Table of Contents
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds
Dear Readers
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Dear Readers,
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Paradise by Design
Barefoot Bay Kindle World
Barbara Barrett
Table of Contents
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds
Dear Readers
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Paradise by Design. This book is entirely the work of author Barbara Barrett, a wonderful contemporary romance writer and good friend of mine.
Barbara takes us behind the scenes to the world of architecture and design for a chance to fall in love with two damaged souls who desperately need to feel whole again. Best of all, it’s a reunion romance, and there can never be enough of those in Barefoot Bay! Enjoy!
Roxanne St. Claire
PS. If you’d like to read all of the Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds novels, or would like to explore the possibility of writing your own book set in my world, stop by www.roxannestclaire.com for details!
Dear Readers,
I am so pleased you chose to read Paradise by Design. I hope you enjoy reading Drew and Keegan’s story as much as I enjoyed creating it. This is my first novella-length romance novel. I’m accustomed to writing stories with at least double the words. When I asked my writer friends how to write a shorter book that still contained all the elements of a longer novel, they advised to start with a hero and heroine who already know each other. I ran with their counsel and set up a broken engagement where neither one had gotten over the other and moved on with their life. What better place for them to run into each for the first time than Roxanne St. Claire’s world of Barefoot Bay, where the balmy breeze off the Florida Gulf Coast and the jewel box splendor of Casa Blanca Resort & Spa lend their charms to this long-overdue reunion.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review with your bookseller or send your comments to [email protected]. Read about my current and past projects on my website at: http://barbarabarrettbooks.com
Books by Barbara Barrett
The Matchmaking Motor Coach Series
The Sleepover Clause
Seduction on Wheels
Keeping It Casual
Sullivan’s Creek Series
Saved by the Salsa
Tough Enough to Tango
Not Your Mama’s Mambo (release late 2016)
Stand-alone Romance Novels
And He Cooks Too
Driven to Matrimony
Acknowledgements
I am so pleased to be part of the third launch group of Barefoot Bay Kindle World authors. Thank you Roxanne St. Claire (Rocki) for opening your world of Barefoot Bay where other authors like me can explore the lives and loves of its residents and visitors. I appreciate the time you took to answer my numerous questions about characters, setting and the history of the BB series.
Thanks also to the BBKW authors for their advice and support as I got my feet wet in this venture. It has been a learning experience for me that will serve me well in future projects.
Barbara Barrett
Chapter One
The pencil lead broke after five stabs, but most of the drawing still remained. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Drew Honeywell snapped the writing implement in half like it was uncooked pasta, but the cracking sound provided little satisfaction, so she flung both sections across the room. Why had she thought she could still do this? She hadn’t turned out a decent design in months. Not since Kerry stole her ideas and passed them off as her own.
Drew thought—hoped—this time would be different. She’d seen the dress so clearly in her head. Why hadn’t the vision translated to paper?
She ripped her latest effort from the pad and regarded it one more time. “Still rubbish.” No good lines, derivative. Something any first year student in fashion design could whip out in a minute. “So much for you.” She wadded it up and dumped the drawing in the wastebasket.
“What’s with all the negativity? Are my files getting to you?” Her father, Burgess Honeywell, paperback mystery still in hand, had returned from the patio. Unlike Drew, who was clad in cut-off jeans and an oversized tee, he wore a tropical shirt and swim trunks, sunglasses propped on his head.
Damn. Now she’d alerted him to her frustration. He’d been so delighted when she accepted his invitation to stay a week at this luxury resort while she worked on his project she didn’t want to spoil his mood. “Sorry, Dad. Go back to your reading. I, uh, just mixed up these pages, and the data wasn’t computing.”
Instead of returning to his comfy lounge chair, though, Honeywell moved farther into the room and stooped to pick up one piece of the pencil she’d pitched. “Missing something?”
Great. He’d not only heard her annoyance, he now had physical evidence. She spotted the other half before he did and shot from her chair to retrieve it. “Don’t mind these. Guess I needed an outlet for my irritation.”
“Maybe it’s time you took a break. Put on that new bathing suit and go soak up some rays. We have our own private pool at this fancy place. You should take advantage of it.”
“Fancy it is. Tell me again how we can afford it.”
He ambled over to the desk where she was seated and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I told you, I worked out a deal for a week’s stay with the owner, Lacey Walker, because our families go way back.” He deposited his half of the pencil in the wastebasket. “What’s this?” He fished out the crumpled sketch.
She tried to grab it, but he jerked away from her grasping hands. “Not so fast. Is this what I think it is? You’re designing again?”
Might as well come clean. He wouldn’t drop the subject until she explained. At least a litt
le. “You caught me. I thought I actually had something. But it’s terrible. Throw it back in the garbage, where it belongs.”
But the man appeared to think otherwise. He smoothed the pock-marked paper and studied what she’d produced. “Nice dress. I like how one side of the collar is larger than the other. What’s wrong with it?”
The recovered design made her cringe. She scooped it up and sent it back to its grave in the trash. “It isn’t special enough.”
“Explain.”
Why wouldn’t he leave this alone? All she wanted was to forget her abysmal attempt to revive her career and get back to the monotony of his files. “It seemed so new and fresh when it first came to mind, but by the time it was on paper, the inspiration failed to materialize.”
He pulled a chair up next to her but didn’t comment. He waited for her to share more.
She released a sigh. How many of those was one allowed before the lungs collapsed? “Except for the collar being reversed, it was the same design as one Kerry took.” She kept her voice low, hating herself for having to admit as much.
He placed a hand on hers. “Sorry.”
“In my mind the skirt was longer, asymmetrical, and there wasn’t any collar. So how or why did it emerge like it did? It’s like my brain is stuck in the past and can’t move forward.”
“Isn’t just the fact you took pencil to paper again a good sign? You’ve been so miserable.”
She sucked in her lips and shook her head. “I’m sorry to have put you through all that, Dad. I should’ve moved out months ago and let you get on with your life.”
His grip tightened. “How can you even suggest that, kiddo? You’re the one who put your life on hold. You stuck with me and believed in me throughout my ordeal. Then, when I was too shell-shocked with my own situation, you took care of your mother until she passed.”
“You’re my only family. Any child would have done the same.”
He withdrew his hand and leaned back to study her. “But you also had Keegan, and you called off your marriage to him because of me.”
She pulled her hand away and clutched her stomach as a bolt of pain sliced through her insides, pain she’d not even experienced after Kerry’s betrayal.
He leaned closer. “Drew? Are you all right?”
She took a few breaths. “I’ll be fine, as long as you don’t mention my former fiancé. You promised not to bring him up again. It’s the only way I’ve been able to keep going.”
“I know, but seeing you design once more, even if you claim what you did stunk, suggests you’re ready to move ahead. Perhaps it’s time to allow him back in your life as well, if only as a wonderful memory.”
He sounded so hopeful. Better not tell him today’s sketch wasn’t the first but one of many disappointing recent attempts to get back in the groove.
As for Keegan—there, she’d let her mind think his name—no, it was not time to unbury her memories, happy as they’d been. “Breaking our engagement was the right thing to do, Dad,” maybe the only thing she could have done, “but getting over him was so hard, I can’t open that door again.”
He continued to study her, his eyes, amber like hers, narrowed, as if debating whether to pursue the subject or let it go. At length, he rose, patted her sandy blonde hair. “Don’t let this setback with your design get to you. I still think it’s a good omen. As for you-know-who, I won’t push, but don’t dismiss what I said. You deserve to be happy again. He may be the key.”
Burgess Honeywell reclaimed his book and sauntered toward the patio. He meant well. Probably still felt guilty the scandal surrounding his investment firm had ruined not only her career at the fashion house but also her plans with Keegan. He shouldn’t. She’d told him as much more than once since those days. She’d made the decision to quit her job when it got too hard to withstand the rumors, and she’d been the one to call off the wedding.
Time to refocus on her current project, although she still didn’t understand why, four years later, the man insisted his various records be incorporated into one coherent file. For his protection, he’d said. In case some future rookie investigator wanting to make a name for himself chose to reopen the case. Should that contingency occur, he planned to be ready.
Brisk knocking at the outside door interrupted her thoughts. Who would be calling? No one, other than the staff, who kept a discreet distance, knew they were here.
“Dad? Can you get the door?” No response from the patio. The man could hear her frustration from out there but not someone banging on the door. Go figure.
Fine. Anything to take her away from the tedium of this project. She went to the door, swung it wide and…gasped. A fist of shock punched her stomach, and her brain refused to process the image of the man who filled the doorframe. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not after all these years.
Memories, feelings she’d tried so hard to suppress turned traitor and rushed back to clog her heart. Her voice refused to work. Her body seemed planted in place, unable to move.
“Drew?”
She’d always wondered what she’d do if she ever saw him again. The moment of decision had arrived.
Instinct, or rather, some deep-seated fear took over. She slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Two
Keegan Bock froze in front of the villa’s massive wooden door, his hand suspended in midair, the spit knocked out of him. The woman on the other side was Drew Honeywell, his former fiancée, he was sure of it, even though he’d had mere seconds to glimpse her. What had started out as one more routine shoot for his travel show just got interesting.
What was she doing here? More to the point, who was with her? Had she found someone else? A horrible thought clamped his gut: was this her honeymoon? This resort clustered around Barefoot Bay was known for its destination weddings. It had been four years since their own wedding went down the crapper, her idea, not his. It made sense she’d moved on in the intervening years, especially since Burgess Honeywell had been found innocent and her mother was gone.
He pounded on the door again, keeping his voice firm but non-threatening. This wasn’t the first time she’d refused to see him since calling things off, but it was time for both of them to get past that. “Drew? It’s Keegan. Open up.” He’d fantasized about this day on more than one sleepless night. Waking up had left him feeling hollow, his fella stiff.
The door remained closed, no response from the other side. He could either go all macho and break it down—like that would happen, he was in good physical condition but this was mahogany and he wasn’t stupid—or he could continue standing on the threshold looking like an idiot. Or he could do as he’d done the last time and give up. He’d never forgiven himself for caving before he convinced her to give them one more shot. But she’d left him little choice then, as was the case now.
He shoved his hands in his shorts pockets and stomped back to his own villa.
His assistant producer, Ainsley Hilton, was the first to comment as he charged through the great room on his way to the kitchen. “Were you successful?”
“Is nine in the morning too early for a margarita?”
Tony Cardoso, his sound man, handed him a bottle of water instead. “The occupant refused to let us shoot the interior?”
“Never got that far.”
The third member of his small location team, Bo Randall, the cameraman, offered a platter of cinnamon rolls. “Then here, forget your aversion to carbs for once and let the sugar drown your troubles.”
Ainsley settled on one of the bar stools flanking the kitchen’s granite-topped peninsula. “Even with that killer smile you couldn’t convince the guest to give us access to the villa for an hour?”
Keegan shook his head.
“Are you losing it, boss?”
She was kidding, but her question wasn’t far off from the ones he’d been asking himself of late. “The occupant turned out to be my former fiancée. How’s that for ironies? She took one look at me and shut the door in my face.”
All three team members dropped their jaws, their eyes wide.
Ainsley rested her chin in her palm. “You told me once the two of you parted on good terms. Sounds like she’s not in the market for a happy reunion.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I caught her off guard. Thought I’d check with Clay Walker, our host, and see what he knows.”
“I can’t believe the architect who designed this place is actually our tour guide,” Bo said. “I checked him out on the Internet. Besides this resort, which is more than spectacular, he’s done some nice stuff.”
“That he has.” Keegan eyed the pastries. Temptation beckoned, but he restrained himself. “They’ve got this new marketing person, Emma Solomon, who isn’t content to let their already great rep rest. Ever since she learned Clay and I were classmates, she’s been on him to get us here.”
Tony, the oldest of the crew and ten years Keegan’s senior, feasted on a box of Belgian chocolates. “The woman has my enduring gratitude, since the three of us rarely are invited to stay on-site with you. If I’d known what a decadent lifestyle you’ve been subjected to, I’d have considered hosting my own cable show long ago. This is definitely the life.”
Yeah, right. Definitely the life. If he only knew. But Keegan could understand Tony’s reaction. The first couple years in this job, though demanding, had been one great ride. Hosts went out of their way to assure he enjoyed his stays so his commentaries would reflect his satisfaction. Not that “Paradise by Design” got caught up ranking the world’s most exclusive hideaways. Instead, the show provided the audience a peek at sanctuaries they might never see otherwise.
Those were the early days. But even opulence could get old. To stay in shape, he soon learned he could rarely treat himself to the gourmet food, and usually there wasn’t time to enjoy amenities like fully stocked bars and wine cellars, spa treatments and world class golf courses. He’d also discovered the behind-the-scenes sleaze and exploitation that underpinned parts of the industry and more than once had been forced to juggle what he reported with his own integrity.
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