“I’m just thinking.”
“About what? Never mind, I know. You’re having second thoughts about what we discussed today.”
She lifted one corner of her lips in a wry smile. “I’m past second and rounding fifteenth.”
“Let me guess.” He took his own beer out of the carton and uncapped it but didn’t drink. “You think I’m some kind of lunatic stalker serial killer who draws naked women and works for free.”
A smile threatened. “Possibly.”
“And all you wanted to do was build a little five-room inn—in keeping with zoning code, I might add—with frilly bedspreads and antique water pitchers, but I planted visions of Moroccan villas with imported hardwood floors in your head.”
This time she nodded slowly and started to talk, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.
“Wait, wait. I’m not done. Just to make things worse, the first thing we did when we were alone together was make out like a couple of teenagers and practically agree that we’d end the night in the sack. And you’re freaked out about that.”
“And you’re a mind reader.”
“No, but I can read your expression and what I see is a woman who is not only trying to decide how far to run but how fast and how soon. So you decided to blow me off tonight.” He held out his bottle for a toast. “You’re easy to read, Strawberry.”
She dinged the glass. “All of that may be true, but there’s more to it.” His gaze shifted to the book or whatever it was—a photo album?—that had fallen to the ground. It was closed, but he could see someone had handwritten 1996–1997 on the spine.
Simple math told him that would be close to the year her daughter was born. So maybe she’d had an argument with Ashley. Maybe the teenager had stomped out and left Mom crying. Maybe this had nothing to do with him and what she needed was a friend to talk to.
“Then tell me,” he said, finally taking a sip. “What else is bothering you tonight?”
“What isn’t bothering me tonight is a better question,” she said on a quick laugh. “It’s kind of complicated and personal.”
“I can do complicated and personal.” He situated himself on the hammock, carefully sliding one leg around so she had no choice but to lean back next to him. The canvas was wide and comfortable, and easily accommodated two.
She didn’t lean back, though. Instead, she gave him a wary look. “I think this is a bad idea.”
“I just want to talk.”
“And he gives me the oldest line in the book.”
“Okay, I don’t just want to talk, but since you stood me up and I found you weeping alone in the backyard, I figure talking’s all that’s on the agenda tonight.” He eased her closer. “C’mon.”
“I’m not weeping. I’m just emotional.”
“Whatever you want to call it.” He searched her face, looking past the dusting of freckles and the soft lashes around big eyes. “I can see fear in your eyes.”
“You are right that I’m a little scared of… what you proposed today. It’s more than I bargained for.”
He wasn’t sure if she meant the resort or the invitation for sex, but they were probably both more than she bargained for.
“Well, I have good news,” he said, turning so that she had to lean into him or fall out of the hammock again. She chose him. “I’ve been working on blueprints of Casa Blanca, making some calls about resort zoning, and I even started the ED—that’s the environmental determination paperwork—and ordered an auto-CAD system to—”
“Stop, Clay.”
“Why?”
“I’m not… I can’t—”
“Hey, we had a deal. No can’t-ing.”
“No, please.” She curled her legs up into the hammock, tucking them under her, making herself into a ball like she wanted to protect herself and not fall into him or his ideas. “This is happening too fast.”
“There’s no other way for it to happen. You don’t want to sit around for months and think about building something, do you?”
The look on her face said she wanted to do just that. “A project this size takes a lot of time and money and—” She closed her eyes. “When you add the complication of our attraction…”
He laughed softly. “The ‘complication of our attraction’? Well, gee, when you put it that way, it’s really sexy.”
“You know what I mean.” She elbowed him. “You scare me.”
“Why?”
“Because… you’re… scary.”
He took her beer bottle and carefully set it back in the cardboard six-pack along with his. Then he eased back and she had nowhere to go but next to him. Once they were side by side, pressed together in the hammock, he curled a hand into her hair and forced her to look at him. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of sex.”
“No, I’m not. I’m scared of… involvement.”
“Then we’re good. Because with me there’s no involvement, other than our business arrangement. All you need to do is relax and have fun.”
She smiled, tilting her head so her soft curls brushed his hand. “I was just thinking that I don’t have enough fun in my life.”
“Then I’m your man.” He leaned toward her a little more, the curve of the hammock forcing her a little closer. He tangled his hand in her hair and brought her face closer to his.
“I bet you’re a lot of women’s man.”
“Not really.”
“No one in your life? No one up in North Carolina thinking you’re just down here on business, not fun?”
“No one at all.”
“Why not?”
He dropped back, looking into the purple twilight sky, thinking of the twenty different ways he could answer that question. Hadn’t met the right girl. Too busy with work. Standards so high they’re rarely met. All true, but none the real reason there was no girlfriend or wife up in North Carolina.
“I had a bad experience,” he finally said.
“How bad?”
“Disgustingly bad. Scarred-for-life bad. Keep-all-my-relationships-superficial bad.” He didn’t turn to look at her. In fact, he closed his eyes and braced for the nasty job of telling his ugly story.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Only if you’re prepared to lose respect for someone you have on a pedestal.”
“Someone I have on a pedestal?” She sat up a little. “Who?”
“The Clayton Walker.”
“Your father? You said he was remarried and had a…” Her voice trailed off. “How does that affect your love life?”
It had ended his love life. “Well…” He let a few seconds drag out. “The woman he married was my girlfriend.”
He didn’t have to look. He knew her jaw must be open, her eyes wide, her breath sucked in with shock. He’d seen the expression on every face, every time he told the story. Which wasn’t often.
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.” That would be the typical response. “So, I’m pretty much sworn off anything beyond fun, therefore you have nothing to fear from scary me.”
“How did it happen? I mean, if you don’t mind telling me.”
He minded. A lot. But he’d told the story before and survived, so he could do it again. “Jayna was my dad’s admin at the firm. When I interned there, we… were together. She’s a few years older than I am.” He caught her little wince and instantly took her hand. “Trust me, that’s where the similarities end.”
She nodded, waiting for more.
“We were pretty tight.” Like she was picking rings. “It was pretty serious.” Like every weekend and most nights were spent in the same bed. “I was pretty…” Gone.
“Doesn’t sound pretty to me.”
He smiled. “I admit, I kind of broke it off first. I got gun shy ’cause things were going fast. I’d just finished school and was really serious about training and learning this business. You have to understand that I’ve been in and around architecture my whole life. I’ve been working in
some capacity at my dad’s firm since I was fifteen and I finally had my degree and was interning, really doing some amazing work.”
She searched his face. “Like the French Hills.”
He barely nodded, turning to face the sky again to corral his emotions. Damn, when would this wound stop festering?
“Anyway, I got some majorly cold feet. I wasn’t sure if she was right for me. I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I took off for a summer in Europe to just look at the architecture and get my head together. She—Jayna—read that as a permanent breakup. And…”
“And she moved on to your dad?” She asked the question like anyone would: with complete disbelief and disgust.
“I think it was the other way around.” His throat desert dry, he reached for his beer, slugging the bitter brew quickly, making the hammock sway. “Hey, if you think I’m persuasive with the opposite sex, you ain’t seen nothin’ till you meet C-dub.” Which she never would. Ever.
“C-dub. For Clayton Walker. And they got married?”
“She got pregnant while I was in Europe, so, yeah. He divorced my mom and hopped on a charter to Vegas to make Jayna the next Mrs. Clayton Walker.”
She dropped back onto the hammock as it all sank in. “And that’s why you left the company?”
Actually, no. But now he was getting into some dangerous territory. Telling her any more tonight, when she was feeling this emotional? Bad idea.
“More or less,” he said vaguely.
“What kind of relationship do you have with them?” she asked after a minute.
“My dad and Jayna? I’m not gonna lie. I can’t stand the sight of either one of them and I don’t feel like taking the high road.” Plus, Dad wasn’t even done ruining his life, trying to make himself look good and Clay look like a criminal. “I see my half-brother when my sister, Darcie, babysits him. I don’t do holidays or birthdays or happy family reunions. Jayna got what she wanted: a husband. And Dad got what he wanted.”
“A trophy wife?”
Dad got what belonged to Clay. “My dad’s a small-minded, jealous, insecure son of a bitch who resented everything I had because he didn’t have it.”
“That’s not very… fatherly.”
He snorted softly. “That fucker doesn’t know the first thing about being a father. Pardon my French, but he…” Brings out the worst.
“Sounds like he earned that.”
“He did.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, the only sound the crickets in the trees and some traffic in the distance. Then, “So that’s why you want a no-strings-attached sexual relationship?”
“Honestly, Lacey?” He turned to her. “I don’t ever plan on putting myself in the line of fire again, no. I want to do my job really well and use my gifts. I want to fix my—build my own reputation in this business, make top dollar, and… avoid anything that tears you to shreds when it ends.” He looked hard at her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. It doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“You know, five minutes before you arrived, I was swearing off sex and now you’re basically offering just that.”
Just that. “Dumb thing to swear off.” He kissed her nose, her eyes, and her mouth again, letting the hammock rock itself so he could use his free hand to trail a finger path down her neck and into the V of her top. “Damn, I thought about you all day.”
Color and goose bumps rose on her creamy skin. “What did you think?” she sounded as if she were afraid to ask.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d stand me up,” he said, faking a frown. “I thought I could get you to my apartment and we could watch your favorite movie from under the covers.”
Her eyes widened.
“And we could argue about how the wrong guy gets the girl,” he continued. “In between, we could…” His finger reached the rise of her abundant breast, and his mouth nearly followed. “Would you like that?”
She let out a shuddering sigh, rolling her body even closer to his. “Of course I’d like that, but we can’t.”
“That’s funny, Lacey. I could have sworn I heard you use the C-word.” He underscored the tease by dragging his finger lower, into the lace of her bra, and leaning forward to kiss the flesh of her cleavage.
“I might have.” The confession was buried in a sweet moan of helpless pleasure.
“You like that, too?” he asked, his body reacting as it had been all afternoon: on the brink of an erection.
“I do, but…”
“Sounds like someone needs some Excuse Juice.”
“No, I don’t. I need”—she stabbed her fingers into his hair, guiding his mouth lower—“this.”
“Told you.” He rolled so that he could press himself against her hip, hard enough now that she could feel exactly what her body was doing to his.
“Clay,” she said, easing away. “We really can’t. Not here, not now.”
“Okay.” He eased off the next kiss. “Your daughter’s coming home?”
“Well, yeah, but there’s someone—something—else. This afternoon—”
“Mom, where are you?” Ashley’s voice cut her off and they both bolted upright, making the hammock sway so hard they almost fell out.
Clay was still processing Lacey’s last words. Had she said there was someone else?
Lacey face was more panicked than he’d have expected, considering they weren’t doing anything.
“I’m out here,” she called as they got to their feet. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
The sliding door to the house opened and instead of the sandy-haired teenager he expected, a man walked out. Tall, dark, commanding, and instantly focused on Clay.
Yep. She’d said someone else. Damn it.
“Mom, did you start the cookies yet?” Now the teenager charged out, a smile that could light the universe on her youthful face. It disappeared the instant she saw Clay. “What are you doing here?”
“Ashley,” Lacey reprimanded. “That’s rude. Mr. Walker is here to discuss the building project.”
The man crossed the grass with an easy grace, lanky, tall, and confident, reminding Clay of someone but he couldn’t quite grasp who.
“I’m Fox,” he said to Clay, extending his hand. “Ashley’s father.”
Ashley’s father? Clay shook his hand, meeting green eyes the precise color of Lacey’s daughter’s eyes. “Clay Walker,” he said, returning the shake.
“I understand you have some outrageous ideas for our—for Lacey’s property.”
“Don’t know if I’d call anything outrageous,” Clay replied, his brain spinning through what he knew about Ashley’s father. Hadn’t Lacey said he was out of the picture? Like, seriously, gone for the past fourteen years?
Ashley muscled into the middle of the group holding up two bags. “Dad found you a tart pan and Masterson’s was open, so we got apples. He got the clear glass kind, like you want. He knew you can’t stand to bake with metal or dark glass, so now you can bake the tart that made Dad fall in love with you.”
Fox chuckled, putting a warm, fatherly hand on Ashley’s shoulder, eyeing the six-pack on the ground. “It looks like your mama’s a little busy now, Ash.”
Ashley lowered the bags, disappointment making her expression fall.
“No, we were just… meeting,” Lacey said quickly.
“And we’re just about done,” Clay added. “So y’all can bake your, uh, tart.”
“Southern boy, are you?” Fox stooped over and picked up the DVD Clay had brought over. “And look at this. Lacey’s all-time favorite way to lose two hours. Can we watch it after we bake the tart?”
“It’s all yours,” Clay said. “I brought it over for Lacey.”
“Oh, I’m sure she has a copy, but this is a digital remaster. Ever seen this, Ashley?”
“Mom’s tried to make me watch it but, whoa, boring.” She rolled her eyes and sang the last word.
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“I’ll make you love it,” Fox said, putting an arm around Ashley and nodding to Clay. “Nice to meet you, Clay. Lace, just come on in when you’re done with your meeting. Ashley and I’ll start the dough and we can watch the movie while it chills.”
They disappeared into the house and Lacey stayed perfectly still, watching them, silent until they’d closed the door. “I wanted to tell you he showed up quite unexpectedly this afternoon and that’s why I didn’t take your call. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies necessary.” But he didn’t want to hang around and hear the gory details about their reunion. And go through pictures of their life together. “I’ll keep working on the blueprints and sketches. And I’ll call you in a few days.”
Some storm clouds passed her eyes. “Clay, I—”
“Mommy, hurry up! We can’t do this without you!”
Lacey closed her eyes. “I don’t want to watch that movie with them.”
“Of course you do,” Clay said. “You love that movie. Even the end.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “When the wrong guy gets the girl?”
He laughed softly and backed away toward the gate. “Yep.” And wasn’t that the story of his life?
Chapter 13
Lacey had backed out of the baking and the movie, claiming exhaustion and the need for a long bath. True enough, as excuses went, so she spent most of the evening in her room—well, her parents’ room because she didn’t even have a room anymore—in the tub and then on her laptop, digging up resort-management sites and thinking about Clay.
Around ten, David tapped on her door. “Lacey, Ashley’s gone to bed. Any chance you want to take an evening stroll down to the beach?”
She closed her computer and rolled off the bed to open the door. He was in sleep pants, his bare torso lean and fit. She refused even to look at a single hair on his chest, meeting his eyes instead, with one hand on her half-opened door. “Ashley went to bed? It’s so early.” And she hadn’t said good night.
He gave a slow, sly smile. “I think she wants us to have some alone time.”
Oh, God. “Well, I have no desire to go to the beach,” she said.
Barefoot in the Sand Page 11
