Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)

by St. Claire, Roxanne

  “What can I say? I’m drawn to”—one more sweep with his eyes and, damn it, she felt heat rise—“this place.”

  “I didn’t even hear you drive up.”

  “My point exactly.” He finally gave up on Ozzie and leaned back on locked arms, a move that made his biceps...huge. Ozzie threw both front paws on Elliott’s lap, letting out a demanding bark for more attention. Which he got from those incredibly large and surprisingly tender hands.

  Oh, Frankie, come on! They’re just hands.

  “I have an offer for you,” he said, squinting up at her with an irrepressible grin.

  She puffed out a breath, dropping her head back to let out a grunt of sheer exasperation. How could she make him believe she didn’t want the money?

  “One week.” He stood slowly, taking a step closer. “Let me stay for one full week.”

  Her eyes widened, because she certainly couldn’t have heard that right. “Excuse me?”

  “I need to know if this is what I really want and need in my life.”

  “And you want to, what, try out the farm life to see if it’s for you?”

  “Exactly.” His lips curled up, revealing stunning, perfect, white teeth and a hint of dimples hidden in the whisker scruff that was probably created using a special Hollywood clipper to get that perfect two-day-old-beard look.

  “Nothing about you is real, is it?”

  He recoiled a little at the question. “What makes you say that?”

  “You really are a fake.”

  She had him; she could tell he didn’t know how to answer that.

  “You’ll just be whoever you need to be to get a job done, am I right?”

  “Um, I’m a little more complicated than that.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I think you’re simple. In every imaginable way.” She started to walk past him, but he sidestepped and blocked her.

  “Come on, Frankie. I really want to know more about this...goat life. I’ve been reading all about goats, all night. They’re really quite a huge business and fantastic pets. I’ve been thinking about”—his gaze moved to the pen—“Ruffles. And...” He lifted his hand as if he were going to touch her, then dropped it, catching himself. “You.”

  Don’t do it, hormones. Don’t listen. Don’t react. Don’t go surging into high gear.

  “Don’t shake your head,” he said. “You know the attraction is there.”

  “You’re attracted to Ruffles?”

  He laughed. “You can’t deny it.”

  No, she couldn’t. “All the more reason for you not to be here for a week.” As if she actually needed a reason. But the idea...oh, Lord. Why did the idea appeal to her? Was she that lonely out here?

  Yes.

  “I won’t bother you, Frankie, I swear.”

  “Too late for that.”

  “And I won’t sleep...near you.”

  “Have you seen my lavish accommodations?” She gestured toward the trailer. “One bedroom and a lumpy sofa in the living room.”

  Undaunted, he looked around. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

  “It’s not a...” She closed her eyes, hating the thoughts that played at the corners of her mind.

  “You wouldn’t have to be alone when creepy lawyers and other people who want this place come circling like vultures.” His enthusiasm was infectious, she had to give him that.

  And he was dead-on about the vultures. He’d surely get rid of them.

  “And you wouldn’t be lonely.”

  “I’m not...” She swallowed the lie. “I have plenty of company with seven goats and two dogs.”

  “And a lot to do. I’d be happy to help.”

  She had to laugh. “Why do I think goat’s milk soap-making is not your forte?”

  “Is that what you do here?”

  “This week, I will be.”

  “I can help you make soap. I know a lot about soap. I use soap every day.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or beg for mercy. What had she done to deserve this?

  “You can’t handle a farm, Becker. It takes...experience.”

  “Says the woman who’s been here for eighty-one days.”

  “Eighty-two, and I lived here when I was a kid.”

  “You’re still not safe out here alone, and you know it.”

  “Please.” She waved him off, along with the sense that he was right. “I have a .22 rifle, and I am not afraid to use it.”

  He snorted. “That’ll get the evil squirrels, Annie Oakley.”

  “It could stop someone.”

  “Didn’t stop me.”

  Damn it, he was right about that. “Well, something has to.” She managed to get by him, powering straight for the trailer door. She pulled it open, aware he’d followed.

  “And you don’t even lock your door,” he chastised.

  On the top step, she whipped around, a little taller than he was now. She used the advantage to glare down her nose. “I will from now on. Goodbye, Becker.”

  Ozzie barked, loud and sharp, making his displeasure at the word goodbye clear.

  “She doesn’t want me to leave.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  He exhaled and shook his head. “Clearly, I need lessons on farm management and...and animal husbandry.”

  “Science,” she corrected. “It’s known as animal science, and I have a degree in it.”

  “Which will make you an excellent teacher.”

  Ozzie kicked it up to a deafening yelp, no doubt loving this idea.

  “Oh!” She blew out pure exasperation, at him, at Ozzie’s relentless barking, at the situation. “Come on in,” she said, holding the door open.

  “Nice work, partner.” He scooped up the little terrier and followed Frankie in so fast, she could feel the warmth of him at her back.

  “It’s an invitation to come in, not sleep here.”

  She closed her eyes and turned one way and then the other, the tiny trailer closing in. Or maybe that was him, six feet of unstoppable testosterone and determination who’d just filled it. She moved a few steps into the tiny kitchen, flipping on the faucet to quench an inexplicably dry throat.

  “So what’s your real game, Becker?” she asked as she reached for a glass. “You think you can distract me or change my mind somehow? You make a bet with someone that you could spend a week with me and get my land?” She turned and caught him looking at the dog in his arms, wide-eyed like they shared a secret.

  Like she’d just hit the nail on the proverbial head. “Did you?” she demanded.

  “No.” He stroked Ozzie, shifting his attention from the dog to her. “I really am intrigued by...this. And you. And I think you shouldn’t be alone until you...you figure out what you’re going to do with this place.”

  She frowned at him. “I’ve got it all figured out. And no other buyer figures into it.”

  He nodded, still stroking Ozzie. She refused to look at his hands. Hands that could...oh, boy. She took a deep drink of water.

  While she drank, he dipped his head closer and closer, like he was going to...put Ozzie on the floor. Her heart almost stopped. Oh, brother. He moved one inch and she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

  Instead, he reached over her head for his own glass. “Why, thank you for offering, I’d love a glass of water.”

  She tried to duck away to let him get it, which was damn near impossible because he was so big and filled her kitchen with all his body and...hands.

  Enough with the hands, Frankie!

  “I still don’t completely buy this you-want-to-live-on-a-farm business,” she said.

  “I don’t either,” he admitted. “That’s why I’d like to try it.”

  “They have dude ranches for that kind of thing.”

  He filled his water glass, smiling.

  “What?” she asked, seeing the smirk.

  “You’re not a dude, that’s all.”

  “Oh, God.” She leaned against the counter, half-laughing, half-sighing.
“You really think you can flirt me out of my land? That you can woo me with cute jokes and a drop-dead smile and a sudden interest in goats?”

  He turned. “Drop-dead? I like that.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  He just laughed and looked down at Ozzie. “She totally likes me, don’t you think?”

  The little traitor barked twice and wagged his tail.

  “He speaks English,” she said.

  “Obviously.” Elliott crouched down. “Talk some sense into your mom, will ya, bud?”

  He barked twice again.

  “What’s that mean?” Elliott asked.

  “Go away.”

  He laughed again, an easy, playful, masculine laugh that sounded...good. There’d been no laughing in this little trailer for three months. No flirtatious banter, no combustible chemistry, no sexy side glances, no...man. No laughter, no music, no connection, no...romance.

  And yet she’d thought she was content here. Nearly content, anyway. Almost content. Wasn’t she?

  He put the glass to his lips, giving her only his profile. He drained the whole glass, his Adam’s apple bobbling, like he’d walked miles through the desert. Well, he had trudged up here from far enough away that she’d never heard the car.

  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Good God, the man was a specimen and a half of perfection. And protection. A thick bicep with the shadow of a vein running through, strong forearms dusted with dark hair. Then she was back to his hand, curled around the glass, all tanned, long, powerful.

  But she didn’t really know anything about him at all.

  From behind the glass, she saw him smile.

  “What?”

  “You have a camera?” he asked, lowering the glass. “’Cause it would be easier to take a picture, Francesca.”

  She felt a warm rush to her cheeks at the use of her full name. And being caught staring. “You’re standing in front of me gulping like a hog.” She forced herself to turn, leaning on the sink and looking away. “How’d you get so”—built—“rich?”

  He chuckled as if he knew exactly what her real thought had been. “Told you already. Dumb luck.”

  She gave a scoffing grunt, pushing off the sink to go back into the living room. He followed, with Ozzie practically crawling up his jeans, of course. “Not buying it. Nobody’s that lucky.”

  “I am.” He sat in Nonno’s old recliner, the first man—the first human—to sit there in three months. Pushing back, he popped the footrest with a loud snap. “Haven’t been in one of these for a long time.”

  “No La-Z-Boys in the mansion?”

  He grinned, getting comfortable and, of course, making room for Ozzie on his lap. “I might have to change that.”

  Didn’t deny he owned a mansion, she noticed.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, I bought a very valuable piece of property.” He crossed his feet and looked at her from under thick lashes. “I paid forty-six thousand dollars for about six acres of land in western Massachusetts.”

  “And selling that made you rich?”

  “Nope. I never sold the land and never will.”

  She eyed him, curious, watching his smile grow and his dark eyes dance.

  “But the first time I put a shovel in the ground, I hit some stone. Beautiful gold stone.”

  She gasped. “You struck gold in Massachusetts?”

  “Close enough. Goshen stone. Rare and desirable, and the amount I had on my land—land that I bought as a favor to my cousin who really needed to sell, I might add—netted over two billion dollars.”

  “Wow.” It was the best she could do because, wow. That was lucky.

  “I know,” he agreed. “So I might be arrogant about a lot of things, but not my money-making skills. I literally fell into wealth, so it doesn’t really change who I am, just how I live. And, yes, I gave my cousin a cut.”

  He searched her face, probably looking for the usual drool women have to wipe when they learn his net worth. A flicker of discomfort registered on his expression when she imagined what he saw instead. “I mean, I live well,” he said slowly. “I have a—”

  “Yacht.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Sure, I have a pleasure boat.”

  “And a private jet.”

  “It makes travel easier.”

  “Multiple expensive homes.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I like to stay in my own place if I can.”

  “Butlers and staff and, of course, some ridiculous collection like art or horses or...”

  “Rare cars,” he supplied. “I’m not going to apologize for how I live. I told you I was in the right place at the right time.”

  But, still, she knew all she had to know about him. He worshipped at the money altar, and she despised people like that. She learned at a tender age that when you put money in front of everyone else, the ultimate price is too high. Her parents paid that price, and it still hurt her to think about it. You can’t love people and money at the same time or with the same intensity. One wins out, everytime.

  “Look.” She took a steadying breath. “I really appreciate your concern for my safety and your interest in goats and whatever else you’re going to dream up to persuade me to give you access to...me. But I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  He didn’t move, except for his infernal petting of her dog. “It’s the money, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

  She scowled at the question, not believing she was quite that transparent.

  “You have issues with money,” he explained.

  Well, yes, she was that transparent. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Most women—”

  “Hey, newsflash, Becker.” She snapped her fingers three times. “I am not most women.”

  Charcoal-black eyes raked her, from face to body and back up again, just as smoky and sexy as a man could look. “I noticed.”

  Damn it, she hated the heat that generated. Two words. One look. And a couple of billion dollars. “I don’t believe money buys you happiness.”

  “So says everyone who doesn’t have it.”

  She managed not to scoff at that. “Money buys nothing but misery. Trust me, I know firsthand. Misery.” If her parents hadn’t been chasing the almighty dollar...they’d still be here.

  He finally smiled. “This is good, Frankie. Really good.”

  “What is?”

  “This arrangement.” He gestured to her and then to him, as though they had actually made an arrangement. “You can teach me about goats and farms and animal science, and I can teach you that you are completely wrong about people who have money.”

  Could he? Maybe someone needed to do that, otherwise, she was never going to fully heal from the pain of losing the two people she’d loved and needed so desperately. Without giving herself a chance to think deeper than that, she nodded.

  “Okay, then.” She put her hands on her thighs and pushed up.

  “Can I stay?”

  Ozzie let out four furious barks, as though he could answer for her.

  “I have six sets of very dirty hooves waiting to be cleaned and trimmed. That’s a total of twenty-four goat hooves, which means forty-eight toes that need your attention.”

  He frowned, making her wonder if the simple math threw him. “I thought you had seven goats.”

  “One’s a buck and, trust me, you cannot handle him.”

  He pushed up from Nonno’s chair and smiled at her. “You have no idea how I live for a challenge. If I clean all twenty-four feet, can I stay?”

  “Their called hooves, not feet. And, we’ll see.”

  He scooped up the dog like he weighed nothing. “Let’s go, Wizard of Ozzie. Farmwork to do.”

  As soon as she opened the door, Harriet came bounding over with his cowboy hat in her teeth. Well, what was left of it. The brim was shredded.

  Frankie bit back a laugh, but Elliott just hooted as he put down one dog to give his attention to the other. “Would you look a
t that?”

  “Sorry,” Frankie said, fighting an outright giggle.

  He gave her that slow, sexy, careless smile as he set the hat on his head and the ragged brim dipped over his forehead. “Let’s get to the hooves, boss.”

  Damn it. Damn it. Did he have to be so stinking sexy?

  Chapter Five

  Elliott rolled over, a jolt from head to toe. Pain jabbed his back and something fuzzy scraped his ear. His forearms ached from compressing the damn shears, using every ounce of strength he had to snap off hard chunks of goat toenail. His thighs hurt from squeezing the beasts between his legs as he bent over goat butts and held their hind legs up to do the work.

  Holy mother of misery.

  Everything hurt and needed rest and a five-hundred-dollar massage and sauna at the club in Manhattan. Later. He’d make an appointment later. Now, he had to sleep, the need pressing his lids closed and numbing the pain. In his ear, a soft sigh pulled him a little further from a dream, and he reached out to...

  He dug through sleep-fog for a name. Francis. No, Frankie. Fiery, feisty, funny, and...furry?

  With a grunt, he threw himself backward, as far away from the little goat as possible.

  Ruffles.

  A musical laugh filled his ears. That pretty, girlie, bell-like laugh he hadn’t heard nearly enough while he cleaned shit—actual, real manure—out of goat hooves. Shifting in the hay bed he’d made the night before, he squinted to see Frankie at her milking station, already wringing the crap out of Clementine’s titties.

  Holy hell, he knew their names. Plus, it couldn’t be seven in the morning. Did it never end, this goat business?

  Well, this was part of the deal he’d made with the lawyer, right? Burns had salivated at Elliott’s offer and asked for one week to close the sale. During that time, Elliott had to make sure Frankie hit nothing but roadblocks until he and his partners owned the land. That required constant supervision and, evidently, sleeping in a goat barn.

  “How’d you sleep?” Frankie asked, the splash of milk into a metal bucket not hiding the little note of concern in her voice. She might act like she didn’t care that he had to sleep here, but she did.

  “Like hell in a haystack.” He leaned up on one elbow, scowling into early sunlight that streamed through the opening behind her, backlighting her so she looked...great. Really great. “You’re up early.”