Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1) Page 3

  His confused frown deepened. “You lost me.”

  She set her glass down with a rueful smile. “I wrote the advertising copy for this place. I’m a copywriter for an agency in New York, at least I was until I resigned two weeks ago. That’s when my boss, who was also my fiancé, walked into my office and said those four dreadful words no woman wants to hear when she’s on hold with her wedding planner to finalize the tulip delivery.”

  Oh yeah, the guy was a monumental douchebag. “I don’t like tulips?” he guessed with a smile.

  “‘We have to talk.’” She closed her eyes. “And you just know it’s not about the copy for next week’s new business presentation.”

  “That sucks.”

  She smirked at the understatement. “Anyway, Casa Blanca Resort & Spa is one of the agency’s top accounts. That’s how I knew about it and why I wanted to honeymoon here. This whole island is like a dream to me.” She gave a soft snort. “So was the wedding, come to think of it.”

  “Oh man, now I feel even worse. You should have this place. You pulled strings and used your connections and—”

  “No, no.” She held up her hand. “I didn’t. My ex pulled the strings, trust me. Including the one that canceled the reservation, except he hadn’t done it yet when I called or I would still be in bed in Brooklyn licking my wounds.”

  “Didn’t you tell them at the front desk who you are?”

  “Nah. I’m just the pen monkey in the bowels of the creative department who’d never been to a place like this and couldn’t stop thinking about it. For once in my career, I believed in what I was writing about. My other accounts? No, I didn’t care if a checking account earned more interest at Community Bank or if All Green fertilizer really improved the grass. I don’t believe that Colombian Cups coffee really has zero aftertaste. But is Casa Blanca Resort & Spa really perfection in paradise? Yes. And there’s something empowering about marketing the truth for a change.”

  She finished her speech with a good slug of wine, and Mark couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. She was as refreshing as the sauvignon blanc and maybe as complex. And maybe, with the setting sun picking up flecks of gold in her hair and eyes, a little bit intoxicating, too.

  “It was my fault, completely,” she said, dropping her head back a little and giving him a tantalizing view of the long, lean column of her throat.

  “A broken relationship is never anyone’s fault completely.”

  “Oh, it can be.” She peered at him through narrowed lashes. “But I meant assuming the reservation wouldn’t be canceled at the very last minute was my fault. Being left holding a Vera Wang gown and a truckload of embarrassment? All on his skinny shoulders.” She straightened her head and added a tight smile. “Sorry if I sound cynical, but I’ve spent the last two weeks realizing that the stupidest thing a human can do is buy into the dreams spun by marketing professionals.”

  “Says the person who writes ad copy for a living.” He chuckled. “I imagine that could make you a little jaded.”

  “Jaded, jilted, and jobless—that’s me.” Her smile loosened as she held up the glass. “I like a wine that brings out my alliteration skills.”

  Laughing, he shook his head, enjoying this unexpected twist on his first day at the resort. “An alluring atmosphere for an afternoon of alliteration.”

  Her jaw opened with her delight as she raised the glass in a toast. “A-plus!”

  They both laughed and took a drink, the wine and sun warming him as much as the company. It made the whole concept of the event so much more bearable to be with someone. And not just anyone, but a woman with some…zing.

  A woman who not only caught his eye, but made him laugh. So few had been able to do that since…well, since Julia.

  She treated him to a wide, sweet smile. “Thank you for rescuing a massively crappy day.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment, tempted to tell her the feeling was mutual, but she might take that the wrong way.

  “Hard to believe you’ve done all that for this resort and they couldn’t find you another room or villa,” he said instead.

  “Apparently, the whole resort is booked solid.”

  “It’s the high school reunion,” he said.

  “Really? What kind of high school can afford this swanky place?”

  “Mimosa High, the local one. The owner is a graduate, and shortly after she first opened this place, she hosted a high school reunion on the beach, I guess to drum up business.”

  “Really? The business is booming, from what I hear.”

  “I don’t know, but the idea caught on, and now she’s having another. And word got out that the place is great, and it hasn’t been here that long, so I guess that was enough to attract a lot of Mimosa High graduates.”

  “Including you?”

  “Including me.”

  “So, you grew up on this island? You actually lived here?”

  “Eighteen years before I moved away.”

  She gave an envious moan. “Why would you leave?”

  He shrugged. “Life. Work.” And too many memories to come back to.

  She leaned closer, examining him. “What year reunion is it?” He could practically hear her brain doing the math on his age.

  “All years, from five to fifty, since it wasn’t that big of a high school. And I’m—don’t drink before I say this now, or you’ll spew—I’m on the planning committee.”

  She threw her head back and gave a hearty laugh, giving him another blast of attraction and maybe a little self-satisfaction that he’d taken her from sobbing to laughing in less than an hour.

  “How’d you get dragged into that?” she asked.

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” he admitted. “I guess I felt sorry for Lacey, who was having a hard time scaring up men for her committee.”

  “So I gotta ask,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming a little playfully.

  Oh, here it came. The inevitable question. Where’s the wife? Followed by the conversation that would bring everything down. If only he had a wife handy, he wouldn’t have to constantly make excuses for not having one.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “What is…what?” What was the reason he was alone? He hadn’t had enough wine to be that honest.

  “The theme,” she said. “Every reunion has a theme. Memory Lane or The Way We Were or Remember When. Something cheesy that will be in glitter glue on the ribbons tied around the favors.”

  He laughed with a combination of relief and genuine appreciation for her humor. “Damn, woman. You’ve done this before.”

  “Twice. Cheesy phrases are my specialty. So, what is it?”

  “Timeless.”

  She leaned back and crossed her arms, nodding. “That’s good. I like it. Especially for an all-class reunion. Timeless has a lot of potential.”

  “Glad the committee has your approval.” He winked, getting another smile in return. “Remind me to drag you along to the next meeting.” That would keep the vultures away from him.

  “So that’s why the resort is sold out without so much as a closet in the housekeeping bungalow for me to rent, huh? It’s all Mimosa High’s fault.” She shook her head, then her eyes flashed. “Oh, I left my bags outside.”

  “I put them in the living room for you.”

  “Really?” She lifted her glass. “To gentlemen. A dying breed if there ever was one.”

  He toasted but lifted his brow. “Hey, you sound bitter again.”

  She sighed. “Can you blame me?”

  “I don’t know. What happened with skinny-shoulder guy?”

  She closed her eyes and gave in to a very slight smile. “Heidi happened.”

  “Oof.” Mark shook his head and felt his lip curl. “Cheaters are the worst.”

  “I agree, but he didn’t cheat. Oh, that would have just slayed me completely. No, Heidi is his sister. He spent a weekend skiing with her and came back with cold feet, and not from too much time in the snow. I gu
ess they stayed up all night talking, and she made him really think I was not his professional equal or some such nonsense.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but he danced around it enough for me to get the subtext. I guess I should never have dated my boss.”

  “You can’t help who you fall for,” he said.

  She tilted her head, thinking. “I don’t know if I would have described that as ‘falling’ as much as…sliding into it. Anyway, it was advertising,” she said, as if that explained it. “And you know advertising.”

  “No, I don’t know advertising.”

  “Built on lies. And affairs, though I’ve never had one. But it really is like Mad Men, only without the two-martini lunches.”

  “Mad Men?”

  “The TV show.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  She drew back. “Where have you been for the last decade?”

  “Mountains, rivers, cliffs, and deserts. Places that don’t have television.”

  She eyed him for a moment. “I guess I can see that lifestyle on you. You’ve got that whole Ralph Lauren Goes on an Adventure vibe.”

  “Ralph Lauren?”

  “Talk about selling an aspirational image,” she said. “But, yes, advertising is an industry built on lies.”

  “Why don’t you try your hand at something else now?”

  “Because it’s what I know, what I do,” she answered. “Except…”

  When her voice faded, he looked at her, silently inviting her to continue.

  “According to my ex, I seem to be lacking ambition and skill because I’ve been in advertising almost fifteen years, and I haven’t made the management ranks yet.”

  “The more you tell me about this guy, the happier I am for you.”

  She smiled. “I liked my job enough, even though it was fairly low level. I liked the creativity. And I guess the late nights working on client crises.”

  “Late nights at work? Who likes that?” he asked.

  “A single woman.” She gave him a sad smile. “Then, after holding firm until I was thirty-eight years old, I fell for the mother of all marketing ploys: love.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or reach over the table and shake some sense into her. “Love isn’t a marketing ploy,” he said.

  She looked skyward with a cynical eye roll. “It is a ‘key message,’ as we say, used to sell long white dresses, overpriced flowers, dreamy honeymoons at places like this.” She shook her head. “Truth is, I was perfectly happy before I got sucked into all of that, even though they have names for nearly forty-year-old women who’ve never been married.”

  “Smart, independent, self-sufficient, and able to set her own course in life?”

  She put her hand on her chest as if his words had touched her heart. “Yeah, that’s the spin we single girls like to put on it. Beats old maid who missed the boat because she was too…afraid to commit. Finally did, and wham, slam, good-bye, ma’am.”

  Laughing at her clever phrases, he stood to go to the wet bar and get the chilled wine. “Well, I’m really sorry I added to your mess by taking the last villa in Casa Blanca.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “I don’t blame you. I envy you the fine accommodations, but I don’t blame you.”

  From the wet bar, holding the bottle, Mark studied her as she took in the view. For a second, he imagined that she belonged right there, on his villa patio, drinking, talking, and laughing. A sharp stab of longing hit.

  Forget bringing her to a meeting. How nice would it be to have someone charming and smart and funny to take to the events this entire week? Someone who could help him ward off the hungry sharks. Someone who would make sure no one even asked about Julia. Someone…like her.

  “Emma.” He slowly crossed the space, holding the wine as an idea took shape. “I have an offer for you.”

  “An offer.” She gave a tentative smile. “That sounds interesting.”

  “It might be. You want to stay here, right?”

  “You giving the place up?” she asked.

  “No.” He sat down and held the bottle over her empty glass. “But I’ll share it.”

  Her eyes widened, and she made a little grunt, putting her hand out to stop him from pouring. “I think we’ve had enough wine, cowboy.”

  “I’m serious.”

  She puffed out a breath. “Listen, you’re gorgeous, with the whole silver fox thing going on, but—”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you.”

  She tipped her head and lifted a brow. “Just a platonic share, huh? You and me in the king-size bed with Scheherazade drapes and candles in the bath? Yeah, right.”

  Actually, the idea didn’t pain him in the least. The more he listened and watched, the more he liked her and wanted her company. But what he needed was a woman to stop the questions he wouldn’t be able to avoid all week. No one would bring up Julia with another woman in the picture. But it would have to be a woman who people believed was permanent, not a casual date.

  He hadn’t told a single person here whether or not he was single. He worked so hard to avoid the question that he’d completely succeeded.

  “I don’t want to sleep with you,” he repeated. “I want to marry you.”

  Chapter Three

  Emma whipped around, almost falling out of her seat. “What?”

  “Just for this week, and this”—he gestured toward the beach—“audience.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about?” She blinked in dismay, her mind whirring with possible escape routes.

  “Hear me out. I need someone to…deflect things so I can get through this week. You need your vacation in paradise. Come to a few events with me, say you’re my wife, and I’ll give you the master suite while I sleep on the couch and use the guest bathroom.”

  She could feel her jaw loosen and mouth grow wider and wider at each word. “Deflect things?” she asked, not sure the rest of his proposal—God, not another meaningless one—really sank in.

  “I just don’t want…questions,” he said, shifting a little in his seat.

  He didn’t want questions? “From me? Too bad. You’re getting them. Why would I agree to do that for you?”

  “I’ll tell you the story,” he said. “And I think you’ll understand.”

  Doubtful, but she reached for the wine and filled her glass. “I think I need this, after all.”

  He took a second to gather his thoughts while she took a healthy drink. “I graduated from Mimosa High in 1986,” he began.

  She did some quick math in her head and gave a low whistle, searching his face again. Yeah, he had salt-and-pepper hair, but his face was youthful, and his body was… Don’t think about that, Emma.

  “All throughout high school, I was attached to one girl. And by attached I mean…” He thought for a second. “I guess I don’t know how to describe it to someone who thinks true love is a marketing slogan.”

  “Try.”

  He pinned her with his sharp blue gaze. “Okay, we married two months after graduation.”

  “High school graduation?” Her lips curled in a smile. “How’d that not-so-wise choice go for you?”

  “Perfectly. She was everything I ever wanted, and I loved her with my entire body, soul, and being.”

  She drew back slightly, so not expecting that. Then what was the issue? “Please don’t tell me she ran off with the bad boy from shop and is here with him and you want to show her how happy you are without her.”

  “I wish.”

  Frowning, she lifted the glass again. “Now you’ve lost me…”

  “We got married at eighteen, and we were married for fourteen years.”

  Something in his tone—something dark and serious—kept her from making another joke or even a comment.

  “She was diagnosed with cancer at thirty-two and died three weeks later from a rare allergic reaction to chemo.”

  “Oh.” The word caught in her throat
and, immediately, her eyes stung. “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, please. I’ve had all the sympathy I can take. Sixteen years have passed and I’m fine.” He stressed the word, as if he’d said it so many times it was tattooed on his brain and heart. Fine.

  “I’m sure you are,” she said, sadness squeezing her heart. “It’s so unfair, this life.”

  “There are no guarantees,” he agreed. “But you go on.”

  She looked hard at him, drinking in the aura of strength he exuded. He’d gone on…alone. “So everyone at this reunion knew her?” she asked.

  “Knew and loved her. Knew us. MarkandJulia were”—he smacked his hands together with a loud clap—“a single thing.”

  She dragged herself back to the bizarre marriage offer, not entirely making the trip from the loss of a wife everyone knew to…that. “I still don’t get where you’re going with this.”

  “Her name, of course, will come up a lot this week.”

  “And you want to avoid that?” she asked.

  “That and the inevitable questions about my state of…widowhood. And those who’d like to change it.”

  “So you don’t want to answer those questions or deal with flirty women enough that you’d fake a wife?” she asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

  “I don’t,” he acknowledged. “I hate the questions. And I hate being asked why I haven’t remarried.”

  And, of course, that’s all she wanted to ask now.

  “Sorry to break it to you,” she finally said. “But I’m not the best emissary for the institution of marriage these days. Couldn’t I just be your date?”

  He shook his head. “A girlfriend is not an impediment to some women. Some…determined women.”

  Oh yeah. Who wouldn’t want a catch like him? “Good-looking guy who likes orphans and strays? You’re a package of silver catnip.”

  He gave a slow, achingly sexy smile. “I meet a lot of perfectly nice women, but…I’m not interested in anything serious or long term. Still, this would work if my companion has an official, permanent title.”

  She lifted one dubious brow.