this place?” He spat out the question. But Willow was already scrambling away. Of course she didn’t want some Casa Blanca staff person to see her naked in the pool with a guest.

  “Where are you, Nick?”

  Who was that? Misty?

  He opened his mouth to ask Willow, but she was climbing out of the pool, scooping up clothes and shoes, and darting to the French door that led to the master bedroom. There, she turned, an unreadable expression in her eyes.

  Then she stepped inside and pulled the door behind her, disappearing inside before it latched.

  “Are you out here?” Ten feet away, a woman stepped out from the living room French doors, placing her hands on her hips precisely as Willow had. In fact, she looked exactly like Willow at that moment.

  Which wasn’t really a surprise, since she was Willow’s mother.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Willow’s pounding heart drowned out the voices on the patio as she entered the cool air of the bedroom and tried to inventory what clothes she’d managed to grab—everything but her blouse, which had been too far away to snag. Damn, that was close. Imagine the rumor mill if one of the housekeepers had walked in on them. It could have put the Barefoot Brides out of business.

  As her pulse slowed and she slipped into her underwear—the set she’d been saving for “D-Day,”—a woman’s voice floated in from the patio.

  “…important I talk to you in person, Nick.”

  Willow froze. That wasn’t one of the housekeepers. Cripes, even worse. Management? Still wearing the bra and thong, she took a step closer, careful to stay out of sight.

  “So you just walked in?”

  “Misty left me her key.”

  Misty? Who was that? The voice sounded familiar, but—

  “You will not tell my daughter what we’re doing, young man. You will not.”

  Willow froze, quite literally deadened by the voice.

  “You made a pact with my husband.”

  No. No.

  “Like hell I did!” The splash of Nick climbing out of the water and his angry response barely registered. Her brain went blank, her body numb, and somewhere in the back of Willow’s head, a dull throb started to thump and make her shake.

  “I know why you called Donny, and I had to come here and stop you!”

  What?

  “Put this towel on, please.” The order was so…Ona.

  This wasn’t happening. Any moment Willow would wake up in a cold sweat, bathed in relief that this was a very bad dream. Please, God.

  “We made a deal at dinner.”

  A deal? Willow grabbed the wall to keep stable. She tried—and failed—to make sense of what she was hearing. Ona and Nick made a deal?

  “You were going to play along, let the plans proceed, and give me a chance to do the one thing that matters most to me. Have you told her yet?”

  “No.” Nick’s voice was so soft and Willow’s heartbeat was so loud she almost didn’t make out the word.

  “Thank God!” High heels tapped on the patio, much faster and more determined than Willow’s striptease a few minutes ago. A lifetime ago. “Then we still have a chance to make this work. But only if the element of surprise is on our side.”

  “I’m going to tell her.”

  “No, you are not.” Ona ground out the words, sounding very much like she had when Willow was fourteen and reached for her tenth cookie.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “If you tell her…” Her mother’s voice faded as she no doubt dug for the worst punishment she could inflict.

  “I a
m going to tell her.”

  Willow moved in as if in a trance, every muscle engaged and active except the one between her ears, which stayed numb. Opening the French door, Willow stepped outside into the sunshine and locked her gaze on Nick standing with just a towel around him.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Willie!” Next to her, Ona came closer, but Willow refused to even turn her head an inch.

  “Tell me what, Nick?”

  “Look at you!” Ona’s hand touched her shoulder, but Willow shook it off, rage coursing through her.

  “Willow, you have to understand—”

  “I have to understand?” She cut him off, too angry to let him finish. “I don’t understand anything except that I hate being manipulated. What is this pact you have with people you claim to have never met, Nick? What is this deal you made behind my back?” Her voice rose, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that the mother she hadn’t seen in years was five feet away or that she walked outside in nothing but a bra and a thong. She didn’t care about anything but how her heart was shattering so hard in her chest she could actually feel sharp pieces stab her.

  He was in some kind of partnership with her mother?

  “I didn’t make a deal.”

  Ona choked softly. “That’s not how I understand what Donny said.”

  Donny! He’d met her father? After all that…talk? All they’d shared? He’d just held her and kissed her and took her almost there with that lie right between them?

  “How is this possible?” she whispered, her voice ragged.

  “Willie, you look amazing!”

  She turned to slice her mother with a look. “Don’t call me that. My name is Willow.”

  Ona flinched, sending a different kind of stab into Willow’s chest. No, she would not succumb to guilt. She was not the guilty party right here.

  That person was standing in front of her in a towel, dripping wet and miserable.

  To think that, moments ago, she was about to lose her virginity to him.