Barefoot Bay: Only In Your Arms (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Debra Fisk

  Now, Noah sat on the beach on a towel and waited for Ana and their accidental meeting. Even with sunglasses on, when he looked up, he needed to shield his eyes from the bright ball of fire glowing on the horizon. Ana ran toward him with a look of joy on her face. She was wearing a lime green loosely cropped tank top with an open neckline. Her arms looked toned, like she worked out, yet feminine. Her shapely legs were long and lean. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a matching neon green cap. A few sprints and she’d reached him and jogged in place while she spoke.

  “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to work anyplace else,” she commented.

  For some people, this would be an ideal paradise to live and work in. However, for people like Noah, the city was in his blood. He needed the fast pace of New York. His soul would get restless in a place like this with too much peace and quiet. He wasn’t sure retirement would ever be for him. Dealing with the city rat race kept his mind from delving into the past.

  “I haven’t been here long enough to decide, but I’d say my life is going to be different,” he said.

  “I bet it has an effect on most people. Leaving the world back home and diving into living here, I don’t know, I would probably miss the change of seasons, don’t you think?”

  Noah pondered the idea of cold snow and ice versus the sunshine and tropical climate. It was a bit of a stretch to say he’d miss the cold. “I can’t say I’d be disappointed if I didn’t have to go to work in minus temperatures.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to wait and see in a few months.”

  It didn’t matter. He’d be back in New York by the end of the week if his plan worked.

  “I need to make the most of every second I’m here. This dream vacation will be over, and I’ll be back in New Jersey wishing for warmer weather.” The early signs of autumn had started to appear in the Northeast right before she’d left.

  “Change can be difficult but fun.”

  She stopped jogging in place and tugged a section of the towel so she could sit down next to him and sighed. “Beautiful morning.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, sending a jolt to his groin. She smelled sugary. Coconut with a hint of vanilla. His inner sugar god awakened. He licked his lips, searching for the sweetness, only to receive a burst of salt.

  A soft groan escaped his lips, and his heart slammed against the walls of his chest. “There is an abundance of beauty here.”

  Ana triggered a sexual response within him without even trying. She created a heat he hadn’t felt in years. Sadness pressed to the surface, and he tried to tuck it away. Once she uncovered the deceit and his true identity, his search for Marco, Noah doubted Ana would have anything to do with him again.

  He tamped down his thoughts, trying to savor the little time they had. Marco was guilty, and guilty men had to pay. It ripped open the old wound of what happened to his father. It had taken years for justice to be served. His father had been forced to work harder after his partner drained their business bank accounts. Their family suffered, and it wasn’t until much, much later that his father had turned the disadvantage into an advantage. Donovan International was the premier real estate corporation in the country. Noah had no desire to work in the family business. That was reserved for his brother Blayze.

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “What’s interesting?”

  “The Golden Ticket Contest will be life changing. One lucky woman will be fortunate enough for the top entrepreneurs in the world to invest in her business. It’s a slam dunk. The winner will be set on the path to success. A dream come true.”

  She wrapped her hand around his arm and gave it a slight squeeze. “When you say it like that, I want someone to pinch me. I can’t believe I’m here. Today will be interesting. My competition will be exposed. I’ll have to up my game.”

  “I know you’ll wow them this morning.” Like you wowed me. He turned to study her profile. Long lashes, a fine nose, and full lips. A few loose strands of dark hair escaped from under the cap, framing her face. If it was a beauty contest, she’d win hands down.

  “When it’s over, maybe we can tour the island.” And look for your brother. “I have a feeling there are some hidden secrets to discover.”

  *****

  Ana held on to a poker face. Call it intuition, guilt, nerves, or the inability to lie that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Did Noah know about Marco? Impossible. Right? Through a plastic smile, she squeaked, “I’d love to.”

  Then, in one swift movement, she jumped up, dusted off a few grains of sand, and explained that she needed to get back to get ready.

  Back in the safety of her villa, she showered and dressed quickly in the silk suit she’d purchased in New York City. It was cool white with black trim, created by a designer she’d never heard of. The second she and Crystal had set eyes on it, they both said, “That’s it.” After a brief swoon at the price tag—the skirt alone had cost almost a week’s salary, the camisole and matching blazer a few weeks more—Crystal persuaded Ana to try it on.

  In the fitting room, they’d marveled at how well it fit. On the proverbial high of the competition, they slapped high fives in the dressing room, positive Ana would win. This morning, she didn’t know how she’d be able to pitch her product when her heart drummed so loudly in her ears.

  Wrapping her hair in a French knot, she applied the finishing touches to her makeup, all the while talking out loud to keep calm and her nerves in check. “A few more strokes of mascara and then—”

  The phone—she’d set it on the vanity—buzzed and fell into the empty sink. Startled, she poked her eye with the mascara wand. An unknown number glowed on the screen. She snatched it up, attempting to answer while trying to stop the fire in her right eye from piercing her brain.

  “Marco?” Her eyes watered from the painful irritation, and her makeup began to melt down her face. Damn him. He wasn’t happy making a mess of his own life, now he had to try to ruin hers too.

  “Ana. I only have a minute. Did you bring it?”

  Bring what? What the heck was he talking about? “I don’t understand.” Holding the phone under her neck, she dabbed her cheeks with a tissue. “What is it?” she snapped, irritated by all the drama he created. He had bad energy, and it was trickling into her life.

  Wind and sea sounded in the background. Was he nearby?

  “I put it in your bag, your suitcase, before I left.”

  What did he hide in her suitcase? She hadn’t noticed anything, but she hadn’t finished unpacking yet either. Oh God, what if it was drugs? She wanted to throw up the breakfast she hadn’t even eaten yet.

  “What is it and where are you?” She fired off the questions into silence on the other end.

  Disconnected.

  She hit the redial button, but the call went straight to a generic voice mail. Shaking, she dabbed a tissue to her eyes and attempted to salvage her makeup while keeping her beautiful suit cosmetic free. Pull it together. Damn him.

  With a deep breath, and a few simple touchups, she slipped on a pair of sunglasses, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside. Wearing a silk suit in the intense heat, in hindsight, might not have been the best wardrobe choice. Silk didn’t breathe, known for keeping in warmth. It was a little late to remember that. She didn’t want to arrive looking like a damp mess. She hurried along the stone path to the event and yanked open the door, grateful for the burst of ice-cold air that hit her in the face when she stepped inside.

  It was announced that Ari, the Barefoot Brides event planner, had decorated the dining room to accommodate the GTG guests. In the far corner, Melonie chatted with two other women Ana didn’t recognize. Whitney was nowhere to be found. A tall, middle-aged woman with a pile of unnaturally orange-dyed hair, watermelon lipstick on her mouth, plum eyeliner rimming her dark eyes, and wearing a black spandex dress approached Ana. Arms outstretched, the woman grabbed Ana buy the hand.

  “Welcome. Come in.” The name badge aroun
d her neck read Joan. “You’re?”

  “Luciana Talarico, but please call me Ana.”

  “My pleasure.” She guided Ana over to a table. Joan handed Ana a name tag and card with a scheduled time for her presentation. “It’s open seating, so pick a chair to settle in and enjoy the delicious display of Danish, muffins, and fresh fruit. Chef Ian and his staff will prepare one of several breakfast selections to your specifications. There’s fresh passion fruit mimosas to calm your nerves if you need one or two.” Joan winked. “They are delicious, if I do say so.”

  “Thank you.”

  The smell of bacon hung in the air and was like heaven to Ana’s senses. Trays with sausage, hash browns, and eggs went by, shifting her nervous focus from her presentation to her stomach. She’d really love to enjoy a mimosa or two but doubted she could make it through her presentation with even the slightest bit of alcohol in her bloodstream.

  She selected a table with two women. One looked like a sports mom, younger looking than her years. The other was slightly older, wearing a basic black pencil skirt with a power-red button-down blouse, jet-black pantyhose, and five-inch spiked heels. Her black hair was clipped back in a ponytail.

  “Mind if I join you ladies?” Ana asked with a grin, placing her bag on the empty seat while sliding out a chair.

  “Sure thing, hon,” Sports Mom replied. “I’m Mindy, by the way.”

  Pencil Skirt gave her introduction. “And I’m Ruthie.”

  Ana mechanically replied, “I’m Ana. Nice to meet you both.”

  The selection of mouthwatering Danish made it tough to decide not to eat a bite before her pitch. She wrestled with her emotions and hunger, and eventually hunger won. She wrapped a cheese Danish in a napkin and placed it in her bag for later. Mindy and Ruthie seemed calm and relaxed, each sipping a mimosa and munching on a slice of bacon.

  “So how many of these contests have you entered?” Mindy asked, tearing her piece of bacon in half. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. Not a piece of her brown, chin-length hair was out of place. Her reddened arms, freckled by the sun, looked like she’d spent hours outdoors.

  Ruthie took a long sip of her mimosa. “I lost count a few years ago. I’ve been on over a dozen game shows and entered hundreds of cooking contests.” She lifted her fork and stabbed a piece of fruit. “So are you like me, almost a professional at these things?”

  “How about you, Ana?” Mindy asked.

  She and Ruthie starred, wide-eyed, waiting for her response. Ruthie bit her piece of fruit and raised her eyebrows. Ana caught her breath until the pain in her chest signaled to exhale. Wow, the women made a living of entering and competing. How could she ever go up against them and expect to win?

  Ana released the air in her lungs and took a couple of short breaths. “Ugh, this is my first time.”

  “Geez. No offense, but I hope you don’t have beginner’s luck. I really need to win this one. This hasn’t been my best year.” Mindy grabbed a pecan Danish from the plate on the table and ripped it in half.

  “It’s hit or miss,” Ruthie consoled Mindy. “Sometimes they’re looking for virgin contestants, and sometimes they’re looking for the professionals. I think for this one they’ll be seeking out the professionals.” Confidence held steady in her voice. “I scoped out the group at the reception last night. From the way I figure it, I’d guess eighty-five percent of the women here have been on some type of show or contest before. That speaks volumes.”

  “True,” Mindy replied.

  Ana pulled out her cheat sheet to go over the key points about her product and struggled to tune out the mindless chatter of Ruthie and Mindy from across the table. In a few minutes, she had to sharpen her pitch. Ana had to look as professional as the two other women sitting across from her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Whitney enter the room. Whitney made eye contact and quickly made her way over to where the three women sat.

  Both Ruthie and Mindy rose from the table and said, “Good luck, you’re gonna need it.” They whispered quietly to each other as they walked away.

  Whitney stared at the backs of the two women, then she yanked out a chair and collapsed into it. “Have you pitched your product yet?” She blew out a long breath and picked up one of the fresh passion fruit mimosas. She paused, admiring the high, fluted glass for a few seconds then downed the drink.

  “I just finished. Man, it was brutal,” she said, resting the glass on the table.

  Ana gulped air, trying not to hyperventilate. “No, I haven’t.” She was in way over her head. Why did she come here in the first place? This wasn’t how she imagined the Golden Ticket Contest. How could Mindy and Ruthie be so calm? Ana wanted to halt the clock, never letting the hands reach nine fifteen.

  “Some of these women don’t really care. I mean, they’re so calm. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been stressed out of my mind. This contest means everything to me. I’ve worked my entire life for an opportunity like this. You know?” Whitney wrinkled her brows, her face filled with worry.

  Ana did know. She wanted to win as much as the next woman. This would be her ticket to freedom, enable her to walk away from her job and her horrible bosses, gain respect from her family and financial independence. The Golden Ticket would solve it all in one shot, and for a change, she’d be doing something she loved, or at the very least liked. Now, seeing who was here at the contest, she realized it was pure luck to have made it this far.

  She sympathized. “I understand. I feel exactly the same way.” Resting the slips of paper on the table, she reached for a glass and took a few sips. The cool water helped to soothe her parched throat. Her phone buzzed, and she read the text message on her screen. It was from Noah.

  They’re going to love your idea. See you later tonight.

  Her cheeks flushed from the sheer thoughtfulness of his text. Before meeting Noah tonight, she’d try to squeeze in a visit to the spa for a facial or a massage. Somehow, Noah’s support gave her the boost of courage she needed.

  Ana glanced at her watch. She had three minutes until the appointed time slot for her pitch. “See you later, Whitney?”

  “Sure thing, and good luck.”

  She slipped her notes off of the table and stood up. “Oh, well, it’s show time. Good luck everyone.”

  Chapter Five

  A few rain clouds streamed in front of the sun, giving Noah the first flurry of relief from the steady beating rays overhead. He had scouted out several logical locations where Marco could be hiding but was disappointed to turn up empty.

  He was starving, hot, and grouchy, not in the mood for anyone’s crap, when he pulled into the parking lot of the Super Min. Dressed in a touristy T-shirt, blue plaid Timberland shorts, and white tennis shoes, Noah looked like almost every other casual vacationer he’d passed on the street.

  He walked into the Super Min where an older woman with dark brown eyes looked at him with a scowl. She had frizzy, caramel-colored hair with unkempt gray roots and hard frown lines etched in her cheeks. A pair of wide, suspicious eyes glared from behind a pair of thick-rimmed bifocals.

  He roamed the aisles to cool off for a bit, even if the air conditioner wasn’t as icy as he’d expected. At least it provided some relief from the steamy day.

  Everything and nothing looked good. Chips, pretzels, chocolate, or plain old-fashioned sugar candies—so many options, but nothing jumped out at him. Reaching for bags of trail mix, sunflower seeds, pretzel sticks, and kettle-baked chips, he walked over to the far wall to grab a chilled bottle of water and Gatorade to wash it all down.

  Noah breezed down the final aisle where the magazines were. On the cover of the Daily Globe was a picture of his father with the headline Heir to the Donovan Empire Missing. Damn, it’d been a few years since his family had wound up in the tabloids. He picked up the paper and scanned the brief article. A concerned source said in an exclusive interview that the senior Donovan was “sick with worry.” At least Noah’s picture wasn’t included. Thank G
od for small favors.

  “You buying that, or am I going to have to charge you for reading it in my store?” an angry voice barked out from behind the counter. “You city people come in here on vacation looking for special treatment. No one gets special treatment.”

  What the heck was she talking about? He folded the paper and shoved it under his arm. “I’m buying it.” Shifting his drinks and snacks in his hands, he walked over to the register. If tourists stopped here first when they left the mainland, he could see why the island was sparsely populated.

  “Look, Miss…” Placing the items on the counter, he raked his fingers through his hair.

  The older woman speared him with a long, hard stare. “It’s Ms. Grambling. Charity Grambling, and I own the place, so don’t get any ideas.”

  What ideas? Forget it. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t have time for a verbal sparring match with the owner of a convenience store.

  Charity rang up the items, her cherry-red nails working feverishly on the keys. “Cash or credit?” After a few more punches, she huffed, “If you use a credit card, I’ll need to see some ID.” She rolled her eyes in his direction and waited for a response.

  The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. “Cash.”

  As he reached for his wallet in his back pocket, the smooth brown leather billfold caught the older woman’s attention. “Nice. Expensive too.” Charity’s eyes flickered with curiosity. “Why are you here?” She dropped her hands from the register and placed them on her hips.

  “Excuse me?” He straightened to his full height and towered over the waist-high counter. He started to pull out a twenty then shifted his stance to block her view of his driver’s license and credit cards. This witch was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Are you deaf? I asked, why are you here?” Tilting her head to one side, she ran her gaze up and down his full length, from top to bottom.

  “Ugh, no, I’m not—it’s none of your business what I’m doing here.” Or anyone else’s, for that matter.