As Clay neared the end of his brief speech, Nate mentally checked off what came next, then opened his file for the list of county commissioners’ names to thank. Flipping the papers, he didn’t see the list. He knew it was in here. He straightened the folder and examined the papers again. Had he forgotten that? Once more, he looked, sensing he had about five seconds before Clay finished and he had to—
“It’s right here.” Two slender fingers reached into the file folder and slid out the list of names. “I put it right behind the commissioner’s letter.”
Nate snagged those fingers, squeezing as if they—and their owner—might disappear in a flash of his imagination. But she didn’t. Instead, two beautiful blue-green eyes looked up at him, smiling, shining, and incredibly...real.
“Liza.” He barely breathed the name he’d thought so many times in the last few weeks it felt like the four letters had been tattooed on his heart.
“I read the tabloids,” she whispered as if she knew the hundred questions in his head. “You really need to be careful what you say to the media.”
A slow smile curled his lips, a smile he felt it all the way down to his gut. “I told the truth.”
“You’re in love?”
Around him, the world faded away. The sights and sounds and worries evaporated as he gave his entire focus to the one thing that mattered. Could he tell her right here and now?
Could he not?
Somewhere, a throat cleared. A woman said, “Aww.” And Becker snorted.
Only then did Nate look up and realize that Clay had stopped speaking, and everyone gathered around the soft dirt and oversized groundbreaking shovel was staring at him.
Nate pulled the list the rest of the way out of the folder and turned to Zeke. “Could you read this list and recognize these people? I’m kind of busy right now.”
Zeke smiled and walked to the center of the ceremony while Nate closed his eyes with a soft laugh. “Yes,” he finally answered her question. “I’m in love.”
Her eyes widened along with her mouth, opening to a sweet little O that he desperately wanted to kiss. “What about you, Wonder Woman?”
For a long time, she didn’t answer, holding his gaze and letting the air between them crackle with expectation. “I am, too,” she whispered.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Pulling her into him, he kissed her mouth with all the pent-up certainty that had been in his heart since she drove off and left him shattered.
Huge applause broke out, along with plenty of hoots and hollers. “I have a feeling,” he mouthed into the kiss, “that isn’t for the county commissioners.”
She laughed and folded into him, wrapping her arms around him while they listened to Zeke announce that it was time for the first shovel of dirt. Holding Liza’s hand, Nate walked forward and picked up the gold-painted spade, cameras humming and snapping all around.
Holding the shovel over the dirt, he glanced around, then settled on the only face in the crowd that mattered to him—the woman at his side. “I’ve never been more happier to be part of a great team,” he announced.
As he stuck the shovel in the soft dirt, another cheer rose as he tossed the dirt to the side, one voice louder than the rest.
“D-I-G! Dig, dig, dig!”
Dylan’s little legs were flying, but Liza’s mother had a good grip on him, holding him in the back of the crowd. Nate gestured him over. “C’mere, buddy!”
Paulette let him go, and Dylan shot through the crowd straight to Nate, falling in the soft dirt the minute he reached it. That caused another eruption of crowd noise and cameras snapping, but all Nate saw was the beautiful face of his child.
Without thinking, he dropped to his knees, and Dylan reached up and threw filthy hands all over him, smearing his white Polo with dirt.
“Dylan!” Liza laughed, kneeling next to both of them.
“N-A-T-E!” he cried, smacking his hands on Nate’s chest, making him howl with laughter.
“You know what I have to teach you, kid?”
“Not to rub dirt on nice white shirts?” Liza suggested.
He shook his head. “Another word to spell.” He leaned closer to Dylan to whisper. “D-A-D.”
Next to him, he heard Liza’s sweet sigh of contentment, an echo of everything he felt right then. He put his arm around her and squeezed both of them with everything he had. “It’ll go great with M-O-M.”
Dylan threw a joyous handful of dirt into the air, letting it rain down all over the new Ivory family.
Can’t get enough of Barefoot Bay? Stay tuned for the next trilogy full of fun and romance barefoot-style. Introducing the Barefoot Brides...three bridal consultants who’ve set up their destination wedding business on the shores of Barefoot Bay. While they’re busy planning happily ever afters for their clients, they just might find one of their own! Here’s a sneak peek at Barefoot in Lace, the first full-length Barefoot Brides novel coming soon!
“This one...” Willow sniffed her phone. “Yep, this one smells...” She sucked in a breath so deep it quivered her nostrils. “...like a whole bunch of trouble.”
“Her texts stink?” Gussie looked up from her place on the floor where she sat surrounded by about a hundred different swatches of fabric.
“Like Limburger in the sun.” Willow exhaled and scrolled through the last five messages from the high-maintenance bride-to-be, clearing her throat to dial up the asspain factor as she read out loud. “My MOH and I will arrive at Casa Blanca on the fourth to do a full resort inspection and interview the wedding planning team, please include all amenities, especially all spa treatments.”
“So, no groom?” Gussie asked with a derisive snort? “Just the bride and maid of honor to do a resort review and planning session. Sounds like an excuse for a girls’ weekend of pampering and freebies, then they’ll probably end up holding the wedding at a different resort.”
Willow kept reading. “Oh, this is my personal favorite. ‘Our villa must have two bedrooms and baths with direct ocean view.’” She rolled her eyes. “Can she not read a map of Florida to see that Barefoot Bay is on the Gulf of Mexico, not Atlantic Ocean?”
“I don’t know if she can read a map, but I can tell you from the swatches she sent, she’s color blind.” She waved some flesh-toned material.
“Oh, yeah. How are you doing with her ‘all tones of sand’ color palette selections?”
Gussie puffed out a breath, lifting a swatch of pale lace. “You call this a color palette? I call it beige, a dull and dangerous state of mind.”
“Told you. This...” She squinted at the bride-to-be’s name again. “Mallory Trew is trouble.” Willow locked the screen and set the phone on her desk. “Not only does she come with no referral, but who picks a destination resort two months before the wedding?”
“Someone pregnant,” Gussie suggested.
“Or someone the last bridal consultant fired.”
“Or someone...” The third member of the Barefoot Brides wedding planning team popped into the office doorway, her whole face covered by the giant gift basket. “With a mongo budget who can get what they want.” Arielle inched the basket to the side, her midnight eyes and jet black hair contrasting the cream-colored bow around the cellophane wrapping. “Which is why I made this over-the-top welcome basket. Any volunteers to take it over to their villa? Bride and maid arrive in a few hours.”
Willow pushed back and stood. “I’ll go. I need the exercise.”
Arielle choked softly. “Says the woman who ran two miles this morning.”
“Walked fast,” Willow corrected as she took the basket, eyeing the mouthwatering contents. “But not fast enough to be left alone with this box of truffles.” She ran her hand over the cellophane, sucking in a quick breath when her fingers found an open seam. “Ooh, easy access, too.”
“As if you’d touch a truffle,” Arielle teased.
“I have my moments. And our bride-to-be has a long list of demands, er, requests she sent, so I better make su
re Artemesia is fully stocked right down to the Rosa Regalia champagne that is ‘the only thing I can possibly drink.’”
“Spike it with Prozac while you’re over there,” Gussie suggested.
“This is why we made the pact, girls,” Willow reminded them. “Because of brides like this one.”
Ari reached down to tap knuckles with Gussie as she passed. “To the pact.”
“The pact,” Gussie said. “We plan, they marry.”
Laughing, Willow gathered the basket to her chest and headed out of the Casa Blanca business offices where Barefoot Brides had its tiny headquarters. The upscale resort hummed with the activity of a typical Friday morning, gearing up for a busy weekend in Barefoot Bay.
Outside, the sun was high enough to make the Gulf – not the ocean – sparkle turquoise, the water laced with white froth on a picture perfect late April morning. Bright yellow umbrellas spilled over the sand like lemon drops in the sunshine.
Willow chose the shady path that cut through the resort and led to each of the private villas, all named for different North African flowers and plants in keeping with the Moroccan-inspired architecture. With each tap of her feet on the stone walkway, she let herself slip deeper in love with this piece of paradise.
They had to make this work, no matter how many high-maintenance brides put them through the ringer. Pooling their individual wedding consultant businesses to form Barefoot Brides had been her idea. The three of them moving here to run destination weddings at Casa Blanca was not only a unique selling point for clients…it was the key to Willow’s personal happiness.
And she was happy, she reminded herself, humming a little as though that soundtrack would prove the very thought to be true. So very happy and healthy and three thousand miles from California. With as much country as she could get between who she’d been and who she’d become, Willow wanted to plant herself firmly in Florida’s tropical sands and never move.
She never, ever wanted to go back to California. She never wanted to go back to being that girl, that daughter, that...trapped. New woman, new life, new everything.
Happy, happy, happy. The humming might be a little over the top, though.
Instead, she inhaled the salty, clean air, stopping at the wrought iron gate that opened to Artemesia. Positioned on a rise and angled so that the patio and pool faced the Gulf of Mexico, this villa was one of Willow’s favorites on the property. Setting the basket on the warm terra cotta brick steps that let up to the front door, she pulled her resort ID that doubled as a master key out of her pocket, unlocked the door, and scooped up the goodies to go inside.
The living area was darkened from sun shades on the windows, cool and quiet, a hint of gardenia from fresh flowers the Casa Blanca cleaning staff had left on the coffee table. Heading to the kitchen, Willow froze mid-step at the sound of...was that running water? No. A footstep? She listened for a minute, heard nothing, then –
“Do you want it? Do you want it? Do you want a...”
Singing. Someone was singing. Well, more like howling. Off key.
“Piece of me! Come and take it, don’t ya fake it, we can make it...”
Willow’s heart dropped so hard and fast the basket almost went with it. Was this some kind of joke? That song? That crappy, tacky, mess of metal that...that paid for college and cars and everything else she’d had?
No one at this whole resort, on this island, or, hell, in the whole state of Florida except for Arielle and Gussie could possibly know –
“Take a hunk of me! Take a bite of me! Take a...great, big piece of me!”
Son of a bitch, who found her out? Did Arielle or Gussie tell someone that Willow’s father was a household name? They’d promised not to.
Gripping the basket so tight she could crack the wicker, she marched into the hallway that separated the two bedrooms, calling out, “Excuse me!”
“This is it, this is love, this is...a piece of me!”
“Hey!” She lowered the basket to peer over the top and...oh. Oh.
Back.
Ass.
Muscles.
Ink.
Ass again. It deserved a second look.
“Piece of me!” Strong, ripped, massive arms whacked the air and a dark head of wet hair shook, sending droplets all the way down to...oh, really, that rear end was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Come and take it, don’t ya fake it, we can make –”
“Hey!” she screamed again, easily louder than he was, her gaze riveted on the bare naked man air-drumming like a raving lunatic in the middle of the bedroom, totally unaware she stood behind him.
“Luh-uuuuve...” He destroyed the note, and not in the good way her father intended when he wrote the song. No, Donny Zatarain would probably weep if he heard his signature rock anthem butchered by this idiot wearing nothing but noise-cancelling headphones.
“Excuse me!”
His arms never missed a beat of a drum solo she had memorized before she was three years old, each stroke tensing and bulging muscles she didn’t even know existed. She opened her mouth to call out again, but that was a waste of time. Maybe she should just stand here and feast her eyes.
“Woman, take a piece of meeeee!”
No. That song had to stop. She reached into the basket and grabbed the first thing she could find — a nice ripe Florida orange. Yanking it out, she lobbed it right as he hit the high C on “me” except he didn’t come anywhere near C and the orange didn’t go anywhere near him.
Still, he spun around, jumping into a wide, threatening stance, both arms out like a warrior gorilla ready to attack. She blocked her face with the basket, peeking through the top spray of cellophane, silently thanking Arielle for choosing clear.
Whoa, that was a big...man.
“What the...” he muttered after a second, whipping off the headset. “I didn’t hear you come in. You can just put that down out there. Thanks.”
She didn’t move. Not even her eyes, which were riveted to…his…his…him.
“Thanks,” he repeated, the word tinged with impatience. “You can leave now.”
What if her client had come face to face with him? She’d think…well, she’d think this took ‘welcome package’ to a whole new level. She cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn’t crack when she spoke. “No, you can leave because you are not in the right villa.”
He scowled. Well, she assumed he scowled. She really wasn’t looking too hard at his face.
“I’m in the right villa. Isn’t this Art..Arte...some flower that starts with an A?”
“Artemesia,” she supplied, her arms starting to burn from holding the basket high enough to cover her face but still see. “And you are in the wrong villa because we have guests booked to arrive soon, and you’re not one of them.”
He turned his hands skyward in a less threatening gesture, not that his glorious, naked, tanned, muscular, masculine, hotter than a thousand suns body wasn’t threatening enough. “Yes I am,” he said. “And if you just turn around, miss, and leave that in the living room, we’re cool.”
She was anything but cool. “Uh, you’ll have to get dressed and get to the front desk to see what villa you’re supposed to be in. Unless you’re Mallory Trew or her maid of honor.”
He took a step closer and she hoisted the basket high enough to completely cover her face.
“Man,” he said
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a man.” With two hands he lowered the basket. “As you’ve obviously noticed. A man of honor. Not maid.”
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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.
Roxanne lives in Florida with her husband and two teens, and can be reached via her website, or on her Facebook Author page, and on Twitter.
Books by Roxanne St. Claire
The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay (Contemporary Romance)
Secrets on the Sand
Seduction on the Sand
Scandal on the Sand
The Barefoot Bay Series (Contemporary Romance)
Barefoot in the Sand
Barefoot in the Rain
Barefoot in the Sun
Barefoot by the Sea
The Guardian Angelinos (Romantic Suspense)
Edge of Sight
Shiver of Fear
Face of Danger
The Bullet Catchers (Romantic Suspense)
Kill Me Twice
Thrill Me to Death
Take Me Tonight