Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “No, but we can build in the right place.”

  “If you can find one. Or not build it at all, or tie the whole thing up in some bureaucrat’s file drawer for three years so—”

  The sound of a motor revving up the dirt road grabbed their attention, making them turn to see a bright blue subcompact roll up next to their trucks, pulling between the two like a baby stepping between a couple of dirty giants.

  The door popped open, and thick black hair swung over narrow shoulders as Arielle looked up at the two of them, then waved.

  “Don’t tell me,” Duane muttered. “Pocahontas.”

  Luke sliced him with a look, as his frustration at seeing her barge into his meeting dissolved into the need to defend her. “Her name is Arielle Chandler,” he said, his jaw tight. “You’d be wise to not call her anything but that.”

  He didn’t bother to see Duane’s reaction, instead watching Arielle navigate her way through the mud puddles on her way to join them, a slender but strong figure who seemed both fearless and vulnerable. For some reason, that combination did something to him. He left Duane’s side to meet her.

  “Couldn’t stay away,” she called out with a smile.

  Luke couldn’t help it; he smiled back. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “So, what’d you find out?” she asked, then leaned around him to direct her smile at Duane. “Hello!”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Are you going to find out what the hill’s made of?” she asked.

  “I found out,” Luke said, relieved to be able to say it. “I have the report from”—he opened the file and took out the top paper, handing it to her—“GeoTech Engineering, which did a core sampling and found that this hill is made of shells, nothing more, nothing less.”

  Duane joined them before she could answer, tipping his hat back to peer up at Luke, who had him by a few inches. “If I can start the silt fencing today, Mr. McBain, I can get my crew here in an hour or two.”

  “Yes, get the fence complete, by all means, and I’ll start going through this file to check against what I have.”

  “And we can probably start the structural demo.” Duane gestured toward the building.

  Luke felt, rather than saw, Arielle bristle. “Let’s wait on that,” he said. Damn it, she was not going to dictate how he did the job, but he wouldn’t fight over that in front of a sub.

  “This company is in Fort Myers,” Arielle said, tapping the GeoTech report as she read it.

  “They’ve been around awhile,” Duane said, as if she’d questioned their integrity. “If they say they found crushed shells, chances are they found crushed shells.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Chances are?” she asked. “Did the firm save the samples from this work?”

  “No clue. Why don’t you go talk to him?” Duane asked. “The engineer’s number is right there.”

  Duane gave a wry smile of pity to Luke, nodded, and headed back to his truck, cell phone out and to his ear before he got ten steps away.

  “Listen, Arielle, I—”

  “I’d like to talk to this guy at GeoTech.”

  Of course she would. “I respect your concerns about this land, I really do. But even you can’t think five tons of broken shells that were used to create elevated land falls under protected-land laws.”

  “If that’s what’s there, no, you’re right. Shell mounds aren’t protected. There isn’t anything in them of value.” She glanced at the house. “But that treasure box came from somewhere.”

  Treasure box? He bit back his response and tried a different tack. “Listen, I’m willing to bet the hill is shells.”

  “How much?”

  Of course, he forgot she had a gambling problem she liked to deny. He studied her for a second, half-hoping all the unexpected and, frankly, unwanted, physical reactions to her would have dissipated in the harsh light of day. No such luck. She was just as beautiful, and he was just as attracted.

  “Seriously, Luke, what’s on the table?”

  “Dinner.” He grinned. “Get it? On the table?”

  Against her will, she laughed softly. “Fine. Let’s start with this engineer. Give me that guy’s address.” She pulled out her phone from her back pocket, typing in the street address he gave her.

  “I’ll call and make an appointment with him,” Luke said.

  “Can you make it for forty-five minutes from now? I don’t see any reason to wait.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.”

  With a satisfied smile that said she either missed or ignored his attempt at sarcasm, she pivoted, marched around a mud puddle, and headed to her car.

  Damn it. Could she get away from him any faster?

  He darted after her, getting a hand on her shoulder. “Arielle, we’ll go together. Let me call the guy, and we’ll take my truck.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded once, a look of utter misery and defeat on her pretty features. Why? Had she been trying to beat him there? End-run him?

  He’d stay with her every minute and make sure she didn’t do anything of the sort. Not that her constant company was painful to him. On the contrary, he was grateful for the excuse to be near her. Which was just one more complication he didn’t need.

  Chapter Nine

  Nerve endings tingling. Check.

  Limbs feeling numb. Check.

  Heart bursting in chest. White lights flashing in head. Common sense on vacation. Check. Check. And double damn check.

  Ari yanked Luke’s truck door so hard the whole monster shook when it slammed.

  She’d clung to the hope that all those physical responses had been her wild imagination or brought on by something else, like sacred hills, or the emotional roller coaster of one friend getting married and the other getting engaged. No such luck.

  Not a single thing had changed overnight. She still practically swooned at the sight of Luke McBain, going weak at his touch. Even his voice sent hundreds of butterflies soaring through her stomach.

  Oh, Grandma Good Bear. Why does it have to be so complicated? Why wasn’t it obvious to both of them? Was that because it wasn’t real and she merely wanted him to be The One?

  But Grandma didn’t answer, the universe was silent, and the only sound in the truck cab was Ari’s slow intake of breath as she peered through dried rain spots at the man pacing twenty feet away, a cell phone to his ear. Why did those softly worn jeans have to hang so low on his hips, accenting a perfect, curved, masculine rear end? And of course his white T-shirt stretched over every impossible muscle, including some in his arms and back she didn’t think she’d ever seen on a man before. His body looked carved by an artist…or was that from years of fighting wars?

  And his face. He’d never be asked to be a model, but his features were strong, commanding, and dusted by dark whiskers that set off his incredible, ever-changing eyes.

  Everything about him made her hungry and itchy and achy and…

  Maybe he wasn’t The One. Maybe he was just The One She Wanted to Screw Because She Hadn’t Had Sex for Damn Near Three Years.

  She couldn’t ignore that very real possibility.

  Maybe this was raw, unfettered lust that would go away with a good, long bout of wild monkey sex. But if she did fall in bed with him and he wasn’t her destined life partner, or whatever Grandma called it, would that ruin her chances of ever meeting The Real One? That’s what Grandma had said, but maybe that was nothing but a loving grandmother trying to make sure her granddaughter didn’t ever have sex again until she was good and in love.

  And it had worked.

  So maybe Ari should get this needy, achy, horny hurt out of her system.

  “Oh, jeez.” She stuck her hand into her hair and dragged it back, hard, as if a solid tug on her head would pull the thought out of her brain. That didn’t work, though. She still imagined those strong thighs straddling her, those tanned, manly hands caressing her, that unkempt jaw sliding between her—

  Her throat grew dry as she watched him s
lide the phone into his pocket and amble over the muddy front yard to the truck, every step like…sex. Easy, slow, confident. Her gaze dropped over his body, settling on the faded jeans, the narrow hips, and the slight rise of his—

  Dear God, she was actually trembling.

  She blew out a breath, gave her hands a shake, and willed her thoughts into submission as he pulled the driver’s door open.

  “We’re all set,” he said, hoisting himself up into the truck that sat a good two feet off the ground. Suddenly, the oversized cab smelled like soap and sunshine, and his sizable body—the one she’d just been imagining naked—was all too close.

  He reached forward to stick the key in the ignition, taking her focus to corded muscles and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. Strong, tanned, masculine forearms that could hold her. Blunt-tipped, powerful hands that would touch her…everywhere.

  She looked down, taking a moment to move her handbag from her lap to the floor, anything to keep her eyes off him and corral some cool and conversation.

  “And I have good news,” he said, bringing the engine to noisy life.

  “Really?” Her voice cracked from how parched her throat was, earning a quick look from him.

  “They keep the soil, or in this case, shell samples, in airtight containers until after the job site is completed and closed, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “You look worried.”

  Not about that. “I just want”—focus, Ari, focus—“a solution for this problem we have.” She cleared her throat as she grabbed on to the explanation for her worry and nerves and all that dang fluttering in her stomach. And lower. Lots of fluttering lower. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Not to, you know, drool over the idea of getting you naked.

  Oh, now the word naked was in her head. Naked, naked, naked. What would he look like naked, hard, ready for—

  “So,” he said, drawing the word out to end her thoughts. “You’re checking in on me, then.”

  And he probably didn’t like that too much. She looked ahead as he maneuvered over the narrow road, some branches of scrub scraping the side of the truck. “Are you mad at me for coming up?”

  “Disappointed in you.”

  Her heart dropped. “Why?”

  “I was sure you’d be waiting for me when I arrived, shovel in one hand, a conch-head hammer in the other.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Ya think?” He reached over the high console that separated them and put his hand on her arm, his fingers hot on her skin. “How late did you stay up examining your seashells, anyway?”

  “Late.” Why deny it? She shifted enough in her seat that he lifted his hand, and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

  “We should have set up camp together and saved each other a lot of frustration,” he said.

  Or caused way too much of it. “Why? What were you doing?” she asked.

  He threw her a look, his eyes impossible to read, but she tried anyway. “Digging around for information that would help me. You. Us.” With each correction, he smiled a little bit. “What did you discover about the shells?”

  She was grateful there was no condescension or even skepticism in his tone, just interest. “I’ll have to do more work, but I did manage to examine and even catalog quite a bit of what was in that box,” she told him.

  He slid a glance her way, nodding. She waited for a question or even a joke about cataloging seashells, but he touched a button to lower his window and gestured toward hers. “Do you mind open windows?”

  “I happen to love them.” Hers went down immediately, and warm wind whipped through the cab, giving her some much-needed air to breathe. After a moment, she remembered the idea that had been dancing around in her brain since Gussie left—before she set eyes on Luke and forgot everything but sex—and how she might approach it. The idea, not sex.

  “So, I didn’t realize that you’re personal friends with the guy who hired you to build the house,” she said.

  He gave her a quick, questioning look.

  “Gussie came up and had coffee with me this morning,” she added. “And we talked.”

  “I don’t know if I’d classify us as friends,” he said, after another second’s hesitation. “Cutter Valentine is my client, first and foremost, and he’s definitely doing me a favor by giving me the job. We hung out together in high school, played varsity ball on the same team, though he was obviously a helluva lot better than I was.”

  “Well, I would think that puts you in a really solid position,” she said. “If, you know, you were to come up with a better place for him to build his house.”

  He slowly shook his head. “There’s no better place, Arielle. All we have to do is make sure that it’s a shell mound and you can rest easy.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge”—he pointed to the entrance to the long causeway that joined Mimosa Key to the mainland—“after this one.”

  Letting it go, she dropped back on the headrest and turned her face toward the breeze and generous sunshine, the water sparkling below like a navy blue carpet sprinkled with diamonds. Just the few minutes of direct contact with the elements invigorated her.

  “What else did Gussie tell you?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes for a second, remembering snippets of the conversation. “She told me how important it is to both of you that you stay here and work in Barefoot Bay.”

  “Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve missed seeing her grow up and into such a great woman. And now she’s getting married.” She heard a wistful note in his voice. “So that only makes me want to be here more so I can get to know my brother-in-law.”

  She sighed. “And you probably think I’m some kind of hard-line activist who would put an end to all that family goodness.”

  He didn’t answer for a minute, then said, “But you have to honor your grandmother’s wishes. That’s family goodness, too.”

  There was enough softness in his voice to fold her heart in half, and she appreciated that he at least recognized what mattered to her. She needed to do the same for him, but how?

  “I told you Grandma always said that being true to a cause has a cost.”

  “So if she wasn’t close to your own mother, how’d you manage to have such a great relationship with your Grandma Good Bunny?”

  She laughed. “Good Bear. We had the power of the universe on our side, or so Grandma said. At first, it was just a series of what you might call coincidences that happened during consecutive summers. My parents had to travel, and I got to stay with her when my brother and sister went with other family. Then, Grandma had cataract surgery and needed someone to help her and asked for me. After a few years, it became an unspoken thing—I spent two months every summer with Grandma Good Bear.”

  She closed her eyes, stepping back in time to remember going to Native American festivals around California, with the rows of crafts and sounds of drums and the sweet, sweet taste of spicy hazelnut relish on cornbread. There were long walks in the woods, late nights of talking to the wind, and learning that faith was really another word for trust. “Best times of my life.”

  “Did it cost you?” he asked. “I mean, are you close to your parents or was your relationship with your grandmother more important?”

  She considered the question from a few different angles, including the fact that just asking it made him seem incredibly wise. “I’m fine with my parents,” she said. “I did what they wanted me to do, which was to entirely and completely assimilate into a non-Native American cultural existence. My Indian blood is no different than my Irish blood or, on my father’s side, English blood.”

  “Except it is,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “And, honestly, I get that.”

  She studied him for a minute, trying to put all the hormonally charged thoughts to the
side completely, appreciating him for the man he was right then. Sexy in a whole different way.

  “I lived in another country for almost fifteen years,” he told her when it became apparent she was looking at him a little too hard and long. “I fought wars in many others. I understand cultural battles, internal and external.”

  As they reached the top of the causeway bridge, high enough that tall-masted sailboats could easily pass underneath, the wind howled through the windows, snapping her hair across her face and filling the car with the brackish smell of the gulf below.

  She pushed the strands back and turned to face the wind, absently counting a half-dozen pleasure craft leaving long, white wakes behind them.

  It was too noisy for easy conversation, so they drove in silence to the mainland, then headed north from Naples, until he had to navigate the streets of Fort Myers. When they finally reached the address that housed GeoTech Engineering, Ari lost the fight not to reach out and touch Luke’s arm.

  “I’m not an ogre who wants to separate you from your sister,” she said.

  “And I’m not the evil builder who wants to desecrate sacred ground.”

  For a few seemingly endless seconds, they stared at each other, his skin as warm and inviting as she knew it would be, his eyes a deeper, darker green than she’d even remembered, his chest rising and falling with a slow breath.

  “Let’s go, then,” he finally said. “We have a bet to settle.”

  “That we do.”

  Chapter Ten

  GeoTech sounded a lot more high-tech than it looked. In fact, the place looked more like an abandoned building than the office of an engineering firm. There was no reception area, no sleek office space, not even a mass of cubicles with ringing phones and busy people.

  When Arielle and Luke walked in, the smell of burned coffee assaulted them, the “reception area” nothing more than an empty room with an open doorway that led down a barely lit hallway, no sign of life anywhere.