Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1) Page 4

  “You’d have this great place to stay for the week.”

  There was that. But not at all what she’d expected when she got on that plane in NYC and flew to Florida. “It was supposed to be a romantic vacation in paradise,” she said.

  “But you came alone,” he replied. “So you must want something out of this week in Barefoot Bay.”

  She wanted an escape, yes. Sun. Sand. But certainly not a man.

  “I came down here to clear my head and get over what happened to me, but more than that, I wanted to experience the place. It’s stuck in my head and heart, and I wanted to be here.” She shrugged. “Of course, it would be nice to get to the point with my ex where I…”

  “Forgive him?” he suggested.

  She snorted. “Not want to stab his eyes out with a hot poker.”

  “A week in paradise could get you there and, you never know, maybe I can help you with that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now this fake marriage is going to make me forget him?”

  “I only meant because my late wife and I started an Internet company called Seeking Soulmates. It grew out of a syndicated romantic advice column she wrote. We eventually turned it into one of the first Internet dating services, which sold to a much bigger and better-known service. In my career, I learned a lot about love, romance, and, of course, the elusive happily ever after.”

  Elusive? How about it didn’t exist, except in the minds of people who were selling the dream, including Internet dating services? “I have to be honest, Mark. Internet dating is kind of my idea of the seventh level of hell. Talk about lies to sell more lies.”

  He inched a little closer. “I can help you, Emma,” he said. “And you can help me.”

  He was crazy. He was gorgeous. He was…magnetic. How on earth had a guy in the George Clooney league of hot, loaded, and smart not been lassoed and branded by a woman in sixteen years?

  “You’re not going to like this,” she finally said. “But I have to ask.”

  “Why haven’t I remarried?” he asked, obviously knowing what she was thinking.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, most men in your situation hook up pretty fast with wife number two.”

  He looked down at his glass, thinking for a moment. “She was my soul mate,” he said softly, finally meeting her gaze. “And there was, is, and never will be any other woman for me. Ever.”

  Wow. Holy…wow. What…would that be like? Was it even possible to have that kind of love? What did it feel like, other than pure bliss?

  She opened her mouth to reply, but a doorbell rang and stopped her. He hesitated a moment, then stood.

  “Excuse me,” he murmured, getting up. “Just think about it, okay?”

  How could she think about anything else?

  She listened to his footsteps in the living room, turning to the French doors for one last glimpse of the most extraordinary man—and offer—she’d come across in a long time. Her initial instinct, of course, was to run and hide.

  Emma DeWitt always took the safe way out, and the one time she hadn’t, it had blown up in her face. But this…

  “Oh, hello, Lacey.”

  Lacey Walker. Emma had never met the woman, but she’d certainly heard about the dynamic resort owner who was one of East End Marketing’s clients. And, after writing the “history of Casa Blanca” document for the stockholders’ annual report, Emma had deep respect for the woman who had lost her home in a hurricane and used the opportunity and her windfall of waterfront property to build an exclusive resort. And married the architect.

  No wonder she thought everyone should kick off their shoes and fall in love. She had.

  “I just wanted to make sure you settled in okay, Mark.” Lacey’s voice drifted out to the patio. “And let you know how much I appreciate your agreeing to be here early and help with some last-minute details of the event.”

  Curiosity tweaked, Emma stood, slowly walking toward the door for a possible glimpse of the woman she’d written about.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Mark said. “The place is fantastic, and I’m happy to be here.”

  “Even though you were only slightly attacked at the meeting,” Lacey said with a teasing laugh.

  So it was true, then. Poor guy. So in demand that he needed to create a significant other.

  Although, Emma had to admit the idea had a surprising amount of appeal. It would mean a great vacation in paradise and…and…he needed help. How bad could he be, a guy who’d loved his wife that much? He’d been through a lot. The worst.

  “It’s all good,” he said easily to Lacey.

  Affable and kind. How could Emma not help him?

  “Well, you haven’t heard everything yet,” Lacey said.

  Emma stepped closer, their position in the entryway blocking her view of Lacey, but she could hear the exchange.

  “Not sure I like the sound of that,” Mark said with a nervous laugh.

  “Well, you know that Robert’s Rules dictates that when you leave a committee meeting, you are likely to be signed up to do things…all kinds of things.” Lacey’s voice was teasing, but not completely.

  What had poor Mark been signed up to do? “Don’t tell me. The tablecloth subcommittee.”

  Lacey laughed. “No, nothing like that. I think you missed this at the meeting, but the festivities at the reunion include a dance competition featuring songs from the different decades and choreographed routines. We’re calling it Dance of the Decades, but it’s a riff on Dancing With the Stars.”

  Nothing but silence for at least three seconds, and Emma covered her mouth to keep from laughing at what she imagined Mark’s response to that would be.

  “You know Dancing With the Stars,” Lacey added.

  Of course not, Emma thought. He didn’t know Mad Men, either.

  “So you want me to judge the competition?”

  “No.” She gave a nervous laugh. “You were signed up to dance.”

  During the long silence, Emma stepped just inside the French doors.

  “Didn’t Law Monroe and Ken Cavanaugh tell you I wouldn’t do that?” he finally asked.

  “Well, they left, too.”

  “Then they can dance.”

  “Well, it’s kind of been decided by the committee. And at least half the women offered to help you learn the dance routine and, of course, be your partner.”

  Another silence.

  Emma didn’t know the man. Didn’t know squat about him except what he’d shared with her. Yet, something urged her an inch closer. Sympathy for his plight, maybe. Something.

  “The dance will only be a few minutes long.” Lacey was speed-talking now, trying to convince him. “You know, a selection of songs from the eighties. That’s your decade. We’re doing five different decades and…”

  Emma stepped through the doorway, and Lacey immediately noticed her behind Mark.

  “Oh, hello,” she said to Emma.

  “Hi.” Emma gave a slightly shaky smile. This was crazy…but…what had she just learned in the past ten minutes? Life was short.

  “Hello.” Lacey stepped around Mark and offered her hand. “I’m Lacey Walker, and I own the resort.”

  Mark turned, coming closer to Emma, a little confusion on his expression, but that might just be the aftermath of learning he’d been volunteered to dance. “Lacey, this is—”

  “Emma DeWitt,” Emma gave Lacey’s hand a firm shake. “I’m Mark’s fiancée,” she added, the words sounding far too familiar. She’d been somebody’s fiancée; she could play that role. “Nice to meet you, Lacey.”

  Emma looked up and met Mark’s blink of surprise, seeing it morph into a smile and a conspiratorial wink.

  Instantly, he slipped his arm around her and tugged her closer. “Yeah. My fiancée.”

  “Emma. How…lovely.” Lacey shook Emma’s hand and looked from one to the other, her pretty brown eyes glinting with uncertainty and pleasure at the news. “So then I guess I only have one question,” Lacey said.

 
; Only one? Emma wondered. More like how, when, and why are you lying? She braced for the accusations.

  “Do you dance?” Lacey asked.

  Like a wounded water buffalo. “Of course, I love to dance,” she replied, cuddling a little closer to Mark, which, she had to be honest, didn’t suck. “So no need for him to have any other partner or teacher.”

  He added a little pressure with a strong, secure, and grateful arm around her.

  “Wonderful,” Lacey exclaimed. “We’re having a little gathering at my house tonight for the planning committee and their spouses who are here, so we’ll give you the rest of the details then. I just live at the north edge of the property. Can you make it?”

  “Uh, Lacey, we’re—”

  “Absolutely,” Emma said, cutting off Mark’s protest. “I’m looking forward to meeting the other members of the planning committee.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mark agreed, likely remembering that meeting people with Emma on his arm was the whole idea of this charade. “What time should we swing by?”

  “Come on over in an hour or so for cocktails and dinner,” she replied, reaching forward to Emma. “And, really, I’m so happy to meet you. So happy Mark found…you.”

  With a quick good-bye, Lacey left, leaving the two of them in a quick moment of silence, then they both burst out laughing as they slowly untangled their arms from around each other’s waist.

  “You got a pair, I have to say,” he said between chuckles.

  “A pair of left feet.” She bit her lip and put her hand to her mouth. “I have no idea how to dance. Plus, the eighties is not my era, silver fox. You have me by ten years.”

  “But you…” He reached out and took her hand. “Seriously? You’ll do this for me?”

  His hand was large, a little rough, incredibly masculine. Nothing like Kyle’s smooth hands. Nothing like anyone’s she’d ever touched.

  “I’m doing it for me,” she insisted, pulling her fingers out of his before she did something stupid and brought his knuckles to her mouth for a taste. “I want my week in paradise, and this is my villa. I’ll take that offer and be your fiancée. Wife was pushing it, but I know all about being a fiancée.” She leaned a little closer. “And I even have the hardware since Skinny Shoulders let me keep the ring.”

  “Emma.” He took her by the elbows and pulled her closer. “I love that you’re not afraid of adventure.”

  Not afraid of adventure? He couldn’t be more off the mark. “I’m terrified of adventure,” she admitted. “But you just want me to lie. I do that for a living, remember?” She smiled up at him, committed to the concept now. “I will put a marketing spin on this engagement that will keep all the she-wolves away, and in return, I’ll…” Fall right into your arms.

  Oh, Emma, don’t buy into another lie.

  “I’ll bask in the sun and forget Kyle Chambers ever lived.”

  But he didn’t laugh. He just held her a little too close, a little too securely. A little too much like a man who was about to kiss her.

  “Which will be great,” she said on a whisper, finally slipping away from him. “This will be great.”

  Almost as great as kissing him, but she would never do something that stupid.

  Chapter Four

  Emma slipped in some earrings, stepped back, and took a look at herself in the mirror, liking the way the cream-colored linen pants and sleeveless tunic fell, adjusting the long gold chain that pulled it all together.

  She’d bought this outfit imagining romantic dinners by the water and slow strolls on the beach under the moonlight…with her husband.

  The one who was plagued by icy feet and an even icier heart.

  Okay, it was time to forget Kyle and think about this. What had made her do something as impulsive as agreeing to this?

  Sometimes she did impulsive things when she was nervous. Like the day she started her job at East End Marketing and fought tears on the way into the office because being single was pressing down and starting to get so old. About half an hour later, she met Kyle Chambers, and the next thing she knew…she was talking herself into him.

  That’s not what happened today, she mentally insisted. Mark Solomon was just…a harmless old widower, right?

  Uh…wrong. Old if you were blind and harmless if you were wearing a chastity belt. Out there was pretty much the best-looking man she’d laid eyes on in years, with an impressive athlete’s body, a good heart, and the ability to make her do something she hadn’t done in days: laugh out loud.

  The rationalization continued like a bad song she couldn’t get out of her head. What’s the harm? What’s a little lie to strangers? What difference does it make that he’s hot as hell?

  He’d offered her a week in paradise for the small fee of a little white fib to a bunch of strangers.

  Yes, it had felt strange to lie to the lovely lady who owned this place—who, fortunately, had no idea Emma DeWitt worked on the Casa Blanca account as a copywriter. Mid-level scribes didn’t get dragged into important client meetings. Emma had hoped when she moved from a behemoth ad agency on Madison Avenue to a small shop in SoHo that she’d get more client interaction, but the only interaction she got was with the boss.

  She squinted her eyes and tried to picture Kyle when he’d come simpering into her cube a few weeks ago after his spontaneous ski trip with a sister he hadn’t seen in a year.

  But the wedding loomed. The big day. White lace and promises, right?

  She’d clung to the damn marketing like it was her life raft in a sea of singleness. It had all been so right…so right out of the movies, including the quirky restaurant engagement.

  “That reminds me…” Emma snapped her fingers and reached for her handbag, hanging on the back of the door. Deep in the back pocket, she found the satin pouch she hadn’t packed in her checked luggage. In the little bag, she’d placed the emerald earrings Mom had given her. There was a necklace of value, a gold bracelet, and…the rock.

  Not a huge rock, but it did the job.

  Sliding the engagement ring onto her finger, she waited for the weight of sadness that had pulled her down the day she’d taken it off, at Starbucks, surrounded by busy New Yorkers taking a break from a slushy rain.

  When she’d held the ring out to Kyle, he’d shaken his head and said, “It’s yours.”

  “But you’re not,” she’d whispered in response, making him avert his eyes and push back his chair and end the world’s most uncomfortable coffee date in history.

  History, she reminded herself. Kyle was history.

  She closed her bag and slipped it on her shoulder, checked for lipstick on her teeth, and smoothed her hair one last time. Then she stepped out into the fading evening light of the living room, glancing around for Mark.

  After moving her bags into the villa’s only bedroom, he’d taken his belongings and stored them somewhere and must have used the guest bath on the other side of the little house. The villa had one bedroom, but the living room sofa pulled out and accommodated at least one more person, so it wasn’t like he had to sleep on the floor, for heaven’s sake.

  A few butterflies fluttered in her belly at the thought, and then she spotted him back on the patio, leaning against the railing. And those butterflies soared.

  He’d changed to tan linen pants and a pale, short-sleeved shirt that fit his broad shoulders tightly enough to show them off, but with enough drape to say he didn’t care if anyone noticed his body or not. His hair was completely dark in the back, but the last bits of sunlight picked up the silver threads at his temples, giving him the look of a man with wisdom, experience, power, and class.

  And a hella fine backside.

  He turned as she came outside, studying her while she rounded the pool and approached him, his gaze dropping over her with the same flash of appreciation she imagined lit her eyes.

  “I have a question, Mark.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How recently did we get engaged?”

  He lifted a
shoulder. “How about a month ago? I was in…” Dark brows knit as he thought about it. “Indonesia? No, Bhutan. The Sacred Rivers. Let’s say we hiked to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery, and I popped the question three thousand feet above Paro.”

  She choked a laugh. “Well, that makes getting engaged at Daniel in New York sound pretty pedestrian.”

  “Good restaurant, but not very romantic.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Bhutan it is. Three thousand feet off the ground because we were so in love, we were floating on air.”

  “You are a copywriter.”

  “To the bone,” she acknowledged, lifting her left hand to wiggle the ring. “And I can fend off evil predators.”

  He reached for her hand to take a closer look. “So this was dessert at Daniel?”

  “Actually, the appetizer. So we could spend the dinner planning.”

  He nodded, angling the ring to check it out. “I might have gone a little bigger, but not ostentatious.”

  “Do you think these people will judge?” she asked.

  He lifted his shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t talk to any of these people.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  He started to answer, then stopped, catching himself. “I just did,” he said. “You ready? We can walk up the beach to get there.”

  She didn’t move, slowly crossing her arms. “No.”

  “What? You changed your mind?”

  “No, you can’t lie to me.”

  He frowned. “I’m not lying. You really do walk up the beach to get there.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Just now, when I asked you why you came to this reunion, you said, ‘I just did.’ That’s a lie.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.

  “Am I right?”

  “Possibly,” he said after a second’s hesitation. “Does it matter?”

  “Why you came? No. Honesty? Yes. Very much. In fact, it’s my deal-breaker. In this villa, when we are together, it’s one hundred percent honesty or nothing at all.”

  He leaned closer and glanced side to side as if someone might be listening to him whisper, “You do realize you agreed to lie to every person you meet this week.”