Barefoot by the Sea

Ian fisted his hand, and only the soft echo of Henry’s warning kept him from taking a swing. “You want a reason? I’ll give you three. You work for her mother, she’s barely seventeen, and if you lay a fucking hand on her, I’ll kill you.”

Marcus backed up a little. “What’s your deal, man? Why does it matter?”

Because it mattered to Tessa. The thought scared him almost as much as his fisted hand.

“It just does. So fly straight.” Ian gave him a solid push out the back door. “I’m watching you, kid.”

With a nervous and pissed-off look over his shoulder, Marcus left. Still fuming over the conversation, Ian finished one last pass at the kitchen and grabbed the to-go box of the last two orders of stone crabs he’d kept in the cooler. He dug through the bag for his regular phone since the one he kept in his pocket could only call Henry. When he had it, he tapped in Tessa’s number to text a message, as he promised he would when he was on his way over for the late dinner they had planned.

Leaving the restaurant. His finger hovered over the screen, considering how to close the message. Can’t wait, he typed.

But how would these words on her phone make her feel when he was finished with this charade? Hollow and hurt.

He deleted those last two words, stepping outside, still debating how to sign off the text, if at all. Oh, hell, how to sign off a text was the last thing he should be worried about. As the evening had worn on and his outrageous plan took hold, he’d battled hope and guilt.

Hope that he’d somehow found an answer for Henry’s request that he have proof of marriage when he went to Canada to get his kids. But guilt pounded harder, because signing that piece of paper would mean something to Tessa Galloway. So how would he make that happen?

He still didn’t know, but he hadn’t talked to Henry yet. Maybe Henry would give him the go-ahead to be straight with her.

His finger still over the screen, he sucked in some of the cooler evening air, hoping for a clear head in the salty breeze but getting a douse of cloying perfume instead.

“I thought you’d never come out.”

Blinking into the darkness, he spied a woman standing next to his bike. Oh, hell. Apparently “He’s engaged” really didn’t mean anything to Grace Hartgrave.

“I had dinner with a girlfriend,” she said as he crossed the parking lot. “We asked the server to send our compliments to the chef.”

He reached the bike, averting his gaze from hers. “I got them, thanks.”

“We also asked that you visit the table.”

“It was the middle of a rush.” He shifted from foot to foot, keeping the bike between them. “Kinda late to be hanging out in the parking lot, Mrs.…” He pretended to search for a name he knew. “Sorry, I can’t remember your husband’s last name,” he added deliberately.

She gave a slow smile. “Don’t worry. I can’t remember his first name half the time.” She rounded the bike. “Want to walk the beach?”

“No.”

She peered up flirtatiously. “Want to take me for a ride?”

“No.”

She smiled, undeterred. “Want to skip the preliminaries and go back to your place for a nightcap and a —?”

He put his hand over her mouth. “No, Mrs. Hartgrave, I don’t want to do anything with you.”

Under his palm, her smile faltered. He dropped his hand and cocked his head toward the bike. “’Scuze me…”

She stepped closer, the perfume as offensively strong as she was. “I think you’re hot.”

“I think you’re married.”

That made her grin. “Nothin’ wrong with a little fun on the side.”

“Yes there is,” he said simply. “I need you to step out of the way so I can get on this bike.”

“I need you to think about what you’re missing.” She arched her back to press her breasts to his chest. “’Kay?”

He shifted to the side, smelling trouble as much as the cheap fragrance. Even if he was the least bit interested—which he wasn’t—he knew bad news when it batted over-made-up eyes at him. For years he’d trained himself to avoid anyone or anything like this.

“Bet your husband is worried about you,” he said, attempting for diplomacy.

“Bet my husband is on his ninth beer.” She splayed her fingers on his chest, hissing in a breath as she pressed against his pecs.

He closed his hand over her wrist and removed her hand.

She circled the other around his neck, pulling him down. “One kiss. I made a bet I could get one.” Up on her toes, she smashed her mouth against his the very second bright lights of a golf cart bathed them in yellow.

He jerked away, blinded by the lights and unable to see the driver. Instantly, the golf cart whirled around to head back up the path, and the moonlight shown on dark hair spread over narrow and familiar shoulders.

Damn it! “Tessa!” he called, practically tossing the woman in front of him to the side. “Wait!”

But she barreled the cart back up the path without even glancing back.

“Come on.” Grace put both arms around his waist. “Let’s—”

He gave her a gentle but solid push back, still watching the retreating golf cart. “Get the hell off me, lady.”

She stepped back, wiping the corner of her mouth, her eyes transforming from sultry to icy in an instant. But he barely noticed, his entire focus on that golf cart disappearing into the darkness of a winding path.

The second he had space, he threw one leg over the bike. He twisted the key and revved hard, not even looking at Grace as she dramatically threw herself backward.

He turned the wheel and shot out of the lot, his engine not quite loud enough to drown out Grace’s parting shot. “Fuck you, asshole!”

He hoped Tessa heard that, too.

Tessa parked the cart on the path, cursing her decision to go meet John at the restaurant and take that beach stroll he’d wanted. Marching across the grass toward the gardens, she heard the motorcycle engine rev, but the sound of her name called out in shock still reverberated in her head.

She slowed down when she reached the root-vegetable section, the burn of embarrassment finally subsiding.

Grace Hartgrave! How low can you go? Not that she thought for a minute he was interested in her, but did he take what any woman offered? Was that the thing he was hiding from her?

He’d certainly acted that way the night they’d met. Since then, he hadn’t shown any indication that he was a man whore, but she really didn’t know him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the truth of that burning.

The motorcycle engine grew louder, coming up the path on the same route she’d taken. Maybe she shouldn’t have run, but she had. So now what? Hide in her own garden?

“Tessa!” His voice carried over the garden, more angry and frustrated than desperate.

Why had her instinct been to run?

She knew why. An image of another man in a parking lot flashed in her head, the memory of that moment when she saw Billy leaning against the yoga instructor’s car, reaching down to touch her possessively, and that very first twinge of disbelief and suspicion started to simmer in Tessa’s chest.

“Tessa!”

Of course, this was deja vu. At least Billy picked someone worthy of Tessa’s jealousy. Grace Hartgrave wasn’t—

She spotted him rounding a live oak tree, pausing as if he’d picked up her scent, scanning the garden. Staying in the shadows of the citrus trees, she inhaled the sweet scent of orange and tried to erase both bad memories.

John wasn’t Billy, not by a long shot.