Barefoot Bay: When You Touch Me (Kindle Worlds Novella) (7 page)

Jillian’s nerve endings sparked and she released a strangled sigh. Her body arched against him, his erection throbbing against her thigh. Sam wrapped his arms around her and rolled, taking his weight off her and onto him. The sudden movement broke the spell his kisses and caresses had placed upon her. Bracing her hands against his broad chest, she pushed up and moved away from him, pulling her disheveled clothing back into place.

“I can’t,” Jillian began as he tried to tug her back to him.

His eyebrows drew together and he tilted his head to one side. “But you were.”

“Please stop,” she insisted as she scrambled backwards. “You don’t understand.”

Sam released a low guttural groan and flopped back on the blanket. “What I don’t understand is why you interrupted something we were both clearly enjoying.”

“I can’t enjoy this. I can’t get involved with you or I could lose my job.” She debated how much to reveal to Sam, then decided if he knew more, he might be more understanding about why she could not become involved with him.

As the sky morphed from vivid hues to dark blue and the moon rose to illuminate the sand, she told him about her family, Daphne’s retirement and how she had just returned to the island to work out a solution to the changes looming in the not too distant future.

“There is nowhere else for me to work around here and make the same salary. You have to understand that’s why we can’t…you know.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said. “No one needs to know.”

“But I’ll know.”

Sam’s lipped thinned to a grim line. In the moonlight she could see the tense line of his jaw and the tightening around his eyes. He poured the remaining wine onto the sand and tossed the food several feet away. The wild animals that scavenged the beach would enjoy gourmet cuisine tonight. Shoving everything into his pack, he stood and began walking. A few feet away he pivoted and opened his mouth as if to speak. He closed it again, shook his head and continued walking.

Jillian remained on the blanket in the dark and eventually she heard the sound of his car driving away. Her tears were slow to form, but she soon lost the battle with them. She swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, cursing herself for falling for this complicated, frustrating, sexy, troubled man who was the most exciting man she had ever known. Why had she thought meeting him on the beach at sunset was a good idea? After he had almost kissed her in the spa, she should have known being alone with him on the beach could only lead to….

A tingle of excitement coursed through her at the thought of what could have happened, and as quickly as it began, she tamped it back. She gathered her belongings and the flashlight she had brought along and picked her way back to her car.

She had most definitely crossed the professional line, and the only thing she would be meditating on tonight would be how to cross back over to the right side of it.

The
CLOSED
sign hung in the door of Mimosa Memories, but Jillian knew her mother’s friend was there. On Sunday, the shop didn’t open until one o’clock, but with two hours left until opening, Jillian was sure Daphne had re-stocked shelves, folded and sorted stacks of t-shirts that inevitably ended up in a jumble and had handled the necessary paperwork for the day.

Thank goodness for Daphne Simmons, or the store would have closed its doors. She had worked at Mimosa Memories since shortly after Jillian’s father left. When Althea Logan died three years earlier, Becca had been eighteen and unable to assume responsibility for the store, and Jillian was living and working in Sedona.

For all her nuttiness, Aunt Daffy had been good for Althea and vice versa. She and Althea had met in a support group, and they had bonded immediately. Daphne had often said Althea had helped pull her from a pit of depression after her husband died and had prevented her from doing something stupid. Likewise, Daphne had helped by stepping in to work at the store and stay with Becca when needed.

When death had suddenly claimed Althea, Daphne had stepped in again, taking over the day-to-day operations of Mimosa Memories. Even though she had reached the age of majority, Becca couldn’t drive and didn’t need to be left to her own devices. No doubt, Aunt Daffy had helped Becca grieve her mother’s death. She had no children of her own, so she had rather adopted the Logan girls as her own.

Jillian had long argued that her mother babied Becca too much – another of the issues that put them at odds. She should have given Becca the opportunity and training to experiment and experience life. Becca had been twelve when Jillian moved to Arizona. Perhaps the pampering and over-protectiveness stemmed from guilt over Becca’s cerebral palsy. Althea had been just two years past her mid-thirties and Becca was an unplanned pregnancy. The doctors had assured Althea she had done nothing wrong, and Becca’s birth had been uneventful. However, sometime during gestation, something hiccupped and cerebral palsy, though mild, was the result.

Jillian had been excited to learn Becca was attending an adult camp. With Daphne retiring and moving away, Jillian needed her sister to be as self-sufficient as possible. Jillian also had been pleased when Becca enrolled at the same community college she had attended and had graduated the previous December with the same associate degree in business. Surely she could find some sort of part-time office work that wasn’t too taxing. Perhaps she could even work from home since she didn’t drive.

Jillian would move heaven and earth to make sure Becca’s life didn’t change any more than necessary when Aunt Daffy left. Becca adored the woman, and she was afraid Becca would view Daphne’s departure as losing another mother.

Jillian pulled her compact car into the small parking lot Mimosa Memories shared with another shop and walked to the back of the building. She knocked loudly before sticking her key in the lock and opening the door.

“Hello? Aunt Daffy?”

She got no answer, but she had seen Daphne’s ancient turquoise VW in the parking lot. Complete with long black eyelashes adorning the headlights, Elsa the Bug was easily recognizable on the island. After the popularity of the movie character of the same name, Daphne had stuck vinyl snowflakes on the doors and hood, which was the closest thing to snow anyone on Mimosa Key might see.

“Aunt Daffy?” she called again, moving further into the storage area that ran across the back of the building. She immediately smelled sandalwood incense, Daphne’s favorite and then caught sight of the woman as she walked past the door leading into the retail area. Daphne was dressed in her signature style – a patchwork calf-length gauzy skirt, a white tunic top with a wide belt and at least a dozen bangle bracelets on her left arm. She had tucked an iPod into the belt, and a turquoise cord led to earbuds in each ear. Aunt Daffy had always danced to her own music, but with the digital age, now she had extra help.

Not wanting to frighten the woman, Jillian stood quietly in the doorway until Daphne turned, looked up and saw she had a visitor.

“Jillian, my dear!” she exclaimed, pulling the earbuds out and letting the cords dangle. “Come in and let me show you the co-op section I set up.” She took Jillian by the hand and pulled her to the front corner of the shop. Floor to ceiling shelving and a brightly painted repurposed table held a variety of locally crafted items. Jillian recognized Melba Patton’s strawberry jam, Muriel Ortega’s dried mangos and Lena Thornton’s homemade orange marmalade.

“It’s been very popular with locals and tourists alike. This is just the start,” Daphne said. “Arnold Hawkins makes the most beautiful wooden cutting boards as well as children’s toys. They’ll be especially popular at Christmas.”

If the shop was still open then. Daphne had begun something she wouldn’t be around to oversee.

“Oh, Aunt Daffy, you….” Jillian’s voice broke on the last word.

Can’t retire. Can’t leave me with all this to handle by myself.

“You’ve done so much with the shop,” Jillian continued, her voice wobbling slightly. “You’ll never know how grateful I am for everything. I’m not sure how I’ll manage when you retire and leave the island.” Jillian nibbled her bottom lip as more uncertainty crept in.

“You still have several months before I hit that magic birthday. I’ll help you come up with a solution. Oh, and don’t forget I’ve been talking to the new baseball team management about carrying their official licensed merchandise. Just think about it. T-shirts, ball caps, all sorts of souvenirs. Isn’t it a great idea?”

Yes. It was a tremendous idea. But again, once Daphne retired, who would handle it?

“I’m…astounded at all you’ve done since Mother died. You’ve run the shop, taken care of Becca and the house. I just wish I could talk to Mother about Becca. I wish I could talk to her about everything. I don’t know what to do.” Jillian’s shoulders slumped in a defeated posture.

“I talked to her just this morning right after I did a sage cleansing of the shop,” Daphne said as she rearranged a row of jam jars. “She said for me to check your aura because she didn’t think it was quite right.”

Daphne had migrated from licensed baseball merchandise to aura inspection in less than twenty seconds. And Jillian remembered why she had fled Mimosa Key. As much as she appreciated all that Daphne Simmons had done, Jillian’s patience had its limits. She would sooner walk buck naked down Harbor Drive than deal with this on a daily basis.

Before too long she wouldn’t have to, though. And she needed to come up with some solutions. Soon.

* * *

The sun had barely risen when Sam laced his running shoes, pulled on a pair of shorts and a ragged t-shirt and hit the pavement. He jogged from the resort to the intersection of Mimosa Key’s two main streets, then headed east toward the island’s main harbor. He stopped only long enough to take a long drink from a water fountain by the marina office and then retraced his route back to the center of the island. One of the lifeguards had told him about a beach road that ran along the western shore of the island. He found it easily, and he continued along it, appreciating the light wind blowing off the gulf as he ran back toward the resort. When he neared the resort property, he veered off-road to do his cool-down run on the packed sand at the water’s edge. Concentrating on maintaining a steady pace and avoiding traffic had helped block out the memory of the nightmare that had awakened him just before sunrise. The explosion. The smoke. The screams and the blood. His heart didn’t pound as hard running at full speed as it had when he had bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat.

He had been using the oil thing Jillian had suggested. While it smelled good and seemed to help shut off the chattering in his brain when he put his head on the pillow at night, the nightmares continued.

And he had learned from experience the only way to recover was to run. Mimosa Key was flat as a pancake and far easier terrain than the mountains where he had grown up. But the humidity was strangling and had him dripping with perspiration before he had reached the halfway point of the course he had plotted out.

As soon as he felt his heart rate drop and the muscles in his legs stop revolting in agony, he sat on the sand, thankful it was cool and damp. He pulled off his shirt, leaned back on his elbows and then thought, what the hell? He sprawled to his full six feet and let the morning breeze wash over him as he remained motionless, his arm stretched across his eyes to block the sun.

Why hadn’t he grabbed a bottle of water before he left the villa? Or stopped at the convenience store in the middle of town to buy one? Once his body cooled a little more, he would drag himself to the beachside bar for something to soothe his parched throat. Add in a shower and shave followed by a hearty breakfast and he would be ready for whatever that woman had in store for him today.

Then he remembered. Today was Sunday. His day off. Thank God he had a break from her. And he wasn’t quite sure if he was happy about the break from her killer fingers working out the knots from his muscles or from the killer body that tempted him.

He had kissed her two nights earlier, and if she hadn’t crawled off him and protested, he had no doubt he have been inside her right there on her beach blanket. Instead, he had hobbled to his rental car with his cock throbbing. After the short drive back to the villa, he had taken matters in hand with an icy shower.

Their session yesterday had been…odd. Awkward. Emotionally uncomfortable. She had barely spoken to him, and had actually taken it very easy with him. She had retracted her thumbs of steel and replaced them with velvet gloves. He had waited for his muscles to scream in protest, but they’d had nothing to protest about. Every time he had tried to speak to her, she would instruct him to change positions, thus breaking his train of thought.

His cock twitched a little at the memory of the kiss. Damn, he didn’t need to give a show on the beach even if he was away from the main resort area. Despite the sand, the place was growing on him. A man could get used to the good life like this – being pampered and treated like he was somebody instead of a nobody who—

“Mr. Hartman?” Sam startled at the male voice, his heart returning to racing speed.

Sam had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard anyone approach. His discharge from the Army was probably a good thing. Losing his edge like that wasn’t good for a soldier. More people could be hurt because of him. But the real culprit was that minx who dominated his waking thoughts.

“Are you all right?”

Sam pushed to a sitting position, his back caked with wet sand. He eyed the man warily. “Who wants to know?”

“Luke McBain,” the stranger said, squatting and offering his hand to shake. “I work security for the resort. It’s my job to know who everyone is and make sure they’re safe. I saw you jogging, and then when I saw you lying on the sand….”

“No problem, man. You’re just doing your job. I’m fine, really. Just cooling down. This humidity is a monster,” Sam said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Security, huh? That sounds like a nice gig. I’m in…well, I was in the Army in IT and network security.”

“That’s a great field to be in today,” Luke said, rising to stand.

“I sure hope so. I was medically retired, but I’m not ready for the old folks’ home quite yet. Maybe I can find a gig like yours back home.”

“Where’s home?” Luke asked

“North Carolina. In the mountains. But really, I’ll go anywhere. Hell, the Army sent me all over the world, so I’m used to living out of a duffel.”

“Tell me about it,” Luke said with a wry laugh. “I did a bit of that myself.”

Sam stood and stretched. “McBain, you said? If I see your boss I’ll tell him what a great job you’re doing.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Actually, I am the boss. McBain Security. And I’m hoping to expand my business from the island to the mainland. If you’re serious about looking for a job, come by my office and let’s talk.” He turned to walk away, then chuckled. “That is, if the monster humidity isn’t too much for you,” he called over his shoulder.

Work here? He flicked at the sand with one finger. In this stuff?

Sam grinned when he realized the other possibility.

With Jillian.