Charity’s eyes grew wide behind her bifocals. “And do what with them?”
“Exactly when did that become your business?”
She pffted out a breath. “Everything on this island is my business. Like, why do you wear different-color wigs every day? Someone asked me about it, and I just assumed, you know, chemo or something.”
Gussie almost laughed, because how else could you even respond to such rudeness? “So that’s what you told them?”
“I told them I’d find out.” She leaned way off her little stool to peer hard at Gussie’s face. “And all that makeup. What’s the deal?”
A slow heat slid up her chest and into her cheeks, which Charity probably couldn’t see because of all that makeup. She dug for the snappy retort about how Charity could benefit from a touch of mascara and came up with…nothing. Clearly, an encounter with TJ DeMille had killed her witty brain cells.
Reaching into her wallet, she grabbed two twenties and slapped them on the counter. “I’ll take it all. His and mine.” She scooped everything into her arms, using the magazines to cradle his wine and her Diet Coke.
“What the—”
“Keep the change,” she called as she hustled away. The bell dinged as she shouldered the door open, the sound all but drowned out by the growl of an engine.
“Don’t leave!” she called out, darting toward the pickup truck. But he was already backing out, sunglasses on, his face turned as he hit the accelerator—hard.
“This is for you!” she cried.
But he was flooring it, the motor screaming. She ran to the truck, just in time to reach it and do the only thing she could to stop him—kick the bumper. The move nearly cost her a forty-dollar armload. “Hey!”
He slammed on the brakes, whipping around to look at her. He froze for a moment, then inched down his sunglasses, disbelief drawing his thick brows together.
“I have…your…stuff.” She lifted her arms, making her Swedish Fish fall to the ground and the liter of Diet Coke roll to a dangerous angle on top of the magazines.
He stared at her like she was a complete and total lunatic. Which, right at that moment, was quite accurate. Her impulses would be the death of her someday. Hell, they nearly were once.
He still didn’t move.
“Your…magazines,” she said, taking a step toward the curb, angling her whole body so the soda bottle was caught by her elbows. “And…wine. I bought them for you.”
“You did?” He stayed right in the driver’s seat, clearly uncertain of the possible danger of a pink-wigged woman who just spent way too much money for a stranger.
“I’m a…” Fangirl. Stalker. Crazed admirer. Right now, she felt like all of the above. “Good Samaritan,” she finished, using all her might to hold the Coke with her elbow. “And I kind of hate that woman who owns this place.”
Finally, he relaxed into a half-smile, taking the sunglasses off completely as he opened the door and climbed out. “That makes two of us.”
He reached for the liter bottle, and she moved to protect it from a fall at the same second, and his hand went right smack against her boob.
He drew back—not terribly fast—but so did she, and she felt the wine slip right between the magazines and her stomach. “Oh!” She gasped, leaning into him to save the bottle from the fall, but it slipped and crashed to the concrete, making them both jump back as red wine and glass splattered all over her sandaled feet and his…oh, man. His crisp khaki trousers.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she cried.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping back and shaking some wine off his pant leg.
“I’m…fine.” Except for the rain shower of glass over her foot. She lifted her leg out of the mess and the heavy issue of Marie Claire toppled, splatting right onto the puddle of wine. “Oh, God.”
He inched back again, his smile fading as he eyed her. “This is getting worse by the second.”
“I know, I’m…” She looked down and saw a tiny trickle of blood in the arch of her foot.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine. I’m…” A freaking idiot. “It’s tiny.”
But he reached for her foot, and she automatically leaned into him, sending the Vanity Fair to the same fate. It landed face-up, with the ethereal and vicious model staring up at them.
“Really, I’m fine,” she said. “Just take this and…”
He took the last magazine and the bottle of Diet Coke from her hands, and she brushed at the tiny cut, happy to see it was nothing. “I’m sorry for this,” she muttered.
“No, no, you were being kind. Here.” He handed the remaining magazine—Vogue the size of a phone book—back to her. “You should keep this. It’s a great issue.” When she took it, he returned his attention to her cut, his large hand cradling her foot, forcing her to hold on to his arm for balance. Damn, the man had muscles.
“That’s not too bad,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “And wine that bad should definitely kill any germs.”
His voice was so low she found herself inching closer just to wallow in the timbre of it. And the sandalwood smell of him.
Finally, he let her foot go, and she had enough balance to stand on her own. Well, nearly enough. TJ DeMille made her downright wobbly.
“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she said, sounding as lame as she felt. “I’m really sorry about your pants.”
He shook his pant leg again. “It’s par for the course this week, I’m afraid. But that was very kind of you, um…miss…” He let his voice rise with a little question.
“Gussie,” she supplied. “Gussie McBain.”
“Gussie,” he repeated, reaching out a hand. “I’m—”
“Oh, I know who you are.”
Thick eyebrows rose in surprise, the look in his eyes—his very sky-blue eyes, she noted—a mix of distrust and uncertainty.
“I mean, I heard you tell…her.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Thomas Jefferson DeMille.” His name rolled off her lips like she’d said it quite a few times in her life, because, well, she had.
“Just TJ,” he said, closing his fingers over her hand in a slow shake. They weren’t sweaty at all, she thought fleetingly. On the contrary, his palms were dry and warm and strong and…more wobble-inducing than his smile. “And that was very thoughtful of you since that woman obviously assumed I just arrived from the local prison.”
She laughed. “What does bring you to Mimosa Key?” A photo shoot? Her heart danced a little at the thought. She would kill to watch him work. He was a master and she was…a dreamer.
“Family business,” he said vaguely, the only discernable note one of pure disgust. “Anyway, thanks.” He smiled, and she could have sworn the sun shone just a little bit brighter. Gussie couldn’t help staring up at him, drinking in the sight of a man who’d previously been nothing but a photo credit…on the most beautiful photos she’d ever seen.
“Is someone going to clean up that mess?” Charity’s grating voice broke Gussie’s moment of reverie. “Or do I have to call the sheriff and report vandals at the Super Min?”
They both turned to her, and the woman just shook her fried-blond head, shooing them off with one hand. “Nevermind. Go, I’ll fix it. You…” She pointed to TJ. “I know who you are now. I made a few phone calls. Just get on your way and take care of that mess your sister left behind. And you.” Her finger slid to Gussie. “Lose the wig, and you’d be prettier.”
Gussie felt a flush in her cheeks as Charity backed into the store and let the door close.
“Well,” she said awkwardly. “Whatever has you on our lovely little island, please don’t judge us all by Charity Grambling.”
He studied her face and of course, her wig. She should be used to it—she was, really—but his eye was so incredibly trained, the scrutiny nearly melted her.
“I think you’re stunning,” he said softly.
“Wow, thanks.” She tried to laugh, but she sounded as nervous as he was making
her feel. “You, too.” Oh, brother. Did she just say that?
“And I owe you a favor,” he said, letting her off the hook for the lame compliment. “Really, thank you.”
“For a broken bottle of wine and ruined magazines?”
He looked like he was about to argue, but then gave the chips a shake. “You saved my Fritos and, thus, my ass.”
His cell phone rang, interrupting them. He pulled it out and angled the screen, that same look of disgust darkening his face. “I have to go. Like the woman said, another mess calls. Good-bye, Gussie.” He stepped back to get in the truck, but took one more moment to study her again. “Really, stunning. I mean it. I have an eye for these things.”
He closed the door and backed away before she could respond.
Well, no damn wonder he was a gifted photographer. He even made Gussie McBain feel beautiful, and that was saying a lot. Smiling, she stepped gingerly over the broken glass, knowing exactly the favor she’d like to collect from him.
Thank you for reading Barefoot in White!
Roxanne loves to hear from readers, so feel free to email her at [email protected] or sign up for the mailing list on the home page of her website, www.roxannestclaire.com.
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About the Author
Roxanne St. Claire is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly forty novels of suspense and romance, including several 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 family (and dogs!), and can be reached via her website, www.roxannestclaire.com or on her Facebook Reader page, www.facebook.com/roxannestclaire and on Twitter at www.twitter.com/roxannestclaire.
Books by Roxanne St. Claire
The Barefoot Bay Billionaires Trilogy (Contemporary Romance)
Secrets on the Sand ** Free **
Seduction on the Sand
Scandal on the Sand
The Barefoot Bay Quartet (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
First You Run
Then You Hide
Now You Die
Hunt Her Down
Make Her Pay
Pick Your Poison (a novella)
Stand-alone Novels (Romance and Suspense)
Space in His Heart
Hit Reply
Tropical Getaway
French Twist
Killer Curves
Don’t You Wish (Young Adult)
Critical Reviews of Roxanne St. Claire Novels
“St. Claire, as always, brings a scorching tear-up-the-sheets romance combined with a great story: dealing with real issues starring memorable characters in vivid scenes.”
— Romantic Times Magazine
“Non-stop action, sweet and sexy romance, lively characters, and a celebration of family and forgiveness.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Plenty of heat, humor, and heart!”
— USA Today’s Happy Ever After blog
“It’s safe to say I will try any novel with St. Claire’s name on it.”
— www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com
“The writing was perfectly on point as always and the pace of the story was flawless. But be forewarned that you will laugh, cry, and sigh with happiness. I sure did.”
— www.harlequinjunkies.com
“The Barefoot Bay series is an all-around knockout, soul-satisfying read. Roxanne St. Claire writes with warmth and heart and the community she’s built at Barefoot Bay is one I want to visit again and again.”
— Mariah Stewart, New York Times bestselling author
“This book stayed with me long after I put it down.”
— All About Romance
Barefoot in White
Copyright © 2014 South Street Publishing, LLC
[email protected]
www.roxannestclaire.com
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ISBN: 978-0-9883736-6-2
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author, [email protected]
Cover Art: Robin Ludwig Design
Interior Formatting: Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
More Love Stories…
Sneak Peek—Barefoot in Lace
Thank You for Reading
About the Author
Books by Roxanne St. Claire
Critical Reviews of Roxanne St. Claire Novels
Copyright
Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) Page 28
