Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2)

Her eyes widened, and her translucent skin paled.

  “I have an opportunity to spend a couple weeks in the south of France.”

  Her jaw slipped ever so slightly, encouraging him.

  “In Nice,” he said, adding a grin. “How about I take my niece to Nice?”

  The rhyming joke fell flat between them as she blinked in surprise. “France? You can’t make me go to France.”

  “I wouldn’t make you, Alex, but—”

  “No.” She shook her head. Hard. “No way. No. I don’t speak French.”

  “You don’t speak much English, either.” At her look, he added, “I mean you don’t talk a lot, and I thought it might help you forget—”

  “Forget?” She whipped the word at him. “Forget my Momma? Is that what you mean?”

  “No, I—”

  “’Cause I don’t plan to.” Her voice rose with emotion. “Why don’t you just go and leave me? I know you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Alex.” Only the situation they were in. Maybe she couldn’t see the difference. He tiptoed back into the white water. “And if we go, we could take a private plane, and we could talk to—”

  “That would be kidnapping.”

  Kidnapping? Not if she’s his ward. He’d just done the research and there were no restrictions on taking her anywhere, but he raised his hand, hoping to calm her. “I thought you might like to visit the Riviera and—”

  “You thought wrong.” She pivoted and headed down the hall, closing her bedroom door with enough force to qualify as a slight temper tantrum. Shaking his head, he pulled out his buzzing phone to read a text from Gussie McBain.

  Can you come to the resort for some planning and prep today?

  Anything would be better than staying here and staring at Alex’s closed door, even fluffing tulle for the wedding. He texted back immediately, then put the phone down, rinsed his cup, and headed down the hall to let Alex know where he was going. Because God forbid he leave and live and not have any damn responsibilities.

  He tapped, making an effort not to let his frustration come through in an angry knock.

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door, unsure what he’d find. He’d spent about zero minutes in this room since he got here. It was her sanctuary, and a twelve-year-old girl’s bedroom was about as foreign to him as the moon.

  The first thing that struck him was how neat it was. For some reason, he’d assumed all teenage or near-teenage girls were slobs. But this room, with deep-purple walls and a snow-white bedspread, was practically pristine.

  Alex sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, stuffing a notebook under a blanket on her lap. He’d probably walked in on private diary time. Something twisted in his gut when she looked up and her eyes appeared suspiciously damp.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he said.

  She nodded, her blank expression firmly in place.

  “I’m going to see Gussie at the resort.” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to tell her, but the slight spark of interest in her eyes made him glad he did. “Do you want to go with me?”

  She didn’t move for a beat or two, and he was certain she was about to say yes. Then she shook her head. “I’m busy,” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  Her fingers slid to the notebook she’d barely hid. “Just…writing.”

  Should he ask what she was writing? Try for a connection? Or—

  “You can leave now.”

  Or do as he was told. With a single nod, he stepped out of the room, eager to get back to the woman with whom they’d both connected. Maybe Gussie could give him some advice or help.

  Because God knew he needed some.

  Chapter Six

  “We divide and conquer.” Willow opened the giant binder that held the Bernard-Lyons Master Wedding Plan and turned it so Ari and Gussie could see. They were on the “final seventy-two,” as they called the last three days before the main event, and details could be missed if they didn’t track everything. “Since we all know the sane thing to do is separate this bride from her mother.”

  “So smart.” Ari lifted a packet of files and photos in front of her. “You take the mother to the kitchen, Willow, and do a final tasting of the key menu items. I’ll walk Hailey through the event and calm nerves with some outside air and soothing talk.” She handed the files to Gussie. “I would normally do this since it’s more about setting than styling, but since you roped him into helping us, why don’t you take this prop checklist to the storage space in town with the photographer and start hauling some of the pieces? The most complicated one is the gazebo, but it fits in our van with some ingenuity and muscle power. I’m assuming this guy has a little of both.”

  Gussie imagined Tom hauling the gazebo in the Barefoot Brides’s van. “He has both in spades, though I’m not sure he’ll fall in love with the idea of hauling gazebo parts in ninety-two degrees.”

  “You’ll make it fun,” Ari said, and then caught herself. “You don’t mind going over to the warehouse in Fort Myers with him, do you?”

  A day alone in the warehouse? “Couldn’t be more treacherous than walking the beach in the moonlight with him.”

  “You did?” The question came in unison from both Ari and Willow.

  “Yup.”

  Ari and Willow shared a look that Gussie instantly analyzed. They didn’t mind that there was more to the dinner than wedding planning, but they sure as heck minded not being told about it.

  “And you were going to spill these beans, when?” Willow asked, leaning across the conference table as if ready to physically pull the details out of Gussie.

  “It’s not like anything major happened. We talked for a while, and I hung out with his niece and played a Wii game,” she said. “After I told him I wouldn’t go in the gulf in my underwear.”

  Ari gasped, but Willow started laughing. “That sounds familiar.” She was referring to her fiancé, of course, a former Navy SEAL who loved nothing more than the water…with very few clothes on.

  “This is different,” Gussie assured them.

  “Sounds like it,” Willow said dryly. “Nick never stops at underwear.”

  “I talked him out of it and convinced him to get back to his twelve-year-old niece.” She’d told them about the girl when she’d first closed the deal with Tom, and mentioned today that he had guardianship of her, but hadn’t elaborated on what had happened last night.

  “Did Rhonda and Hailey witness the stripping photographer?” Willow asked.

  “They’d gone already,” Gussie said.

  “And nothing else happened but talking?” Willow prodded.

  Gussie shrugged. “Not really. Well, I wigged out. Literally.”

  They both gasped. And Willow shot up from the table and walked to the office door, closing it with a solid thud. “Every word. Every detail. Now.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Gussie said.

  “Coy is one accessory you don’t wear well,” Ari finally replied, crossing her arms and giving that look that reminded everyone that her sixth sense was as uncanny as her ability to read “the universe” and its vibes.

  “I’m not being coy,” Gussie insisted. “I mean, there’s really nothing to share except we talked and made a, you know, nice connection, and he asked me why I wear wigs, and I showed him. No biggie.”

  “No biggie?” Willow asked, reaching her hand out to put a light touch on Gussie’s arm. “You don’t show that scar to many people, Gus. I think I knew you for five or six months before you explained the reason you love wigs and hats. Which is perfectly reasonable. You know this guy for, what, half a day, and you reveal your most personal truth?”

  Ari slipped into a chair, nodding. “Willow’s right, you know. This is significant.”

  Was it? For some reason, Gussie didn’t want it to be significant. Probably because she knew what she wanted out of a man…and one who advertised “always alone” on his arm didn’t fit the bill. “He’s mind-numbingly at
tractive, so I’m claiming a numb mind.”

  “Nick’s mind-numbingly attractive,” Willow countered. “And I didn’t show my cards to him right away.”

  “Tom has a superpower,” Gussie told them with a sly smile. “He gets women to reveal stuff, like secrets and scars and the things that make us vulnerable. That’s how he gets such amazing photos, by taking down his subjects’ barriers.”

  “Is he going to do that to our bride?” Willow asked, horrified.

  Gussie laughed. “I don’t think Hailey’s hiding much.”

  “Except a deep-seated dislike for her mother,” Willow said. “Which I totally understand.”

  Ari was still zeroed in on Gussie. “Can I make a point here?” she asked. “You were dating a guy before we moved here last year, and having to come clean about your scar is what made you break it off with him.”

  “You don’t know that,” Gussie shot back. Even though it was true and, dang it all, sometimes it seemed like Ari knew everything.

  “I bet I do know that.” She held out her hand to shake. “Bit-O-Honey or Necco Wafers? I bet both that you broke up with that guy because you didn’t want to wig out.”

  Gussie lifted her hand to make the bet, then dropped it. “You know I’m not going to lie. Not even for Bit-O-Honey.” She screwed up her face. “You have some?”

  Willow stopped the conversation with a flat hand and determined look. “If you two start discussing the merits of that crap you call food right now, I’ll scream. Ari’s right. You didn’t tell Ryan, and we both thought you would.”

  Gussie frowned, conjuring up an image of…bland. “Ryan, yeah. The tax attorney.” The boring, staid, kissed-like-a-vacuum-cleaner tax attorney. “I remember him.”

  “You remember him?” Ari choked the question. “You dated him for two months.”

  “And he helped us incorporate when we started the Barefoot Brides,” Willow added.

  “He was forgettable, which is why I didn’t want to get into the whole scar thing. It gets so complicated and draining. Why get into the whole history when I knew there was no future?”

  “So there’s a future with this photographer?” Willow asked.

  “No, no. I mean…” What if he did stay on Mimosa Key to take care of his niece? A strange sensation of curiosity and longing wrapped around her. She wouldn’t mind getting to know TJ DeMille better. “The chances of a guy like him settling down are zero to nil. He travels the world and doesn’t really seem to care about much but moving on to his next assignment. Alone.” She sighed. “Always alone is like his personal motto.”

  “And he’s got guardianship of a twelve-year-old girl?” Ari asked, her voice rising with incredulity.

  Gussie nodded. “She’s a sweet kid, too, so it’s really heartbreaking. I feel like taking the poor thing home myself.”

  “Gus.” Ari narrowed her eyes. “She’s not a stray cat.”

  Of course not, and Gussie had three of those at the moment.

  “Get back to your hair,” Willow said. “What made you tell him?”

  She pushed back the straight, black locks she wore today. “I don’t know. It gets to be a burden to cart around sometimes.”

  Willow leaned forward. “You don’t have to cover it, you know.” It wasn’t the first time she’d made the suggestion. “There are ways to wear your hair that it’s barely noticeable.”

  “Easy for you to say, woman with a mane of healthy hair and no scars.”

  “None visible,” Willow corrected with a wry smile.

  Ari was still shaking her head, though. “The burden that it becomes is exactly why I’m so intrigued. This photographer must have something incredibly special.”

  “Many somethings. Head-to-toe somethings, as you will soon see. Trust me, hanging out with him—even hauling gazebos—is not a burden.”

  Ari and Willow shared a look so lightning fast that Gussie almost missed it, but like always, she suspected she could follow the silent exchange pretty well.

  “Look, you two should be thrilled I’m doing this wedding with him,” Gussie said. “It’ll get my dreams of styling for the pros out of my system and confirm that the Brides was absolutely the right move for me. He’s probably going to be a bear to work with, and I’ll realize that the job is not for me and I’m exactly where I’m happiest.”

  Ari stood and walked to the window that looked out at one corner of the Casa Blanca parking lot, thinking before answering, as she often did. “You know what I’m going to say.”

  This time, it was Gussie and Willow who exchanged the knowing look. “You are where the universe wants you to be,” they said in singsong harmony, imitating Ari.

  “No, that’s not what I was going to say at all.”

  “It’s not?” Willow laughed.

  “Then what?” Gussie asked.

  “I was going to say…is that him?”

  “Who? Where?” Willow was up in a flash. “That guy?”

  Gussie didn’t move from the table, listening to them coo.

  “Look at that hair. It’s sexy,” Ari whispered. “I don’t usually like long hair, but…wow. It’s beautiful on him.”

  “Hair? Look at his face,” Willow said.

  “He has a face?” Ari asked, laughing. “I love a guy who rocks a plain white T-shirt and jeans.”

  “Especially with all that ink. Very nice arms, I might add.”

  Gussie fought the urge to join the ogling at the window. “Listen to you two. He’s just a guy.”

  “Well, you might not have stripped down and gone swimming last night,” Ari said, “but I would bet good candy you will tonight.”

  Gussie finally joined them at the window. “Bit-O-Honey?”

  “Doesn’t matter, I’m winning this one. Do you still have those Blue Raspberry Flipsticks? Put ’em on the table, woman.”

  Gussie let her jaw drop. “I’m not betting my Flipsticks!”

  “Why should you worry if you’re not going to lose? Keep your clothes on, and you’ll keep your ’Sticks.”

  Gussie shifted her gaze to the man striding across the parking lot. He did rock a white T-shirt and old, snug jeans. But there it was, forever on his arm: always alone.

  “Nah.” She attempted a shrug. “Not ’Stick-worthy.”

  Ari choked again. “He’s totally ’Stick-worthy. And who are you kidding? Wig’s been off. Clothes are next. Come on, Gus. Make the bet.”

  “Enough, you compulsive candy gamblers.” Willow held up her phone, indicating a message. “Rhonda and Hailey are on their way, too. It’s show time.”

  Ari nudged Gussie. “Wager’s on the table for the rest of the day. Bit-O-Honey for you if you say no, Blue Raspberry Flipsticks for me if you give in to what you obviously want.”

  Gussie narrowed her eyes in warning, then started to laugh. “Don’t you realize that either way, I win?”

  “Of course I do. Why do you think I made that bet?”

  * * *

  Gussie’s hair was black today, a deep blue-black that made her eyes look like emeralds and her skin milky, with bright pink lips. The effect was…feminine. Sexy. Even in jeans and a loose top cropped high enough to show off a narrow midriff—or maybe because of that choice—she completely snagged his attention.

  “You really don’t mind doing this?” she asked as they left the resort together, bound for some kind of gazebo-gathering errand.

  “Not at all.” Frankly, he wanted to spend time with her.

  Damn, boy. You better be careful.

  “Excuse me?” she asked as she slipped out the door he held open for her.

  Had he said that out loud?

  “You said be careful?”

  “Driving a van.” He covered by trying to tug the keys out of her hand. “I watched you on the road last night.”

  She laughed. “That was a video game.” She held tight to the keys, digging the edge of a persimmon-colored nail into his skin. “And your license is expired. Sit in the passenger seat and enjoy the scenery.??
?

  He snorted softly, giving up the fight.

  She pointed to a white industrial-style van with a stylized Barefoot Brides logo on the side. “Don’t judge,” she ordered.

  “Ah, the sweet life of a wedding photographer.”

  At the door, she stopped, crossing her arms. The move deepened the cleavage that peeked out of the V-neck and forced him to fight the urge to look down and enjoy.

  “You’re judging,” she said.

  “I’m appreciating the scenery, as I was told.” He dragged his gaze from her body to her face, nice and slow. “No need to worry about my judgment or this job. I’m committed now.” He tapped her chin for the sheer pleasure of seeing the response in her bright green eyes. “Anyway, it might be fun.”

  “Might? It is fun. I mean, if you even know how to have that.”

  “What?” he asked. “I can have fun. I had a lot last night,” he admitted, placing his hand on the roof of the van, trapping her between his body and the vehicle. “You made a sad and sleepy house come alive.”

  She stayed still, smiling at the compliment. “That’s good,” she said. “And that is what I promised to do in exchange for”—she notched her head to the van—“your photography services. So, like it or not, get in.”

  Neither one of them moved, warmed by the sunshine and each other. “You know, if I’d been a smarter negotiator”—he inched closer to get a whiff of gardenia-sweet perfume—“Alex wouldn’t be the only one playing games with you.”

  “I think you’re playing one right now.” She opened the door without breaking eye contact, lifting one brow. “Aren’t you, Tommy?”

  “Not really,” he admitted. “But if I did, would you let me drive?”

  “Nope.” She slipped out from under his arm, disappearing around the back of the van. Damn.

  He climbed in and watched her do the same, settling into the driver’s seat with an air of authority that made him want to kiss her. Everything, in fact, made him want to kiss her. And he might, soon.

  “So, did Alex come out of her shell a little after last night?” she asked. “Did we accomplish the mission?”

  “For a while, yes.” He blew out a frustrated exhale as she turned the ignition. “I thought we’d made a breakthrough, but this morning she still hates me.”