Barefoot Bay: The Billionaire's Convenient Secret (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Leigh Duncan

  Her thoughts drifted as she dug her toes into the pristine white sand. As much as she planned to enjoy her stay at Casa Blanca, she couldn’t ignore the hollow spot in the center of her chest. The one that had warmed when she first saw Josh. She looked forward to seeing him again more than she should. She longed to lean into his broad shoulders. To have his steady hands at her waist while they gazed out over the horizon and waited for sundown. If only for a little while, she wanted to pretend their lives were headed in the same direction and enjoy herself. After all, what was the harm in having a little fun as long as they both knew it couldn’t last?

  At the water’s edge, tiny waves lapped at her toes, and she laughed.

  * * *

  Josh punched his aunt’s number into his cell phone and, at the voice prompt, left a message.

  “Josh here, Aunt Charity. Give me a call when you have a chance.” His grin slipped to one side. He’d already spoken with his mom who said she’d relayed his message. He’d heard nothing in return. “Don’t worry—the Super Min is still standing. I just have a couple of questions.”

  Like why his aunt would even consider selling the business that had been in the family for as far back as he could remember. His smile fading, he pressed the disconnect button while he scanned the shelves and coolers he’d stocked each of the long summers he’d spent on Mimosa Key. The Super Min was as much his home, as much a part of his history, as sandy beaches and grapes.

  Why then would Charity agree to sell the store?

  His aunt was as savvy a businesswoman as they came, but it didn’t take a marketing genius to figure out that even smart people faced the occasional cash-flow problem. She was especially vulnerable now when she was in the middle of plans to open a second Super Min on the other side of Mimosa Key. With the economy the way it was, even a slight downturn could have wiped out a modest reserve fund. It had happened to practically every successful business owner he knew. To be honest, it had even happened to him. Before The Grape spread from one end of the continent to the other, he’d learned the hard way that expansion always required more capital than the original estimates. Combine that with an investment that didn’t pay off or a bad loan to a friend, and—bam!—there you were, sweating blood over next week’s payroll. His willingness to knuckle down and work—an ethic instilled in him by his aunt—had gotten him through the lean times. That, and the ability to ask for help when he needed it, had grown his business to the point where he could easily lend Charity a hand.

  So why hadn’t she come to him? The fact that he had more money than he could spend in several lifetimes wasn’t exactly a secret. Not with Forbes blasting his net worth in the media. Heck, he’d do more than invest in her property, he’d buy it outright in order to keep the business in the family.

  He studied the cruise-line itinerary his travel agent had provided. According to the schedule, the ship his family was on would arrive in Cozumel by first light tomorrow. Knowing Charity as well as he did, he imagined she’d be one of the hundreds of cell phone users who’d line the ship’s prow, eagerly waiting for enough signal strength to make a call the moment the ship entered the port. He hoped his would be the first number she dialed, because if they missed each other during her stop in Mexico, they wouldn’t have another chance to speak until she docked in Port Canaveral.

  Unless…

  Unless he pulled some strings. Normally, he reserved such clout-flexing for emergencies, and while the sale of the Super Min didn’t exactly qualify as life-threatening, it certainly would be life-changing.

  He stopped rubbing his thumb against his fingers and lightly smacked his forehead. Wealth gave him the ability to reach across a continent and demand to speak with his aunt. Common sense kept him from doing it. His mom and his aunts had been dreaming of this getaway for the better part of a decade. He wouldn’t interrupt their vacation to satisfy his own curiosity.

  Wondering why exactly his aunt had wanted him on Mimosa Key at this particular time, he ran a hand through his hair. Charity had been right when she pointed out that he was long overdue for a visit. The summers he’d spent on the island had been some of the best of his life, and he’d been meaning to come back, to explore his old haunts, to reconnect. But he had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to his aunt’s agenda than making up for lost time with her only nephew.

  He shook his head. One thing about his aunt Charity, no one had ever accused her of being straightforward. She’d always been a master at working several angles at once. He knew that about her and loved her for it. Now that he thought about it, though, the bossy old bat had probably enticed him to Mimosa Key in hopes that, once he filled in for her at the Super Min, he’d help her out financially when she finally did approach him.

  The subterfuge was completely unnecessary. Charity was family. He hoped she knew she could count on him. That he was in Mimosa Key instead of Atlanta this week proved his willingness to help out. As long as he had the means, he’d pitch in rather than placing the Super Min in the hands of perfect strangers.

  Although, perfect was the right word to describe Charlie Oak. From the golden locks she fiddled with while she talked, to the sharp intelligence that danced behind an incredible pair of green eyes, one look at the pert blonde had convinced him she met every qualification for his ideal woman…and more. While she wasn’t looking, he’d studied the dark lashes that practically brushed the tops of sun-kissed cheeks. The straightforward jut of her chin angled so steeply over her slender neck it practically called to him to rain kisses down her throat. He wanted to find out what it’d be like to peel the black jacket from her shoulders, trail his fingers along her curves. He longed to span her narrow waist with his hands and pull her to him. To steal a kiss from lips so sexy they should come with a warning label.

  But, no matter how perfect Charlie was, she’d come to Mimosa Key to buy a slice of his history, and he couldn’t let her succeed. He cupped his chin in his hand, his fingers stroking the three-day growth he hadn’t bothered to shave. He needed information. With Charity out of touch for the time being, there was only one source he could turn to.

  Undoubtedly, Charlie knew why his aunt was willing to part with the family business. He could work with that. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to convince her to tell him everything she knew. She already thought he was worried about keeping his job at the Super Min—an assumption he hadn’t corrected. Until he did, he’d wine and dine her, earn her trust, and soon enough, she’d spill everything she knew about Favor’s intention to purchase the mini-mart. Then, once he uncovered Charity’s true motivation in selling, he’d come clean about who he really was.

  He examined his plan from several angles before deciding there was only one possible hitch. To succeed, he’d need to keep his true identity under wraps. Could he? He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He’d never have been able to pull off the ruse in Atlanta, where doormen knew him by name and his staff rushed to do his bidding whether he wanted them to or not.

  But here on Mimosa Key, things were different. Here, a man’s net worth hinged more on his willingness to help others than the size of his bank account. The goodwill he’d earned by simply agreeing to fill in for his aunt was enough to guarantee his anonymity among the local populace. For now, he could trust them to keep his secret. His lips thinning, he considered what might happen if the whole story about Charity’s trip ever came out. No doubt, it would generate just the sort of buzz he wanted to avoid. He crossed his fingers and hoped no one ever learned the truth. At least, not until he learned what he needed to know. It wouldn’t take long. Just the weekend and not a minute longer.

  An hour later, with responsibility for the evening shift in the hands of Charity’s longtime assistant manager, Josh headed for his aunt’s house. There, after checking his email and tending to the details of running a multimillion-dollar business he hadn’t delegated to his own staff, he showered and dressed, ready to put his plan into action at the Casa Blanca Resort.

  On
the drive to the opposite end of the island, he noted changes. Once, little more than sand dunes had stretched from the water’s edge to dilapidated beach cottages that lined the main road. Most of those old houses had been torn down, making way for an influx of homes with million-dollar views and prices to match. At the entrance to Casa Blanca, he slowed, lifting his foot from the gas as he got his first glimpse of the resort that had triggered a surge of economic growth in the community.

  He whistled low and long. Whoever the designer was, he wanted to shake their hand, he thought, taking in the tree-lined entrance to a main building that blended perfectly with its surroundings. He sniffed the air, drawing in the heady mix of flowers and salt. Shimmering lights flickered from an inviting pool that reminded him of the villa he’d stayed in during his last buying trip to Tuscany.

  At the valet stand, he stifled a grin at a uniformed teen’s reaction to his car. The kid gingerly shifted gears, babying the vehicle along as if he was afraid it would disintegrate before he got it parked. Josh supposed the boy would much rather slide behind the wheel of the slick Porsche 911 parked in his condo’s garage, but his aunt’s old rattletrap had been sitting, unused, in her driveway, rendering his usual need to hire a car and driver unnecessary. Besides, he told himself, driving the not-so-gracefully-aging sedan provided an important detail in his poor-store-clerk persona.

  He pocketed the claim check, surprised that, despite the area’s growth, he’d made good time on his way across the island. With a few minutes to kill before he met Charlie, he chose one of the paths that meandered through the resort. Studying the plants that grew in abundance wherever he looked, he wondered if the soil in the area was as fertile as it looked. Ever since he’d unpacked his bags in the guest room of Aunt Charity’s little bungalow, he’d been toying with the idea of expanding The Grape onto Mimosa Key. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the new store surrounded by a small vineyard. The possibility called for a scouting trip, and he added it to a growing list of items he planned to accomplish before he headed home to Atlanta.

  The sound of waves breaking on the beach drew him when he’d reached what appeared to be the northernmost tip of the property. Standing at the end of the path, he scanned the nearly deserted beach, his gaze homing in on a slender figure walking barefoot in the wet sand.

  Charlie.

  Unaware of his presence, she danced into the waves. Rushing water pooled and eddied around her ankles, and his mouth went dry. Her long blond hair shimmied across her shoulders, the movement stirring a longing below his belt. The urge to cross from the shade of the tall palms to her side surged through him. Only the sternest of reminders kept him in place. As tempted as he was by Charlie’s curves, he couldn’t afford to develop feelings for the woman who was as determined to buy his aunt’s store as he was to safeguard it.

  He spared a last lingering glance at her, then retreated back the way he’d come. With each step, he reminded himself why getting involved with Charlie was a bad idea until he’d nearly convinced himself that he’d come to the Casa Blanca to discover what she knew about the sale of the Super Min, not to lose himself in her charms.

  No matter how tempted he was to take her into his arms.

  The walk did him some good and, by the time he reached the front of the resort, he’d recovered his equilibrium. Determined to make it through the evening without losing his head, he entered the main building where low, modulated voices drifted from a back office. Spotting the restaurant tucked into one corner of the expansive lobby, he headed for Junonia without stopping at the unmanned check-in desk. Halfway there, his footsteps slowed when someone called his name.

  “Can I help—well, hey, Josh!” Her hair a mass of strawberry blond curls, Casa Blanca’s owner hurried out from behind the reception area. Quickly closing the gap between them, she wrapped her slender arms around him and gave him a quick squeeze. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been ages.”

  “Mrs. Walker, you look wonderful, as always.” Josh settled a warm smile on his former babysitter.

  “That’s Lacey to friends like you, Josh,” she shushed.

  “Nice place you have here. It’s quite an improvement over the old homestead.” After a hurricane destroyed her family home, Lacey Armstrong Walker had started from scratch, turning the property into the Casa Blanca Resort. “I know Aunt Charity had her doubts, but even she agrees that you’ve done an amazing job with all this.”

  “As for the resort, my husband, Clay, deserves a lot of the credit. He came up with the design, oversaw the construction.”

  “Next time I’m in the market for an architect, I’ll keep him in mind.” He’d heard good things about Clay Walker, Jr. and made a mental note to get in touch with the man if his plans to launch a new store on Mimosa Key panned out. Shelving the idea for the moment, he asked about the family. “How’s Ashley? She must be all grown up now. The last time I saw her, she was just a little kid.” He palmed a hand at waist height.

  “Eighteen and growing more beautiful every day. If you’re in town long enough, I’m sure she’d love to see you. And Elijah, too. He’s five going on fifteen, if you know what I mean.”

  He didn’t, but hoped he would one day. Catching up on the latest news about the Walker family, though, reminded him that he had questions of his own. “Listen, Lacey, if you have a sec, I wondered if you’ve spoken to Charity lately.”

  Lacey’s dark eyes widened. “You’re the second person to ask about her today.”

  “Oh?” He eased into a slow smile. “Let me guess. The first was one of your guests—a tall, slender blonde?”

  “That’s the one. I take it you two know each other.”

  “Not well.” He shrugged, noncommittal. “She stopped by the Super Min earlier today. So have you spoken to Aunt Charity lately?”

  “Gosh, I haven’t seen your aunt since the last town council meeting when she got approval for the new store. We celebrated with margaritas at SOB,” she said, naming the locally popular watering hole. “Nothing’s wrong, is it, Josh?”

  “It’s probably nothing.” Apparently, the news that Charity was selling the Super Min hadn’t made it onto the local grapevine. He cleared his throat. “She left town without canceling her appointment with Ms. Oak. That doesn’t sound like Charity, but I suppose she had her reasons.”

  Lacey tsked. “She usually does.”

  Usually several of them at the same time.

  Behind them, a phone chirped, drawing Lacey’s attention. “I’d better get that, Josh. I’m filling in up front this weekend. It was good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “You, too, Lacey. Give my best to the family if I don’t see them this trip.”

  Almost as an afterthought, Lacey added, “Make sure you stay with us next time you visit. You won’t be disappointed.”

  After agreeing to do just that, he made his way through the lobby to Junonia. There, the daily special—seared pompano on a bed of barley risotto with a mango chutney—sounded too good to resist. The full-bodied texture of the Alsace Pinot Gris he kept on hand back at home made it the perfect accompaniment for the fish. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, wondering if Junonia might have something equal to the pairing.

  A discreet rustle at the hostess stand drew his attention. He crossed to the dimly lit corner, where he gave his first name. “I’d like a table for two this evening. Something with a view, if possible.”

  “We’ll be only too happy to serve you…Josh,” came an answer that acknowledged him without revealing more information than he’d provided. “Chef Ian is especially looking forward to cooking for you.”

  “He shouldn’t go to any extra trouble, Marcia,” he said, noting the name tag on the girl’s uniform and giving himself a reminder to reward her for her discretion. “To tell the truth, reading about tonight’s special made my mouth water.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Marcia said with a cheery smile. “Can I see you to a table?”

  He nodded. “I’
m expecting Charlotte Oak to join me in a few minutes. If you could keep an eye out for her, I’d appreciate it.” When the waitress lingered, he tilted his head. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Josh, I hate to ask, but…”

  “What is it, Marcia?”

  “Well, my folks’ fiftieth wedding anniversary is next year. They both like wine, and I thought I’d like to give them something really special. Can you recommend something?”

  Josh smiled. “Fifty years. That’s an occasion worthy of the very best.” Should he and his bride—whomever she might be—ever reach that momentous date, he’d crack open the 2005 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti aging in his private cellar. But at thirteen thousand dollars for a single bottle, he doubted the burgundy was in Marcia’s price range. “How much do you want to spend?”

  “There’s three of us kids. We thought we’d pitch in fifty apiece, a dollar for every year. So around a hundred and fifty?”

  “My absolute favorite at that price point is a Napa Valley Spottswoode Cabernet. If your folks like reds, they’ll love it.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Josh.” Marcia scribbled.

  Josh nodded. “And congratulate your parents for me.”

  Marcia left him to study the resort’s surprisingly extensive wine list. By the time water had been poured and she returned, he’d decided to start with an artisanal cheese plate and another favorite, a bottle of Château Saint-Paulin Bordeaux. Marcia disappeared into the kitchen while he relaxed and enjoyed the view at a table overlooking the pool and the gulf beyond.

  And what a view it was, he decided moments later, when he spotted Charlie at the entryway. She’d ditched the black suit, replacing it with flowing white pants and a sleeveless tank that showed her sculpted arms to their best advantage. If he’d thought the red-soled heels she’d worn earlier were unbeatable, he’d been wrong. The strappy sandals that clung to her feet were every bit as adorable. Best of all, she’d released her hair from its wispy bun. He swallowed, watching the waterfall of corn silk cascade over her shoulders.