Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) Page 13

  “No!”

  “But why not? If he’s the man for you, he should know it.” She gnawed on her lower lip, clearly getting the magnitude of the problem from the look Ari was giving her. “Shouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Ari said. “He should know it. He would know it. He has to know it or it’s not…real.” The word fell into the pit of her stomach like a boulder.

  Always, always the question: Was anything she felt real? Was this sensation that Luke was different and right and perfect for her real? Or did she just dream it up?

  “He’s a guy, Ari,” Gussie said. “Sometimes they have to be hit over the head with things.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “There are rules for this ‘One’ thing?” Gussie asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Not rules. But as far as my grandmother explained it to me, both parties are instantly aware of the feelings. No one needs to be told anything. And, anyway, he’s…”

  Gussie moaned softly when Ari didn’t finish. “He’s what?”

  “He’s only interested in sex,” she said quickly.

  “Again, human male species thing, but Luke is a pretty cool guy. What did he do to make you think that?”

  “When I told him I was waiting for…” Love. Oh, God, why did she admit that? “Anyway, he couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  “You told him you’re waiting for one particular guy, but you don’t know who he is, but you think that maybe he’s Luke, but you’re not sure.”

  “Actually, yes. But I didn’t tell him I thought he was that guy.”

  “I did,” Gussie said, standing slowly. “So, I’m sorry if I screwed things up.”

  “Nah, I did that all by myself,” Ari assured her.

  Gussie crossed her arms, thinking. “I guess I really don’t know him anymore. I’ve tried, we’ve talked, of course, since we reunited, but he’s got a guard up around him that I don’t remember from when he was young.”

  “People change,” Ari said, wistfully dreaming of a man who’d at least be responsive to the idea of one true love. Not one who shot up and ended their evening when he found out she wanted sex to be with someone special and lasting.

  “I suppose.” Gussie scooped up her coffee and some of the mail, leaving an envelope hand-addressed to Ari. “Didn’t mean to make assumptions, Ari.”

  “It’s okay.”

  As Gussie walked to her desk, she took out her cell phone and tapped the screen, probably texting Luke. Trying not to be anxious about his response, Ari tore open the envelope with a little too much force, yanking out the single sheet of notepaper.

  “Oh, he spent the night at the job site,” Gussie said.

  Words danced before Ari’s eyes, nothing making sense. “What?”

  “I guess he crashed in that creepy house.”

  “No, I mean…what the hell is this?”

  The words were typed, printed off a computer, in all caps.

  PUT THE PEARLS BACK WHERE YOU FOUND THEM

  Ari flipped the paper over, but it was blank. No return address on the envelope that was postmarked in Naples, Florida, where much of Mimosa Key mail was processed. Not a clue anywhere, except for the low-grade hum that buzzed through Ari’s hand, growing stronger until she had to drop the paper on the desk. A word danced in her brain, but she couldn’t quite grab it.

  “What’s that?” Gussie asked, looking over Ari’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know, but…”

  Gussie reached for it, examining the paper, squinting at the words, reading them out loud.

  Ari closed her eyes, trying to remember how Grandma Good Bear taught her to listen to the universe. Go still. Block out all sounds. Focus on the word.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Gussie asked, looking at the paper. “This is—”

  “Shhh!” Ari tapped Gussie’s arm, frustrated to be so close to hearing something but not quite getting it. “Greed.” There. There was the word. Greed. Greed?

  “Weird,” Gussie finished.

  “I know, it is.”

  “I meant you’re weird, but I love you for it.” She tossed the paper back. “And that’s probably from some psycho bride. Check the Casa Blanca lost and found and you’ll find plenty of forgotten pearl earrings.”

  But Ari didn’t think this note came from a bride. “I will,” she said, even though that wasn’t necessary. She knew which pearls this was about, and she was taking that necklace to a safe-deposit box today.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ari finished wrapping the five samples she’d decided to take to the archaeologist who worked at the Mound House museum up in Fort Myers Beach and carefully placed them between layers of bubble wrap and tucked them into the top of the crate. She was finally finished going through everything, certain she had some real artifacts. Some shells, some coral, but some pieces with real value, though she couldn’t be sure until she got a professional assessment.

  Pouring a second glass of pinot noir, she carried it to the sofa where her MacBook was open to the map and directions to a place less than an hour away, known as the Mound House archaeological site.

  Curling into the corner of the couch, she sipped wine and clicked through the pictures of the museum and Case House, a structure that had been built more than a hundred years ago on land that once teemed with Calusa Indians.

  They were nothing like the Miwok of California, but Ari found the basic Native American similarities in beliefs, clothes, and customs in this tribe that lived off the sea rather than the land. Everything she discovered was familiar, recalling her long, lazy summers of traipsing along next to Grandma Good Bear on various sojourns to festivals, protests, craft events, and museums.

  As Ari thought of those days, a palpable pain squeezed her chest, trying to fill the hole left by her grandmother.

  She reached to the table, cupped the wine glass, and lifted it to the air. “To you, Grandma,” she whispered. “I have no doubt what you’d tell me to do: the right thing for the people…even if it costs me The One.”

  Or would Grandma Good Bear’s old brown eyes pop with horror at the thought of giving up—

  The knock on her apartment door was so sharp and loud, Ari startled, spilling a drop of wine on her sleep pants and sending her heart knocking just as loud. For one crazy, stupid, blasted second, she imagined Grandma Good Bear was at the door to tell her what’s what.

  “Arielle?”

  But it was Luke, and that did nothing to slow down her heart rate.

  He knocked again, with a little impatience. What the hell? He was the one who’d gone MIA all day. Not that she’d expected a word from him, or even a phone call. And definitely not a late-night visit.

  She glanced at the computer clock as she got up. Did nine thirty qualify as a booty call?

  Only if there was booty involved.

  She brushed her hands over the thin cotton T-shirt she wore, tugging the material so it almost reached the top of her flannel sleep pants, imagining him seeing her dressed like this. A bolt of anticipation slammed her whole midsection, then tumbled lower. She still wanted him, and maybe she should let go of archaic promises and see what happened if she got him.

  There was always the possibility that sex would clear up the question of whether he was The One or she’d just made that up. And it sure as hell wouldn’t feel bad to try. Maybe he was here to give it another go. Everything tensed at that possibility and how much she wanted that. Wanted him.

  “Arielle, I know—”

  She opened the door, silencing him.

  “We should talk.” He looked down at her, a day’s worth of beard darkening his hollow cheeks, his never-the-same-color-twice eyes locked on her, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple a visible sign of a man who’d gulped. Hard.

  “Luke, I—”

  “Please, Arielle. I need to tell you something.”

  She didn’t even hesitate, opening the door wider and gesturing him in, taking the time to let her gaze s
lide over his black T-shirt and faded jeans, a little mud around the bottom and on his work boots.

  He looked down, tapping one boot on the other. “Sorry for the mud. I’ve been at the job site,” he said. “I’ll take them off.” He toed off one boot, revealing a thick white sock, then the other.

  She stepped away, rooting for the right small talk that didn’t include, Gee, your stockinged feet are sexy, too! Imagine that! “You want a drink?”

  He frowned a little, letting his gaze slide over her, making her crazy aware of how little she wore. “If you’re having something.”

  “Pinot noir.”

  He made a face. “Any chance you have a beer?”

  “Yes, of course.” She went to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of Amber Bock. Without turning, she was somehow aware of him moving through the apartment, taking the very seat on the sofa where she’d been.

  “Researching the Calusa Indians?”

  And, obviously, reading her laptop screen. “I’m going up to a place called Mound House tomorrow to take the crate to an archaeologist there,” she said, fishing through the utensil drawer for the bottle opener. “He’ll be able to look at the artifacts we found and, with some study and tests, determine their age and authenticity.”

  She snapped the top off, making the beer hiss while she waited for him to reply. Finally, she turned, expecting to find him focused on the laptop. Instead, he was watching her from the sofa, his eyes narrow. Intense. Inescapable.

  A million fire flashes fired through her veins, sharp and hot and…annoying. How the hell long would she have to feel all this?

  “Can I come with you?” he asked.

  And she damn near dropped the beer.

  Corraling control, she went back into the living area and handed him the bottle over the back of the sofa. “Sure, but why do you want to?” Their fingers brushed, and of course it felt like she’d touched a lightning rod in a storm.

  “More information. You’re not the only one doing research on this land.” He held the bottle up in a toast. “Did you know that up in Mound Key, which is another place believed to be inhabited by the Calusa and was, in fact, the home of tribe headquarters, that they have not found a single burial mound?”

  He looked a little too smug. And cute. A lot too cute. “They’re shell mounds,” she said, knowing this already.

  “Exactly.” He let the word fall between them as she rounded the sofa and took a seat not quite on the other end, not quite next to him, but close enough to reach her wine.

  She lifted the glass and touched his bottle with a soft clink. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”

  He shook his head. “I came here to tell you I acted like an ass last night.”

  The honesty in his voice caught her off guard, and she tried to cover with a sip of wine. Setting the glass down, she inched back into the sofa. “I wouldn’t call it an ‘ass.’”

  “What would you call it?”

  “A guy.” She smiled. “A normal guy, even. A guy who wants to, you know, fool around and have fun and not be bogged down by some woo-woo shit about fated destiny.”

  “You’re being too easy on me,” he said with a soft laugh of appreciation. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m the one—”

  “No, apparently, I’m the one, Arielle.” He pinned her with those green-gold eyes again, holding her, no accusation in the expression, just…understanding. Which just about did her in.

  “Well,” she said quickly, reaching for the laptop, hoping if she ignored the whole thing, he would, too. “I have learned an awful lot about the Native Americans who lived here, and I’m more certain than ever that we found at least some worthwhile—”

  “Arielle.” He put his hand on her forearm, capturing it the very way he did the moment they’d met. And nothing since then had changed—she was still electrified.

  “Don’t change the subject,” he said.

  “Don’t embarrass me,” she replied.

  “You? How do you think I feel?”

  She choked in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “Listen to me.” He put the beer bottle on the table with a thud, still not taking his eyes off her. “’Cause I’m here to tell you, you…” He blew out a breath as though it pained him to finish. “You picked the wrong guy.”

  She didn’t pick anyone, but obviously he didn’t get that.

  “I…I can’t be that person for you,” he said.

  A little light popped in her head, and this had nothing to do with the Great White Lights of attraction. “Luke, I haven’t asked you for a thing,” she said. “I haven’t made any pronouncements about who or what you are to me.”

  “I know that—”

  “You don’t know anything,” she shot back. “You’ve jumped to conclusions, and you’re basing them on two things—the fact that I told you I wanted to have sex only with the man I’m destined to love and the assumption that I have some kind of supernatural ability to know that man when I meet him.”

  He still didn’t take his eyes from her. “Are those conclusions or assumptions wrong?”

  No. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve made them, and it’s embarrassing, as I said, and none of this really matters because—”

  He kissed her so hard she gasped, the contact hot and fast and unexpected. She tried to back away, but he came with her, intent and serious.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He stayed perfectly still for a moment before whispering, “I feel it, too.”

  What? She mouthed the word, but she was certain he got the idea.

  After a second, he dropped back on the sofa, clearly bewildered. “Are you sure this isn’t just plain old run-of-the-mill lust?”

  “No, I’m not sure of that. Not sure of anything,” she admitted. Except that kiss was perfection and not nearly long enough. “What did you feel, Luke?”

  “When I kissed you? All kinds of stupid things that I never felt before. Snapping, popping sounds in my head. An ache in my…my…here.” He tapped his chest hard, as though the feeling angered the shit out of him. “My arms are, like, weak.” Disgust darkened his voice. “And what the hell is that buzzing in my head?”

  She couldn’t help it. A laugh slipped out.

  He glared at her.

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, but…” It’s real. She almost jumped up and danced around the room and reached up her hands to thank the universe. “I know how you feel,” she said instead, unbelievably calm on the outside considering what was going on inside.

  Very slowly, he started shaking his head. “I don’t do love.”

  She let that new information settle over her like an itchy, uncomfortable drape of mohair. Who didn’t “do” love?

  Reaching for the wine, she took another deep drink, fortifying herself. He did the same with his beer, probably because this was a really weird conversation to have with someone you’ve known for only three days.

  Except that it wasn’t, which made it weirder.

  “Okay, I’ll bite… Why don’t you ‘do’ love?” She couldn’t help mocking the word. Who “did” love? It just happened. Or not.

  He rubbed his lips together, as if he had to taste the beer on them again. “I’m going to tell you what I can. There’s a…code, for lack of a better word, that prevents me from telling you more.”

  A Foreign Legion code or his personal code? Better not to ask, at least not yet. “Okay.”

  He finished the beer in another slug, then dropped back to recline on the armrest, where it would be so damn easy and fun and nice to…join him. Climb on top or next to him. Stroke his rough whiskers and rub his big chest and touch his—

  “I had a bad experience with love.”

  She coughed softly. “As excuses go, that’s pretty crappy.”

  He closed his eyes, so she used the freedom to drink in the length of his torso, his narrow hips, angled as he half-sat, half-lay on her sofa. He lifted his arms and locked
his hands under his head, the position accentuating his sizable biceps and giving her an uninterrupted view of his chest.

  Had she really promised herself celibacy? Couldn’t that promise be broken…just this once?

  “I was in love once,” he said, ripping her lusty thoughts from his body back to his words. He lifted his head an inch, looking at her from under thick lashes. “Have you been?”

  Did this count? No, of course not. She shook her head, and he let his fall back. “Well, I’m here to tell you that it’s painful when it ends”—he rooted around for a word—“unpleasantly. Viciously painful.” His voice cracked as if he felt that pain right now, and Ari’s heart tipped from side to side as she imagined what kind of woman could inflict pain on this special man.

  “I learned that you can love someone with your entire heart and soul and still not trust them.” His words were rough, as though they shredded his throat on the way out. “And that makes me wonder if there really is such a thing as love. Because I thought it was love, but it wasn’t…real.”

  Welcome to my life, she thought wryly. “So what happened?”

  For what felt like five minutes—but was probably less than one—he didn’t move. His chest didn’t rise or fall, his pulse didn’t appear to beat, his jaw didn’t tighten or relax. He stayed still.

  And then he sat up enough that she could see the moisture in his eyes, and when he blinked, a single tear meandered from the corner of one.

  Instantly, her heart folded, because she just knew. That look could mean only one thing. Without thinking, she crawled right over that torso she’d been studying, reaching up to him, lying on top of him, needing to do everything to comfort him.

  “Oh, Luke. She died?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was…” He swallowed again, clearly fighting tears. “Don’t be sorry for me.”

  And then she realized what was wrong. He was The One for her, but he’d already met his destined love…and lost her. “Sometimes the universe isn’t fair.” This time, it was her throat ripped by the words.