She’d named the girl Daisy because of the flower-like white splotch on her forehead. And the buck? She hadn’t named him yet. Still unsure if she could keep two of them here because of the complicated logistics of two bucks on the same little farm, she refused to let herself fall for him by giving him a name.
She just thought of him as Becker’s boy, and that made her think of Becker, and that made her...not completely sad but damn close.
She picked up the cotton ball that had arrived today, hand-delivered by special messenger, who brought one every day when Frankie finished the morning milking. Each one arrived in a plastic box with nothing but a tiny piece of paper bearing a few words.
So now she had twenty-one obscure, impossible messages from Elliott Becker. Was he trying to tell her something or just help her with the soap fragrances he knew she was creating for Casa Blanca?
Hard to say, but with every new arrival, her heart softened ever so slightly. She picked up the one that had arrived today and sniffed it.
The first few had come with names that recapped so much of their time together. The good parts, when they were falling hard and fast. First Kiss. Intimate Moments. Moonlight Madness. Secret Whispers.
The following week, his messages reflected the state of her heart with uncanny accuracy. Tender Ache. Empty Arms. Lonely Days. Sleepless Nights.
What was he trying to tell her with the complex fragrances and cryptic messages? Each one confused and intrigued and delighted her. No phone calls. No texts. No letters or flowers or emails or postcards.
Just glorious fragrances and mystifying messages.
And this week, the tone had changed again. Now, instead of angst, she got...Sweet Anticipation. Hopeful Heart. Counting Hours. And, then, today’s, the most perplexing of them all.
Coming Home.
Home? Her heart raced, but she calmed herself with a slow, deep inhale of the sweetest fragrance he’d sent to date. A marvel of vanilla and oak blend, like nothing she’d ever made before.
Maybe he was sending messages, maybe he was trying to help out, maybe he was the world’s most creative groveler. She didn’t care. The fragrances and names were a gift she gladly accepted. She’d re-created every one up until today’s, producing a total of twenty new fragrances and beautifully packaged sets of soap she’d wrapped and ribboned and turned into a celebration of romance. Jocelyn would love these, use these, and sell these like crazy.
She took a sniff of Coming Home. She’d make that, but maybe save it for herself.
Putting the last of the baskets in the back of her truck, she absently ran a hand over Lucretia’s soft neck, rewarded with a loopy goat smile.
“Wish me luck, girls.”
Before she left she checked on Daisy and...that guy really needed a name. Black and shiny as his father, the little buck had a gleam in his eyes and a constant need for affection. She shouldn’t get attached, but she reached down and gave him a hug anyway, his baby fur tickling her cheek.
“You know I’m going to end up calling you Becker and will regret it every time I have to say the name.”
He whined noisily and stomped his tiny hooves in response. A chorus of goats guided her to the pen gate, but before she left, Frankie stood and looked at her little homestead. Her home. It was, now. And it was time to build La Dolce Vita. The resort would help get people over here, and she’d already talked to the gardener and head chef about using her goat’s milk and selling that, too. First step, today’s sale. Then tonight, she’d be...
Coming Home.
Alone.
She climbed in the truck and drove to Casa Blanca, trying to focus her thoughts on the meeting ahead with Jocelyn, a woman she’d grown to like and trust in the past few weeks. Jocelyn had confided that her father was very sick, with advancing Alzheimer’s, and her dream was for him to live long enough to see her baby. She’d also shared the story of how she’d forgiven her father for the sins of his past, making Frankie think long and hard about letting go of the misplaced anger she harbored against her parents.
They’d only been trying to do the right thing for her. She had to stop blaming them and their careers for dying and remember that they loved her fully and wholly.
The parking lot of the resort was packed, but that wasn’t so much of a surprise. Business in the restaurant, Junonia, was booming, and this late in the day, the promise of a gorgeous sunset brought people all the way from the mainland for cocktails and beach walks. Still, she’d never seen it quite this packed. She had no choice but to use the valet service, otherwise she would have had to cart all those baskets across the lot.
“Here for the event, ma’am?” the valet asked as he opened her door.
“I’m meeting with Jocelyn Palmer, the manager of Eucalyptus.”
“No problem, we’ll park it for you.”
“I need to get those baskets out of the back.”
He helped her take them into the lobby, which was even more crowded than the parking lot, with dozens milling about, sipping champagne, and waiters carrying trays of more flutes and food.
“Is there a wedding today?” she asked the valet.
“No, a press conference. ESPN is here!” His eyes bugged with excitement. “There’s some big baseball thing. You should see who’s here, too. Couple of Yankees, people from the MLB, and...” He leaned closer and looked side to side before lowering his voice. “Nathaniel Ivory is here.”
“Oh.” She had to get out of here before she saw Becker. Still holding one of the baskets with two hands, she shouldered through the crowd to the double doors of the spa, struggling to figure out a way to get the door and not put down the basket.
Suddenly, someone came up behind her and grabbed the oversized brass handle for her.
The tightening in her chest squeezed until it crushed her heart as she stared at the hand in front of her. Long, strong, tanned, masculine, and far too familiar. A hand she’d held. A hand that had touched her. A hand that—
“Let me help you.”
She gathered her wits, took a breath, and looked up to meet the very ebony eyes that haunted her every night.
“You already have,” she said, hoisting her basket a little higher, as if it could protect her from the impact of his size and proximity. “Thanks for the poetic and creative ideas.”
“I have one more.” His voice was low and intimate, and just a little too close for comfort.
“I got today’s, thank you.”
“One more creative idea. Would you like to hear about it?” Without waiting for her response, he took the basket she carried and opened the door for her, using his whole body to usher her in.
“I would not,” she said crisply, walking to the wide receptionist desk. “Hi, I have an appointment with Jocelyn Palmer.”
Elliott was right next to her in an instant. “She can’t meet with you now. But I can.”
The receptionist let out a soft laugh. “Is this the woman you’ve been asking about?” she asked him.
“This is the one. The one and only.”
A totally unwanted and undeniable thrill danced through Frankie as she managed a smile. “But I have an appointment with Jocelyn.”
He turned to the other woman and lifted his brows expectantly, giving her a moment to reply.
“Um, I’m afraid she’s canceled that, Ms. Cardinale.”
“What?”
“Her husband has asked her to be part of the announcement, and they’re doing a walk-through meeting in the private dining room right now.” She frowned at Elliott. “Aren’t you supposed to be in there?”
“I have my own meeting.” He put a possessive hand on Frankie’s shoulder and gestured toward the hallway that led to the backrooms of the spa. “This way.”
She refused to move. “I’m not...” She gave a pleading look to the receptionist. “Can I at least talk to Jocelyn?”
“I’ll try and reach her.”
“You do that,” Elliott said. “We’ll be in her office.”
&n
bsp; He pressed on her back, and Frankie let out a sigh, going toward the doorway she knew led to the spa manager’s office.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I have to show you something.” He opened Jocelyn’s office door and guided her to the round table in the corner.
For a second, all she could do was stare at what was on the table. It was like...nothing she’d ever seen. She stood there and drank in every precious detail of a three-dimensional model of...a goat farm? She fell into the closest chair, a fine chill exploding over her skin as she tried to process the absolute perfection of the work.
“It’s part of today’s announcement.” He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
Questions bubbled up, but before she could ask anything she had to just look at it. Someone brilliant had designed this, someone who’d managed to climb into her imagination—and Nonno’s—and create something that was as beautiful as it was functional.
“It’s a 3-D scale model, but—”
She held her hand up to silence him, not wanting any more information while she absorbed what was in front of her. Acres of land, with a two-story. stone farmhouse that looked like it had been plucked from the hills of Tuscany perched in one corner, looking out over the expanse of a complex that included a large round pen, a bright red shelter and workhouse, and a precious little storefront surrounded by wooden benches and shade trees. A closed-off petting area filled one side and behind it, a series of larger pens, with a hand-painted sign above them that read: The Official Mascots of the Barefoot Bay Bucks!
“That’s what we’re calling the team,” he said, adding some pressure to her shoulders as if he could underscore the importance of that. “So we’d love to expand the whole stadium complex to include this visitors’ attraction, which we think the families and kids will love.”
“It’s...” She reached out and touched the gentle curve of a window dormer on the house, something so precious and inviting, it twisted her heart. “Dreamy.” In fact, it was right out of one of her dreams.
“Do you like it?”
She looked up, over her shoulder. “I assume that’s a rhetorical question.”
He laughed, coming down next to her, taking one knee so they were face-to-face. “You and your ten-dollar words, Francesca. Is this what you want to do with your land? Did I understand what you told me?”
She searched his face, only slightly more appealing to her eyes than the work of art next to her. “Is this supposed to go on my land?”
“That’s up to you. This is an optional piece of a master plan that’s being announced in”—he glanced at his watch—“fifteen minutes. We can leave this out and build everything to the west of your property, with absolutely no infringement on your land at all. Or...” He took her hands, and only then did she realize she was shaking. All over. “This can be part of the plan.”
“Whose plan?”
“Our plan, Frankie.” He lifted her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes like a wave of relief and joy rocked him. “God, I missed you.”
She tried to swallow, but a lump the size of, well, a baseball, filled her throat.
“Frankie, I don’t know any way...” He opened his eyes, which were as shockingly damp as hers felt. “I don’t know how to tell you in any other way how sorry I am that I hurt you and how much I want”—he inhaled a steadying breath—“a chance to be with you. A chance to hold you and make promises to you and to be completely real with you.”
She’d dreamed of this moment, hadn’t she? In fact, it was very possible she was dreaming right now.
Just like with Nonno.
Ignoring the quivering of her hand, she lifted her fingers to his face and grazed the rough shadow of whiskers and the smooth curve of his full lower lip. “You seem pretty real,” she whispered.
Under her fingertips, he smiled. “I am. And so’s this idea. Real and right and...” He blinked and glanced toward the model. “It feels like home.”
Her heart slipped around and fell to her stomach. “My home.”
“Our—”
She pressed on his lips to stop him. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will hurt too much when it’s over.”
“It doesn’t have to be over, ever.”
“Stop,” she pleaded. “You’re so good with words, with saying exactly the right thing, with...pretend.”
“Said the woman who pretended to be dirt-poor.”
“I did not,” she shot back. “I’m just me. You never asked for a bank statement, so I never told you. You know how I feel about money. It’s the source of all my pain.”
He leaned closer, his expression warm and sincere. “Then let me be the source of all your pleasure. And contentment. And whatever else you want in the world, Francesca. Please.”
She managed a slow but shaky breath. “What are you asking from me? Permission to use my land?”
“We want you to be a partner in the project. And you’ll be in charge of...” He reached under the board that held the model and pulled out a miniature banner that he stabbed into the soft, fake grass. “La Dolce Vita.”
The Sweet Life. And wouldn’t it be? Couldn’t it be? With— “Did you say a partner?”
“I sure did.”
She swallowed, her mouth surprisingly dry. “A business partner?”
He took her face in his hands and held her head perfectly still so she couldn’t look anywhere but right into his eyes. “A life partner.”
The door pushed open, and they both backed away to see Jocelyn, who was equally surprised to find her office full—with a man on one knee. “Oh...oh, did I...Frankie! Did you see what’s going on in the lobby?”
Frankie stood, vaguely aware she still held Elliott’s hand as he came up with her. “The press conference?”
“Your soaps! Someone opened the baskets you brought and thought they were party favors, and they’ve been passed around to everyone, and people are asking for more.”
“Well, I guess that’s—”
“Good marketing,” Elliott supplied. “Sorry we stole your office, Joss.”
“Not a problem, but your team is looking for you, Elliott. They’re ready to start the announcement.”
He turned to Frankie, anticipation brightening his eyes. “Are you coming? We can easily bring this and add it to the plan.” He lifted the corner of the model to show how light and portable it was.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Should she risk everything on him again? “I don’t know,” she said, her voice rough. “I need...time. To think.”
He pulled her closer, putting a light kiss on her forehead. “The offer is real. Everything is.”
With that, he left, nodding to Jocelyn on his way out.
“Please tell me I didn’t just interrupt The Big Moment,” she said with an awkward laugh when he was gone.
“No, a big moment, not the.” She gave herself a little hug, smiling at the other woman. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty.
“You want advice from a pregnant woman who’s watched her three best friends fall in love like dominoes and did the same thing right after she stepped foot on this island?”
“Really?”
“Kick off your shoes and—”
Frankie held up a hand. “Got it. But...” She turned to the model. “He’s so big on grand gestures, I never know if he’s real or not.”
“Oh, he’s real. My husband has been in on a lot of the planning sessions, and he’s told me how Elliott’s fought for this. The Barefoot Bay Bucks was his idea, and he’s paid gazillions to buy land around and adjacent to yours so no one had to touch your farm. And he’s masterminded this charity program where a portion of every game ticket sold is going to a foundation he’s starting called No Kidding that gives goats to families in Third World countries to help feed them with goat’s milk.”
She just blink
ed at her. “I’ve created a monster. In a good way.”
Jocelyn laughed. “He’s the butt of their every joke, but he loves it because he loves...” She caught herself. “He’s a good guy,” she added softly.
“I’m scared.” The admission came right from the heart and didn’t even surprise her. She was scared. Scared to love and lose again. Scared to trust and believe and hope.
Jocelyn stepped forward with outstretched hands. “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t a little afraid. You can’t protect yourself from never getting hurt, Frankie. If you try to do that, you’ll never live. You’ll never know.” She gave Frankie a light hug. “I’m going out to the pavilion to watch the show. Want to come?”
“I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“Think about it,” Jocelyn said as she left Frankie alone.
After a moment, Frankie sat down again and stared at the model. It was like he’d climbed into her imagination and her heart and made her dreams come true.
“All our dreams, piccolina.”
She whipped around at the sound, but the room was empty. The door was closed. And she was alone. “Nonno?” A shudder passed through her, and then a complete and thorough sense of peace and comfort.
But there was nothing, no one, not even a flutter in the air. Only the fine line between her imagination and what was real.
And then she knew what she had to do.
Chapter Thirteen
Elliott stood to the far side of the makeshift platform stage, next to Zeke and their fourth partner, Garrett Flynn, the three of them content to stay out of the limelight. The media weren’t here for anyone but Nate Ivory, who, despite his proclaimed distaste for the spotlight, looked damned at home with a ton of it pouring over him.
The patio of Junonia was full with media and VIP guests, but Elliott’s gaze stayed locked on the doors leading into the spa, his every breath strained as he waited for Frankie. All he wanted was a chance to show her what he was made of, what he could be.
But she stayed conspicuously out of sight.
He turned back to the reason they were here, the news of the Barefoot Bay Bucks. In answer to a question about management, Nate explained that he’d be living in Barefoot Bay and supervising the building of the stadium complex and managing the day-to-day logistics of starting a new minor-league team.
Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2) Page 13
