Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) Read online

“Now.”

  They’d talked about it? Gussie didn’t know quite what to make of that, but she didn’t have time to think because Alex came bounding over, kicking sand under her bare feet. She held out a small box to Tom, grinning like a fool.

  “Here you go.” As she held it out, Gussie recognized the container as the porcelain box Tom had bought on the streets of Nice. Gussie pressed both hands to her chest.

  “Come here,” Tom said to Alex, gesturing to his side. “Like we planned.”

  They’d planned this?

  “But, Uncle Tommy, you have to—”

  He quieted her with one raised hand. “I got this, kid.” Turning to Gussie, Tom slowly got down on one knee. Gussie pressed so hard on her chest, she was sure she’d crack her breastbone if her heart didn’t do it from the inside first.

  “I love you, Gussie McBain.” He was so matter-of-fact that Gussie had to smile. “I love your spirit and your heart and your soul and your mind. I love your body, your beauty, and your flaws. I love who I am when I’m with you and who I’m going to be after we spend our lives together.”

  Alex made a sweet little whimper that echoed the one Gussie was fighting not to let out.

  “And whatever lies ahead in that great unknown,” he continued, “I know that I will never stop loving you.”

  She nodded in agreement, her eyes filled to the point that he blurred.

  “So will you marry me, Gussie, and make me the happiest man on earth?” He opened the box and nearly blinded her with the glint of an oval diamond.

  Alex cleared her throat.

  “And make Alex the happiest girl along with me?” he added.

  She didn’t answer right away, because the moment was just too precious and poignant to end. Instead, she stood perfectly still, letting the setting sun warm her and the gulf breeze lift her hair and tickle her skin. She wanted to remember the salty smell in the air, the soft sand under her toes, and the joy that ricocheted through her body.

  She’d never forget this.

  “Um, Gussie?” Alex said, a note of worry in her voice. “Yes?”

  Gussie laughed. “Yes! I would be honored to marry you, Thomas Jefferson DeMille.”

  Tom stood instantly, but before he put the ring on her finger, Gussie opened her arms and pulled him and Alex close to her and made a different kind of ring, every bit as beautiful. Her family.

  Don’t you wonder where Ari was when she was so late for Willow’s wedding? There’s more love on the horizon of Barefoot Bay! Read on for a sneak peek at Ari’s story,

  coming soon!

  Barefoot in Pearls

  The Barefoot Bay Brides #3

  Arielle Chandler never prayed, not in the classic head-bowed, hands-folded, beg-for-help kind of way. Raised by a Bible-thumping Oklahoma man of God and a new age healer with Native American blood coursing through her veins, Ari never really chose sides on the subject of The Powers That Be. When she wanted answers, though, she took things up with a nebulous force she thought of as “the universe” and hoped it covered all the bases.

  Which was why she wasn’t in the bridal dressing room right now. She checked the sky to gauge the time, certain she had at least fifteen more minutes until she had to tear across the island and get back to Barefoot Bay for Willow’s wedding. Until then, she kept walking up the one and only hill she’d ever found on this island, making her supreme displeasure known to the universe.

  “I’m happy for them,” she said out loud. “I mean, who wouldn’t be happy when best friend number one is about to say ‘I do’ and best friend number two just fell hard for the man of her dreams? Of course I say, ‘Way to go, girls.’”

  The words rang hollow, and not just because this little stretch of land on the northern tip of Mimosa Key was always abandoned. Someone must have lived here once, though, because there was a dilapidated old bungalow at the bottom of the hill, missing most of its roof and all of its windows.

  Nearly at the top of the hill, Ari stopped and looked out to the distant horizon. “I just want my turn,” she whispered. “I just want…”

  She closed her mouth, purposely silent. The universe would laugh at her. Like her friends tried not to do when she told them that she’d been raised to believe there is one and only one person meant for everyone on earth.

  As the years had gone by and Ari failed to meet The One, she couldn’t help wondering if the idea was merely something her God-fearing father and crystal-loving mother had cooked up to explain their bizarre, yet wildly successful, union.

  But she’d heard the promise since childhood and stubbornly clung to the hope that it was true. Mom had assured her she’d recognize her one true love by the way her heart would feel like it was literally expanding in her chest, because it was “making room for love that will last a lifetime.”

  Dad said her spine would tingle, sending sparks out to her fingertips that couldn’t be stopped until she touched the man who was destined for her. Just to make things worse, her sister had found The One and told Ari it hurt to look at her beloved because white lights went off in her head when they met, and her brother, just as fortunate, said he’d gone numb when he laid eyes on a woman he married six months later. None of them, reportedly, could breathe.

  Frankly, they all sounded like they needed a drink, or had one too many. But Ari, the youngest and most impressionable, believed they must be on to something since they were all happily married, lovingly connected, and wonderfully in love.

  But she was not, and had never been. How did the universe explain that?

  The flutter of bird’s wings pulled her attention, as though the answer were right over her head. She looked up, expecting an ibis or even a seagull, but big, black wings beat the air, the long gray tips spread wide and menacing over her.

  A vulture. She ducked instinctively as the bird swooped low, dropped a massive dollop of poop on the ground, then soared back into the air like a poor man’s eagle.

  “Eww!” She backed away, disgust and disbelief rocking through her. Is that what the universe thought of her dreams and longings? A vulture who pooped all over…

  What was that? The bird dropping had landed on something white, shiny, and long that looked like an ivory-colored snake curled into the grass. Ari stepped closer and leaned over to examine a string of tiny misshapen stones curled along a section of dirt.

  Were those…pearls?

  Leaning over, she squinted at the row of at least a dozen stones, the droplets of bird doo still wet on the ridged surface. Reaching into the pocket of her shorts, she fished for a tissue or receipt or, much more likely, a candy wrapper, but came up with nothing that could wipe the stones clean.

  So she’d have to man up and touch them, because they were absolutely stunning. Kneeling closer, she squinted at the bluish-purple color of the largest stone. Wiping her hand on her shorts, she extended two fingers gingerly toward the end of the strand.

  These were not your basic jewelry-store freshwater pearls. These had an ancient, handmade look, the string between each pearl clumsily knotted and frayed with age. A memory came drifting through her mind, barely more than a wisp of smoke, but Ari closed her eyes and went back to a Native American festival she’d once attended with her mother.

  There were pearl necklaces among the artifacts, found in…Indian burial mounds.

  She gasped, blinking at the punch of realization. What if this hill—on an island that had no other hills—wasn’t a hill at all?

  What if—

  A rhythmic pounding broke the silence, but not a bird’s wings this time. The sound was steady, strong, a drumbeat of…feet.

  Ari whipped around to see a man jogging—no, seriously running—full speed toward her, bare-chested and bronzed.

  She blinked as if the sun were playing tricks on her, highlighting the glistening muscles of his torso and abs, the powerful thighs as he took each stride, the tanned, sweaty shoulders held straight and strong as he powered up the hill, directly at her.

  He had
earbuds in, short, dark hair, and a mouth set in a grim line. He wore sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but he made no effort to change his path as he barreled forward.

  It happened so fast. With no time to stand, she threw herself back with a shriek to get out of his way, but he stumbled over her foot and barked a word that sounded like a black curse in a foreign language. He danced a little to get his balance, and the sunglasses went flying.

  “Whoa!” He fought to stop his own momentum “Where the hell did you come from?”

  Her? What about him? “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Running up a hill.” He practically spit the words at her, wiping sweat off his forehead, his chest heaving with a shallow breath. “What are you doing here?”

  Really? It was her fault he rammed into her? “How did you not see me?”

  “My eyes were closed.”

  What?

  “In the zone,” he added, as if that explained why anyone would run with eyes closed and ears plugged. He reached for her hand to help her up. “You okay?”

  She started to wave off the help, but he clasped her wrist, wrapping huge, masculine fingers around her, giving her an effortless tug that brought her right to her feet. She still had to look up at him and still needed to squint, but not because of the sunlight. Because he was as menacing as the vulture who just bombed her.

  He wasn’t handsome, not in any conventional way. Just rough and dark with heavy whiskers over a jaw that looked like it might have met a few fists in its day. And big. His chest and shoulders dwarfed her, with cuts to define every single muscle.

  “Really sorry,” he said again. But he didn’t sound sorry, or look it, either. He scanned her face and made no effort to unlock his grip on her wrist.

  She should yank free. She should step away. She should stop staring. She should…breathe.

  But right that minute, bathed in sunlight and pinned by a green-gold gaze the color of hammered bronze, Ari Chandler couldn’t do any of those things. Because her whole body was kind of tingling and buzzing and sparking, like she’d just stuck her entire arm in an electrical socket.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “’Cause you look like I rung your bell.”

  He rang…something. There was no other explanation for how lightheaded she suddenly felt.

  “I…I’m…I think…” Words failed her. No chance of a coherent sentence.

  His brows pulled into a frown as he gently turned her arm and placed a thumb over her pulse, which just hit warp speed.

  “Whoa. Your heart’s going faster than mine.” He started to tug her back to the ground. “I have some water in my truck. Should I get it?”

  Ari let him guide her to the ground, staring up as he crouched in front of her. “Who runs with their eyes closed?”

  “I was trained that way.”

  “For what? Suicide missions?”

  “Something like that.” The words, low and charged with mystery, sent another cascade of chills down her spine, a shocking feeling that had no place dancing over her in this heat and humidity.

  “Really, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I’ve never seen another person in all the times I’ve been here.”

  He glanced around. “I’m checking the place out.”

  “With your eyes closed?”

  He almost smiled, just enough to show a hint of dimples and straight white teeth. Just enough to take the edge off his face and turn it into something…arresting. She needed to look away, but all she could do was blink at the white lights flashing behind her eyes.

  Had she hit her head or…or…oh, no. No.

  “No,” she murmured. “No, this isn’t…you can’t be…no.” This wasn’t possible.

  “No…what?” he asked, concern darkening his eyes. “I can’t check the place out? I have the owner’s permission. Do you?”

  But it was possible. He could be… No, that was her imagination, not the universe answering her plea. Right? “No.”

  For one long, suspended second, everything around her became crystal clear, making her hyperaware of every color, scent, and sound. The slow roll of a bead of sweat, trickling over a scar on his temple. The flecks of amber and jade that somehow mixed to make his eyes a haunting shade she’d never seen before. The timbre of his voice, low and sweet, even the rhythmic breathing as the run caught up with him, was musical. He smelled like sunshine, and his hand, still wrapped around her, was like a hot brand of man against her skin.

  “Miss?” She blinked at him, letting the very real possibility of what was happening sink in.

  He was The One.

  “Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, making her jump. “Do you know your name?” he asked sharply.

  “Arielle Chandler.”

  “Place of birth?”

  “Sacramento, California.”

  “Husband’s name?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  His eyes flickered. “Phone number?”

  The paused, but not because she couldn’t remember it. Because his smile went from almost to full force, and the impact kind of…hurt.

  She could practically hear her sister’s voice describing the same thing.

  “No way!” She shook her head, still not believing it.

  “Hey, it was worth a try.” Still smiling, he leaned back on his haunches. “Since you’re coherent enough to turn me down, I guess you’re okay, Arielle Chandler. In fact, you’re…” He let his gaze drop over her. “Fine.”

  And every cell in her body just went numb.

  After a few seconds, he scooped up his sunglasses and stood. “So, by the way, if you don’t have the owner’s permission, you won’t be able to come here when construction starts.”

  She looked up at him, digging deep for some semblance of sanity and cool, when all she wanted to do was jump up and down and tell him exactly who he was. Her future…

  Wait a second. “Did you say construction?”

  “That old shack that got messed up in Hurricane Damien? It’s history, along with this hill, which the owner said will block his water view when he builds his new house.”

  Another, different kind of buzz hummed through her head. “It’s history?” Yes, it was. Her gaze shifted to the right, to the string of pearls not an inch away. “How can you get rid of a hill?” Especially when it might not be a “hill” at all?

  He lifted one mighty shoulder, as if she’d asked how to remove an ant hill…and not something that might be sacred ground. “Easily with a front loader and a bulldozer.” He wiped some more sweat and lifted his eyes to the water. “I personally think he ought to put the house up here for the best view, but hey, I’m just the builder, not the guy with the money.”

  She pushed up, sputtering a little. “You can’t build on this.”

  “Oh, he can and will. Well, I will. He’ll just pay for it.” He angled his head and looked closely at her, his stare so intent her heart ached like it was…expanding.

  For the man who wanted to bulldoze sacred ground? Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

  “You positive you’re okay?” he asked, sliding on his sunglasses.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “All right, then. Maybe I’ll, uh, run into you again.” He gave a quick laugh at the joke.

  “Oh, I’m sure you will.” She closed her fingers around the pearls. She’d have to find out the truth about these and this land. And if it turned out she was sitting on a Native American burial ground, this man would not bulldoze it away.

  She’d do anything to stop him…even if that cost her The One.

  Thank you for reading Barefoot in Lace! The book is lendable, so please send it to a friend you think might like a vacation in Barefoot Bay! Of course, you can leave a review if the spirit moves you—that helps Roxanne reach new readers, too. Have something to say? Roxanne loves to hear from readers, so feel free to email her at mailto:[email protected] or sign up for the mailing list on the home page of
her website, www.roxannestclaire.com. You can follow her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/roxannestclaire) and Twitter (www.twitter.com/roxannestclaire) for news, excerpts, contests, and more!

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  About the Author

  Roxanne St. Claire is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly forty novels of suspense and romance, including three popular series (The Bullet Catchers, The Guardian Angelinos, and Barefoot Bay) and multiple stand-alone books. Her entire backlist, including excerpts and buy links, can be found at www.roxannestclaire.com.

  In addition to being a six-time nominee and one-time winner of the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA Award, Roxanne’s novels have won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense three times, and the Borders Top Pick in Romance, as well as the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Maggie, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, the Award of Excellence, and many others. Her books have been translated into dozens of languages and are routinely included as a Doubleday/Rhapsody Book Club Selection of the Month.

  Roxanne lives in Florida with her husband and two teens, and can be reached via her website, www.roxannestclaire.com, or on her Facebook Reader page, www.facebook.com/roxannestclaire, and on Twitter at www.twitter.com/roxannestclaire.

  Books by Roxanne St. Claire

  The Barefoot Bay Brides

  Barefoot in White

  Barefoot in Lace

  Barefoot in Pearls

  The Barefoot Bay Billionaires (Contemporary Romance)

  Secrets on the Sand

  Seduction on the Sand

  Scandal on the Sand

  (Also available as a specially priced boxed set called The Barefoot Billionaires)

  The Barefoot Bay Quartet (Contemporary Romance)

  Barefoot in the Sand

  Barefoot in the Rain

  Barefoot in the Sun

  Barefoot by the Sea

  The Guardian Angelinos (Romantic Suspense)