At the sound of male laughter on the beach, she spotted two men, both tall and shirtless, talking as they walked up the beach, straight toward the villa. Speaking of nature’s finest work. Both great-looking, both built to break hearts, they got closer and Frankie couldn’t decide which one was easier on the eyes.
Might have been a tie.
She zeroed in on the man on the left, his chestnut hair and square jaw so familiar, she couldn’t resist squinting to get a better look. He laughed and made a gesture, and even that seemed like something she’d seen before.
They glanced at the villa then, and both men slowed their steps as they noticed her.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, recognizing the man on the left. “That’s Nathaniel Ivory.”
Behind her, Elliott stepped onto the veranda. “Holy shit is right. What the hell do they want?”
“You know him?” She wanted to turn to see Elliott’s face, but didn’t want to miss a minute of “Naughty Nate.” Shirtless, no less.
“Yeah, I know him.”
“Dang, I left my phone in the car. I want to get a picture.”
He choked softly. “To sell to the tabloids for fifty grand? Thought you didn’t care about money, Frankie.”
“Who said anything about selling it?” she teased.
He was next to her in an instant, but both men lifted their hands in greeting.
“Nice of you to show up, Becker,” Nate called.
“You really do know him.” She couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice, which earned her a dark look.
“He’s not your type.”
She bit back a smile and looked at Nate again. “Oh, honey, Naughty Nate is everyone’s type.”
He mumbled a curse and practically leapt off the veranda, heading them off as they came closer.
“I want to meet him,” she called playfully.
Elliott purposely ignored that, and Frankie didn’t know what gave her more of a secret thrill—that he was jealous or that she was about to meet the equivalent of American royalty. The Ivory name was synonymous with power, money, and juicy scandals. With hands in every business and half of Hollywood and a lot of Congress, there was an Ivory on the front page of the news regularly.
Out of earshot, the three of them talked for a minute, then Nate and the other man gave her friendly waves. Frankie took that as an invitation and joined them on the paved path that separated the house from the beach.
“These are some friends of mine, Frankie,” Elliott said, gesturing to the men. “Zeke Nicholas and Nate Ivory.”
She looked from one to the other while she shook hands, politely not ogling their chests, but still stealing a few peeks.
“So this is who has Becker’s full attention this week,” Nate said, giving her a world-famous once-over that had made millions of women swoon. Oddly, it had no effect, but that might have been because Becker held his own with these two men.
“It seems he has a strange desire to be around goats,” she told them.
Both men could barely hide their amusement. “I think it has a lot more to do with the goatherd than the herd of goats,” Zeke said, grinning at her.
The statement did crazy things to her insides, far more than Nate Ivory’s flirtatious wink that said he agreed.
“So, what brings you here?” she asked.
“It’s a...baseball thing,” Nate said.
“Softball, actually,” Elliott corrected him. “We’re all on the same softball team.”
“Really?” Well, it certainly made sense that they were athletes with those bodies. “That must be fun to watch.” For any female with a pulse. “Are you planning to play while you’re all here? I’d love to see a game.”
“No,” Elliott said quickly. “We’re not, we’re—”
“Bad,” Zeke added. “Not pretty to watch.”
She smiled up at him. “I doubt that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Nate asked. “The Niners are fantastic to watch.”
“The Niners? That’s your team?” Frankie shifted her gaze to Becker, who looked more than a little uncomfortable. Was he jealous of these guys? That seemed a little preposterous, but something was bugging him.
“Yeah,” Zeke answered. “The Niners.”
“What does the name mean?” Frankie asked.
They all shared a look and a silent communication that she couldn’t decipher.
“It means...” Nate dragged out the words.
“Nine on a team?” she guessed.
“Zeroes,” Becker finally said. “Net worth.”
It took a few seconds for that to register, then she understood those nine zeroes meant a billion. “All of you?”
“More or less,” Elliott said. “So now I’m sure you don’t want to see us play.”
Because she’d made her feelings about billionaires clear enough to him. She gave an easy shrug. “Might still be fun.”
Elliott put a hand on her shoulder and started to steer her away. “Great to see you guys. I’ll try and catch lunch in the next couple of days, but I’m really busy.”
“On the farm,” Nate said, fighting amusement.
“With the goats,” Zeke added, equally entertained by the thought.
“And the goatherd who is obviously a helluva lot better looking than you two clowns.” He whisked her away, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll be in my villa. Read the sign: Do not disturb.”
He sure seemed anxious to get her away from them. Or at least...alone in the villa.
* * *
Elliott wasted little time throwing the rest of what he needed in his bag, making sure Zeke and Nate were gone. He’d warned them off any mention of the baseball stadium, but the chance of letting something slip worried him. Plus, witnessing Nate flirt with Frankie irked the crap out of him.
She was...his. At the moment, anyway.
“This place is really amazing,” she said as he came out of the bedroom with his bag.
“As you said, it beats the double-wide.” He gave her a wink. “Anytime you want to move over here, I’m game.”
She angled her head and gave him a get real look. “I’d like to see more of the resort, though. Especially because I have a meeting with the spa manager this week. Can you give me a tour?”
He’d risk running into Nate and Zeke again, but it beat goat work. “Sure.”
An hour later, Elliott snagged a picnic lunch from the restaurant and persuaded Frankie to walk to the nearby harbor, where they settled on a wide, whitewashed dock to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. It was warm enough that Frankie slipped off the sweater she wore over a strapless sundress, revealing shapely bare shoulders and a surprising sneak peek of cleavage.
He couldn’t help admiring the lovely picture she made as she leaned back on her hands and lifted her face to the sun which, despite being February, was quite warm.
“Your friends are funny,” she said. “And that Nate is as good in three dimensions as he looks on the covers of tabloids in two.”
He faked a choke. “And here I thought you were different from most women.”
“I am,” she insisted, taking the cold shrimp he offered. “But I’m still human.”
He looked skyward. “Change the subject.”
“Deal. What do you want to talk about?”
Her land. Besides a deathbed promise, what else was he taking from her? The question had plagued him, and it felt like the right time to ask. “So what exactly are your plans for your grandfather’s farm?”
“It’s my farm now,” she said quickly. “And my plan is to fulfill the vision he’d always had. La Dolce Vita.”
“The Sweet Life.” He’d heard the expression.
“That’s what Nonno called it. He didn’t want to turn it into some big high-tech farm, but he always wanted to see it be a little country store and destination for families. Before Casa Blanca was built, not enough people came to Barefoot Bay to make that a reality, which is part of the reason I fought him on it and wante
d to go in a different direction. But now I see the wisdom of his ways, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Except, she wouldn’t if La Dolce Vita was transformed into an access road and stadium parking. He swallowed, but the bite lodged in his throat, making him down half a bottle of water while she stared out at the horizon, deep in thought.
“Don’t you feel you’re making his dreams come true and not yours?” he asked.
She considered that, then shook her head. “I’ve wrestled with what to do, but the more I’m there, the more it feels right. I think I’ll build a cute two-story house made of stone like the ones in Italy. I’ll live upstairs, but downstairs would be the retail shop. Something small, you know? I would sell my soaps and milk and cute little goat-related products. I’d have a petting pen and a much nicer milking shed and production area.”
Whoa, these plans were a little further along than he’d realized. “Sounds like you might need some cash to make all that happen.” With cash from the sale of her land, could she build her farm somewhere else? Would that assuage his guilt?
She shrugged. “I told you, I have some money tucked away.”
“But do you have millions?”
She turned from the water to stare hard at him. “You’re still convinced you can buy me.”
“Not you,” he corrected. “But your land.”
“I haven’t dissuaded you from your eccentric farm dreams yet?”
“Absolutely not. And if you had a lot of money, you could make that dream bigger, better, even more beautiful”—he took a breath and leaned closer—“somewhere else.”
“So could you,” she replied. “Why my land?”
Because it was next to the other three plots they’d already secured. Because this location was perfect. Because it was easy, and Elliott liked things to be easy.
Except...he also liked them to be fair.
“Anyway,” she said, unaware of the war of words raging in his head. “Until I settle that issue with the lawyer who claims someone else owns the land, I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to. Second, I don’t want to. And I don’t care if you call me stubborn, since I told you I come by that trait honestly.”
He shook his head, recognizing the impact of a brick wall when he hit it.
He reached for a stray hair and brushed it off her face, studying her strong profile, the little bump on her nose and the thick lashes that brushed her cheek when her eyes were closed. “You’re pretty when you’re stubborn.”
She tilted her head to rest against his hand. “Now you’re just trying to play me.”
He threaded some hair through his fingers and added a little pressure so she would turn to face him. “I swear I’m not doing anything but sitting in the sunshine with a gorgeous woman, enjoying food and conversation, and thinking about how much I want to kiss her.”
With a sigh, she scooted around to face him with her whole body, crossing her legs under her flouncy skirt and forcing him to make eye contact. “I never know when you’re being real.”
“I’m always...” But was he? “I’m being totally real about wanting to kiss you.”
She shook her head, helping herself to a chocolate-covered strawberry, nibbling while she scrutinized him. “I think I know what bothers me most about you, Becker.” She pointed the bitten end at him.
He had to laugh. “Now there’s a loaded statement. Sounds like the whole ‘bother’ list is pretty damn long.”
“Endless,” she agreed with a wry smile. “But this is the big one: Sometimes you’re Texan, sometimes you’re not. Sometimes you’re cocky, sometimes you’re sweet. Sometimes you play a little slow on the uptake, sometimes your smarts are daunting. Sometimes you say you’re on my side, sometimes you’re clearly on the other team.”
For a long time, he said nothing, debating all of the different possible responses to that, and not liking any of them.
“And sometimes...” A slow smile curved her lips and her eyes sparkled as she flipped the strawberry stem on a paper plate. “I really like you and, yeah, sometimes I want to kiss you, too.”
“I don’t want to hear about the other times,” he said softly, meeting her almost halfway. “Let me know which Becker you like, and that’s the one I’ll be.”
She popped back. “See? That’s what I don’t like. The ability to change and shift and transform to suit the moment. You do that, you know.”
Why lie? “I know. I like things to be expedient. So I’ve learned to, I don’t know...” He dug around for the least offensive way to describe himself. “I’ve learned to blend in with whoever I’m around,” he finally said.
She curled her lip like her last bite had been bad. “Don’t you want to fix that trait?”
“I’m not quite thirty yet,” he said. “I will, in time.”
“Then call me when you do, Becker.” She reached out and trailed a featherlight touch on his cheek. “If it’s the guy I like, I might be up for some of that kissing you mentioned. If it’s the phony guy who says what he thinks he needs to say to get what he wants, I’m out.”
He snagged her wrist before she could pull her hand away, wrapping his fingers around the narrow bones. “I want to be the Becker you like,” he said gruffly.
“Just be the only Becker there is. I mean, how can you be anyone else?”
He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, then let their fingers entwine as he managed to get a little closer. “I moved a lot as a kid.”
She regarded him, silent, waiting for whatever that had to do with his ever-changing personality. A lot, he knew.
“I developed an incredible ability to fit in, no matter where I was. Vermont, Texas, Carolinas, big city, small town, on the base or off, every year or so I was in a completely new environment, and I knew survival depended on fitting in.”
“Lousy excuse for being a phony,” she shot back, the utter lack of sympathy causing a ping inside but not really surprising him.
“I’m not phony,” he insisted. “I prefer to think of myself as a chameleon.”
She rolled her eyes. “Semantics. Fake is fake.”
“I’m not fake. I don’t see what’s wrong with bending with the wind a little if it makes other people happy and moves things along smoothly. When I’m hanging with my softball team, I’m one of the masters of the universe with nine zeroes. When I’m doing a deal, I’m a commercial real estate mogul. When I’m home with my folks, I’m their ordinary son.”
“Who are you right now?”
He smiled and opened his mouth, but she put her fingers over his lips. “The honest truth, Becker. No jokes, no saying what you think I want to hear. Right now, who are you?”
“A guy who really, really wants to kiss you.” He leaned closer. “Honest, unwashed truth.”
She shook her head. “And you’re also that real estate mogul who wants to buy my property.”
He gave a shrug, not denying that. “He wants to kiss you, too.” He closed the rest of the space between them. “A lot.”
He expected her to dodge him, but she stayed perfectly still, letting him place his lips on hers for a slow, tender kiss. A strawberry and chocolate kiss, as warm as the tropical sun and light as the bay breeze that lifted her hair and ruffled her skirt.
With a barely audible moan, she tilted her head and let him intensify the contact, their clasped hands separating so they could add light touches. He caressed her bare shoulder, and she tunneled her fingers into his hair.
“I like this Elliott,” she whispered into the kiss. “But I don’t know when you’ll change.”
As much as he didn’t want to, he leaned back, far enough to allow their eyes to focus. “I don’t change. I adapt to a situation. It’s me, all the time, but I won’t deny I know how to work people to get what I want. Is that so bad?”
She smiled, shaking her head. “Only to the people who are being manipulated by you—and I have a feeling I’m one of them right now.”
“You call it manipulated, but I call it r
eally nice and natural kissing.” He underscored that with a longer, deeper kiss, teasing her lips and teeth with his tongue, enjoying a pure rush of pleasure through his body. His hand slid into her hair, easing her even closer. “God, you smell pretty and taste good.”
She let out a little sigh as he dragged his lips across her cheek and along her jaw. “You smell like that soap I used in the bathroom,” he murmured.
“I made that.”
“Mmm. Nice work.”
Her throat caught, making him want to explore that skin with his lips, too, but she backed away. “And speaking of soap, if I don’t stop making out and start making soap, I won’t have a batch ready for that meeting with Jocelyn Palmer. So…” She was trying to push away, but he did his best to hold her in place.
“Am I really going to lose to goat soap?” he asked.
“Goat’s milk soap,” she corrected. “And, yes, I need to get back to work.”
He let her stand, easily rising with her. “I can help.”
“But…” She hesitated as he got closer, looking up at him as he loomed taller. “There’s nothing for you to do. It’s a one-person job.”
“Then I’ll watch and inspire.”
She made a face of pure disgust. “How on earth am I going to get rid of you? Don’t you have something else to do? Sell buildings? Count your money? Play with your Niners?”
He shook his head, slipping his arm around her. “Nope. You’re all I’ve got this week.”
“Lucky me.” She snorted with derision, but he could tell she didn’t mean it, not the way she was looking at him. “I wish you were real, Elliott Becker. You’re funny and great-looking and kiss like a dream.”
“I am real. What do I have to do to prove that to you?”
She pressed a little more into him, her curves fitting nicely against him, her upturned face as beautiful as any view around him. “Kiss me again.”
Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2) Page 7
