Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Libby had a sudden urge to go back there and watch the maestro work. Maybe not so sudden.

  “So what are you drinking, Libby?” Dan asked.

  “Something strong. Very, very strong.”

  Two vodka gimlets and a lot of conversation later, the food arrived on artfully arranged platters, somehow combining family-style with culinary chic.

  The party cooed over the food, and the big guys dove in and devoured, while two more booths filled up and a couple of people took seats at the bar, checking out that chalkboard menu that was getting passed around.

  “He’s going to be swamped,” Libby said to Jasmine and Noah. “He’ll never handle a rush like this.”

  “He’s got it under control,” Jasmine said. “And if people have to wait…” She lifted a forkful of the eggplant dish, which had, indeed, gotten Nino’s stamp of approval. “It’s worth it.”

  As another four people strolled in off the street, Libby pushed back from the table. “I’m going to help him.”

  “Why?” Noah asked.

  “Because I don’t want the business to crumble.”

  “Right,” Jasmine whispered.

  Libby lightly, but purposely, dug her heel on top of her daughter’s foot as she got up to go help out in the kitchen.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was past ten when they ran out of crab cakes and meatloaf, but Law had somehow managed to serve thirty-six full dinners on what was supposed to be a slow night. With help, planning, and more prep time, he could double or triple that easily. In no time, he’d have a profitable gastropub.

  “Any chance you could scare up one more order of that brie-and-beer fondue?”

  Law turned from the cooktop he was wiping down to see Libby across the kitchen, a maroon apron she’d tied over her white dress, a round serving tray pressed to her chest, and a few tendrils of blond hair escaping a hastily tied ponytail. Her eyes were more gray than blue in the harsh fluorescent light, but whatever color, they were bright with the satisfaction of hard work and a good time.

  He felt a smile tug just looking at her.

  “You used the last of the brie on that burger, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “No, I have enough.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re about to disappoint me?”

  “You’ve got disappointment confused with devour,” he joked. “And I do have brie left, but I was saving it for an after-closing treat with you.”

  She lifted her brows and cocked her head to the dining room. “I’ll tell them we’re out.” She started to walk away, but he snagged her arm.

  “I have enough for everyone.” He slid his hand down to hers, lifting her slender fingers to his lips for a light kiss.

  “What was that for?”

  “Gratitude. You saved my ass, haven’t complained, and look so hot in that apron I could melt the brie on it.”

  “Hot? With these shoes?” She held up a sneakered foot. “Although if Jasmine hadn’t come back with replacements to those stilettos two hours ago, I’d have let you drown in your own terzetto sauces. All three of them. Which were a huge hit, by the way.”

  He grinned. “Nino really liked that dish, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did, and that’s like getting a top rating from Zagat’s on this island.”

  “And the meatloaf?”

  She gave him a sexy look. “Is there such a thing as a mouth orgasm, because I might have had one?”

  “Only one?”

  “With every bite.”

  “Yes.” Law gave a little fist of victory and turned to the cooler to get the last of the brie, noticing the shelves he’d stocked so carefully this afternoon were practically empty.

  “You really love feeding people like this, don’t you?” Libby moved closer to him to ask her question, and he could feel her gaze intently on him.

  “I do,” he said simply, pulling out the cheese to start one more fondue. “Just like you love teaching other people how to breathe.” He turned back to her, unable to resist brushing back one of those stray strands of hair, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “But if you ever decide to give that up, you make a helluva server, yoga bear.”

  “Food is not my calling,” she said, not backing away from the intimate touch. “But it is clearly yours.”

  What was calling him were her lips, but he reluctantly returned to the cheese, taking a sliver and placing it on his fingertip for her to taste. She licked it off, holding his gaze a few seconds past casual, the sounds of the dining room fading and the kitchen feeling warmer than it had all night.

  She gave a tiny whimper of appreciation at the taste, then shook her head slowly, as if confused about something. About him. About this.

  After a moment, he washed his hands and went back to the fondue, nodding for her to rest against the counter. “Take a break, Lib. And spill some secrets. They say the last hour in the kitchen is made for that, you know.”

  “Who’re they?”

  “Me and…me.”

  “Why do you want to know secrets?”

  “Because that’s what makes you tick, and I want to know you.”

  “You want to have sex with me,” she corrected.

  He looked up, serious. “And know you.”

  She sighed and propped herself against the stainless counter for a moment. “Well, I don’t have any secrets.”

  “Everyone has secrets. You’re just so used to living with them buried inside, you forgot you have them.”

  “Maybe.” She drew the word out, thinking. “I mean, I have things. Issues. History. But I don’t really keep secrets.”

  “So tell me a thing or issue or history.”

  She considered that, watching him work. “I married two men who fell for my looks and body. I loved them, but when that novelty wore off, they both crushed my soul and broke my heart.”

  “Idiots. Both of them.”

  “Not really. Not Jasmine’s dad. He’s a good guy who never fell out of love with his high school sweetheart. The second one? Not an idiot, but not a good guy.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “The usual. But I had the world’s most cutthroat attorney, Sammy ‘I Don’t Lose In Court’ Chesterfield, so now I have…” She rubbed her fingers together. “Security.”

  He stirred the fondue, thinking about that. Security was nice, but not getting it that way. “So what did you learn from your two walks down the aisle or into the Justice of the Peace or…wherever people do that?”

  She laughed softly. “Country clubs. People do that in country clubs. And what I learned is that sex is the kiss of death for me. Any chance of having a good, solid, lasting relationship is ruined once the mystique is gone.”

  He lifted the spoon and pointed dripping cheese at her. “Maybe marriage is the kiss of death,” he said.

  “Sex and marriage are kind of related, don’t you think?”

  “No.” He laughed lightly. “Otherwise, I’d have died of blue balls years ago.”

  She smiled. “Well, in my particular case, with those particular men, the love and sex and walk down the country club curved stairs were tangled up together. But the truth is I’ve spent pretty much every day of my adult life being looked at, ogled, chatted up, and hit on. Men see me, and all blood heads south, their brains empty out, and they think with their itty-bitty boners.”

  He scowled. “And you think I fall into that category?”

  “Not itty-bitty.”

  “And these men and shitty marriages are what made you decide that cel…” He shook his head. “I can’t even say the word. That denying yourself any pleasure is the brilliant way to handle this particular problem?”

  She didn’t even smile at the sarcasm. “Yes.”

  He huffed a sigh of disgust. “It’s not. And for the record, Lib, there’s so much more to you than looks, and any guy, even one with an itty-bitty brain, would see that.”

  “Oh please. If you boil it all down to facts, I’m a yoga instructor
who lives off alimony from past mistakes. Yeah, I’ve held up well over the years, but if you get under the surface, that’s what you’ll find.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He almost choked on how wrong she was. “You don’t even have to dig under the surface to see how amazing you are.” At her skeptical look, he put down the utensil with a clatter on the counter and took her hand. “Libby Chesterfield, you’re an incredible mother who has the coolest and most amazing relationship with her daughter I’ve ever seen. You’re a smart businesswoman who has secretly owned and managed a restaurant under some pretty difficult circumstances. You’re loyal to your family—even those who don’t deserve it—and loved by your friends. To top it off, you are motivated to make something out of your life, and you have a vision to build a business unlike anything I’ve ever heard of.”

  He watched her shoulders sink with each statement of fact, as if relieved of a weight or tension. “You see me that way?”

  He angled his head and shook it, aching that this remarkable woman had a second of self-doubt. “Libby, do not ever question your worth. Trust me, I’ve spent a lifetime doing that, and it’s crippling. And don’t ever think that all you are to men is a…a warm body to use and leave. You just haven’t met the right guy.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “And one other thing.” Very slowly, he inched closer to her, the fondue forgotten because of the need to whisper in her ear, “Sex is fun.”

  She gave a wry laugh. “Until it isn’t.”

  “I’m serious. Have you ever just enjoyed it for sheer pleasure without questioning yourself or the guy or whether he’s in it for the right reasons, or without worrying about…a commitment?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I felt like a teenage slut.”

  “Then, honey, you were with the wrong guy. Now you’re a woman who deserves at least five orgasms every time because it feels good.”

  “And you think you’re the right guy.”

  “Oh hell yeah. Did you taste my food?”

  “It was amazing,” she conceded. “But you’re not suggesting I sleep with your lasagna.”

  “I’m informing you, not suggesting, that I make love like I cook, yoga bear. With attention to detail and a promise of utter satisfaction from beginning to end.” He brushed her lips with his. “As long as we’re clear about what we’re doing, and you keep those pesky marriage and love ingredients out of the recipe, because you know they muck up the works.”

  She inched back, searching his face, her eyes dilating with arousal right before him. “Five?”

  “Minimum.”

  “That would be—”

  “Hey, Libby, you have a check for table six?” Dan’s voice from outside the kitchen silenced her, and then she sighed mightily.

  “Don’t worry,” Law said, giving her another quick kiss before backing up to a more professional chef position over the fondue. “We’ll finish this conversation when the restaurant’s empty.”

  She picked up the serving tray. “That’s not what I’m sighing about.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “The fact that I actually know which table is ‘table six.’ How did this happen to what was going to be my lovely yoga studio?”

  “Nothing’s happened,” he assured her. When she walked out, he added what he knew she was thinking. “Yet.”

  * * *

  Three. Four. Five.

  Five.

  Could he really do that?

  Libby shook off the thought and forced her brain back to the stack of dollar bills she was trying to count.

  But the whole conversation replayed in her head over and over again. Especially that little speech about what a great mother and businesswoman she was. That was good. Hell, if he made love the way he talked, she would have five orgasms.

  Oh, Libby, are you that desperate for validation?

  Of course not, she thought as she jotted down the night’s bar take, blinking in pleasant surprise at the tally. What she was desperate for was exactly what he was offering: fun sex without any of that “marriage and love” nonsense or crap or whatever he called the things she thought she believed in but only got hurt by.

  She’d have to make the first move, though.

  She slid the money into a pouch to lock it up in the closet safe, walking through the dining room with new appreciation. Even that square, clumsy old jukebox looked clean and shiny.

  She went closer to it to skim the double-sided cards of dozens of song titles she recognized from years gone by.

  “It still plays, you know.”

  She turned at the sound of Law’s voice, standing in the doorway of the hall to the kitchen. He’d taken off the chef’s coat and wore nothing but a thin white T-shirt that clung to his muscles and showed off a few inky swirls and words. Not a lot. A date on the inside of his roped forearm. Some spiky circles around a strong bicep. His gaze was intense, his steps deliberate as he came closer.

  “It does?” Her voice caught in her throat, and she cleared it, digging for composure.

  “Most of the time. Want to hear something?”

  She took another long look, then shifted her attention to the flat surface of the jukebox, the song titles swimming before her eyes. “Sure.”

  He came up behind her, close and warm, but not touching. “Of course it can only be a song from before 1988. That was the last time this thing got updated.”

  “Why?” she asked, not turning, because he was right behind her and if she turned around…she’d have to make that move.

  Was she ready?

  “Jake didn’t like change. Hey, there’s one you like. Blown Away by Eddie James and the Lost Boys.”

  She smiled at the choice. “Danced to that once,” she said. “With a cute boy who had a nice…belt buckle.”

  He laughed and reached around her, pressing the letters and numbers, giving her a chance to study his hands. Wide, masculine hands with a dusting of hair and a few scars she imagined came from knife nicks. Beautiful hands. Hands she wanted…on her.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, stabbing a button harder, his body touching hers as he tried to make the machine work. “Like I told you, temperamental.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s on my list to fix and update this—”

  The first few notes of a wailing guitar silenced him as an old number-one hit filled the bar.

  “You did it.” Libby turned into him, meeting a gaze glinting with victory…and promise.

  “And now we have to dance again.”

  She froze for a second, surprised by her own uncertainty and the tickle of anticipation fluttering inside her. “I thought I was too old for this,” she whispered.

  “For dancing?”

  “For…crushing.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “Is that what you feel?”

  The guitar disappeared, replaced by the inimitable rasp of Eddie James’s voice.

  The storm is on the inside, deep within my heart.

  Every time I look at you, I’m just torn apart.

  “What I feel is…off-balance,” Libby said. And right then, it never felt better.

  “Then find something to hold on to, Lib.”

  Taking a deep inhale, she reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck as the tinny speakers worked hard to deliver the lyrics.

  He reached for her waist, sliding his hands all the way around her to pull her close and sway to the music, moving to a beat much slower than her heart.

  Libby looked up, threading her fingers and pulling his face a little closer. “You sang to me that night in the gym,” she said. “It was sexy.”

  He didn’t say anything, but nodded a little, as if he remembered, or wanted to. Then he pulled her all the way against him and pressed their cheeks together. His beard scratched like she thought it might.

  “The wind is whipping outside, and the rain is falling down…” His voice was low, delicious, and endearingly off-key. “Lightning streaks across the sky and…b
ees are underground.”

  She jerked back. “Bees are underground?”

  “Well, what’s he saying?”

  “Bees are underground?”

  “I thought those were the words.”

  “It’s…” She couldn’t talk as a laugh clutched her. “The bees? What would they be doing underground?”

  “I don’t know. Hiding from the storm?”

  She tipped her head back with another burst of laughter.

  “Well, what are the words?”

  She caught her breath. “‘And leaves its thunder sound.’”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “That’s better? What the hell’s a thunder sound? Why not just say thunder?”

  Her shoulders shook. “Oh, ’cause ‘bees are underground’ is the perfect lyric for a love song.”

  They both laughed a little more, but that faded into smiles, and then Law gently pressed her head back on his shoulder with a strong, capable hand.

  “Is that what this is? A love song?” His voice was a little tight, either from laughing or another L-word he wasn’t used to saying.

  “Actually, it’s what you’d call a classic makeout song.”

  “Now we’re talkin’,” he whispered, lowering his face to plant a light kiss on her neck and shoulder. “And I know the next line for real.”

  Chill bumps tickled as his breath lightly touched her ear.

  “Baby, you’re a force of nature, I just got to say,” he sang. “’Cause every time you kiss me, I am blown away.”

  She leaned back to sing the line again with him. “Every time you kiss me…”

  His lips covered hers, stopping the singing but stoking the fire that was building low inside her. His mouth was warm and sure, his hands pulling her closer.

  I am blown away.

  Eddie James was deep into the next verse as Law heated the kiss to let their tongues taste each other. His hands dragged up and down her sides. Each touch was warm and seductive.

  And that was no belt buckle pressing into her belly.

  Their breathing was tight and fast already, louder than the next chorus and the screaming guitar solo. She broke the kiss to offer him access to her throat, arching her back, moaning as pleasure tightened and squeezed, making her want…everything. Every single thing he could do to her, she wanted.