Barefoot in the Sand

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I’ve never not been a single mom,” she answered, still not turning to him as if the confession embarrassed her. “I didn’t marry Ashley’s father. I’ve raised her alone from day one.”

  It did embarrass her; he could tell by the note of defiance in her voice. “You’ve done a great job,” he said simply. “I’m sure it’s been tough.”

  “My parents are local, and they’ve helped, but, yeah, it’s a challenge. Especially now because she has an opinion on everything.”

  “Did she have an opinion on me?”

  She just laughed. “All of us had an opinion on you.”

  “You mean your friends that were in the bar last night? What did they tell you to do? Run as fast as you can, Lacey; he’s got an earring and a tattoo?”

  “No, that’ll be my mother when she gets back from New York. Of course, that’s not saying much because I’ve pretty much made a second career out of disappointing my mother. But my friends? They totally encouraged me to give you a chance.” She grinned. “Especially Zoe.”

  “The blonde?”

  “The pretty blonde,” she added.

  He started to outline the balustrade, the vision so clear in his head he wasn’t even thinking as his pencil worked. “She’s not my type,” he said.

  “What is?”

  He glanced up. “Job interview question?”

  “Curious woman question.”

  “You’re my type, Lacey.”

  “Oh, please. You’ve already said you’d work for nothing. You don’t have to throw in gratuitous praise to get the job.”

  He stopped drawing and looked directly at her. “You are my type,” he repeated.

  “I’m older than you are.”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t obsessing over it. Ma’am.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “So you like well-endowed redheads who use the word can’t and have teenage daughters with too many opinions? Why do I find this hard to believe?”

  “I like curvy, sexy, gorgeous strawberry blondes who are willing to take risks when something is important enough.” The fact that she was a single mother spoke volumes about what kind of woman she was, whether she realized it or not. “I also happen to think we’re more alike than you realize.”

  He finished the balustrade, and considered showing her the drawing, but something was missing.

  “Why are you frowning?” she asked.

  “I’m not done yet and I can’t decide what I’ve left out.”

  She leaned forward. “Can I look yet?”

  “No. But…” He wanted to ask her to hold perfectly still, just like she was, with dappled sun turning her hair to spun gold and highlighting each little freckle on her nose.

  “All right. I got it. Just keep talking. Tell me more about your mother who you constantly disappoint.”

  She laughed. “You picked that up, huh? No. I’ll tell you about my dad, though. He’s the only person in my immediate family I’ve told about the B and B. I wanted to clear the idea of leveling the house with him because his parents built it, as you know, and my dad was born on the kitchen table.”

  “Really?” He looked up, surprised. “That’s a cool piece of history.”

  “I know, but the kitchen table”—she turned toward the water and closed her eyes—“is gone.”

  “Must be awful to lose everything.”

  She nodded. “I go through some bad nights, remembering things, and then I say, Hey, we survived. That’s all that matters.”

  “But you lost your home.”

  “I’m building a new one,” she said with false brightness. “We’ll live in the, uh, resort someone wants me to build.”

  He smiled. “I like that.”

  “And, honestly, I don’t want you to think we lost some amazing architectural wonder. My grandparents never did anything to improve the house, then they willed it to me, and it was, honestly, on its last…”

  “Support beams?”

  “Precisely. Or it might have survived that storm. But for the years I lived there, all I could really do was piecemeal repairs. I wanted to do more, promised my Granny Dot I’d do more, but I always had…”

  “A reason not to,” he finished for her as he took out a package of colored pencils and began the job of adding blues to the water and browns to the building and just the right colors to capture his vision.

  “Bingo.” She pointed at him. “I have a daughter and a small business. Life in general was plenty of reason not to take a huge risk like this. Then the hurricane came and I… faced death.”

  “Whoa.” He stopped shading and studied her. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. I climbed into a bathtub that is now in a storage facility in Fort Myers, and used a mattress to keep my daughter alive.” Her voice wobbled a little. “After you go through something like that, it seems stupid to worry about antique tables and even stupider not to take some chances.”

  The look in her eyes said that chance was on him. And right there, at that angle with the blue-on-blue horizon cutting a perfect plumb line behind her and determination setting her jaw at a defiant angle, Lacey Armstrong was completely lovely, strong, and sexy.

  He slid his pencil across the page, a power moving his fingers like he had no control. But he had plenty of control, and he used it.

  “You’re drawing so fast.”

  “I’m inspired by you.” Low in his belly, a slow burn started. Natural, being this close to a woman he found attractive, but surprising, too. Intimate. Hungry. Hot. “In fact, when I’m finished, we should go skinny-dipping.”

  Her jaw dropped in pure shock, then she let out a pretty laugh. “You do? Well, I don’t think that’s part of the job interview. Unless…” Her voice trailed off, but he didn’t take his eyes off the page. The drawing was going too perfectly.

  “Unless what, Lacey?”

  “Unless you think you’re applying for a completely different job.”

  “One for the day, one for the night.” He smiled but kept his head down, his pencil flying. Couldn’t stop now, not even to flirt with her.

  “That would be…”

  He waited for her to finish. Crazy. Impossible. Unthinkable. What would it be? When she didn’t say anything else, he tore his gaze from the work and met hers.

  “That would be what, Lacey?”

  “Something new for me.”

  “How’s that? No men in your life, ever?”

  “Not many, not recently. I just don’t have the time or interest.” She didn’t sound convincing.

  “Ashley’s father?”

  “I haven’t seen him since she was a baby, and he’s not in the picture.”

  “Good, then maybe I could talk you into, you know, my special Architect with Benefits program.”

  She laughed. “Pro bono and benefits? I’m starting to wonder if I won the lottery.”

  “You like the idea?” Because he did. A lot.

  “Maybe.” She brushed a hair off her face; the golden red curl caught in her fingers like her voice caught in her throat. “I’m not going to lie and act like…”

  “Like you haven’t thought about it.”

  For a long, heavy moment, neither spoke. Then she whispered, “I’ve thought about it.”

  “Me, too,” he said, setting down the pencil and slowly turning the pad toward her. “See? I’m thinking about it right now.”

  The look on her face was priceless and every bit as beautiful as he’d drawn her.

  Chapter 9

  Oh.” It was the best Lacey could do. Just oh.

  There was so much to take in. So much to absorb. A tiny structure with a sloping roof and cozy patio faced the Gulf, the beach scene beautifully rendered. But the villa and the water were not the focal point of his drawing, just an exotic backdrop for her. “That’s me.”

  Drawn completely and utterly naked, she was stepping from the villa to the sand. He’d captured her copper curls, the shape of her face, the slope of her neck, and, of c
ourse, her voluptuous breasts. But it wasn’t just the nude body that mesmerized Lacey. This woman exuded power. With squared shoulders and outstretched hands, a confident stride and a fearless look in her eyes, she was the woman Lacey wanted to be.

  “That’s how you see me?”

  “That’s how…” His words faded as he touched the picture, his long, lean finger following the lines of her body, the effect as thrilling as if he were touching her skin.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “You know how some people draw from memory? Or maybe they use an object to copy? I draw from my imagination or, rather, my fantasy.” His finger lingered on the two-dimensional drawing of her breast.

  “That’s quite a talent.” Which might be the understatement of the century. “How did you do that?”

  “I draw moments that I’d like to see. That’s how I design buildings, something I’d like to walk out on the street and see. This villa”—he gestured toward the structure in the sketch—“is something I’d like to walk onto the beach and see.”

  “Is there a villa in this picture?” she joked. “I can’t get past the naked lady.”

  He laughed. “Look at the building, Lacey. Really. What does it remind you of?”

  She studied the villa for a few seconds, then it hit her. “Casablanca.”

  “I was inspired when I watched the movie last night.”

  “You watched it last night?” That gave her a little jolt as sexual as his drawing of her.

  “When I came home from the bar, I found it on the Internet and watched the whole thing. I still think the wrong guy gets the girl,” he said quickly, “But it totally inspired me for your property. What do you think?”

  “I love the shape and design of that villa.” She’d never seen anything like it, certainly not on Mimosa Key and maybe not in Florida. Instead of the standard Palladian windows and faux Spanish style, this was earthier, cozier.

  “I kind of see an all-Morocco-themed architecture,” he said, excitement making him talk a little faster and get a little closer. “White stucco walls and dark wood floors, the curved windows and low-slung archways. I know it’s different, but the buildings are made for intense heat, so it would really fit in around here.”

  He was right. God, he was a genius.

  “Kind of a waterfront paradise without the tacky, typical, tropical feel,” she said, tearing her attention from the page to look at its creator. “I love it, Clay.”

  He beamed a smile at her. “I even have a name for it.”

  “I was going to keep Blue Horizon House as, you know, an homage to my grandparents.”

  “And I’m sure they’d love that, but we’re not building an assisted-living facility, Strawberry.” He was so close their faces almost touched, but neither made a move to back away.

  She laughed softly. “So what are we building, Clay?”

  “You already said it. Casablanca. But I suggest two words. Casa Blanca.”

  “Spanish for ‘white house.’ ” She sighed, closing her eyes, leaning her head back just to let the beauty of the idea wash over her. “That’s perfect.”

  And so was the kiss he placed on her mouth.

  The pressure of his lips was so soft at first that she wasn’t sure if the kiss was really happening. Her eyes fluttered open as a breath flickered between their mouths. He slid a hand around her neck, his fingers delving into her hair again. His other hand cupped her jaw and held her face just to make the angles of their lips fit perfectly.

  A soft moan escaped her throat as she opened her mouth to him, letting their tongues dance at first, then coil more comfortably, then slide against each other. Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she pulled him closer and made absolutely no effort to stop. It felt too good.

  She kept her eyes closed and he kissed her cheek, like a little finishing touch on something that was already flawless.

  “You like my ideas, don’t you?” he whispered into her mouth.

  Oh, she liked more than his ideas. “I like your hands.”

  That made him chuckle and tunnel deeper into her hair. “How they draw?”

  “How they…” She closed her eyes and let her forehead fall against his, their noses lined up, their mouths close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. “Feel.”

  He kissed her again, getting their bodies closer on the picnic table, building heat that could rival the tropical air around them. Cicadas buzzed and waves lapped, but all Lacey could hear was the thrum of sex and desire shooting off to every nerve in her body—and the intrusive vibration of her cell phone. The interruption jerked them apart.

  “I bet it’s Ashley,” she said. “She’s with my friends and was supposed to call when they’re five minutes away.”

  “Oh, there go all my skinny-dipping plans.” He kissed her again, longer, open mouthed, pulling her closer to him on the tabletop. “I was really starting to like this job interview.”

  “I was really starting to forget this was a job interview.”

  He backed away, holding her face tenderly. “Ms. Armstrong, can we please make this official?”

  A crazy thrill electrified her, the question so like a proposal. His eyes were sincere, his mouth still parted from the last kiss, a lock of his hair falling over a brow and making her brush it away.

  “I have to think about it,” she said. A lot. For hours. Like all she wanted to think about was him and this and Casa Blanca. “How about I tell you tonight?

  He just kissed her again, another clash of tongues, until the phone vibrated one more time. She broke away and pulled it out to read the text.

  “They’re on their way.”

  He dragged his hands down her bare arms, letting his fingers brush the sides of her breasts. Like he’d touched a magic switch, her nipples budded through the cotton. “Then I’ll see you tonight. I think we should watch Casablanca.”

  She laughed softly. “You watched it last night.”

  “It inspired me.” He kissed her mouth. Her nose. Her forehead. “Who knows what could happen if we watched it together?”

  Uh, she knew exactly what would happen.

  “I’ll call you tonight, okay?” he whispered. “We can watch at my place.”

  Yep. They both knew where this was headed.

  “Oh, I forgot.” He tore off the picture and handed it to her. “Here’s my resume.”

  She laughed softly, the drawing stealing her attention again. Good heavens, could she do this? Could she let him have the job, talk her into a resort much bigger than anything she’d imagined, and also—

  He started to laugh.

  “What’s funny?” she asked.

  “I can see you rooting around for some reason to say no and you can’t find one.”

  It was true. He was right. “Call me around seven and we’ll see if I found a reason to say no.”

  “Don’t look too hard. This is right, and you know it.”

  She just sat there holding his “resume” until she heard his truck rumble away, taking all her excuses with it.

  “Mom!”

  Lacey jumped off the picnic table, completely unaware how long she’d been sitting there mooning over Clay Walker.

  Long enough for the girls to arrive in two cars, which meant they’d brought Jocelyn, who could practically read minds and body language. Would they notice that the “job interview” had shifted into a little make-out session?

  Ashley didn’t need to know the details, but she’d tell the girls everything about Clay, from his fabulous ideas to his even more fabulous kisses. This new development was too much fun not to share.

  “We got you a bathing suit!” Climbing out of the van, Ashley held a colorful shopping bag in the air. With the other hand she lifted her T-shirt. “I got one, too! It’s a push-up!”

  Oh. Thanks, Zoe.

  Behind her, Tessa and Jocelyn hoisted a Styrofoam cooler and Zoe jumped out with arms full of towels and two beach umbrellas.

  “You bought me a bikini?”
>
  “You’re going to hate it,” Tessa predicted.

  “She’s going to love it.” Zoe dropped the umbrellas on the sand.

  Lacey looked to Jocelyn for the tie-breaker. She just shrugged. “It was two against two. Zoe’s exuberance won, as usual.”

  Ashley shoved the bag at Lacey. “Don’t worry, Mom, yours isn’t a push-up.”

  “A minor miracle.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or throw the bag at Zoe, who pushed her sunglasses into her hair so Lacey could get a good look at her why-the-hell-not expression.

  “For God’s sake, Lacey, you’re in your mid-thirties and you are not a nun.”

  No kidding. You should have seen me ten minutes ago. “Yeah, but you know how I feel about my boobs. They’re too big.”

  “Your boobs are gorgeous. Own them.” Zoe trotted off toward the beach without waiting for a response.

  Her boobs were gorgeous… the way Clay Walker drew them.

  “Oh, Mom, you’ll love it,” Ashley insisted. “Aunt Jocelyn bought us all new suits and, oh my God, they all cost—”

  Jocelyn slammed her hand over Ashley’s mouth. “Not important.”

  “Jocelyn,” Lacey said, shaking her head. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “Expediency is very valuable.”

  “Expediency?” She must have wanted to avoid south Mimosa Key.

  “I couldn’t wait to get to the beach. Where should we put this?”

  “Let’s go down by the water.” Lacey took in their haul. “God, look at all this stuff. What, no blow-up tubes and rafts?”

  “They’re in the car,” Zoe said on her way back up from testing the water. “Don’t worry; we didn’t forget sunscreen. Walgreens had everything the Ritz didn’t.”

  Ashley ripped off her T-shirt to expose a minuscule lime green halter bikini with plenty of padding, and tore off for the gentle swells of the Gulf.

  “My suit better be bigger than that,” Lacey said to Zoe.

  “Not much,” Zoe replied. Then she leaned in to whisper, “How’d it go with the big stud? That’s an architectural term, you know.”

  “Really good. We made so much progress.”