Meet Me in Barefoot Bay

by Roxanne St Claire

  She held his gaze for the longest time, the magic that used to connect them so real at that moment he could feel the physical presence of it. “I liked it,” she admitted. “I liked being your Bloomerang.”

  “I liked it, too.” His voice was gruff, even to his ears, and he covered the emotion by pulling her into him. She slid her arm around his waist, the most natural, and wonderful, move in the world. She felt small and compact next to him, and he could have sworn she actually relaxed a little.

  He led her along the walkway of the strip mall, past a consignment store and a frame shop, his eye on the entrance to the marina at the other end.

  “You always were good at protecting me,” she said softly.

  The words slowed his step—imperceptibly, he hoped. “Not good enough,” he murmured.

  She looked up at him. “Maybe ‘protect’ is the wrong word. You always gave me… security. Safety. Sanctuary.”

  He tucked her tighter against his torso. God, he’d tried.

  “Safety and sanctuary,” she said, “were what I said I’d be prepared to die for when I was first asked that question in my therapy.”

  He wanted to respond to that, to mull it over, but another question popped out instead. “You were in therapy?”

  “It’s part of getting a psych degree. Oh, Will, look.” At the marina’s grand arched entrance, she stopped. “It’s like a different place.”

  The quaint little neighborhood dock, with its handpainted sign, weathered bait-and-tackle stand, and rotten boathouse, was completely gone. In its place was an expanse of four individual mooring peninsulas, each chock full of million-dollar yachts, cabin cruisers, and high-tech fishing boats. Along one side, a bustling yacht club blocked the view with giant columns and bright orange Spanish tile. A sleek marble marker announced they’d reached Marco Harbor.

  “Kind of sad to see the little neighborhood marina turned into this,” Jocelyn said as she slipped out of Will’s arm and walked along an asphalt drive that led to the boats.

  They headed down the first maze of docks between boats so big they cast a shadow over them. As Will took Jocelyn’s hand, the squawk of a heron and the rhythmic splash of water against hulls were the only sounds. Some rigging hit a mast, the clang like a musical bell over the quiet harbor, and, in the distance, the steady thump of—

  They both looked at each other as the sound of running feet registered at the same instant.

  “There she is! Right there!”

  They whipped around at the woman’s voice, seeing their waitress jogging toward them holding up a cell phone, a man next to her with a more professional camera.

  “That’s Miles Thayer’s lover!”

  Jocelyn froze in shock, but Will instantly nudged her forward. “Run.”

  They did, taking off down the next hundred-yard mooring, ducking behind a massive trawler, then scooting around a corner to hide.

  “Damn it,” she whispered, her breath already tight.

  “They went this way!” the woman yelled.

  Will turned one way, then the other. They could run out into the open toward the storage unit, jump in the water, or climb onto an empty boat.

  He nudged her toward the back of the trawler. “Climb up!”

  Without arguing, she grabbed the railing and scrambled up to the deck, and he followed, leading her around the cabin to the opposite side, away from the dock.

  “Get down.” He pushed her to the fiberglass deck, flattening her and covering her so they could both fit in the narrow space of the portside walkway. Under him, she struggled for quiet breaths, every muscle taut.

  “Oh, God, this is a nightmare,” she whispered.

  “Shhh.” He kissed her hair and put a finger over her lips. “We’re completely out of sight. They’d have to get in every single boat to find us. Just stay still and quiet.”

  They heard footsteps and voices on the next dock and Jocelyn turned to him, her face inches from his, their eyes locked on each other. They both held their breath, and he clutched her a little tighter, his legs wrapped around her, her backside tucked into his stomach.

  The footsteps on their dock were like thunder, loud enough to feel right through the fiberglass.

  “They found us,” she mouthed, her eyes wide.

  He just shook his head a little and put his finger over her lips.

  God, she was pretty. Her curves fit right into him, her hair tickling his face, her lips, curving in a secret smile, warm on his fingertip.

  He wanted his mouth there, not his fingertip. Wanted their lips to touch so badly it made his mouth ache, and his muscles hurt from fighting the urge to close that one whisper of an inch that separated them from a kiss.

  “They must be on one of the boats.” The woman’s voice carried over the water, as clear as if she were five feet away. They heard a splash as someone climbed onboard a boat nearby.

  “Well, find them, damn it,” the man said. “Do you have any idea how much a picture of her is worth to the tabloids? Jesus, Helen, we could retire.”

  “I’ll find them,” she said, determined. “I’ll climb in every boat in this marina and I will find you, you fucking homewrecker!”

  Jocelyn cringed at the last three words, hollered into the wind.

  “You could tell her,” he whispered. “You could tell her the truth.”

  She shook her head and somehow inched even deeper under him, sparking every powerful, protective need. And, man, he had many needs where Jocelyn was concerned, but protecting her was always at the top of his list.

  “Excuse me? Can I help you?” A new voice called out, one of male authority. “That’s not your boat, ma’am.”

  “I’m looking for someone,” the woman said. “They’re…” Her voice trailed off and the other man spoke to her, too far away for Will to make out the words.

  “You cannot get onboard a boat you don’t own. Sorry.” More footsteps. “You’re going to have to leave, ma’am.”

  Under him, he felt Jocelyn relax ever so slightly.

  “But there’s a woman hiding on one of these boats! She’s wanted by the… people.”

  “Why don’t you two just come with me, please?”

  Their footsteps retreated, the voices faded, and after a minute it was silent but for the lapping waves and the soft chime of sail rigging in the breeze.

  “Should we try to get out of here?” Jocelyn asked.

  He closed his eyes, picturing the layout of the harbor they’d just run through. If they could slip off this boat and travel over one row, they could get behind the storage unit. But more likely, marina management would be all over them and their pursuers would be ready to pounce outside the marina.

  “Let’s just wait,” he said.

  “Like this?”

  He smiled. “You got a better idea?”

  She shifted a little and squished up her face. “My hip bones are smashed.”

  He lifted up an inch, hating the loss of warmth. “Scooch around. But don’t rock the boat. Literally.”

  She carefully slipped out from under him, rolling to press her back against the side of the cabin. He turned on his side, making them body-to-body and face-to-face. And damn near mouth-to-mouth.

  She slid her hand between their chests, reaching up to touch his face tenderly. “Thank you, Will. Thank you for cooperating. I know you don’t agree with or understand what I’m doing, but I really appreciate this.”

  “’Sokay,” he assured her. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m always comfortable with you, Will. You are comfort to me.”

  The compliment touched him. “You say that now. Wait until your right arm, backside, and both feet fall asleep.” He leaned his face closer to hers, so close he lost focus. So close their noses touched. So close he could feel her warm breath on his lips. “Unless, of course, you keep the blood flowing.”

  “I suppose you have an idea for how to do that.”

  “Plenty of them.” He added just a hint of pressure, and in
stantly everything came rushing back, all those old achy needs.

  He always, always wanted her.

  “Guess what I’m about to do?” he asked.

  “Rock the boat?”

  “For once, I’m not going to… wait.” He closed the space and easily, softly, barely let their lips brush, the contact sparking tiny explosions of white lights behind his eyes.

  How could she still do this to him? Fifteen years, three thousand miles, and their whole adulthood they’d been separated and just this much of a kiss and every feeling came thundering home.

  But he held back. Their mouths weren’t completely opened, and their tongues stayed poised for that first encounter, hands still but already heavy with the desire to touch.

  And way down low, he started to grow hard.

  Her mouth was sweet and supple, and pliable as she finally relaxed and offered her tongue. He took it, curling it with his own, tasting mint tea and sweet memories and—her.

  A tiny whimper made him need to touch her throat, just for the pure pleasure of feeling that tender skin pulse under his fingertip. He closed one hand around the narrow column of her neck and, with the other on her shoulder, inched her closer.

  She didn’t stiffen or fight him, but leaned into the kiss and pressed her palm on his chest. Right over his thumping heart.

  They broke the kiss but stayed a hair apart, opening their eyes at the same time.

  “What are we doing, Will?”

  “Hiding from the cameras.” He kissed her again, and she added some pressure of her own, so he slid his hand down her throat, over the slightly damp, completely soft skin just under the dip of her collarbones.

  Her hips rocked slightly, enough to fire more blood to his already overcharged erection, his breath tight as he worked his mouth over her jaw and back to her ear.

  She moaned softly.

  It was all he needed to hear to kiss her again, to delve his tongue deeper and slip his hand into her silky hair.

  She smelled like the sun, tasted like magic, and felt like—

  Like nothing he’d felt for fifteen years.

  Dragging his hand through her hair, he took his palm lower, over her shoulder, over her breastbone, just to the rise of her body where he could count the heartbeats, as rapid as his. One more kiss, one more breath, and he slowly caressed her breast.

  Her whole body shuddered instantly.

  “Did I find your weak spot?” he murmured into her mouth.

  She sighed. “It appears you are my weak spot.”

  Something about the way she said it, the catch in her voice, slammed into his chest. “I’m lucky that way.”

  Their lips brushed again, a soft groan of satisfaction rumbling in Will’s chest as he intensified the kiss, melting their mouths together and sliding his leg up enough to tuck her deeper into him.

  “I can’t just kiss you,” he admitted, fondling her breast, already itching to touch her bare skin. “I want it all.”

  She froze for a second, leaning back.

  “Not here, obviously,” he added at the look of panic on her face.

  “Then we better slow down,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Is that what you want?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what I want, Will.”

  “Then let me give you options. We could just kiss…” He took her mouth again, finishing the suggestion with a long, wet, completely well-received kiss. “And I could touch you.” He thumbed over her nipple, loving the way it responded. “And we could, you know…” He rocked his erection into hers.

  So far, she just kept her eyes closed, saying nothing.

  “Or we could…” He slid his other hand over her shorts, dipping between her legs, and her eyes snapped open. “Don’t worry, honey. Nothing you don’t want.”

  “I don’t want… to do this… out here.”

  “Think we could break into the cabin?”

  She laughed a little. “No. Just…” She was already having a hard time breathing evenly; her pupils were dilated, her heart hammering. “Just kiss me some more. That’s safe.”

  Safety and security were so important to her. He had to remember that. Had to.

  “Why don’t we just talk?” he suggested.

  She gave him a smile. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “Back in the restaurant you said you sacrificed everything for love. Who was this clown who hurt you?”

  The strangest look darkened her eyes. “He didn’t hurt me. It was my choice.”

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I do. Were you in love with him?”

  She just smiled, and, damn, that kicked him. Of course Jocelyn would meet other men, fall in love, but he didn’t have to like it.

  “But you’ve never been married, right?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Then who was he? How’d you meet him? How long were you together? You said you sacrificed for love. What did you sacrifice?”

  “Why does it matter to you?”

  “I told you, I hate the guy. He hurt you.”

  “He didn’t do anything to me,” she assured him.

  “He’s the reason for your shell, isn’t he?” The shell he was going to crack if it was the last thing he ever did. “You don’t trust men because some joker broke your heart.”

  She caressed his face again, the look in her eyes unreadable. “He didn’t hurt me and he’s not the reason I protect myself. You know the reason, Will.”

  Guilt kicked him harder than ten tons of lust, and it hurt. Guy was the reason.

  “And that’s why it’s killing me that you’ve forgiven him.”

  It was worse than forgiveness. He loved Guy Bloom when, really, he should hate him. But he couldn’t. Would that cost him any chance he might have with Jocelyn?

  “Will.” She touched his face with soft, gentle hands. “I think we can try to make a run for it now.”

  “I think we should wait.”

  She lifted one brow. “The only thing worse than a procrastinator is a paralyzed procrastinator.”

  Shit. That was his whole life in a nutshell: the paralyzed procrastinator trapped in a holding pattern.

  But he was holding a woman who wanted a man of action. And he didn’t ever want to let go of her again.

  “All right, then, Bloomerang. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  An hour after Will had easily hustled them through the marina and safely around the back of the strip mall, Jocelyn finally felt back in control.

  Barely.

  Her body still hummed from his touch, and the certainty that she could look up and see a camera lens at any minute had her just as on edge. She took deep breaths and studied the intersection where they were stopped, known as “the Fourway” for as long as she could remember.

  It was right on this very spot that she’d been picked up and taken away, bruised, battered, and broken. If Will knew that…

  “Did Lacey tell you Clay’s promised Charity a free front-elevation re-do for the Super Min when Casa Blanca is finished?” he asked, the question eerily mirroring her deepest thoughts.

  “No.” She studied the old wooden sign and tried to imagine something more modern. And failed. “It’s been that way forever. Is it some kind of peace offering?”

  “More or less. There’s still a lot of bad feelings, but Clay’s a charmer, you know.”

  She laughed. “I watched him charm Lacey.”

  “He’s determined to win over every businessperson in Mimosa Key, because he thinks they’ll be important for sending new business. Plus, the Super Min’s an eyesore and it’s one of the first things you see when you come over the causeway. This island has to attract big bucks, not shrimp fishermen.”

  “That’s exactly what Charity and her sister, Patti, didn’t want.”

  “They’ll come arou
nd,” Will said confidently. “I’ve seen Charity back down in the face of Clay’s devilish smile.”

  Jocelyn eyed the convenience store. “Then maybe I should go in there and at least say hello.” At his surprised look, she added, “To help the cause and my investment in Casa Blanca.”

  “If you want. Like I told you, she did surprise me by not selling you out and hiding those magazines.”

  It didn’t surprise Jocelyn, not one bit. Mimosa Key might think Charity Grambling was a sixty-year-old Mean Girl, but Jocelyn knew better.

  “Hey, look, there’s Slade Garrison.” Will veered into the next lane to pull into the parking lot of the Fourway Motel, across the street. “We should talk to him.”

  A uniformed deputy Jocelyn didn’t recognized stood by the car, talking to a woman with dark hair, who looked up and laughed at something he said.

  But she did recognized the woman. “That’s Charity’s niece, Gloria.” She’d changed a lot in fifteen years, but Glo still had a pretty smile and a youthful, fit figure. Unlike her cousin, Grace, Charity’s daughter, Gloria never seemed to have a self-serving agenda. She didn’t work at the Super Min or the Fourway Motel, but styled hair at Beachside Beauty a few blocks away.

  “Is she still single?” Jocelyn asked, and just as she did, the young officer put a hand on her shoulder, the gesture both intimate and familiar.

  “Slade’s been after her a while but something’s keeping them apart.” Will smiled. “Not that I follow too much of the Mimosa Key gossip.”

  She laughed. “Can’t really live here and not know it.”

  Will pulled into a parking spot right between the Super Min and the Fourway. “I’m going to talk to Slade when he’s alone,” he said.

  Just then, the deputy sheriff leaned closer to Gloria and she glanced left and right as if to see if anyone was watching. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Slade lightly on the mouth.

  “They make a nice couple,” she mused. “Is he a good guy?”

  “Yeah.” He cut a glance at her. “Were you friends with Gloria?”

  “Not really.” She hadn’t been close friends with anyone, except Will. It was too risky to bring any friends home, in case Guy had an episode. But Gloria had been in the car that night. “But I know her well enough.”