Barefoot in the Sand (15 page)

With a sigh she opened the pantry, stared at the pathetic baking shelf. Mother hated to bake, but there was probably enough to—

I think that’s when I knew I loved you
.

She slammed the door closed, biting her lip as if that could stop the sting behind her eyes that had started when Ashley first called him Dad.

Had he forgotten? Had he blocked out that conversation in Gainesville, the day he’d told her a child “doesn’t fit my lifestyle”? Well, at that age it hadn’t fit her lifestyle, either. And she’d had to deal with her parents. Her mother. The face of disapproval.

Not that she’d been mad that Lacey had gotten pregnant. Oh, no. What upset Marie Armstrong was that Lacey didn’t have what it took to get David to marry her.

She abandoned the pantry and the kitchen altogether to change the sheets on the guest bed. Passing the den, she glanced at the bookcase, her gaze drawn to photo albums that filled one shelf. There, in the middle, stood an album neatly labeled 1996–1997.

Kind of a wonder Mother didn’t call that the Year of David.

She pulled out the album and tucked it under her arm, heading to the backyard to curl up in what had become her favorite getaway lately, the hammock her dad had hung between two queen palms.

Cocooning into the canvas, she opened the photo album and started turning the thick, plastic-covered pages, stepping back in time to the red brick buildings and moss-covered oak trees of the University of Florida. Those were
happy days in Gainesville, especially the year she RA’d at Tolbert—and had met David.

She’d finally settled on a hospitality major after trying and quitting at least three others. So even though that decision was going to cost her an extra year, she was certain she’d found something to see through to completion. And, of course, she’d made great friends on the fourth floor.

She paused on a picture of the dorm on Halloween night, smiling at Zoe channeling her inner Posh Spice. And Tessa dressed to climb Mount Everest. Jocelyn hadn’t gotten into costume that night, but even if she had it wouldn’t have hidden the sadness around her eyes that remained there almost the whole year.

And there was Lacey, beaming behind her girls, and bone skinny, damn it. She went as Little Red Riding Hood in a scarlet leotard and boots. The Big Bad Wolf showed up just a few weeks later when she’d gone to hear a guest lecturer speak for her Asian Cultures class, a world traveler doing a slide show on his near-death experience hiking Mount Huashan.

To this day, she couldn’t remember a thing David Fox had said about his brush with Huashan Death, but she could describe the shades of green in his eyes, the music of his easy laugh, the strength of his hands, the shape of his lips. By the end of the lecture, she was fantasizing about marrying him.

And he, she learned later, was fantasizing about something else with her.

He got his way, and they were lovers by their second date.

She flipped to the back of the book to spring of that year, the weekend she’d brought David Fox home to meet her parents. It was Easter, and she was two weeks
pregnant but had no idea. She was also as in love as a woman could be, and would have given anything to spend her life with David.

Anything but the child she carried inside of her, and that was what David wanted her to sacrifice in order to travel the world with him. Not only did she not want to travel the world; she wanted that baby.

That baby, and more, to be honest. But that was not the life David envisioned.

She rocked the hammock, leaving the book resting on her knees, open to the picture. David’s hair had been black and long, curling over his collar, reminding her a little of someone else.

Clay.

The realization hit her hard, making her heart squeeze. Sexy, seductive, so good at talking her into things. Charming, smart, and completely compelling. Look what he’d done already.

In the space of two hours she’d agree to let him work for her without proper credentials, to build an over-the-top five-star resort that would tax her professionally, financially, and emotionally, and she’d all but made a date to sleep with him.

He’d done that with one scintillating conversation, a sexy drawing, and a few hot kisses.

She pushed the hammock from side to side with all the resentment and second-guessing that was building inside her. What was
wrong
with her? Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience with David? Sure, she’d been careful with men for the last fourteen years, maybe too careful. But Clay Walker was David Fox all over again and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Tears stung and she blinked against them. Damn it, why did David have to show up now and make her realize exactly how wrong Clay was? Just when she was about to have some fun? She
never
had fun, not the kind this young, hot, carefree guy was offering.

All she did was scrape together a living baking cakes and trying to drum up business, then she gave every ounce of remaining energy to drive Ashley around and make sure her daughter had everything she wanted and needed. In her spare time she’d held that old house together with duct tape and hope. She’d had exactly six dates in the last five years and not one of those men had made a single cell in her body tingle.

And then she’d met Clay and, well, forget tingling. He made her feel like she’d sucked her finger and stuck it into a light socket.

But that’s how you get electrocuted, Lacey
.

A lump of confusion mixed with bitter self-pity filled her throat, sending a teardrop down her cheek. She swiped it. She had no time for this kind of wallowing. She had to be focused and serious about building a new life, not dreaming about sex with the architect she’d hired to do it.

Screw that up and what would happen? She’d quit, like always.

No, she couldn’t have the complication of sex with Clay. That was the one thing that had to go. If she didn’t sleep with Clay, then she wouldn’t be making the same mistake twice and she wouldn’t be risking her heart along with her building project.

The minute she saw him again she’d tell him she couldn’t—

“So, I’m guessing you dug deep enough to find an excuse to blow me off.”

She turned suddenly, the album tumbling off her stomach. She lurched to grab it and rolled right out of the hammock onto the grass, staring up at the most gorgeous man she’d seen since, well, since that morning.

And, damn it, all she wanted to do was reach up and kiss him. Just for
fun
.

C
lay kneeled next to Lacey, setting down the six-pack of beer he held in one hand and the DVD from the other. She didn’t move right away, looking up at him, her hair spilling everywhere, a tear streaking her cheek.

“Are you crying?”

“I’m fine.” She let him help her sit up, and just the contact with her bare shoulders made his hands itch for more.

“Really? ’Cause you don’t look fine.” He couldn’t fight the urge to brush a wayward curl from her forehead, getting a flash of gold in her eyes in response. “Is this why you didn’t answer my call?”

She tried to swallow, and it looked like it took a monumental effort. “Something came up.”

He gave her a wary smile and lifted the six-pack of Mich he’d grabbed on the way to her house. “Better watch
it. I brought Excuse Juice. Every time you make one, you gotta drink. I should have you good and loaded if you’re starting off with ‘something came up.’ ”

She laughed softly, pushing herself up and making another quick swipe at her eyes. “I’ll take one of those. How’d you find my—never mind. You went to the Super Min, didn’t you?”

He smiled. “Gloria was covering the register, and she told me where your parents’ house is.”

He eased her back into the hammock, which swung under their combined weight and pushed their hips right next to each other. “You all alone out here, Lacey?”

Pulling a bottle out of the carton, he kept his gaze on her while he twisted it open. “Where are your girlfriends? Where’s Ashley?”

“My friends are staying on the mainland. Ashley is…” She hesitated, then finished with, “She’s out.”

“What’s going on?” He handed her the bottle and she took it, puffing out a long breath and nodding thanks.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what? Never mind, I know. You’re having second thoughts about what we discussed today.”

She lifted one corner of her lips in a wry smile. “I’m past second and rounding fifteenth.”

“Let me guess.” He took his own beer out of the carton and uncapped it but didn’t drink. “You think I’m some kind of lunatic stalker serial killer who draws naked women and works for free.”

A smile threatened. “Possibly.”

“And all you wanted to do was build a little five-room inn—in keeping with zoning code, I might add—with frilly bedspreads and antique water pitchers, but I planted
visions of Moroccan villas with imported hardwood floors in your head.”

This time she nodded slowly and started to talk, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“Wait, wait. I’m not done. Just to make things worse, the first thing we did when we were alone together was make out like a couple of teenagers and practically agree that we’d end the night in the sack. And you’re freaked out about that.”

“And you’re a mind reader.”

“No, but I can read your expression and what I see is a woman who is not only trying to decide how far to run but how fast and how soon. So you decided to blow me off tonight.” He held out his bottle for a toast. “You’re easy to read, Strawberry.”

She dinged the glass. “All of that may be true, but there’s more to it.” His gaze shifted to the book or whatever it was—a photo album?—that had fallen to the ground. It was closed, but he could see someone had handwritten 1996–1997 on the spine.

Simple math told him that would be close to the year her daughter was born. So maybe she’d had an argument with Ashley. Maybe the teenager had stomped out and left Mom crying. Maybe this had nothing to do with him and what she needed was a friend to talk to.

“Then tell me,” he said, finally taking a sip. “What else is bothering you tonight?”

“What isn’t bothering me tonight is a better question,” she said on a quick laugh. “It’s kind of complicated and personal.”

“I can do complicated and personal.” He situated himself on the hammock, carefully sliding one leg around
so she had no choice but to lean back next to him. The canvas was wide and comfortable, and easily accommodated two.

She didn’t lean back, though. Instead, she gave him a wary look. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“I just want to talk.”

“And he gives me the oldest line in the book.”

“Okay, I don’t just want to talk, but since you stood me up and I found you weeping alone in the backyard, I figure talking’s all that’s on the agenda tonight.” He eased her closer. “C’mon.”

“I’m not weeping. I’m just emotional.”

“Whatever you want to call it.” He searched her face, looking past the dusting of freckles and the soft lashes around big eyes. “I can see fear in your eyes.”

“You are right that I’m a little scared of… what you proposed today. It’s more than I bargained for.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant the resort or the invitation for sex, but they were probably both more than she bargained for.

“Well, I have good news,” he said, turning so that she had to lean into him or fall out of the hammock again. She chose him. “I’ve been working on blueprints of Casa Blanca, making some calls about resort zoning, and I even started the ED—that’s the environmental determination paperwork—and ordered an auto-CAD system to—”

“Stop, Clay.”

“Why?”

“I’m not… I can’t—”

“Hey, we had a deal. No
can’t
-ing.”

“No, please.” She curled her legs up into the hammock, tucking them under her, making herself into a ball
like she wanted to protect herself and not fall into him or his ideas. “This is happening too fast.”

“There’s no other way for it to happen. You don’t want to sit around for months and think about building something, do you?”

The look on her face said she wanted to do just that. “A project this size takes a lot of time and money and—” She closed her eyes. “When you add the complication of our attraction…”