Zeke looked around, frowning as he zeroed in on someone on the other side of the restaurant. “Hey, isn’t that your goat girl?”
Elliott turned to see two women chatting under an awning, his gaze drawn to the familiar one. The beautiful one. The one he wanted more than his next freaking breath. How had that even happened to him? “She said she had a meeting here with—”
“Jocelyn Palmer,” Zeke supplied.
“How’d you know that?”
“She’s the one we were just talking about. Will Palmer’s wife.” Zeke frowned and gave Elliott’s arm a warning tap. “Will knows about the baseball stadium, so it’s a safe bet his wife does, too. And Will knew where we were going to put it, so...”
“So, shit.” Elliott pushed up. “I should find an excuse to get those two apart.”
Zeke pulled out his phone. “Good, you’re leaving. I’ll call Mandy.” His voice was totally without sarcasm, just...happiness.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Elliott asked.
Zeke beamed. “Like nothing I’ve ever known.”
That hollow feeling that had gotten so familiar in the last few days deepened in his chest. “Do me a favor and look into that other land. I’ll cover the clearing costs, no matter how astronomical they are. I’m getting out of the first deal I made.”
“I will. I’ll work on it this afternoon, but you have to do me a favor,” Zeke replied.
“Whatever you need, buddy.”
“Don’t fight it.”
Elliott knew exactly what the other man meant. “I’m...working on it.”
“No, I mean it.” Zeke stood up to level Elliott with a straight gaze. “You always go for the effortless way out of things. If it’s real, it’s worth doing the tough stuff, even if it hurts.”
“Tough? I’ve been living in a trailer and cleaning up goat shit for her.”
“It can get much tougher than that, my friend. Especially if you want it to be real.”
Elliott turned again to look at her, just at the very moment she spotted him. Her face brightened, and her smile blinded and, damn it, his every nerve cell threatened to fry. Felt real enough.
“It is real,” he said softly, unable to take his eyes off her.
“Not as long as you’re lying to her, it’s not.”
His heart dropped a little. “Look, I’m going to tell her everything, but not until after I call that lawyer and kill the deal. It can’t be pending, she’ll never believe me. I’ll track him down this afternoon and pull the offer that I put in.”
“And then what?”
“Then I’ll tell her and...” He finally turned to Zeke. “Who knows, Einstein? Maybe the Niners will be looking for two replacements.”
Zeke gave him a nudge. “Get ’er done, cowboy.”
Elliott snorted. “I’m no more of a cowboy than you are.”
“But you are a straight shooter. If you want to talk to Burns first, do it, but make it right with her as soon as you can.”
“I will.” And he meant it.
* * *
Frankie’s soaring heart rate had to be her excitement over how well the meeting had gone with the spa manager who’d walked her outside to say goodbye. It simply couldn’t be the sight of Elliott Becker on the pavilion having lunch with his friend, his dark gaze locked on her like she was his one and only target.
Except he’d been looking at her a lot like that lately. And, every time, a thousand butterflies in her stomach made a mockery of her attempts to be cool. But cool had become warm, and warm was fast reaching the boiling point.
She wanted him. The kisses, the touches, the secret looks and sexy words and his poor, pathetic attempt to hide her effect on him in the shower...it had taken every ounce of self-control she’d ever had not to climb in there and finish the job for him and every time he’d taken a shower since then.
She’d been relieved when they’d gone off in different directions this morning, happy to have some time where her head didn’t feel light and her limbs heavy with need.
“I know, it’s amazing.” The comment yanked Frankie back to the moment, and she instantly returned her focus to Jocelyn Palmer, who was still holding and smelling some of the soap samples.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the mimosa and orange bar. “Mimosa Mornings,” she said with a smile. “I just love how you’ve given these such incredible names and tied them all to the island. We could have so much fun with that!”
“I already have,” Frankie said with a laugh.
“We are all about locally grown.” Jocelyn’s dark eyes gleamed with an inner peace and joy that Frankie already admired. “And romance,” she said. “With so many destination weddings booked, I’d love to offer these perfectly named products in welcome gifts and baskets, if you’re ready to ramp up production. Our brides might like them for wedding favors, too.”
“I can be ready. I’m...” Frankie turned to follow Jocelyn’s gaze, not the least bit surprised to see Elliott striding across the deck toward them, a black polo accentuating every muscle, even though it hung loose over casual cargo shorts.
He trotted down a few steps, extending a confident hand to Jocelyn. “You must be the spa manager Frankie was so excited to meet with today. I’m Elliott Becker.”
The other woman’s eyes widened a little, as if she knew the name. Well, he was technically a guest even if he hadn’t spent one night in his villa.
“Hello, Mr. Becker, I’m Jocelyn Palmer.”
“I see you’re crazy about Frankie’s amazing work.”
“We were just talking about the great names they have,” Frankie said, unable to resist leaning into him a little. “Here’s the man to thank, Jocelyn. He’s a genius when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“You have quite a way with words,” Jocelyn agreed, but she kept looking at him, frowning slightly, and then she glanced at Frankie, obviously unsure of the connection.
“He’s been visiting my farm for the last few days,” Frankie said, hoping that would cover it.
“But aren’t you part of the baseball thing? My husband is so thrilled about this—”
“Shhh.” Still smiling, he put his finger over his lips. “We’re really trying to keep it on the down low.”
The baseball thing? Did she mean that the Niners were here? Frankie waited for an explanation, but Jocelyn was already nodding knowingly.
“I understand,” she said. “But it won’t stay quiet for long, not on this little island.”
“We’re trying, though. Are you two finished?” He gave an impatient tug to Frankie’s hand, along with a look that said clearly how much he wanted to be alone with her.
“We were just playing with some ideas for more soap lines,” Jocelyn said, missing the look completely. “Later this year, we have three wedding planners opening up a new bridal consulting firm in the resort, called Barefoot Brides, so we need to really amp up the romantic themes around here.”
Elliott slid a comfortable arm around Frankie. “We can work on some romance,” he teased.
Frankie laughed but couldn’t bring herself to pull away. “I’m sure we can come up with all different themes and lines, Jocelyn.”
“As you know, our resort motto is ‘kick off your shoes and fall in love.’”
“We’ll work on it.” Elliott took a step away, effectively ending the meeting for her, his impatience palpable.
“Wait a second,” Frankie said under her breath, giving him a warning look. He knew how important this meeting was to her, and it wasn’t quite finished. “What’s our next step, Jocelyn?”
“Our next step is the beach,” Elliott replied. “Let’s kick off our shoes and see what happens.”
Jocelyn laughed. “Just call me as soon as you have the whole line ready to go,” she said. “Oh, and Elliott, best of luck with the baseball project. It’s going to mean great things for all of us and, honestly, I haven’t seen my husband so excited since...well...” She looked down and tapped her loose-flowing top. ??
?Since we found out some very good news.”
“Oh!” Frankie exclaimed. “Congratulations! You certainly don’t look pregnant.”
“It’s early yet, but we’re very happy, thank you.” She gave Frankie a spontaneous hug and whispered in her ear. “He looks like a keeper.”
Frankie didn’t reply but just said goodbye, her whole body warm from the sun and the encouragement. And the man who couldn’t get much closer.
“So, she loved your soaps, huh?” he asked when Jocelyn went back inside.
She looked up at him, not that unhappy that he helped end the meeting. She wanted to be with him. “She loved your brilliant marketing, too. What’s this about the baseball thing?”
That glorious smile faltered for a second. “Hey, can we walk the beach or are you afraid the slogan’s really a prediction?”
“I’m not afraid of anything except an expertly changed subject to avoid answering.”
He laughed, his easy, breezy, I-can-make-anyone-do-what-I-want laugh that Frankie had already learned to discern from his real laugh. The difference, she’d figured out after many hours with him, was in his eyes. Right now, they might be on her, but something was flat in his gaze.
“No expert anything,” he denied. “You know some of my softball teammates are here. And you know one of them is Nate Ivory.”
“Yes?”
“Well, he hates publicity, as you can imagine.”
“Gets enough of it, though.”
He nudged her out from under the awning and gestured toward the beach. “Kick off your shoes, Frankie.”
And fall in love.
She toed off her sandals, and he did the same to his Docksiders and took her hand as they stepped onto the warm, fine sand.
“So why would Jocelyn’s husband be so excited about you guys being here?”
“He’s a former pro ball player and...” Elliott looked out at the horizon, his voice fading as he seemed to get lost in thought.
“And?” she prompted.
He turned and looked down at her, his expression so serious she drew back. “And...” He swallowed, searching her face, his seriousness growing downright dark.
“What is it, Elliott?”
“And we...” He shook his head. “It’s not important. It’s just some dumb baseball stuff.” Before she could respond, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and dropping a kiss on her hair. “Tell me about your meeting with Jocelyn. Tell me about your plans for the farm. That’s what’s important.”
Closing her eyes, she let the moment wash over her. The sand in her toes, the man in her arms, the lightness in her heart.
“What’s important, huh? You’re awfully philosophical. Did you drink at lunch?”
He laughed. “Busted. One Bloody Mary. You want one?”
She let out a soft moan, her head dropping back at how awesome that sounded. “Yes. Let’s go.” She turned back to the patio restaurant, where her gaze landed on his friends, sitting at a side table, deep in conversation.
“I knew he’d come back,” Elliott muttered, steering her in the opposite direction.
“Don’t you want to join them? They’re looking right at us.”
“Let them. Come on, I have a better idea.” He rounded the deck, scooped up their shoes and led her to the back of the resort to the shaded, paved road that ran from the hotel to each of the private villas.
At the main entrance, he snagged a golf cart, offered a hand to help her up, and drove away toward his villa, uncharacteristically silent.
He definitely didn’t want her talking to his friends.
“Are you really worried that I might be attracted to Nathaniel Ivory?” she asked, not sure what to make of that character trait if it were true.
“No,” he said simply, his jaw set in a way she wasn’t sure she’d seen before.
Without asking what was wrong, she hung on as the cart rumbled past picturesque villas, each tucked into their own tropical gardens. Some had front verandas that faced the bay with completely private pools in the back. Others were situated so that their elevated pools offered bay views. All of them were gorgeous, including the last one, Rockrose.
He turned to her, not climbing out of the golf cart. “Come inside with me so we can talk.”
Talk? They’d been talking for days. “Okay,” she said, leaning closer. “If you want to talk.” She kissed him lightly. “But I’m kinda talked out today.”
He fought a smile, a battle waging in his eyes, but still she couldn’t figure out why he seemed so conflicted. She was practically inviting herself into his bed.
“We can talk, too,” he said.
She smiled and lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you want.” She started to slide her leg out of the cart, but he gripped her arm, holding her there.
“Francesca.”
Her heart slipped around, helpless, as it always did, when he used her full name.
“I really like you,” he said.
“I really like you, too.”
“No, I mean...” He exhaled, frustration oozing off him. “I want to talk and tell you...”
“Hey.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, putting her lips right over his ear. “I got a bag full of sweet-smelling cotton balls that I need you to name.”
He grinned. “If that’s not the sexiest offer I’ve ever had, then I don’t know what is.”
“This.” She covered his mouth with a kiss, as hard and hot and sincere as she could make it, and he melted almost immediately. At least, his strange arguments melted. Nothing else melted.
Only her heart when he scooped her up and carried her inside, refusing to put her down or end the kiss until she was lying on his bed, breathless and ready for him.
Chapter Ten
What the hell was wrong with him? Elliott’s body was ready—so, so damn hard and ready—but something in his chest, probably in the vicinity of his heart or, worse, his soul, wouldn’t make a move. Instead, Elliott slowly sat on the giant king-size bed.
“So, where are these fragrances?” he asked.
From under her thick lashes, she eyed him suspiciously. “In my bag, which I dropped in the entryway when you Rhett Butlered me into bed and then...changed your mind.”
“I didn’t...” Shit. “I want to help you with your fragrances.”
With a soft sigh, she rolled off the bed and disappeared out the bedroom door. For a moment, he froze, wondering if she’d just given up on him completely. And part of him was hoping she had. He could call Burns, kill the deal, and then, and only then, could he get in this bed with Francesca and probably stay in it for a week.
Ah, hell, he hated when shit that should have been easy got all complicated and difficult.
“Damn it,” he muttered, falling back on the bed and throwing an arm over his face. Who was he?
“Smell.” Frankie’s hand closed over his arm, keeping it firmly over his eyes as a heady and rich aroma hit his senses. She straddled him on the bed without taking the cotton ball from under his nose. “How’s that?”
“Nice.” He used his one free hand to push her a little lower and get right over his... “Really damn nice.”
“What’s it smell like to you?”
“My sense of smell just gave in to my sense of”—he rocked his hips against her bottom—“woman.”
Just a little, a traitorous voice whispered in his head. Just a few kisses and touches and maybe he could tell her without...
No. He had to do this right.
“I’m serious, Elliott.”
Sadly, so was he. He would not...how had Nate put it? Screw her in more ways than one. He wasn’t going to be that guy.
But then she rolled a little harder over his erection. “What’s this smell like?”
Heaven. Trouble. Fun. Frankie.
He caressed her backside and hip, letting his fingers wander to the front of her skirt, skimming skin under her thin cotton top. “It smells like...coconut.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, but what does it make you think of?” Her stomach was taut and silky and tensed up at his light touch. “Remember the assignment. Romance.”
Romance. And until he was honest and real, this wasn’t romance. This was...the tip of his finger glided over the bottom of a lacy bra. This was sex.
Which used to be just fine, thank you very much.
“I don’t know,” he said gruffly, yanking his hand away.
She tsked. “Losing your touch, Becker?”
He wanted to smile, but nothing was funny, not even her stupid pun. “What is this stuff?” he asked, trying to play along and remember the labels he’d read on the vials. “Lemon verbs or something?”
She laughed, tightening her legs, her bare calves against his thighs, and little else except that slip of a frilly skirt she wore. What else did she not have on under that skirt?
His dick grew harder, right into her bottom, earning a sweet little moan from her when she felt it.
“It’s clearly making you think of something romantic.”
“It makes me think of...” Sex. Sweet, fast, easy, hard, now. “Lavender?” he guessed.
“Becker,” she sighed in frustration and lifted her hand so he could look up at her. She rested her hands on either side of his head, her hair dangling down to his cheeks, her top draped enough that he could easily slide his hand right...up...there.
“I need you to work your magic,” she said.
Magic. She was magic. He put both hands on her hips and rolled her over his erection. And that was magic. Hot, needy, achy magic.
“Come and kiss me, Francesca.”
On a sigh that sounded like pure relief, she lowered herself and pressed against him, kissing soft and sweet before adding heat and passion.
One hand found its way under her top, caressing skin as he reached around to unhook her bra and fill his hand with her bare breast. The other was already bunching up the skirt, desperate for skin and a long-awaited caress of her backside.
She was just as hungry and desperate, whimpering with each kiss, nibbling his jaw, threading her fingers through his hair, his name on her lips between strangled breaths.
“We never got a name for midnight, remember?” she said in between kisses, giving him the cotton.