Barefoot in the Sun

by Roxanne St Claire

  “You left too soon,” he finally said.

  “Story of our relationship, isn’t it?”

  He took a step closer, giving her a chance to see that a few beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip. They would taste…salty. And sweet. “But this time when I came after you, I found you.”

  She could have given up the fight right then and there. She could reach out, pull herself into him, raise her face, and let him kiss the holy hell out of her. Because that was all she wanted.

  But not what she needed.

  Braced by that thought, she lifted her face to him, but not for a kiss. “I hope you came to talk about my aunt and what you can do for her.”

  “I came to talk about Evan, and how and when he was conceived.”

  Seriously? “I’m going to assume he was conceived the usual way and as far as when? I can add. Whatever, Oliver. It’s hist—”

  “And I found out in the balloon that day.”

  It actually took a few seconds for the words to process in her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. But the world slipped away, as if she’d caught a dangerous cross breeze.

  “That’s why I left so quickly,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t really talk about your situation. I was too stuck on my own.”

  Still, no words. In the balloon that day?

  “And of course, I had no way of finding you to tell you that I decided to—”

  “Dr. Bradbury!” From the front door, Lacey called out, making them both turn instantly.

  Her curls sprang in a wild strawberry-blonde halo and she looked like she was about to launch herself down the steps and across the driveway despite her post-delivery attire, which included bare feet, sleep pants, and a maternity T-shirt.

  Aw, Lace. Now?

  But Oliver instantly went to her, leaving Zoe hanging on a cliff.

  Then Lacey was hugging him, thanking him, and dragging him inside. All he could do was shoot an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

  Zoe let out a sigh of frustration. Lacey didn’t know, of course. She probably didn’t remember she’d seen Oliver before—in the lobby store of the Ritz almost two years ago. Zoe had brushed off that chance meeting back then, and she doubted that Lacey—especially in her sleep-deprived, new-mom brain fog—would ever remember.

  She waited outside for a few minutes, letting Oliver’s news sink in.

  He found out in the balloon that day.

  In the time since she’d met Evan and counted months, that possibility had never occurred to her. Hell, in the nine years that had transpired since that day, she’d never even thought about those phone messages he’d received up there, long before texting became part of everyday life. She’d always assumed it was about a patient.

  No, she really hadn’t assumed anything because she’d never thought much past his reaction to her announcement, and his subsequent demands that she “do the right thing” and talk to a lawyer or the police.

  What would have happened if she’d waited? Would he still have married Adele? Would he have forced her to try to “resolve” things with the law and Pasha? Or would he have deemed her unacceptable—too much of a risk, too far off the grid, too flighty for a grounded guy with a potential blockbuster career?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. And even if he told her, could she believe him? It didn’t matter. All she really wanted was for him to fix Pasha. That’s who was broken, not Zoe.

  She walked toward the house, opening the door to find Clay, Lacey, and Oliver talking in the entryway.

  Oliver held the tiny baby in his arms and, shit, if that wasn’t the goddamned sexiest thing she’d ever seen, she didn’t know what was.

  Clay was laughing, putting a friendly hand on Oliver’s arm. “We might have to put your little boy in charge of the sales staff. Why don’t we take a look at Bay Laurel right now, then? You can move in this week.”

  Oh, Lord.

  “Maybe Zoe should take Oliver,” Lacey said quickly.

  “That’s all right,” Clay said. “I’ll take him down there.”

  Lacey shook her head and shot her husband a secret look that Oliver probably missed, but Zoe didn’t. Maybe Lacey did remember the run-in at the hotel shop. And, of course, her friend would want to help. And by help she meant stick her little copper curls where they didn’t belong.

  “You’ll just talk about rebar and I-beams,” Lacey insisted. “Zoe can give the ten-dollar tour. Walk down the beach and really get the feel of the place.”

  “That’d be great,” Oliver said, already putting a possessive hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “You don’t mind?”

  Clay handed Zoe a card key before she could reply. “This’ll get you into any villa on the property. We can entertain Evan for you, Oliver. That way you can make a decision without pressure.”

  “Good idea,” Lacey added. “Can he go swimming with my daughter? She’s an excellent babysitter.”

  “I’m sure he’d love that.”

  Lacey gave a warm smile to Zoe, her amber eyes dancing. “Then take your time and really let him fall in love…with the villa.”

  Holy crap, could she be any more obvious?

  “Let me tell Evan,” Oliver said, handing the baby to Lacey before he disappeared into the family room.

  Instantly, Lacey’s eyes widened. “You don’t mind do you, Zoe?” she asked, nestling Elijah into her chest. “He obviously likes you.”

  “I think it’s true that babies lower your IQ.”

  “Zoe, come on. He’s totally hot.”

  Clay smiled, sliding an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “She wants all of you guys married and mothering like her.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard misery loves company.”

  Lacey shrugged, undaunted. “Take your time and close the deal.”

  It was futile to argue. And, honestly, Zoe wanted that time with him anyway. For Pasha, of course. Not for any reason other than Pasha.

  Chapter Five

  As they walked down the driveway and toward the beach, Oliver stopped at an overloaded hibiscus tree and plucked a red bloom.

  “Peace offering,” he said, holding it out to Zoe.

  She gave him that look, that teasing mix of sarcasm and sweetness, and took the flower, sticking it in her hair. “I’ll have to tell Lacey how effective her marketing brochures are.”

  “It wasn’t the brochure that got me here.”

  She didn’t react, just kicked off her plastic flip-flops as they reached the edge of the sand. “You won’t want shoes.”

  He toed off his Docksides and impulsively yanked off his shirt, too, tossing it on the ground and getting a sideways look from her. “You don’t play fair, doc.”

  “It’s a thousand degrees.”

  She fought a smile. “So are you.”

  “Then I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “Never was mad.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sometimes you just disappear in the middle of things for no real reason.”

  “Define real, Oliver.” She nudged him with her shoulder, forcing them both closer to the water. “Let’s see, I discovered you have a son conceived before we ever dated, you’re divorced and living a few miles from my closest friends, you’re planning to live on the property where I’m currently staying, and you failed to tell me that you received life-changing news the moment I was revealing my biggest secret to you.” She let out a sigh. “Anything I’ve missed?”

  He stopped walking to roll up his pants and let the warm, foamy water splash around his ankles.

  “My son wants you to be his nanny.”

  She let out a little grunt of disbelief.

  “You asked if there’s anything I missed, so I thought I’d better get that out there.”

  “Good call.” She gave him another shoulder push, but not hard enough to get him in the water. More like she just wanted the body contact. And so did he. “Did you tell him I’d make the world’s worst nanny?”<
br />
  “I can’t tell him anything,” he said, fighting the urge to put his arm around her. “He’s crazy about you.”

  She smiled. “I like him, too.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a summer job?” Son of a bitch, had those words just come out of his mouth? How did she get him to do and say things like he had no control?

  “It depends.”

  Why did those words give him hope? Was he nuts? “On what?”

  “Um…” She gave him another saucy smile. “The pay.”

  “What’s your fee?”

  All the tease disappeared from her eyes. “Quid pro quo. You take care of Pasha and I’ll take care of Evan.”

  He closed his eyes on a sigh. “It’s not that simple, Zoe.”

  “Too ironic for you? I mean, they are the two individuals who are responsible for taking us apart.”

  He stopped walking and turned to the water, staring out at the horizon. “I don’t blame Evan for his timing. Maybe I did before he was born, but then, no.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “That would be an awful thing to put on his shoulders. Do you blame Pasha for her decision to leave?”

  “I haven’t,” he said. “All these years I figured the guilty party was…”

  “Me,” she supplied.

  “Pretty much.”

  She didn’t answer. As she stood looking out at the water, the breeze lifted her see-through skirt and the sun poured over her like liquid gold. “I love it here.”

  “Enough to stay?” The question was out before he could even think about not asking it.

  She shrugged, utterly carefree and so very Zoe. “Who knows? Want to see the villa now? It’s right up here.”

  Without waiting for his response, she darted up the beach, leaving him alone and wet and staring at the most irrepressible, impossible, desirable woman he’d ever met. Of course, she was running away. And, of course, he followed.

  He caught up to her at the path and they walked to the villa together.

  “I’m not sure if I should sell this place to you or point out all the shortcomings,” she said as she slipped the key into the lock.

  “Why? You don’t want me here?”

  “It complicates things.”

  “You love complicated things, as I recall.”

  She pushed open the door to a large, inviting living area with more of the same Moroccan warmth. Dark wood gleamed and a wrought-iron rail curved up a staircase. Beyond the living room, sunshine bounced off the teal water of a screened-in kidney-shaped pool surrounded by a few chaises and a table.

  Evan would love it here. And so would Oliver.

  “Nice,” he said, then gave her a quick look. “Unless it isn’t.”

  She laughed. “On the positive side, it’s gorgeous, brand new, all hand-crafted wood. You met Will the other night. He’s the carpenter and Jocelyn’s fiance.” She led him through a small dining area.

  “On the negative side?” he asked.

  She pointed to the kitchen. “There’s no room service yet, since Lacey didn’t get a chance to interview chefs before the baby came and she hasn’t officially opened the kitchen. So you’ll have to cook.” She squinched her face. “Unless Evan’s nanny is expected to cook, in which case, we better hope someone can supply take-out menus.”

  He laughed, feeling himself so drawn to her he had to fight physically not to pull her into his arms and drag her to the nearest bedroom. He wasn’t going to win that war for very long. “No, but the nanny might have to stay late.”

  “Because you work long hours?”

  That wasn’t what he meant, but he nodded. “Some days.”

  “We could arrange it,” she said, gesturing for him to go down a hall. “Come see the rest.”

  She pointed out features as they went along, but all he noticed was the bright-green bikini under her dress. And she went on and on about the woodwork, but his attention was on her buttery skin, tanned and smooth. By the time they reached the doors to the master suite, he’d have bought the place if it meant he could have her…on that bed.

  “All the trimmings of luxury: Jacuzzi, marble, a bed big enough to sleep three or four or nine.” She grinned. “Whatever turns you on.”

  She turned him on. “Not three or nine,” he said. Just one. The one he was looking at.

  “Upstairs, there are two bedrooms and two baths. Also a game room furnished with a big TV, which I bet Evan would like. You want to see them or this lovely view?” She slipped by him and pushed open another set of french doors to the patio. “So you can roll right out of bed and go swimming every morning.”

  “With the nanny.”

  She tossed a look over her shoulder. “That’s in the job description?”

  Hell, yes. “It’s on the negotiating table.” He gave a rueful smile, joining her so they both stood in the doorway. He was close enough to her that he could see each individual eyelash tipped in gold as she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “What do you think of the villa, Dr. Bradbury?”

  “I like the tour guide.” He leaned an inch closer, backing her against the wood frame of the door.

  They did it against a door once.

  He kicked the thought away, stuffing his hands into his pockets again, which seemed to be the only way to avoid temptation with her.

  A kiss. That was all he wanted. One kiss. One long, wet, hot kiss to ease the ache that had already started low in his gut. Way low. Everything in him wanted to touch her, to remember the silky feel of her skin, the pressure of her mouth, the warmth of her tongue.

  That very tongue darted to wet her lips, her eyes locked on his, the message in them so, so clear.

  Kiss me, Oliver.

  His reply was silent, too. Just a whisper of warm breath into her mouth that almost instantly became more. A warm, tentative, spark of a kiss that tightened every muscle in his body and did the opposite to his common sense.

  She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, as only their lips touched.

  Slowly, he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, darting his tongue over her teeth. Their mouths melded as one, and against every will he dragged his hands out of his pockets to cup her jaw and hold her pretty face in his palms.

  “Do you interview all the sitters like this?” she murmured into the kiss.

  “Just the mouthy ones. Do you give all the renters tongue?”

  “Just the hot ones.”

  He pressed his body against hers, his cock growing against her belly, eliciting a tiny whimper that caught in her throat.

  “Oliver.”

  He kissed her cheek, her ear. “Mmm?”

  “You know where this is headed, don’t you?”

  “We’re in the master bedroom, so I hope not far.”

  Breaking away from the kiss, she slipped from his touch, out to the patio, pulling him with her. Sunshine through palm fronds dappled her in splashes of light, her eyes dancing with a tease. “As if I’d be such a cliché and fall into bed with you, Oliver.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  “There’s a pool.” In a flash of snow-white gauze and lime-green silk and golden-brown skin, she yanked the dress over her head, tossed it in the air, and vaulted into the pool, splashing water all over him.

  Once, about eight years ago, Pasha saw a moonbow.

  Funny, she could remember the glimmer in the Colorado night sky even right now, bathed in the midday sunshine instead of nighttime shadows. The moonbow had been so rare and wondrous, with a hint of red and orange fading into a strip that looked so yellow it was white, then deep azure blues.

  But it was more than a stunning vision in the mountains that stayed imprinted on Pasha’s heart. The moonbow had been a clear message from Mother Nature: True love—the kind that happens once if you’re lucky—would return.

  But not, she knew that night, to Pasha. Her true love would never be back. So that moonbow was a sign not for her, but for Zoe.

  That knowledge had always weighed heavy
on her heart, but today it actually hurt her chest. Zoe’s true love had returned…like the moonbow had predicted.

  She’d always known that Oliver Bradbury would someday return to Zoe. At least that was how she’d rationalized the decision to let Zoe leave Chicago when Pasha knew it was time to pack and run. That had been the time they should have ended their run together. Pasha had offered! Maybe she hadn’t insisted, but she’d have survived. Pasha had told Zoe she could stay in Chicago with Oliver.

  But Zoe had chosen to go with Pasha.

  And then Pasha saw the moonbow and knew that someday, somehow, Oliver would return to Zoe. Or maybe she hoped that he would, in order to assuage some of her guilt.

  Oh, she hadn’t told her darling Zoe, of course, who would scoff and say he was not her true love, something she claimed not to believe in anyway. But it wasn’t that Zoe didn’t believe in love. She’d just never experienced it, not even from the sidelines, like most children.

  Pasha always hoped and prayed to every power in the universe that when Oliver returned, Zoe and Pasha would no longer be in hiding. That Pasha would no longer be running from the long hand that cast a shadow over her life.

  But that wasn’t the case, was it? That hand still held the power, and Pasha still spent her life paralyzed by fear.

  The last thought made her eyes sting a little and put more pressure on her chest than the evil thing that was growing in there. No one knew what caused this sickness. Maybe it was all the fear and knowledge and guilt and remorse and indecision of her pathetic life rolled into a black ball that grew into cancer.

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the rocker headrest. Fact was, the longer she lived, the less chance at happiness Zoe had.

  Pasha owed her that chance.

  Pasha had only two choices: die or disappear. One she couldn’t control and the other she wasn’t sure she could pull off anymore. Pushing herself to her feet, she walked to the kitchen door, already overcome by the heat. And the truth.

  Death was so permanent. Who knew that better than Pasha?

  An old ache burned in her belly. That pain never disappeared. No matter what she did to replace it—run, hide, fill her heart with a child who wasn’t even hers—the hole inside was always there, always black, always empty.