Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (2 page)

“Really sorry,” he said. 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 oxidized copper, Ari Chandler couldn’t do any of those things. Because her whole body was kind of tingling and buzzing and sparking, like she’d stuck her entire arm in an electrical socket.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “’Cause you look like I rang 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 turned her arm and placed a thumb over her pulse, which hit warp speed.

“Whoa. Your heart’s racing faster than mine and I’ve been running.” He started to lower her back to the ground. “Sit down. I have some water in my truck. Let me get it.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” But Ari let him guide her down, sitting on the grass as he crouched in front of her. She searched his face, trying to decide if she’d ever seen him before. No. In fact, she’d never seen anyone quite like him.

“Who…” Are you? She swallowed the rude-sounding question since he seemed to be considerate, at least. “Who runs with their eyes closed?” she finished.

“I was trained that way.”

“For what? Suicide missions?”

“Something like that.” His voice, low and charged with mystery, sent another cascade of chills down her spine, a shocking feeling that had no place dancing over her in the heat and humidity of the end of August in Florida.

“Really, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Not very many people on Mimosa Key even know about this place.” Only dirt roads led to this acreage, which was marked at the perimeter as Private Property.

He glanced around. “I’m checking it out.”

“With your eyes closed?”

He almost smiled, just enough to hint at 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
. This wasn’t possible.

“No,” she murmured.

“No…what?” he asked, leaning in closer. “It’s okay, I can check the place out. I have the owner’s permission.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her. “Do you?”

“No, this isn’t…you can’t be…” But he
could
be. This
could
be the universe answering her plea…or the handiwork of a wild imagination. Which was it?

For one long, suspended second, the world around her crystallized, making her hyperaware of every color, scent, and sound. Everything was magnified. Like the slow roll of a bead of sweat trickling over a scar on his temple. And the flecks of color that somehow mixed to make his eyes a haunting blend of emerald and topaz. Even the timbre of his voice, baritone and sweet, and the rhythmic huffs of his breaths as the run caught up with him all sounded like music to her ears. He smelled like sunshine and the sea, and his hand, still wrapped around her wrist, was like a hot brand of man against her skin.

Everything about him was…
right
.

“Miss?”

She tried to nod at him, letting the very real possibility of what was happening sink in.

“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?”

She didn’t answer, but not because she couldn’t remember the number. But because his smile went from
almost
to
full force
, and the impact actually hurt.

She could practically hear Grandma Good Bear describing exactly these feelings.

“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, you must be okay, Arielle Chandler from Sacramento, California.” Then he let his gaze drop over her. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

And all those dancing cells in her body tripped and flatlined.

After a few seconds, he scooped up his sunglasses and stood. “And, 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 grab his jaw and stare into his eyes and figure out if he was her future…

Wait a second.
“Did you say construction?”

“That old hovel that got messed up in Hurricane Damien? It’s history, along with this hill, which the owner said would block his water view when he builds his house. Well, when I build it for him.”

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

He lifted one mighty shoulder. “With a backhoe.” He wiped some sweat from his brow and shifted his gaze to the water. “I wish we could put the house up here for the best view, but there are crazy-strict rules about how close you can build to the shoreline.”

And rules about protected land, rules she’d heard about a hundred times from her grandmother. “You can’t just
backhoe
this hill.”

“One of my subs will, and soon.” He angled his head and looked closely at her, his stare so intent her heart ached like it was…expanding.

Expanding to make room for the man who wanted to destroy what might be sacred ground? What would Grandma Good Bear have to say about that?

“You positive you’re okay?” he asked.

No, no, she was not okay. Not at all. “Yes,” she lied glibly.

“Maybe I’ll, uh, run into you again.” He winked and slid on his sunglasses. “Next time I’ll have my eyes open.”

As he took off, she stared at his physique, the back every bit as mouthwatering as the front. Her fingers brushed the pearls next to her, and a different, visceral tug tightened her chest.

She’d have to find out the truth about these pearls and this land. And if it turned out she was sitting on a Native American burial ground, this man would
not
bulldoze it away.

Even if he was
The One
.

Chapter Two

When Ari arrived at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, the management offices were hushed and dark since Willow and Nick had decided on a Sunday afternoon beach wedding. Ari was headed to the bridal dressing room when she noticed the door to the Barefoot Brides office was open, and that quickened her step and her heart.

Maybe Gussie was in there, and Ari could tell her what happened today. She had to tell someone or she’d go crazy, but she certainly didn’t want to steal a moment of Willow’s special day by chattering on and on about some mystery man.

She rushed inside and came face-to-face with Gussie McBain, who was dressed in one of the white satin robes the Barefoot Brides provided for members of the wedding party.

“Where have you been?” Gussie asked, a tinge of impatience in her usually bright tone.

Ari froze, not realizing she was that late.

“Why aren’t you in the dressing room with the rest of the bridal party, clean, showered, made up, and ready to put our dresses on for Willow’s wedding?” She came closer, curiosity and a little frustration sparking her green eyes. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Had her phone rang? Wow, she’d really been daydreaming after meeting him. “I was…out.”

Gussie frowned. “Do you mind telling me what is more important than the fact that one of your best friends is getting married and you are a co-maid of honor?”

“I had to go somewhere,” Ari said, suddenly realizing that Gussie was right—their best friend was getting married, so this might not be the best time to go into details about the stranger she’d met.

But Gussie looked extremely curious. “Where? Tell me.”

Definitely not the right time to get into it. “Not important.”

Gussie huffed out a breath at the vague answer, her exasperation growing. “I’ve been keeping Willow calm, assuring her you’d be here, lying for you when I couldn’t reach you so she didn’t become the freaked-out bride we all swore we’d never be, so yes, Arielle Chandler, you
are
telling me.”

Dear God, was she that late or was it just standard wedding stress? A wash of guilt poured over her for being so self-involved on Willow’s big day. Suddenly, the story felt a little preposterous.

“I had to do something.” Lame, but she hoped it put Gussie off.

“Now? Today?” Nothing put Gussie off.

Ari lifted her hands in surrender. “I had to…” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I think I met him.”

“What?” Gussie squished up her features. “You met who?”

“Him. I met…
him
. You know, my one, my only, my destiny.”

Gussie choked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “Ari,” she said, clearly working to be an understanding friend, but struggling right then. “You know I think your new-age superstitions are precious and you believe in love at first—”

“No, I don’t. It’s not love at first sight. It might not be, anyway. It’s fate. It’s destiny. It’s—”

“Hogwash.” Gussie scooted closer, sympathy softening her eyes. “You know what’s happening, don’t you? Willow is marrying Nick. Tom and I are together. That leaves you as the only one of the three of us…” She let her words trail off, as if she felt bad even making the suggestion.

“I’m not mooning over the fact that my two best friends and business partners have found their mates, Gussie.” God, she hoped not. Maybe she’d
imagined
all those feelings for that guy on the hill.

“Mates. You make it sound like we’re dolphins, for crying out loud.”

She shook her head, ignoring the joke. “But there’s a problem.”

Gussie gave a wry, teasing smile. “There always is. What? He’s the wrong sign? His aura is bad? What’s his fatal flaw?”

Behind Gussie, out the window, a movement snagged Ari’s attention. “I think he’s going to hate me,” she said quietly, staring at the man crossing the parking lot, obviously dressed to attend the wedding, but…oh,
Lord
.

Gussie made a comment, but Ari didn’t hear it because…that was
him
. The same man, the same clipped hair and square jaw and wide shoulders. Even the sunglasses were the same. “Who…is…that?” Ari asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Luke made it!” Gussie exclaimed, almost jumping.

Luke? Luke McBain, the long-lost brother Gussie had reconnected with in France earlier that month?
He was The One
?

“He’s here to…” Gussie started laughing, giving Ari a pat on the back like she could knock common sense into her. “I know, put your eyeballs back in your head and let’s go before Willow hits Bridal Defcon 1.”

Ari couldn’t stop staring as each step ramped up the same symptoms that she felt the last time she saw him. “That’s…Luke?”

“So much for the Mr. Soul Mate you just met, huh? I thought you were—”

“You guys!” Willow shot into the room, her voice rising as high as her hair in megacurlers, her own white robe slipping off her shoulder. “Where in the hell are you two? I am officially having a breakdown. I’m getting married!”

Gussie and Ari laughed at the mix of panic and delight as Willow covered her mouth like she just couldn’t contain her joy. “I’m so happy and scared and excited and happy!”

Gussie gathered them for a hug that Ari fell into, the mysterious man—who wasn’t so mysterious now—momentarily forgotten. She
had
to remember what was important today, and that was Willow’s wedding.

As they walked out, arm in arm, Willow was on a cloud and, honestly, Ari had to climb up and join her, because the universe was a strange and magnificent thing.

Luke McBain would be at the wedding, and she’d “meet” him in an hour. Just the thought gave her a swift set of chills. The universe was already working its magic. Now she’d have all evening to get to know him, find out about this “construction” he was involved in, and try to delay it until she figured out exactly what that “hill” in North Barefoot Bay really was.

And what had Grandma always said about meeting The One? Don’t tell him. If he doesn’t realize it, then…Ari wasn’t going to think about that.

Right now, her faith in the universe was too strong.

* * *

There were few things that pleased Luke McBain as much as a good coincidence. Oh, he liked himself an ice-cold Sam Adams on a hot summer day, and he’d been known to nearly kill a man in order to catch even one inning of a Red Sox game on the only television in a Third World country, and, yes, he had a secret collection of Louis L’Amour Westerns that had given him hours of entertainment. But
coincidences
were right up there with wonderful things he deeply enjoyed.