“I’m planning to be here a lot, too,” Zeke said under his breath. “You?”
Elliott slid him a glance. “Not sure yet.”
Zeke tracked his gaze to the spa door. “Did you actually beg?”
“Like a pathetic dog.”
“One knee?”
“Till I had carpet burn.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t go for the goat-farm idea.”
Elliott blew out a noisy breath. “I messed up so bad, Zeke.”
“You never know.”
But he knew. He’d taken his usual, easy, effortless shortcut to get what he wanted, and it had cost him everything. He wasn’t quite sure when he’d become so certain that Frankie Cardinale was everything, but it didn’t matter. She was, so now he had nothing.
Finally, the questions turned away from Nate and back to the Bucks, and the stadium complex, and that brought Will Palmer front and center. Thanks to him, they were well connected with the resort, including the talented architect who’d built the place, Clay Walker. Together with Clay, they answered questions about logistics and environmental concerns, and how to handle the increased traffic this would bring to the island.
All the while, Elliott watched that door, his heart sinking like the sun behind him, lower and lower as each minute ticked by.
“I have to talk to her,” he murmured to Zeke.
“Now?”
“I have to.” Before Zeke could stop him, he shot to the side of the patio deck, trying to stay inconspicuous as he hustled behind the crowd and jogged down the stairs. He pulled the door and swore softly to find it locked. Without giving it another thought, he set off to find another way back into the resort, determined and certain now. It took a full five minutes to work through the crowd, back into the lobby, and to the front entrance of the spa.
Without even glancing at the receptionist, he marched right into the management offices, yanked the door open, and...stared at nothing.
She was gone and so was the model of La Dolce Vita.
For a second, he couldn’t breathe, his pulse slamming against his temples, a band of disappointment clamping his chest. Shaking his head, he stood in the doorway and let the power-punch of regret and disappointment pound him.
He didn’t want to live without her, but she clearly felt differently. Taking one step inside, he fought a sting in his eyes and a lump in his throat.
Next time he’d be real. No matter how hard it was, he’d never fake his way through anything again. If nothing else, that’s what a week on the goat farm had taught him.
Swallowing the pain and his pride, he turned and retraced his footsteps, all the way through the lobby, into the restaurant, and back to the deck where he heard...
A woman’s voice through the microphone?
Stepping into the fading sunshine, he peered over the heads of the guests, to see Nate, Garrett, and Zeke on the stage alongside...Frankie?
“I’m thrilled to partner with the project,” she said into the microphone, her voice clear and strong and like music to his ears. “My grandfather was a founding father of this island, and I know he’d be over the moon to see a team named after his beloved animals and this wonderful visitors’ center...”
Elliott shouldered his way forward, reaching the front just as Frankie pointed to the table they’d set up with the three-dimensional stadium complex model, this time with the addition of La Dolce Vita.
She met his gaze, smiling through eyes as misty as his felt right then and reached her hand out. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
He stepped forward, taking her hand and joining his partners. All of them.
Nate leaned up to the microphone. “And now for what you’ve all really been waiting for—the exhibition game! You know we have players from five different Major League teams and our own softball team for a game of sandlot.” He pointed to the beach where a large area had been cleared for a makeshift ball game. “And I do mean sand.”
A cheer went up, mostly from the other guys on the Niners who’d come down for the event, but Elliott barely heard. Instead, he gripped Frankie’s hand.
“Partner?” he asked.
“Not only that,” she said with a smile, lifting her hand to slide on a baseball cap with a stylized N. “I qualify to play on your team.”
He reached to hug her, but Nate gave his shoulder a slam. “No kissing. We gotta win this game.”
“He hates to lose,” Elliott told her. “So we’ll kiss later.”
“Damn right we will, Becker.”
“Frankie! You did it!” A beautiful young woman sidled up to Frankie, her arms outstretched. “I’m so happy for you!”
Frankie hugged her, laughing. “Thanks for breaking the rules, Liza.” She turned to Elliott. “You remember Liza Lemanski, the great unraveler of red tape.”
In a flash, Nate was next to him, his focus on the beautiful blue-eyed brunette. “I like a woman who can unravel.”
Liza didn’t giggle or flush or toss her hair like most women when Nate Ivory zeroed in on them. Instead, she pinned him with a dead-serious look. “Good,” she said. “Because I’ve come to do a little unraveling.”
Elliott looked skyward and finally got his arm around Frankie, pulling her into him and taking her down to the beach. “What changed your mind?” he whispered when they were finally alone on the sand.
“Nonno.”
“You think he would have liked the idea?”
“I know he does.” She smiled up at him. “He told me.”
“He did?” Elliott raised his brows. “What else did he say?”
She turned, the sunset behind her a golden glow, her dark hair falling over one eye under the ball cap, her smile lit up from deep in her heart. “You’re the real deal.”
He let out a sigh and pulled her into his chest. “I been trying to tell you that.”
“I had to figure it out for myself.” She kissed him long and hard, and rested her head on his shoulder. “You really want to be a goatherd, Becker?”
“You really want to spend your life with a billionaire, Francesca?”
She smiled up at him. “Yeah. Come on, let’s play.”
Arm in arm, they walked together toward home base.
Coming Soon...
One more negative headline will cost Nate Ivory everything, so he’s made a vow to stay out of trouble, no matter how difficult that can be for “Naughty Nate.” But Liza Lemanski has some news that’s not only scandalous...it is about to rock his entire world. Turn the page for an excerpt of SCANDAL ON THE SAND, the third novella in the Billionaires of Barefoot Bay trilogy.
And did you miss...
SECRETS ON THE SAND, the first novella in the Billionaires of Barefoot Bay trilogy?
Get Secrets on the Sand here!
Excerpt of Scandal on the Sand
It was the eyes. As soon as Nate caught a glimpse of the arresting color, somehow both impossibly ocean blue and bottle green, he had to talk to the woman who’d approached the platform, listening carefully as she was introduced to one of his friends.
“You remember Liza Lemanski, the great unraveler of red tape.”
Nate didn’t waste a nanosecond getting closer. “I like a woman who can unravel.”
“Good.” Her turquoise gaze held no hint of playfulness. “Because I’ve come to do a little unraveling.”
His friend made some kind of parting jab, reminding Nate that he was up third in the exhibition softball game that was about to start, but Nate’s focus was on the woman in front of him. “So, who’s getting unraveled, blue eyes?” he asked.
“You.”
Nice. “And I like a woman who doesn’t mess around.”
“That’s not what I hear.” She still wasn’t smiling, making him wonder if the comment was a flirt or not. “We need to talk, Nate.”
That would be...not. Did he know her and forget those gorgeous eyes? Anything was possible, of course. With him, everything was possible. Or used to be.
Ho
w long would his past mistakes haunt him? Was he about to get an earful of how he’d made promises he’d never kept or taken phone numbers he’d never used or...worse? It could always be worse. Instantly, he felt his protective privacy walls rise like titanium barriers as he automatically reached for the sunglasses in his pocket.
“Sure, sure, let’s talk after the game.” Slipping them on, he took all the humor out of his tone and a step in the other direction.
She came with him. “Let’s talk now.”
“It’ll only be three innings and then we’re having cocktails on my yacht. We can unravel anything you want, blue eyes.” He lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave goodbye.
“Now.” No room for argument with that single syllable.
Damn. He glanced around the large deck where he had just finished the press conference announcing the plan to launch a minor-league baseball team in Barefoot Bay. No one came to his rescue. The media and his business partners were already headed toward the beach for the exhibition softball game they’d put together to cap off the event. “I can’t now. I’m batting cleanup.”
“Yes, you are. Right this minute. With me.”
Pushy little thing, wasn’t she? Protected by reflective lenses, he let his gaze drift over her, taking his time on the generous cleavage that peeked out of a V-neck T-shirt and the nice curves under her jeans. She couldn’t be five-four and a hundred and ten soaking wet.
“What’s this about?” he asked, getting a sense that it wasn’t about seeing her soaking wet, either.
“I just need your signature.”
“Oh.” Relief washed through him as he let out a breath he’d been holding since he heard the edge in her voice. “You just want an autograph?”
“No, I want your signature.”
That couldn’t be good. “Listen, sweetheart, I have to play a ball game. So, later’s better.” Later, he’d be surrounded by his rec softball team and some pro ballplayers, safe from any accusations, blackmail, or sob story she might fling at him.
“Over here.” She gestured toward an empty table on the patio that had been transformed into a press conference just a few minutes ago. The wait staff of the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa were already cleaning up, and the event attendees had all gone to the beach to watch the game.
Which was where he suddenly wanted very much to be.
“Whatever it is, make it fast,” he said, irritation and maybe a little fear taking all the tease from his tone. She was hot, no doubt about it, but he smelled trouble. Big trouble in this little package.
She responded by scraping a chair over the wooden deck as she pulled it out...for him. He stayed where he was while she took the other chair and opened up a large handbag.
Damn it, he hated women who had to have all the control.
“Okay...Liza.” He rolled the name on his tongue, taking time to appreciate the sassy and sexy sound of it and wishing she were just a little more of both. Why the hell couldn’t he remember where and when they’d met?
“I really think you’re going to want to be sitting down for this.”
Son of a bitch. “What do you have?” he asked, irritation prickling his spine. Irritation and worry. He’d sworn on his life that there wouldn’t be any more trouble, no more headlines, no more...sex tapes. Oh, that had been a bad week.
She placed a large manila envelope on the table.
“Pictures?” he guessed with a choke. “How original.” Every stinking blackmailing female in a nightclub had their secret cell phone shots. Which was why he’d sworn off nightclubs, too. “Oh, don’t tell me, TMZ has offered five figures.” He took a step closer, unable to resist knowing what she had. Not that it would surprise him. “Let me guess. You’ve got ‘Naughty Nate’ bare-ass naked in Vegas or Cabo. He’s got a joint in one hand and a fifth of Tito’s in the other. Some dot-com billionaire’s wife has her hand on his johnson and they’re about to fall into a hot tub with four more blondes.”
Sickening that he could describe that situation just a little too clearly. No wonder he was in such hot water. And not the kind with four blondes waiting for him.
She didn’t answer, but slid a long white paper from the envelope and a spiral notebook.
What the—
“Nate! You’re on deck!”
He ignored the announcement, hollered from the sand, instead dropping into the chair next to her.
“So, how much?” he demanded. “You want me to beat the highest bidder?” The question went against everything he’d been taught as a member of a family with the ironic—and iconic—last name of Ivory. A family that was anything but pure and had trained all members that the first check was just that...the first. A blackmailer never went away.
But he absolutely refused to get embroiled in one more scandal and, damn it, if he had to pay to get rid of her, he would. Whatever it took to prove to Wilhelmina Ivory that he was worthy of the family name she and the General had built from nothing.
His grandparents had given him one last chance, and he was not about to blow it.
“I don’t want you to beat the highest bidder.”
Okay, not money. Access to the Hollywood studio his older brother ran? A meeting with his other brother, the senator? Maybe inside-trading information from his cousin on Wall Street?
“Everybody wants something, Liza,” he said on a sigh. Especially from an Ivory.
For the first time, the closest thing to a sweet expression settled on her lovely features. Her lips softened from a tight line to a soft hint of a smile. Dark brows unfurrowed, and a slight blush of pink deepened her creamy complexion.
“Yes, everybody does want something,” she whispered. “And I want you to sign this document.” She slid the paper toward him. “And then I will go away and you can play softball and drink in Cabo with other guys’ wives and have cocktails on your yacht.” She slathered the last word with disdain. “I promise, you will never see or hear from me again.”
A few minutes ago, that would have disappointed him. But now? He had to slide off his shades to read the paper. “What is this?”
She didn’t answer as he focused on the words.
He blinked at the legalese, his name typed neatly in the blanks. And hers. And... Dylan Nathaniel Cassidy, age four.
“Who is Dylan?”
“Your son.”
The words slammed like a power-punch to his temple, and for a second he actually saw stars. A kid? He’d been so careful. His whole freaking life, he’d been so damn careful about this. Very slowly, he lifted his gaze from the page to her face, digging like a dog in dirt for a shred of a recollection of this woman, a date, a night, an encounter, a damn quickie in the back room of a party.
He had nothin’.
“I don’t even remember you,” he said, the words sounding as jagged as they felt. He looked at her, the impact of her striking blue-green eyes another blow to the brain. How wasted had he been to forget this girl?
“Of course you don’t remember me,” she said. “I’ve never met you.”
“But...this...” He looked at the paper, trying like hell to focus and read as a slow fire of horror sparked in his gut and rolled up to burn his chest. Voluntary Termination of Parental Rights? “This isn’t a paternity suit?”
“No, this is my guarantee that I can live in complete peace without any ax hanging over my head.”
What the hell was she talking about?
“I don’t want to wake up some morning and find out the Ivory family machine is out to take Dylan away from me.”
“You just said he...we...” He let out a shredded breath. “I don’t get this at all.”
She nudged the paper closer. “His mother is dead, and I’m his legal guardian. And all you need to do is sign right there, and I’ll handle the rest of the red tape. I’m good at that.”
Dead? Was she saying this boy was an orphan? “Where...how...who...” He finally shut his mouth to stop the babble. After a second, he asked, “What happened to her?”
/> “She was in a car accident.” She held out a pen. “Just pretend it’s an autograph, Nate. You’ve signed a thousand of them.”
Yes, he had. But he wasn’t signing this one. Not until he got to the bottom of this and not until...he saw his son. Or did some unraveling himself...of a very creative scam. Which is what this could be.
“No. I will not sign that.”
She leaned forward and speared him with her glittery gaze. “I have enough information about you in this notebook to fill a year’s worth of the National Enquirer.”
Her tone actually sent a cold chill up his spine. Cold enough to tempt him...to sign. It would be so easy. Two scratches of a pen and he could go play baseball and drink scotch and live his life. No scandal, no problems, no...way.
“Bring it, Liza.” He took off his glasses and tossed them on the table just to be certain she could see his eyes. “I’m not signing anything.”
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About the Author
Roxanne St. Claire – Biography
Roxanne St. Claire is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty novels of suspense and romance, including three popular series (The Bullet Catchers, The Guardian Angelinos, and Barefoot Bay) and multiple stand-alone books. Her entire backlist, including excerpts and buy links, can be found at www.roxannestclaire.com.
In addition to being a six-time nominee and one-time winner of the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA Award, Roxanne’s novels have won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense three times, and the Borders Top Pick in Romance, as well as the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Maggie, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, the Award of Excellence, and many others. Her books have been translated into dozens of languages and are routinely included as a Doubleday/Rhapsody Book Club Selection of the Month.