Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

She breathed in a little sharply, not expecting to get so personal so soon. She was ready to tell him about her dreams or how she avoided negative people and how there was another plane of spirituality right in front of them.

  But he wanted to talk about…him.

  “Did you hear a voice that said I’m a good guy?”

  “I told you I don’t…” She looked up at him, stunned for a second by how close he was. How real and beautiful he was to her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I felt you are good.”

  “Anything else?”

  She smiled. “Well, I didn’t need my sixth sense when the other ones were working so well. I could see you’re great-looking and…and…nice.”

  “Nice?”

  She laughed again. “What do you expect me to say, Luke?” That I thought you were my soul mate five seconds after I met you? She’d sound even crazier than he already suspected she was, but it was almost like that was what he was probing for.

  “I wondered if there was anything, you know, more than nice,” he said.

  Her heart flipped and flopped and tilted and dropped. She didn’t answer, but didn’t move her gaze from his, either. Blood rammed through her veins, making her pulse points jump the way that little vein in his neck throbbed right then.

  “Do you feel it, too?” she whispered.

  He lifted his hand, cupping her cheek and jaw, holding her gaze. “I don’t know what I feel, except…” He searched her face, his expression completely vulnerable and open for the first time all night. “I’m afraid you’ve put a spell on me.”

  She closed her eyes. “Please don’t make fun of me right now.”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, grazing the corner of her mouth and her lower lip. “I’m not.” Pulling her close, he kissed her cheek, his lips so soft and sweet she wanted to moan. “That’s the scary thing.”

  With a sexy sigh of resignation, he closed the space between their mouths and kissed her.

  * * *

  Nice. This kiss was all kinds of nice.

  And nice is what she’d thought of him when they’d met—not the “forever-and-ever love” that Gussie claimed was going on. Relaxing into that thought, Luke opened his mouth enough to taste more of her, to get the caramel sweetness on her tongue, and to let their lips find the perfect fit.

  This was what he wanted, all he wanted. He wasn’t Arielle’s “destiny mate,” or whatever his sister had called it. This attraction was no more than garden-variety sexual desire. And that was just fine. Better than fine.

  They both angled their heads naturally, sinking into the kiss and all the sensations that came with it, the world and water and stars and sky fading away as his every sense focused on the touch and taste of a woman he wanted in every way.

  That’s all this was…not something more.

  A sweet sound escaped her throat, and his tongue found hers. Arielle closed her hands around his neck, drawing him closer, inviting him deeper into her mouth. And he went, wrapping his arms around her as well, finishing the kiss by nibbling her jaw and throat, counting the crazy beat of her blood under his lips.

  “And is this what you thought it would feel like?” he whispered against her skin.

  “Better,” she confessed, tipping her head back to give him more access to sweet skin. “Much better.”

  “And you have thought about it?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She sighed into his mouth, clearly enjoying this every bit as much as he was.

  He slid his hand under her hair, burrowing up into the thick locks as he closed in for another long, deep kiss that tasted like vanilla and cream and sex. Not love. Not forever. But the truth was…

  “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he admitted. Oh, man. “Your hair,” he added quickly, dragging his hand through the length of it, not a single tangle in what had to be damn near two feet of midnight-black silk. “Never felt anything like it.”

  She laughed and leaned her head to the side, tempting him to go right back under her hair for another swipe of the sinfully soft strands. “You’ve never been with a woman with Native American blood, then.”

  “Definitely not.” He lifted a handful of hair and buried his face in it, inhaling the flowery shampoo and salt air that clung to her. “But you probably already know that.”

  “I’m not a mind reader, Luke. I don’t know much at all about you.”

  “Then let’s change that.” He peppered more kisses along her jaw, his hands spreading over her shoulders, aching to slide lower and touch more of her body.

  “You want to tell me things I don’t know?”

  “I want to…” He buried the obvious into another kiss, inching his hand lower to rest on the rise of her breast, and just that little intimacy made him hotter and harder. “I want to go home, Little Mermaid. With you.”

  He started to stand and tried to bring her with him, but she stayed on the bench, holding tight, refusing to move. She searched his face with her exotic eyes, an expression of vulnerability and fear and uncertainty making her more beautiful.

  Completely beautiful. Like no one he’d ever met. Unable to stop himself, he sat back down and closed his hands over her cheeks, holding her face like a precious work of art. “I can’t wait to see you naked.” The confession, rough and raspy, tumbled out, and she didn’t even blink.

  In fact, she didn’t move or breathe or say a word.

  “Too soon?” he asked after a few heartbeats of silence. “Too much? Too—”

  She put her fingers over his mouth, the touch so light it tickled his lips. “Stop talking. Just…feel.”

  The order rolled through him like a thunderclap, making him as still as she was. “Feel what?” He didn’t want to feel anything except her body and her mouth, her hands and her legs—squeezed around him when he slid inside her.

  The thought kicked too much blood to his cock, making it harder.

  “Come on, Ari—”

  “Feel.” She insisted. “This.” She added some pressure against his lips. “Do you feel it?”

  Yes, damn it. He felt it. He felt electricity and desire and some inexplicable deep-seated ache that he assumed started in his balls and wasn’t going to end until he had relief. He felt a little brain dead and foolish, and yet as alert as if he were picking up a weapon and heading into battle. He felt physical things he couldn’t explain and mental things he tried to ignore and something in the vicinity of where he imagined his soul resided, and he sure as shit did not want to figure out what that was.

  How the hell did she do this to him? All he wanted was to take her back to her place and do what their bodies had been charged up to do since they met on that hill.

  Instead, he felt his eyes shutter closed on a frustrated exhale as he plucked through the minefield of feelings and picked some unloaded words. “I feel completely attracted to you, Arielle, and ready to take this to the next natural place.” He kissed her fingers. “If you don’t want to spend the night with me, I get that. Won’t stop me from asking, though.”

  “I just wondered if, with me, you feel anything different from, you know, other girls.”

  Was she asking if he thought they were—or he was—that “one” she talked about? He wanted to know, but then again, he really didn’t.

  “Luke,” she said before he could answer. “I don’t spend the night with…anyone.” She lowered her hand and tried to look down, but he still had her delicate face in his palms, so he kept her chin raised, and she had to meet his gaze. “I’m celibate,” she whispered.

  If he hadn’t seen her say the word, he might not have believed that’s what she said.

  Celibate.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, drawing out the two syllables. “That’s…good.”

  She gave him a look, lifting one brow. “Good is not a word I’d use to describe this state of affairs.”

  That was a relief. “No? I can help you, then.” He tried to inch her closer. “I have what you need.”

  But she didn’t move, except for
the tiniest shake of her head, which sent a thud of disappointment into his gut. And lower.

  “No,” she breathed the word.

  “Is it…me?” he asked.

  Her eyes flashed, and she fought a smile. “I don’t know.”

  Laughing, he leaned back, expecting a sting of rejection, but feeling only…hope. That was weird, but that’s what he felt, and she was the one talking about feelings. “Any chance you’ll change your mind?”

  “Every chance.”

  Hope, and a few other things, rose. “What’ll I have to do? More dates? Flowers? Bared soul? Oh…” The realization hit him. “Stop the building project.”

  “No!” She gasped a little. “I mean, that’s not what you’d have to do. Those two things—the situation with that land and my wanting to be with you—they’re separate.”

  Were they? “But you do want to be with me?”

  “Of course,” she laughed. “Isn’t that obvious?”

  Not at the moment. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is…well, it’s not a problem. It’s a promise. To myself and to…no, really, to myself.”

  He waited, watching the emotions dance over her features, the process of her brain and heart searching for whatever words she needed as pretty as everything else about her.

  “What’s the promise?” he asked.

  “I’m waiting for…someone special.”

  Exactly what he was afraid of. “And I’m not special.”

  “You are, but…” He watched her swallow, fighting with a lot of emotions he didn’t quite understand. “The next, and last and only, person I’m ever going to sleep with will be the one man I’m destined to…love.”

  Luke jerked at the impact of the last whispered word. Tried to breathe. Braced for his body to jump and run screaming into the night. He opened his mouth to tell her that he would never, ever use that word with a woman. That he had once and it had ended badly. So, so badly. He wanted to tell her he made a promise, too. To himself. He would never, ever, ever go near anything that looked or tasted or felt like love.

  Instead, he just stood, because this date was over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Stricken.

  The word had landed on Ari’s heart when she’d made her confession the night before, as loud and clear as the universe could be. It had remained there while she’d ended her date with Luke with all the lightness and casualness she could muster.

  And no arguments from him. They’d driven home, made small talk by mutual, silent consent, and said good-bye with a chaste kiss at the bottom of the stairs that led up to her apartment.

  And all night, alone in bed, she kept hearing the same word in her head.

  He’d looked positively stricken by the fact that she was looking for love—expecting it, really. And waiting for it.

  “Knock, knock.”

  Ari looked up from her desk in the Barefoot Brides office to see the bright eyes and easy smile of Lacey Walker.

  “Good morning, Lacey,” Ari said, rising to greet the woman who wasn’t her boss, but definitely had the final word on everything that happened at the resort.

  “Is it?” Lacey cruised into the office, gathering a handful of reddish-blond curls as she slipped into one of the chairs at the conference table. “I think I slept two hours last night.”

  “You don’t look it.” Lacey somehow never appeared truly exhausted by her giant job. “Did Elijah have a bad night?” Ari asked, referring to the adorable toddler who often visited the Casa Blanca administrative offices, much to everyone’s delight.

  “Elijah slept like the baby he is,” Lacey said with a laugh. “Don’t believe people who tell you the little ones cost you sleep. It was my teenage daughter who had me up all night finishing college applications.”

  “Ashley’s going to college next year?”

  Lacey looked skyward. “If the apps made it. Of course she was submitting within ten minutes of the deadline.” She shook her head and laughed. “That girl will be the death of me.” She glanced around. “You all alone today?”

  “Gussie’s on her way in, and Willow is…” Ari put her hands up and looked toward the heavens. “Cruising around the Keys and the Bahamas on Nate Ivory’s yacht.”

  “Speaking of one of our resident billionaires.” Lacey waved a manila file folder. “I see his wedding to Liza Lemanski is on the schedule for spring. Which is why I popped over here.”

  “Is there a problem with the date?” Ari asked. “He really wants it to coincide with the opening of the minor league stadium.”

  “No problem at all!” Lacey exclaimed. “It’s going to be an amazing, high-profile wedding with all manner of celebrities showing up. The new villas we’ve added will be done, and we’ll need every one, and a ramped-up staff. Honestly, I just came over to sing your praises. The Barefoot Brides is helping this resort be extremely profitable.”

  Ari beamed. “We’re so happy we chose Casa Blanca as our home base, Lacey. Your staff couldn’t be more wonderful.”

  It was Lacey’s turn to grin at the compliment. “When I think that not so many years ago, my daughter and I stood in rubble with no idea what to do with my grandfather’s land…” She didn’t finish and Ari jumped on the chance she’d been looking for.

  “Your grandfather, one of the founders of the island. Along with Balzac Valentine.”

  She nodded. “They were part of the original settlers of Mimosa Key.”

  “Maybe not the most original,” Ari said, choosing her words carefully. “Surely this island was part of the great Indian nation of Florida.”

  Lacey’s golden eyes sparked. “Oh, I do believe it was, Ari, thousands of years ago.”

  “Did you grandfather, or his friends, ever find anything to prove that?” Ari asked.

  She leaned back, thinking. “The Indian face.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t mean to be politically incorrect. That’s just what he called it.”

  Ari waved off the apology, a surprising shudder shimmying through her. “What he called what?”

  “He had this…like a face made out of wood.”

  “A tribal mask?” Ari suggested.

  “I guess, I don’t know. I remember it from when I was a little girl. The paint was faded and chipped, but it was very authentic looking.”

  “Where is it?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. A mask like that could help an expert identify the tribe that lived here and prove that Native Americans had inhabited Mimosa Key.

  Lacey gave her head a negative shake. “Gone with the wind that swept through Barefoot Bay, I’m afraid. That hurricane was ruthless with our stuff.”

  Ari tamped down disappointment. “Do you know where he found it?”

  “No clue at all.”

  “Any pictures of it?”

  Lacey laughed. “You really want to see that face, don’t you?”

  “I’d like to—”

  “You better be in there, Ari Chandler!” Gussie’s voice came from down the hall, along with her footsteps moving at a fast clip. “Because you better spill every blasted detail and not leave out a single thing—” Gussie popped into the doorway, a coffee cup in each hand, a pack of mail under her chin, her green eyes glinting like gems. “Oh, hi, Lacey. Sorry to be screaming in the halls.”

  Lacey laughed, taking one of the coffees so Gussie could grab the envelopes with her free hand. “Like I don’t bring a toddler in here to scream in the halls.” She put the coffee in front of Ari. “I take it that’s for her.”

  “Unless you want it,” Ari said quickly.

  “No, thanks. I better get to a staff meeting.” Lacey tapped Gussie’s shoulder, offering her the seat she was vacating. “Where I will announce that we’re having the Ivory wedding here in the spring, thanks to you terrific bridal consultants. And sorry I don’t have more details for you, Ari. I’ll ask my mom if she remembers anything about that mask or has a picture. I doubt it, though.”
>
  “Thanks,” Ari said, giving a wave good-bye. Before she could take a sip of coffee, Gussie practically launched forward.

  “I know he’s my brother, so I don’t want, you know, the goriest of gory details, but you better tell me everything anyway, including…” Her voice faded, thank God. “Why don’t you look happy?”

  Ari blinked at her. “I don’t look anything.”

  “Exactly. You should be rapturous.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Gussie looked as confused as Ari felt. “Didn’t you spend the night with Luke last night?”

  “I did not.”

  Gussie shook her head, not buying it. “He never came home after his dinner date with you. I wasn’t born yesterday, Ari.”

  He hadn’t gone home last night? A slow tendril of dread wended through her. “Where did he go?”

  Gussie coughed on her sip of coffee. “I thought he was with you. I thought you guys had—”

  “We didn’t,” Ari said. “We”—almost did, but then I told him the truth—“said good night at the bottom of the stairs, and I went up to my apartment. I’d assumed he went to yours.”

  Gussie frowned. “That’s weird. Where else would he stay?”

  “Maybe he came and went before you noticed.”

  “I would have heard him. What did you two talk about?” Gussie asked.

  “Oh, the usual. Life, work, the house he’s building, the fact that I won’t…don’t…can’t…”

  Gussie’s shoulders dropped with disappointment. “You turned him down?”

  “I just met him,” Ari fired back, remembering all too well a similar conversation they’d had when Gussie met Tom. “Do you expect me to fall into bed with him?”

  “You said he’s The One.”

  Ari sucked in a breath. “I didn’t tell you that, Gussie.” Of that she was certain.

  “You did, after you met him, you said you’d met The One. You didn’t tell me that it was Luke. But I put Two and Two together and came up with Obvious.”

  A slow drain of blood started in Ari’s brain, filling her chest with more dread. “You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

  “I…” Gussie paled, too. “I might have. You know how I, um, don’t always filter. Didn’t you tell him?”