What a bitch of a dilemma.
“Anyway, I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle a foster child,” Tessa continued. “Some of them have been abused and neglected and God knows what.”
Yeah, God knew what and didn’t do a damn thing about it. But Pasha did.
“You could probably handle it, Tessa.” Zoe’s hands shook a little as she played with a row of strange bean pods, popping one off and snapping it to find three splotchy red lima beans inside.
“I want a baby to keep and raise, not a social services project I’m scared to get attached to,” Tessa said.
Was that what she’d think Zoe was? Had Pasha? Of course not. Pasha had just scooped Zoe out of her life and saved her ass. Which is why Zoe owed her complete loyalty to Pasha, not Tessa, who was actually pissing her off even more than usual right that moment.
“A child like that needs love, like any other kid.”
”But don’t you have to give a foster child away at some point?”
“How would I know?” Zoe said, sounding irrationally defensive and not giving a shit right then. The misconceptions about foster kids made her crazy, and so did this conversation. “I don’t think all of them are like delinquents or crack babies. You might get your maternal instincts appeased for a while.”
“Well, that’s not what I want.”
“What about what they want?” she demanded. “Why is it always about you, Tessa? You and your uterus. Don’t you ever think about those poor kids and how much one of them could be transformed by living here, learning from you, loving you, eating this tie-dyed bean?”
Tessa gave a weak smile. “That’s a Christmas pole lima bean, Zoe. And, honestly, this isn’t about my poor, empty uterus. It’s about the one thing I wanted to be in my whole life. A mother forever. Isn’t there anything you ever wanted to be or do, something that burns inside of you like a lifelong dream, the thing that would make you so happy and whole that you just know you have to have it someday?”
Oh, yes, there was. A permanent, stable, enduring address to a place that had history and happiness in every corner. But nothing could make Zoe say the ultimate four-letter word out loud.
Home.
“Isn’t there?” Tessa demanded.
“No,” Zoe lied. “I just want to be a hot air balloon pilot who drifts from city to city without any chance of putting down roots that could do nothing but strangle me.”
Even she could hear the sarcasm in her tone and, damn it, she wanted that line to come off as the truth.
“Roots are what I live for.” Tessa leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “Roots don’t strangle if the plant is well tended, my friend. Roots nourish. They provide stability. They make sure the plant doesn’t merely survive, but thrives and grows and produces a fruit or vegetable.”
“Enough with the gardening metaphors. You know what I meant.”
“No, I don’t, Zoe. You don’t really like this…this whimsical, immature life you’re living, do you?”
She snorted. “Excuse me, but I am not the one sobbing in the dirt.”
“You just keep on pretending to be someone I know you’re not.”
Zoe gasped a little, shocked at how the conversation had turned on her. “I am? You know this how?”
“You’re always pretending to be some sex-loving, hard-drinking, joke-making party girl, when deep inside you’re really a sweet angel who would do anything for her old aunt and gets tipsy on a glass of Chardonnay.”
Oh, God, Zoe, just tell her.
“You know damn well it takes two glasses.” The tease tasted like vinegar on her tongue, but she said it anyway. Because she couldn’t face the truth. “And now that we have me all figured out, why don’t we talk about you and your issues?”
“Nah.” Tessa stood up, brushing dirt off her jeans. “I feel much better. And I know what you should do, Zoe.”
“Stop pretending?”
“Well, that, yeah, and you should move.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will. That’s my life.”
She held out her hand to help Zoe up. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean here is where you should move. Right here, to Barefoot Bay on Mimosa Key. I think this is the one place you can have that thing you’re longing for, that dream that will make you whole and happy.”
“You sound like Pasha the Predictor now.”
Tessa ignored the comment. “A home, Zoe. This can be your forever home. And isn’t that what you want more than anything?”
So much for secret longings. How did Tessa know that?
“You’re not going to deny it, are you?” Tessa asked.
“Home is overrated,” Zoe said, looking up to the stars, suddenly imagining the utter peace and security of a night balloon flight wrapped in silence and sky. “I prefer to be untethered.”
Tessa sighed. “I guess that’s the difference between us, then. I’d kill for a few tethers I could diaper and love.”
Zoe put her hand on Tessa’s shoulder, handing her the lima bean. “Here. There were two little beans in this pod. Pasha would say that’s a sign you could have twins.”
“I wish Pasha’s predictions were right.”
Zoe angled her head, surprised. “They are.”
Tessa looked a little hopeful when she took the bean and headed into her bungalow, seeming much more lighthearted and leaving Zoe feeling exactly the opposite.
What was stopping her from telling the truth? Habit? Fear? The anger and disappointment she’d see in one of her closest friend’s eyes?
And yet she wanted to talk about it so much. She walked toward the bungalows, aware of a pressure on her heart so heavy she almost couldn’t breathe. What was that?
This can be your forever home. And isn’t that what you want more than anything?
Considering how well her friends knew her, it was a miracle they hadn’t figured out the truth by now.
She kicked the dirt and peered up at the moon, suddenly turning in the opposite direction, toward the other side of the resort, no longer concerned about night critters. Her heart ached with untold secrets. Her body tensed with the need to tear down that wall that surrounded the hard-drinking, joke-making, sex-loving party girl who never lets her feelings show.
Meandering through the back of Casa Blanca, she made her way to another wall—a wooden fence, actually. On the other side of it was…the thing she wanted most right then.
Chapter Eleven
The Glenlivet burned on the way down his throat, but Oliver didn’t bother to chase the shot with water. Instead he drew in a slow, deep breath so the bittersweet flavors of the scotch worked their way up into his head, clearing it.
And still he stared at the silver-blue pool and imagined he could see Zoe, swimming naked like some kind of laughing, loving water nymph with flowing blonde hair and luscious wet skin.
Well, that beat the darker images that usually haunted him when he was alone in a house. So far the little villa on the beach hadn’t triggered any old memories, but maybe that was because Evan was here. In Chicago the house had never been empty; even if Adele had been traveling and Evan had been sent to stay at his grandmother’s, they’d had live-in staff.
He’d never had to come home to an empty house.
He pushed the glass to the side and returned his attention to the tablet computer on the table, forcing himself to finish the report to Raj and the team, bringing them all up to speed on their newest case and the schedule for tests and treatment.
Still, the words blurred in front of him and his mind wandered back to Zoe.
She wasn’t going to try to fix Pasha’s legal problems. Why did Zoe have to be so driven by loyalty and emotions and an invisible sense of duty when that could be steering her aunt all wrong?
He tapped into the Internet and opened a search bar, an attempt to pull up some facts based on the little information she’d ever given him.
Bridget. Corpus Christi. Foster Child. Missing.
He sip
ped while a few results flashed on the screen, mostly recent stories that couldn’t possibly be connected to something that had happened about twenty-five years ago.
He took another drink and started to skim the links but a sound at the fence caught his attention. Looking past the pool screen, he peered into the darkness, expecting to see an animal.
Every light in the house was off, the fiber-optic pool lights were too dim to cast much glow, so he listened, definitely hearing something thud against the privacy fence.
And the soft intake of breath.
An intruder at the resort? Without making a sound, he unlatched the screen door and stepped onto the narrow strip of grass around the patio. He walked along the wall, cocking his ear.
Another thud, and this time two hands appeared at the top of the fence, along with a loud bump—someone hoisting themselves up on the other side, probably balancing on the crossbeam that ran along the back of the stockade-style wooden fence.
A ballsy intruder, then.
He hid behind a thick hibiscus bush, placing himself between the intruder and any entrance to the house. He didn’t have a weapon, but he had his bare hands and he’d use them before anyone got near—
Blonde hair popped over the fence.
What the hell was she doing?
Zoe pushed herself up higher and one foot in a bright-yellow flip-flop came over the fence, a short black dress riding up to reveal her bare thigh. Turning her head from side to side, she peered into the darkness and then hoisted herself higher.
Jesus, she was fearless. And crazy. And gorgeous. And here.
He managed not to make a sound or move, watching as she maneuvered over the fence and angled herself to—she wouldn’t jump, would she?
Of course she would. She’d do anything. That was why she made him hard and hot and flat-out insane with how much he wanted to capture her and hold her down and force her to stay still and be his and not leave him.
But if she did that, she wouldn’t be Zoe. She wouldn’t be the woman who climbed fences and…
Jumped. He sucked in a breath as she leaped into the air like a bird, arms out, hair flying, dress high enough for him to see that she was bare-ass naked underneath.
She landed with a soft thump, tumbling to her knees like she was born to be a cat burglar. But something told him she wasn’t here to steal anything, except his sanity. And his breath. And his heart.
Or maybe she just wanted to get laid.
“Can I help you?” He stepped out from behind the bush and earned a loud gasp of shock.
“Oh my God, you scared me!”
He smiled, the irony too obvious to comment on. He reached down to give her a hand. “Let’s see…you didn’t want to knock and wake Evan?”
She let him pull her up. “I was strolling the grounds and ended up back there.”
“By chance?”
“Luck.” She grinned. “Did you think I was a heavily armed intruder?”
“Not when the dress flew up. Don’t know where you’d hide a weapon.” He gestured toward the screen door, letting her brush by him. She left a trail of something that smelled like honeysuckle and sin behind her.
And he followed like a fucking dog in heat.
Inside the patio, she went straight to the table and his heart stopped. If she looked at that tablet screen…
What difference did it make? Why not let her know exactly what he was doing? He was trying to help.
She lifted the glass and sniffed, made a face, then sipped. “Ewww. That tastes like lighter fluid filtered through swamp water. Why would anyone drink that?”
“It’s manly.”
Laughing, she dropped into his empty chair and draped her arms over the side. “Can I have something girly? Like, you know, beer or vodka?”
“Stay here.”
He went into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose he’d picked up when supply shopping, telling himself it wasn’t because he knew she liked it, poured it over ice, tore into a juice box, and added a splash. Before going back out, he slipped into the living room and broke the bloom off a bright-pink flower from a bouquet to garnish the drink.
He half expected her to be skimming his tablet and following his last Internet search when he came out, but she was sitting at the edge of the shallow end, her feet dangling in the water.
He joined her, sticking his feet in the pool as he presented the drink. “Girly enough for you?”
“Perfect.” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink to…”
“Whatever made you come over here.”
“Dead batteries.”
He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
“Except when I’m not.” She tapped his glass with hers, casting her eyes downward. “It’s hard to live life as a liar when you’re as open as I am.”
“I imagine it is.”
She lifted the flower and laid it down before sipping her drink, closing her eyes and moaning appreciatively. “Damn, that’s good.” She tasted again. “Cranberry juice?”
“Apple Raspberry Juicy Juice.”
She smiled. “The mixer of champions.”
“So, Zoe, why don’t you stop lying if it’s so hard for you?”
“It’s become a way of life.” The blunt candor actually surprised him. “In fact, just moments ago, life handed me the perfect opportunity to share all my secrets with one of my very best friends and what do you think I did?”
He didn’t answer because he was still trying to process that her friends didn’t know her past.
“That’s right,” she answered for him. “Nothing. Not exactly a lie, unless you count omission.”
“You mean to tell me that Lacey and Tessa and Jocelyn don’t know that Pasha’s not really your great-aunt?”
“They know she’s sick,” she said, as if that were a huge bit of progress. “But the rest of my sad tale of woe?” She lifted her glass again. “Only you, doc. Only you.”
He would have liked to hold on to the sideways compliment, but he was still too perplexed by her confession. “But they’re your best friends, Zoe. They can give you advice and be sounding boards.”
“And I might even be able to return the favor by helping them. At least I could set Tessa straight on the truth about foster kids.” She splashed her feet in the water, creating ripples that danced across the teal water. “But there is a downside.”
“Surely you don’t think they’d turn Pahsa in.”
“No. But they might hate me for not coming clean.”
He let his knuckles brush her exposed thigh, trying not to think about what wasn’t on under that thin dress. It would take one second to have her naked and in his arms. One second.
He lingered on the thought for a lot longer than that, watching her drink and think.
“I don’t believe they’d hate you,” he finally said. “You are judging yourself far more harshly than they would.”
“Hate’s a strong word,” she agreed. “But how do you think they’re going to feel when I tell them I’m not…” She closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m not a girl named Zoe Tamarin.”
He put down his drink and reached for her, wrapping his hands around the slender column of her throat and holding her jaw with his thumbs. “No one cares what your name is, Zoe. You are you. An amazing, funny, beautiful woman. You owe your friends the truth.”
She looked away, refusing to make eye contact.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked.
“I could lose them, like I…lost you.”
He tightened his grip. “You didn’t lose me. Surely you believe that by now.”
Finally, she shifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m ashamed,” she said softly.
“You were a kid.”
“But I let this lifestyle go on and on for years,” she said, inching free to make her point. “Every time I had a choice—including that day in Chicago when Pasha said I should stay—I took the chickenshit, lazy, easy, loser choice.”
Yet she was none of those things. “You and Pasha simply got yourself painted into a corner, Zoe. She protected you and you protected her and neither one of you could get off—”
“Don’t make my excuses for me.” She took a lusty gulp and put the glass down so hard he thought it might crack on the stone pavers. In a second, she turned to him, her eyes bright.
“Then don’t make your own,” he said.
“Touché. So you noticed that I’m naked under this?” She fluttered the hem of the dress seductively.
Of course, she wanted to plow over the tough stuff with sex. And as much as he wanted to drive that plow, he refused.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Her brows drew together. “When?”
“I know you say Pasha’s at risk of being charged for kidnapping, but what actually happened?”
She tilted her head, a smile pulling. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question. What I don’t want to do is derail this conversation yet.”
Without warning, her hand landed on his crotch, squeezing, a bolt of lightning shooting right into his balls. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you’re a guy.”
He put his hand over hers and pressed, his erection growing with each passing heartbeat. “I’m not a guy. I’m the guy. I’m the one who knows you, Zoe.” Very slowly, because it hurt like a motherfucker even to think about making the move, he lifted her hand and put it on her lap. “Now tell me the story. What happened when Pasha ‘kidnapped’ you? I take it she didn’t throw you in a trunk and drive off.” He frowned when she didn’t reply. “Did she?”
“Of course not.” She picked up her hand and looked at it like her very fingers had betrayed her. “I’m really losing my touch.”
“Your touch is…” Insane. “Fine. And my kid’s asleep upstairs,” he added, more to assuage her humiliation than anything. “I’ve waited nine years, Zoe.”
“For sex with me?”
“For this story.”
Puffing out some air, she leaned back on her hands, breaking their contact but staying close enough that he could feel the silk of her calves against his and the splash of warm water between them. “She did drive off. But I was in the passenger seat, not the trunk.”
Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay) Page 15