Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “A hot nautilus shell massage and steam brush facial for men?” He looked skyward. “What Navy SEAL doesn’t want to spend his day like that?”

  “You’re forgetting the men’s pedicure.” Willow managed to slip by him, slender enough to slide into the office without letting their bodies touch.

  He watched her walk to her desk in jeans that showed off a tight, curved ass to mouthwatering perfection. Damn. How had she gone from the young woman he knew in Sproul Hall to…

  Seventeen almonds and a roof tile, that’s how. And workouts that no doubt rivaled BUD/S training. Which was almost as much of a turn-on as the way her tight T-shirt tucked into the jeans and showed off her waist.

  “Ahem.” Gussie gave him an elbow and raised brow. “You’re staring.”

  “Ahem, I’m human. And she’s spectacular.”

  Willow turned as she reached her desk, fighting a smile. “Full-offensive attack today, Lieutenant?”

  “With a couple’s massage.” He fluttered the envelope. “What about it? You. Me. Hot shells and body butter?”

  Instantly, Ari swooped up a paper. “Oh, Gussie, we gotta go.”

  “And miss this?”

  “Yes, we do. It’s time for that, um, meeting. That important meeting we have that Willow is not invited to.”

  Willow gave a soft laugh, but Nick shot Ari a look of pure appreciation. “Thanks for having my back.”

  She shrugged and gave Gussie a prod toward the door. “It’s her back we’re worried about.”

  “And her front,” Gussie added. “No staring.”

  “Gussie!” Willow chided.

  Laughing, the two women disappeared out the door, leaving him alone with the one he wanted. Except she still looked pissed at him.

  “So,” he said, coming a few steps closer. “Can you play today?”

  She relaxed ever so slightly, fighting a smile. “Points for creativity.”

  “And relentless determination. You can appreciate that, right?” He gestured toward her body and let his gaze rove over every curve and cut again. “You didn’t get this way by being lazy.”

  The slightest rise of color seeped up her neck. “I didn’t get this way from getting couple’s massages with our guests.”

  “So you’d rather hit the gym?”

  She shook her head. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, so, sorry.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked, closing more space.

  She escaped the trap, slipping around her desk to make an effort to look like she was organizing papers. “I need to run errands in town.”

  “Oh, okay.” When she looked up, he added, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to make up my mistake to you. Let’s run your errands and have lunch together, and then take a walk by the water and kiss.”

  Her eyes widened as the last one sank in. “Well, so much for subtlety.”

  “So overrated, and I need to do some kissing research. You can help.”

  She gave a quick laugh. “What makes you think I want to?”

  “Oh, come on, Willow.” He leaned his hands on her desk and got closer.

  “I ate already.” She slipped into her chair and crossed her arms as if she could create her own bullet-proof vest.

  “Roof tiles?” he teased.

  “And a spinach smoothie.”

  He took the guest chair across from her to make her comfortable. “So, is that how you did it? Denial and control?”

  “And six billion crunches.”

  “I bet.” He gave her an admiring smile, wishing she’d loosen up those tight arms. “You’ve probably done more sit-ups than I have in SEAL training.”

  Suddenly, she pushed back from the desk. “You really want to go with me?”

  He stood, too. “Of course.”

  “First, we’re stopping at the florist, then I need to pick something up from a gift shop, and there could be a stop at the fabric store for some tulle. Then one client needs me to choose her toasting crystals, and another has me on a hunt for satin pillows. This is a very girlie errand day. Can you handle that, Lieutenant?”

  “If the girlie I’m with is you.”

  Finally, she let her arms relax, along with her smile. She bent over to get something from under her desk, giving him a direct shot down her V-neck, the sight of a soft, feminine swell firing right through him.

  She looked and caught him staring. Hard. “Sorry, you had your shot, Nick.”

  He closed his eyes, the hit direct. “I have a lot of groveling to do, don’t I?”

  “It should be epic.” She stepped around the desk and softened the tension with a smile.

  He led her out, taking his small victory and her hand, unwilling to let go of either one.

  * * *

  A couple’s massage couldn’t have been much more fun than picking tulle, roses, pillows, or flutes with Nick. At each stop in town, with each joke and casual touch, Willow couldn’t help but let her guard slip a little more. By the time they loaded up her car and checked the last thing off her list, all her defenses were down.

  Nick closed her hatchback with an air of finality. “Please tell me there’s a cold drink at the end of this.”

  “There could be.”

  He pointed across Harbor Drive to the frosted windows and the red and white awning of Miss Icey’s, a Mimosa Key staple. “What can we get at that place?”

  “I’ve only heard rumors,” she joked. “They sell things with names like praline pecan and vanilla fudge ripple.”

  “Ice cream?” His eyes popped like a six-year-old boy’s. “Don’t deny me.”

  “Knock yourself out. I can’t be in the same room with the stuff.”

  He took her hand. “When’s the last time you had ice cream?” he asked.

  Willow knew exactly when that was. She could probably give him the date. She’d been on her way back to her house in Canyon Country after spending the day in Pacific Palisades with her parents, about three and a half years ago. Ona had been in rare form that day, and Willow had left feeling like a human punching bag. Only fatter.

  That night, she’d chosen Premium Churned Reduced Fat No Sugar Added Caramel Turtle Truffle. The next day, she was up two pounds. But she’d made a decision to limit her exposure to her mother to…nothing. Which was freakishly easy. That was the week that Willow launched a complete transformation of her life and self. Which was also freakishly easy, at least in retrospect.

  “I haven’t had ice cream for years,” she finally admitted.

  For a long time, he looked at her, considering that answer. “Don’t you ever just lose control, Willow?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “I don’t think that’s healthy.”

  She launched a brow north. “My scale would say differently, and so would your lusty looks.”

  He smiled. “You’re fun to look at, I won’t lie, but don’t you ever want to cheat or just, you know, eat ice cream?”

  How much fun would it be to eat ice cream with Nick? To share a cone and…a kiss. All kinds of physical desires fluttered around in her. “I’m afraid of it,” she whispered, surprising herself with the honest answer.

  “Then it owns you,” he said quickly. “I learned that in training. When you’re scared of something, you need to face it, even experience it, regularly. Then it loses all its power over you.”

  She looked up at him, feeling a little like she might if she were staring into the Rocky Road bin. This could feel so good…but the consequences would not.

  “You’re thinking about it,” he said, taking her hands and easing her closer.

  “I’m thinking about you.”

  “Even better.” And closer. “We could skip the ice cream and go make out.”

  “In broad daylight?”

  “The better to see you.”

  She laughed, shaking her head, tamping down those feminine nerve cells that were dancing around like little prisoners who heard the guard rattli
ng the keys. “I choose ice cream,” she said. “It’s the lesser of two evils.”

  Chapter Seven

  Defenses down, Rocky Road in hand, Willow tried to remind herself to be careful. A total loss of control could lead to…well, not in broad daylight. Not here. But eventually?

  He was the one who mentioned a kiss. How could she not think about it?

  “So, am I completely forgiven yet for almost standing you up last night?” he asked, pulling her out of the reverie.

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes to enjoy the cold, sweet richness on her tongue and the ping to her heart because he seemed to care so much. “You think all it takes is a little makeup ice cream and we’re good?”

  “Not to mention I spent my afternoon buying pink mosquito netting.”

  “Tulle,” she corrected, nudging him. “I guess I’ll forgive you, if you tell me about what you wrote that kept you so engrossed you forgot about me.”

  He slid her a look. “That won’t happen again,” he said softly. “And what I wrote was…pretty good, I think. Maybe. Oh, hell, it could have sucked bear balls for all I know.”

  “Is writing a book something you’ve always wanted to do?”

  “Not particularly, though I’ve always dug reading.”

  “I know,” she said, letting him guide her across the street. “The first time I saw you was in the dorm lounge at three in the morning, your nose in a John Steinbeck novel.”

  He smiled. “I remember. You walked past me three times in one hour.”

  She felt the embarrassed burn of a busted stalker. “So what made you decide to try writing?” she asked quickly.

  “For one thing, I’m bored as hell.” They paused at the intersection and then wordlessly agreed to walk toward the small park along the water’s edge. “I miss active duty.”

  “When can you go back?”

  He didn’t answer right away, eating some ice cream. “Not sure I will.”

  “What’s the deciding factor?”

  He tapped his left ear. “When the surgery works. I’m treating my ear with corticosteroids and time. If I passed the test I took last week, I can go back in for training and deployment. But, truth be told, SEAL standards are high, and I may never see deployment again.”

  She could hear a world of hurt in that admission, but didn’t want to ruin the moment by dwelling on it. “Well, it’s good you have the writing to keep your mind off it.” She added a teasing elbow. “And other things, like dinner dates.”

  He laughed. “The best part about last night was how caught up in the story I got. I didn’t have as much of that stuck feeling that’s been killing me for the past few weeks. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wish I knew what happened, so I could bottle and drink it every day. Something broke the dam.”

  “Salt air?”

  “Nah, I’m living a stone’s throw from the Pacific Ocean, and there’s plenty of salt air there.”

  “Time change?”

  “Obviously not looking at the clock.” At an empty bench, they sat down, facing the wide body of water that separated the island from the mainland, dotted with a dozen pleasure craft and jet skiers on this sunny April afternoon.

  They didn’t talk for a moment, taking in the view, the treat, the companionship. Then Willow felt his gaze on her and not the cobalt water.

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking that I know who you reminded me of yesterday on the beach.”

  “I reminded you of me,” she said. “And if anyone should be throwing around apologies, it’s me for not being straight from the moment I recognized you.”

  “That’s true,” he agreed heartily. “We’re definitely even. When did you recognize me, exactly?”

  “As soon as I saw your face.”

  “Which took a long while, as I recall.”

  She laughed at the tease. “Your singing—and other things—rendered me, um, speechless.”

  He leaned into her. “I’ll buy that excuse for when I wasn’t dressed. But what about after, when you knew I hadn’t recognized you? Why not say something then?”

  She opened her mouth to make a quip, change the topic, or brush off the truth. But something about the question in his eyes stopped her. “I told you, Willie Zatarain no longer exists. I really didn’t want to go through the whole ‘oh, wow, you’re so different’ business. And, for what it’s worth, I was about to tell you when Misty showed up.”

  “I would have figured it out, though. Especially when I realized how much you look like your mother.”

  She almost choked on her sugar cone. “I do not,” she corrected him. “I favor my father, without the long hair, tattoos, and road-worn face.”

  He regarded her for a moment, the scrutiny making her uncomfortable. “You have prominent cheekbones, that little cleft in your chin, and eyes that never stay the same color for five minutes. I think you look more like the woman on the magazine covers than the man on the album covers.”

  She had to change the subject. “So, what do you think of this sweet little island I’ve adopted as my home?”

  “It’s pretty.” He nodded to the water. “Not too touristy, considering the location.”

  “That is changing with the resort up in Barefoot Bay and a new minor league baseball stadium coming in next year. Still, I love it. When Gussie and Ari and I arrived here to preview Casa Blanca as a destination wedding resort, we couldn’t believe there was anything like Mimosa Key left on Florida’s west coast. No high-rises, no restaurant chains, no real tourist traffic.”

  “You like that?” He sounded amazed. “After growing up in Los Angeles?”

  “I love that after growing up in Los Angeles. And so do the brides that are looking for a completely unique destination for their weddings, which is one of the reasons we chose to locate our business here.”

  “What were the other reasons?” he asked, resting his arm across the back of the bench, nearly around her. She had to fight the desire to curl closer.

  “Obviously, there are a lot of factors when three people make a move that big,” she said. “We were all coming from different parts of the country, and the location appealed to all of us.”

  “From different parts of the country? I’m surprised, because you seem like you’ve been friends forever.”

  “Feels that way,” she agreed, thinking about how quickly the three of them had evolved from professional colleagues to best friends. “I told you we traveled together for one solid year to visit resorts, and we clicked. And I was totally ready for friends again…”

  She realized how that sounded the minute it came out.

  “I mean, friends and a new business and a change,” she said quickly. “We bonded instantly and knew that we could be a powerhouse operation as a threesome rather than struggling individually.”

  “What do you mean you were ready for friends again?”

  Of course he was too smart to let that slip by. She attempted a casual shrug. “Oh, I mean friends that are in the same business.”

  She wasn’t going to keep letting him take her back there, damn it.

  “Don’t you ever miss Los Angeles?” he asked, and she sensed it was just another way of asking how and when and why she’d shunned her friends and family.

  She had prepared answers for those questions. She’d been asked this before. “I didn’t really live in LA, per se. I moved way out to Canyon Country years ago, and that turned out to be an inconvenient place to have a business. I was living on the freeway to meet clients and review sites. This”—she made a sweeping gesture toward the water and boats, the sweeping arc of the causeway that led to the mainland—“is like paradise compared to Southern California.”

  He didn’t answer, studying the view with a hesitation just long enough to make her think he didn’t agree.

  “Do you miss California?” she countered. She knew he’d grown up outside of San Francisco and assumed he lived up there.

  “Not how I’m living now. While I’m on this leave, I’
m staying with my younger brother in Manhattan Beach, which is not conducive to writing—or sleeping or thinking—since he’s got a lot of friends and they are in and out constantly. I had an apartment down in San Diego when I first entered the SEALs, but when I was deployed the first time, I let the place go.”

  “Where would you live if you ended up leaving the SEALs?”

  He closed his eyes and very slowly shook his head. “I don’t want to even think about it, Willow.”

  “So if you’re not deployed, would you quit the service?”

  “I’m not big on quitting, really. But…I didn’t train like a beast to push papers in some building.” He gave his head a little shake, like the thought actually hurt him, but then he turned to her.

  “You must get back to LA to see your parents, right?” he asked. “Or is it New York where Misty said she sees your mother?”

  She laughed softly.

  “Why is that funny?” he asked.

  “It’s like we’re doing a perfectly choreographed dance of subjects neither one of us wants to talk about.”

  He brushed his fingers on her shoulder. “Your mother?”

  All right, she’d be honest. “I don’t talk to my mother that often.”

  “Is that by choice?” he asked.

  Her lips formed a tight smile as she nodded, her focus on a boat headed south on the navy water. “Yep. Mine.”

  He waited a beat, then, “Can I ask why?”

  A hundred responses floated through her brain, so she chose the one that would resonate with a man who missed dangerous battles. “Consider it a survival technique,” she said. “Surely a Navy SEAL would understand that.”

  For a long moment, he looked at her, his eyes registering that, on some level, he understood.

  “We’re not…what’s the word? Estranged,” she added. Just the opposite, in fact. They knew each other far too well. “And we do talk sometimes.” Briefly, rarely, and only by phone. “But mostly, I can’t stand her manipulative personality. Constantly trying to get me to be or do things that she wants with no regard for what I want.”

  “That would suck. What about your dad?”

  “He loves to be manipulated by her, that’s why they’re still so in love. But my dad…” She felt a slow smile growing. “My dad’s okay. She’s his weakness, and I forgive him for that.”