Barefoot by the Sea (Barefoot Bay)

by Roxanne St Claire

  They both wanted this. They needed this. They should have this—at least once before he slammed her with everything Henry warned him not to tell her. But his decision was made.

  “Anything could happen,” she murmured, melting into him as they made their way down the hall.

  “I think it’s about to.”

  She flipped off his towel in the hall as he easily unbuttoned and stripped her blouse right outside the bedroom. He unzipped her skirt, helped her step out of it, and had her at the edge of the bed in nothing but a bra and panties in seconds flat.

  She clutched his biceps and squeezed, moaning her appreciation as he reached around to unsnap her bra, his palms itching to close over her delicate breasts and lay her down on the bed.

  As he did, she fisted his hard-on, pumping the tip until he let out a helpless groan of pleasure. The sensation was so intense it effectively wiped his brain clean.

  Should he tell her first? Should he stop this?

  No. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t have control over this, and right that moment, with her hands all over him and her mouth open and kissing and her sweet, sweet body rising and falling and ready for him, he couldn’t stop.

  After, he’d tell her after. Sweet pillow talk laced with love.

  “Tessa,” he sighed her name, a pathetic attempt at conversation that might derail this.

  “Don’t talk.” She stroked him harder, desperate, in tune with his thoughts. “Don’t…stop.”

  And, God help him, he didn’t. Instead, he trailed kisses down her body, licking her belly, spreading her legs, making her quiver and rise and clutch the sheets helplessly.

  Every inch of her was hot and sticky, sweet and feminine, and irresistible. He kissed her hip, licked her taut belly, and softly blew on the pink flesh he wanted to taste.

  She let out a cry, her hands digging into his hair, guiding him right there.

  He twirled his tongue over her, taking her to the edge of oblivion but refusing to let her fall. He kissed and nibbled his way back up her belly, tenderly suckling her breasts, then her throat, then her ear.

  “Inside,” he whispered. “Let me inside.”

  She spread her legs and took another stroke of his erection, leading him there, then stopping to look at him. “Don’t we need…”

  He lifted up, sweat stinging his eyes, agony and ecstasy ripping through his pulsing erection. “I’m healthy. I have the doctor’s signature to prove it.”

  “I know and I am, too, but…”

  He was expecting so much from her—acceptance, understanding, a new life, a new family—all for him. Couldn’t he at least reciprocate? Couldn’t he give her the one thing she desired most? “Isn’t this what you want, Tessa?”

  For a long, long time, she stared at him, a million thoughts and feelings crossing in her golden brown eyes, but not one of them readable to him.

  “What I want…” She smiled a little. “Is in my arms right now and just a few minutes ago admitted that he wants our fake wedding to be real.” Her voice snagged on the last word. When he didn’t answer, her brows drew together. “Did I hear right?”

  One word. That was all it would take. One simple word. “Yes.”

  She smiled into a kiss, pulling him against her, shifting enough that his hard-on was right between her legs.

  It would take a single stroke of skin against skin, and he’d be inside her. With no barrier at all.

  She closed her eyes, and became very, very still.

  Long, agonizing seconds dragged by and neither one of them moved. Her eyes stayed closed and he studied each lash, each freckle, each fresh and clean pore of her skin. He memorized her face, letting it wrap around his heart.

  Then he closed his eyes, fully expecting to see another woman in his mind’s eye.

  But there was only Tessa. Only Tessa. Only pretty Tessa.

  He entered her slowly, the move making her eyes open to hold his gaze, and they stayed locked on each other as his body joined with hers. Instinct made him want to plunge and pump, but he held back, the moment too exquisite to surrender to sex yet.

  Because this wasn’t sex. This was a pure, real connection.

  It was good. Perfect, sweet, slow, hot, and…

  She started to rock, biting her lip, squeezing her legs around his thighs, letting him fill her up and pump all the way into her. “I like that, John,” she whispered. “I like you inside me.”

  He met her stroke for stroke, finally giving up exquisite for raw satisfaction, an explosion of pleasure and pain ripping through him as their bodies slapped together loud enough that he could barely hear the incomprehensible words they both muttered and groaned.

  “Now, John, now.”

  He grew bigger inside her, at the point of no return, completely transported. He let go, squeezing his eyes shut and giving out a guttural groan as he spilled and shuddered and completely released himself in her.

  As he stilled, she kept rocking, squeezing, panting, and sliding on his erection, letting it hit her right in the sweetest of sweet spots, making her pulse tighter and tighter, deeper and deeper.

  He coaxed her with kisses and whispers until she unraveled under him with a long, sweet, sharp orgasm that left her breathless.

  “That’s my girl,” he cooed into her ear. “That’s my pretty Tessa.”

  Pret-ty. Pret-ty.

  Oh, had she noticed his accent? Because in the last few minutes, he’d completely forgotten who he was, who he was supposed to be, and who he might become.

  He was…hers.

  Holding that one identity that finally felt real and right, he kept her very still until they both could breathe steadily again. Then he tried to find the right words to explain who she’d just made love to. The words didn’t come, but sleep did.

  “Tess.”

  “Mmmm.” She was dreaming about her crocuses. She’d been digging and digging, so certain she’d failed to grow them, and suddenly she found the bulbs deep in the soil. A man was next to her, urging her to dig deeper, while he smoked a pipe like Sherlock Holmes with the aroma of saffron floating up in the air.

  “Tess, honey, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes to see another man, a gorgeous, sexy, blue-eyed god. Between her legs, she felt sore and sticky and so, so satisfied. She blinked at him. “We fell sound asleep.”

  “Wore ourselves out.” He kissed her cheek. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He smiled. “You sure are.”

  Laughing, she reached for him, sliding her hand over the lines of the blue dragon tattoo that covered his side and rib. “Why do you have all this ink?”

  “Boredom.”

  “What’s that one I saw on your hip?” She reached down there, bumping into his erection. “Wow. Again?”

  He smiled. “Later. I want to talk to you first.”

  Something in his voice brought her completely out of her sleepy haze, making her lift her head. “About that conversation I heard?”

  “Yes…I…” He frowned for a minute, blinking like a thought had occurred to him. “Did I bring my phone over here?”

  She laughed. “Unless you tucked it in a very tight towel, I don’t think so.”

  He sat up, looking around the floor. “I have to have that phone.”

  The edge in his voice pushed her up as well. “I think you left it at home.”

  He pushed the covers back, searching, then climbed out of bed, gloriously naked and powerfully erect.

  “Is it that important?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, lifting the comforter that had fallen to the floor, then some clothes they’d dropped on the way.

  “Want me to call it and see if it rings?” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “It won’t. The ringer’s off.”

  “Are you expecting a call?”

  “Always.” He spun around, frowning. “I have to find the phone.” He bounded out of the hall, head down.

  “Hey, you’re naked!”

&
nbsp; “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, scooping up the towel on the floor and wrapped it around him, pounding on the floor until she heard the kitchen door slam.

  Bloody hell.

  Something started to thrum in her head. A slow, steady barrage of questions, doubts, confusion, half understanding.

  Who had he been talking to, and why was that phone so important?

  Why did he slip into a foreign-sounding accent?

  Why was he struggling with what to tell her and when?

  Because in between his declaration of how he wanted this wedding to be real and how kids meant everything to him, she’d heard him in a clear battle with when and how to tell her—something.

  What? And why should it be so difficult?

  She tried to drown out the question and wallow in her physical satisfaction instead, but the doubts and new resentments prickled against her heart. She smoothed the sheet over her chest as if she could wipe away the annoying sensation.

  But the questions and doubts grew louder, so she wrapped her arms around the pillow and inhaled the light, masculine, soapy scent he’d left behind, wanting to smell all that promise and hope and anything could happen he’d left behind.

  All she could hear was That’s good…so good…Come, sweet girl, come…Pretty Tessa.

  And Bloody hell.

  She shook her head. She had to get off this kick. So he’d lived in Singapore and picked up a little accent. That didn’t mean he was a liar, a cheater, a—

  A soft vibration from the hall stopped her thoughts. She pushed out of bed, ignoring her nakedness to follow the sound of the buzz. She stopped, frowning at the linen closet, zeroing in on the vibration.

  Opening the door, she spied a thin silver phone on the floor, a green light flashing. He must have dropped it while he was undressing her and one of them had kicked it under the closet door. As she picked it up, she made a face. Wasn’t his phone black? She was sure of it.

  It vibrated again, a name flashing.

  John Brown.

  Oh, he must be calling his own phone to find this one. Her finger hovered over the green Speak button, wondering how she should answer. Something sexy? Something meaningful? Playful and fun? How about all her pulse-pounding unanswered questions?

  She tapped the green button and put the phone to her ear, opening her mouth to speak, but she was silenced by a man’s voice.

  “Ian! Ian, listen to me, mate!” The rich English accent stunned her into silence as she clutched the phone. “We got Darius Vane. We got him, damn it. He’s under arrest and N1L is officially closed.”

  Who was this? What the hell was he talking about?

  “Ian, do you hear me? You’re free. Get whoever it is you found to marry you as soon as humanly possible and stay tuned for instructions. You’re going to Canada, Ian Browning. You’re going to get your kids. All you need to do is marry someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter who! So if you haven’t spilled your bloody guts yet, don’t. Okay? Ian? Ian, are you there?”

  Her heart pounded so hard Tessa could barely make out the words in her ear. And even if she could hear and understand, nothing, nothing, made sense.

  “Ian, is that you?”

  She stayed perfectly silent, not even breathing.

  “Bloody hell.” The man clicked off.

  “Bloody hell,” she repeated in a breathless whisper, staring at the phone as if it had a life of its own.

  What had he said? The words rolled around in her head.

  You’re going to Canada, Ian Browning.

  You’re going to get your kids.

  All you need to do is marry someone…it doesn’t matter who.

  Her whole body turned to ice-cold nothingness, so chilled that she barely heard the back door open.

  “Tessa?” John stepped into the hall. “Tessa, if you find that phone—”

  She held it out. “I did.” She put it in his hand, close enough to see his stricken expression. “You got a call.”

  One eyebrow lifted but he made no effort to speak, no attempt to do the one thing he needed to do: Tell the truth.

  Bastard.

  She turned, now aware of her nakedness and ashamed. Ashamed to be so stupid. Ashamed to be so trusting. Ashamed to have made love with a man whose name she didn’t even know.

  Ian.

  “Tessa, let me—”

  Rage and pain and an overdose of humiliation rose in her throat, closing up the passageway and stealing her breath. “There was a message with the call,” she managed to say.

  Both eyebrows shot up now, pure dread in his eyes.

  “Some very excited man who wanted Ian Browning to know they found the vein and the N one something is closed, and they’ll send instructions soon.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, and he added that you better get someone to marry you so you can get your kids in Canada.”

  He looked like he might keel over. “Tessa, I have so much to tell you.”

  “That’s too bad, John. Or should I say Ian? Because I don’t want to hear it.” She walked into the room, slammed the door, locked it with trembling fingers, and let hot, sticky, miserable tears flow.

  She did want to hear it. She wanted to hear it all. But right now, she wanted to wallow in the mud of her own trusting, blind, desperate stupidity.

  Anything could happen.

  Well, it sure as hell had.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Shit. Shit. Bloody hell and fuck it all. Ian stared at the phone for one second, wanting to lash out at Henry for calling, at Tessa for answering, at himself for being a fucking idiot and bringing this phone with him.

  But it was useless to blame anyone.

  He leaned against the door and listened to her soft crying, the sound drowning out the message she’d delivered. Ironic, wasn’t it? All these months he’d waited for the news that they’d shut down the deadly gang that held a price on his head, and he couldn’t even take a minute to celebrate what that meant.

  Because what that meant now is that he would likely lose the first woman he’d cared about in a long time. He had to tell her now, and not because of the call. The need for silence would never go away, no matter who was behind bars. She couldn’t talk to her friends about this. She couldn’t talk to anyone.

  Except him. Would she ever believe the epiphany he’d had last night, and how he truly wanted her for real? How he’d planned to tell her everything tonight and ask her to leave this life and join him?

  She’d never believe him now. She’d never believe another word he said. But he had to make her believe this was still a matter of life and death.

  He tried the door, but it was locked, so he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

  “Go away,” she called from behind the door.

  “Not going to happen.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” She hiccupped on the last word, gutting him. Nice going, mate. Way to fuck up the woman’s life.

  “Well, you’re going to talk to me. Through a door or face-to-face. I have to talk to you and I have to make you understand something.”

  “I understand enough.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t.”

  “I understand that everything you’ve ever said to me has been a lie.” He could hear her grind out the words through clenched teeth. “I understand that whoever or whatever you are, you don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  “It’s not that I don’t—”

  “And I understand that you need to marry someone—anyone, I believe was the way he said it—so that you can get your kids in Canada.” She said the last three words like they were so utterly agonizing that she couldn’t even let them out of her mouth.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Do I understand enough?”

  Actually, she did. “But you don’t know why.”

  She let out a soft moan, as if she’d been hoping all that she’d heard was a misunderstanding.

  “Okay, why?”


  He watched the doorknob, hoping it would move. No such luck.

  “I can’t tell you why until I elicit a promise from you.”

  Silence.

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!” She was close to the door now, inches away. “Don’t you dare tell me I can or cannot do anything.”

  He closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation, exhaling before speaking. “Tess, unless you want me, two innocent children, and possibly yourself to end up dead, you have to make and keep that promise.”

  After a long pause, the knob turned. Inch by inch, the door opened, revealing her swollen eyes and blotchy face and a ragged robe around her. She looked down at him, and very slowly dropped to the floor to meet him face-to-face.

  “Dead?” She barely whispered the question, her lips quivering as she spoke.

  “Dead.”

  “Has everything been a lie?”

  Pain twisted his throat. “Not everything,” he said. “I’ve said plenty that was honest.” He reached for her splotchy face. “Starting with…how pretty you are.”

  She jerked away, spearing him with a look.

  “And how much I like you.”

  One eyebrow rose slightly, pure doubt and disgust in her expression.

  “And nothing that happened in that bedroom a few hours ago was a lie.”

  “Sex?”she spat. “You’re going to talk about sex now?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned one inch closer. “Don’t…Ian.”

  He sniffed a quick breath of shock, the name sounding so strange coming from anyone but Henry. No one had called him Ian for years. It felt—so good.

  “I’m going to tell you everything.”

  She still looked hard at him, her bottle-brown eyes sparking with distrust. “Your version of everything.”

  “The only version of everything,” he said simply. “The whole truth. But I do have to make the stipulation of complete secrecy.”

  She merely stared at him.

  “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” he insisted. “I mean anyone, Tessa. It is truly a matter of life and death.”