Barefoot by the Sea bb-4

by Roxanne St Claire

  Hartgrave stopped about two feet from Ian, who didn’t say a word. They were about the same height, but the other man had marshmallow where Ian had muscle. He could kill Grace Hartgrave’s husband, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was land on the radar of local law enforcement.

  “I talked to my wife.”

  He should do more than talk to her; maybe then she wouldn’t throw herself at strangers. Ian just nodded.

  “She said you made a pass at her.”

  “She’s lying,” he said simply.

  “Gracie don’t lie.” Beads of sweat formed on his oversized forehead, his face the flushed red of a heavy drinker.

  Ian pressed his lips together, meeting his opponent’s narrow gaze. “She did this time.”

  “You see her last night?”

  “I saw her, but I didn’t see her.”

  Hartgrave’s fist balled as he raised it. “See this, motherfucker?”

  Ian didn’t look at the fist, instead hearing Henry’s parting shot. Stay out of trouble. “She was in the restaurant.”

  “And you stalked her in the parking lot.”

  “That’s not my version of the events.”

  He took another step closer, his gaze flickering to the bike behind Ian, then back to Ian’s face. “You touch my wife, you’ll never see that motorcycle again.”

  Ian nodded.

  “It’ll be in the bottom of that bay.”

  Another nod.

  “With your dead body on it.”

  Ire shot through his veins, the image of Luther Vane flashing in his brain at the threat. He wasn’t the least bit scared of this blowhard in front of him, but what if the N1L got to Hartgrave somehow? As preposterous as that seemed thousands of miles and an ocean away, what if Ian told Tessa the truth and she whispered it to a friend and that led to a stray comment? Really, how many degrees of separation was this man from Darius or Luther Vane?

  Right then, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter what he felt, how much guilt pained him, how hurt she’d be, he couldn’t tell Tessa the truth.

  In fact, he had to do the opposite.

  “Did she mention to you that I got engaged to Tessa Galloway?”

  The other man frowned. “What? You just got here.”

  Ian shrugged. “Love at first sight, my friend. She’s wedding-dress shopping right now. We’re hoping you and Grace make the beachfront wedding.”

  He scowled, slowly lowering his fist. “That don’t mean you won’t try and get what you can from my wife before you got your own problems.”

  Not bothering to argue, Ian shook his head. “I like what I have, pal.”

  Hartgrave snorted. “You like what I have.” But the conviction was gone from his voice, and maybe a little bit of the threat. “Remember what I said.”

  He took a few steps back and turned around to go to his truck, throwing one last glare over his shoulder at Ian, who stayed right where he was until Hartgrave’s truck had disappeared, taking any hope of telling Tessa the truth with it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Tessa’s soft gasp as she looked in the mirror was drowned out by Zoe’s squeal and Lacey’s “Aww” and Jocelyn’s slow clap of approval. Ashley watched from the floor of the dressing area, smiling up when she wasn’t texting.

  “That’s so totally it,” Zoe announced, fluttering around the dressing stage like a robin over her nest. “That neckline, that bodice, that little row of pearls. Love!”

  Tessa took a minute to look down and smooth the cool silk over her hips. The handkerchief hemline rose and fell flirtatiously around her ankles and calves, making it perfect for a beach wedding. The fabric had a shell-pink cast to it, so it didn’t scream virginal first-time bride. And the tiny rosebuds along the portrait neckline made her hurt with how perfect they were.

  Perfect for Tessa, not Zoe.

  “You’d never wear this,” she said. “I should have tried on that one with the gold belt and plunging neckline.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I loved that dress, but this one is…it’s you.”

  “Precisely,” Tessa said, glancing at the others for an assist that was clearly not coming. “I thought this was going to be your wedding dress.”

  “Well, just in case, you should buy it.”

  Three—no, four—heads nodded in agreement with Zoe.

  “You guys! I’m not spending…” She reached down to look at the tag, but of course there wasn’t one. She wasn’t in a department store; they’d come to an exclusive Naples boutique that reeked of money. “Whatever it costs.”

  “It’s so pretty, Aunt Tess. You could wear it for any fancy thing.”

  “But you all want me to buy it for a farce of a wedding?”

  “What makes you think it’s a farce?”

  “Lacey!” Tessa choked on her name.

  “Seriously, Tess,” she continued, getting up from her comfy viewing chaise to approach the stage. “The way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. I mean, did you see the look on his face when you said you’d be trying on dresses? Maybe you can wear it twice—once for the bridal consultants and, again…later.”

  Why were they all helping to build up her hope?

  The next “You guys are nuts” welled up, but somehow the words didn’t come out. They weren’t completely nuts. He had given her the dreamiest smile. And last night, under the stars, they’d kissed for hours and talked more—not about him, but about all kinds of things.

  There was no way that guy didn’t like her a lot. And vice versa.

  She turned back to the mirror, the rush of seeing herself in the dress washing away common sense and reality and questions.

  “Buy the dress, baby,” Zoe said. “No alterations and it fits like a dream. And you have to have something to wear for the big event.”

  “Can’t I just wear a pretty dress I already own?”

  “I’m afraid the consultants won’t buy it,” Lacey said.

  “Ash?” Tessa asked, but she was texting. Finally, Ashley tore her gaze from the screen to look up and, from the glint in her eyes, Tessa knew exactly whose name was on that phone.

  “What?” Ashley asked from her residence in la-la land.

  “I was hoping for the voice of reason.”

  “I think if he makes you feel good and you really love him, then go for it.”

  Tessa narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to pretend I love him,” Tessa said. “But…” She grazed the smooth fabric again. “If I have to pretend to get married…”

  They all waited, hanging for the verdict, but she blew out a breath and looked around, as if he might show up at any minute.

  “I’m really falling for him,” she whispered, so softly Zoe had to step closer to hear her. “I mean, like, whoa and damn, girls, I am really falling for him.”

  Jocelyn joined Zoe, closing in. “And that’s a problem, why?”

  “Because I still sometimes think—no, I actually know—he’s not telling me everything about himself. He even admitted there was more than he was telling, but refused to disclose.”

  “Give him time,” Jocelyn said. “Some men take eons to open up.”

  “Still,” she said. “It scares me.”

  “Relationships are scary,” Lacey said. “You think he’s not telling you everything. And I thought Clay was too young and Joss thought Will was too close to her father and Zoe thought Oliver would tie her down.”

  “He does, occasionally.”

  On the floor, Ashley giggled. “Aunt Tessa, I think they’re trying to tell you that every new guy has problems but, if it’s true and lasting and honest, you’ll overcome them.”

  Lacey beamed at her. “Right you are, baby girl.”

  Ashley smiled back, then gave a knowing and hopeful look to Tessa. “Are you listening?”

  “Yes,” Tessa assured them. “But this is different. It seems like every time we get close, he shuts down.”

  “He’s a guy,” Jocelyn said. “They don’t see the n
eed to spill their guts. It doesn’t mean he’s not getting ready to. He obviously really cares about you.”

  Tessa nodded, then looked in the mirror again as Zoe climbed up on the bride’s stage and slipped an arm around her. “He’s got a lot of promise, is all we’re saying.”

  She curled her arm around Zoe and, as she pulled her in for a hug, got a nudge from the baby belly. “There is the little matter of how much I want a child.”

  “Is he opposed completely to the idea?” Zoe asked. “My God, surely he’d offer up some of his liquid gold when he sees you in that dress, if not before.” She shot a look at Ashley. “I guess you’re old enough to get those jokes now.”

  “I know what liquid gold is, Aunt Zoe,” Ashley said quietly and held up a hand to Lacey. “Don’t, Mom.”

  Lacey shot her a surprised look, but then turned to Tessa. “Honey, I don’t care what he says. I saw that man hold Elijah and he wants a baby. It was all over his face. He’s probably terrified to admit it, but he couldn’t hide how taken he was with that child. Give him time, Tess.”

  Maybe she was right. Maybe they all were. “I’m cautious,” Tessa said. “And I don’t trust easily. I don’t really know if he’s marriage material or daddy material or donor material or a good time in the garden.”

  “In the garden?” Zoe spat. “You did it in the garden?”

  Ashley’s head shot up, her text forgotten.

  “We did not do it,” Tessa said. “We talked, really. And kissed.”

  “That tells you so much about him,” Lacey said.

  “That he’s made of titanium?” Zoe asked.

  “That it’s real for him,” Lacey insisted. “He respects you.”

  Tessa fought the urge to underscore the point with Ashley, who was facedown in a text, anyway.

  The boutique attendant knocked on the dressing-room door and peeked in. “Do we have a winner?”

  “Not yet,” Ashley said.

  “Maybe,” Zoe added.

  “Working on her,” Lacey chimed in.

  They all looked at Tessa, waiting for the final answer. “Possibly” hung on her lips to finish the chorus, but then she turned and looked in the mirror and went a little crazy. “I’ll take it.”

  The last dinner customer left the Casa Blanca restaurant at eleven, so Ian texted Tessa that he’d be at work until well after midnight, too late for a rendezvous dinner like they’d had the past few nights. It was actually well after one by the time he finished the kitchen cleanup.

  So he wasn’t surprised to see her bungalow shrouded in darkness when he got home. The only thing that surprised him was how disappointed he felt. All he wanted to do was be with her. Kiss her. Make her laugh. Take their constant touching and foreplay one step farther.

  Not good, mate. Not good at all.

  Swearing softly, he turned off his bike and sat in the circular drive shared by both little houses, staring at her darkened windows. This was probably better.

  The more time they spent together—and the hours were adding up—the more he wanted to tell her the truth. Among other things. God, so many other things. He’d touched her, felt her quiver with an orgasm, kissed her breasts, and walked away with a woody the size of Big Ben.

  He could feel one growing right now, thinking about her in bed.

  Why the hell wasn’t he in there with her?

  Because of some trumped-up, fucked-up plan to fool her into signing a piece of paper. He’d talked to Henry once more, and although they weren’t quite sure how it would unfold yet, he was onboard with the wedding plans. It was possible that Tessa would sign a piece of paper thinking it was part of the act, but, in reality, it would be a legitimate wedding certificate.

  Then Henry could get the whole thing annulled when Ian disappeared. Tessa quite possibly wouldn’t even know she’d ever been married. The only other plan was to actually convince her to marry him, then claim cold feet and disappear after the wedding.

  She’d hate him and be heartbroken, but he’d have Shiloh and Sam and they could start a new life, hopefully while they were so young they wouldn’t even remember the old one.

  “John? What are you doing out here?” He hadn’t even heard the front door open.

  In the doorway, she was bathed in moonlight that shimmered over a thin tank top, so silky sheer that he could see right through it. Her long legs were exposed all the way up to the top of her thighs, barely covered in black shorts that looked like a very sexy version of men’s boxers.

  Holy bloody hell, he wanted her.

  “Somehow I imagined you slept in a men’s nightshirt.”

  “Nice to know you think about such things.”

  “Only constantly.”

  She leaned her head against the doorjamb, a sleepy sigh carried on the breeze and giving him chills. “I heard your bike, but not your bungalow door.”

  He liked that she listened so carefully. “Can I come in?”

  She swallowed and lifted a narrow, toned shoulder, the skin glistening from recently applied lotion. “It’s late.”

  He climbed off the bike and walked to her door. “I need…” You. “A shower.”

  She lifted a brow in question and pointed one finger toward his bungalow. “You have running water.”

  “So do you.”

  She crossed her arms as he reached her, the act pure self-defense. “Not sure I can take the torture.”

  “Torture?” He got right in front of her, the scent of that body lotion a mix of flowers and fields and female.

  “Of having you naked in my shower.”

  He lowered his face. “You could join me.”

  She lifted her lips and let him brush hers, the contact electric, the need instant. He opened his mouth and she did the same, letting their tongues tangle in an easy familiarity.

  She moaned softly in response, taking one step back into the bungalow. Behind her, a few candles flickered on the table next to two glasses of wine, very soft music coming from a sound system.

  “You were waiting for me,” he accused, a tease in his voice.

  “Maybe.”

  He stroked from her shoulder over her breast, palming her, thumbing her, instantly getting rewarded by a puckered nipple. “I like that.” He ground the words into her mouth, his dick already high and mighty and not giving a shit about why and when and what he was doing.

  “I thought you might come over.”

  He tore his hands from her breasts, placing them on her face to push her hair off and look at how pretty she was. “I might not know too much about these things, but isn’t anything after midnight officially considered a booty call?”

  She grinned. “Yeah.”

  “So, is this…?”

  She shrugged both shoulders playfully. “Could be.”

  Before any voice of reason, guilt, or doubt could scream “Stop!” in his head, he kissed her and everything went silent except for the hum in his veins as blood began its journey to the one and only place that didn’t listen to reason, guilt, or doubt.

  “Tessa,” he whispered, inching her back into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  She responded with an equally hot kiss, pulling him deeper into the bungalow, pressed completely against him.

  “Then don’t,” she said. “I was just thinking about you, as a matter of fact. I was…” She grunted softly into the kiss. “Thinking really hard.”

  He half laughed, half moaned at the sexy, sexy way she said that, guiding her into the living room. “What were you thinking about?”

  “You.”

  He caressed the silky top, lingering over her sweet little breast.

  “That.”

  Taking the nipple between his thumb and index finger, he gently tweaked, kissing her throat and jaw and ears.

  “And that,” she said.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Everything else.”

  Forget the shower. The sofa was closer. “Everything
else,” he repeated, adding pressure to lay her down. “I better hear about this.”

  She kissed him as he dropped onto the cushions; all the while he touched her breasts and hips and stomach, the round, feminine curve causing a fire hose of blood and heat and pain to rush to an already stiff cock.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking about. Too…personal.” She wrapped her legs around his, letting him take the most natural place on top of her, their hips already rocking, pulses pounding.

  “Were you touching yourself?” he asked, devouring the idea of her making herself come while thinking about him.

  “Maybe a little.”

  Oh, the admission squeezed his balls. He slipped under the satin top to touch air-soft skin, thumbing her budded nipple to make her whole body shudder. “Like this?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Nothing like this. This is better.”

  He tweaked her nipple playfully, his erection slamming against his jeans, forcing him to press it against her pelvic bone. He dragged his hand lower, over ribs, toward her hips. “Where else did you touch?”

  “Here.” She reached between them, sliding her hands down to rub the ridge of his cock. “You know, in my imagination.”

  His hard-on damn near danced. “Like that?”

  She sighed, then slipped her hand behind the button of his jeans, reaching in and closing over his hot shaft. “More like this.”

  Murmuring and moaning, he closed his eyes and lifted off her enough to let her get the zipper down. He burst out, making them both suck in a shocked breath.

  “Oh, it’s better than I imagined,” she admitted, stroking him slowly from top to bottom.

  And better than he’d dreamed. Her fingers squeezed, slipping over the already wet tip, then all the way down, burning from top to bottom, making him throb with the need for even more.

  He kissed her hard, his hands traveling everywhere, his head screaming conflicting orders to stop or go, touch or talk, think or feel, and, oh, man, just fuck. The need swallowed him whole, wiping out everything else, raw relief engulfing him because he was finally, finally going to have her.