Barefoot in the Sand (45 page)

“He does,” Tessa agreed. “He looks like he hasn’t slept for days.”

He looked good to Lacey. Disheveled, unshaven, and was that a coffee stain on his T-shirt? None of it mattered. He was a gorgeous man, who loved…

She glanced at the woman in a baseball cap, who turned and looked right at Lacey. Then she slid off her glasses very slowly to reveal eyes as bloodshot as Clay’s and also as blue.

The other woman nodded, and winked. Was that a bitchy move or what? Except it didn’t seem as though she was trying to be bitchy.

More confused than ever, Lacey turned back to Clay, her head buzzing like a thousand cicadas invading the beach.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Mimosa Key. My name is Clay Walker and I’m delighted to be addressing you as the newest resident of your fine community.” He held up a handful of legal-sized papers and Lacey tried to concentrate on what he was saying, not the baritone of his voice or the music of his North Carolina drawl. “These are the deeds to the properties formerly owned by Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Tomlinson and Mr. Ross Everham. They are now in my name, free and clear.”

He owned the lots.
He
did. The betrayal stung like hot needles inside her chest. But she forced herself to listen.

“What do you plan to build?” Charity called out.

Good question, Char, Lacey thought. What
did
he plan to build?

“Something extraordinary.”

The whole room went eerily silent, except for maybe Lacey’s heartbeat, which surely everyone could hear.

“What kind of something, Mr. Walker?” Mayor Lennox asked, obviously not amused by Clay’s obtuse response.

Clay never looked away from Lacey, pinning her to the wall with a dead-serious gaze. “Something everyone wants but not everyone gets.”

Lacey’s legs weakened and she used the wall to hold her steady. What was he talking about? He was looking at her, but…

Sam Lennox spoke into his microphone because the murmurs and comments and frustrations of the crowd were getting louder. “Mr. Walker, we have given you the floor, and if you can’t make a serious and thoughtful presentation, your request for zoning changes will be denied.”

“I am making a serious presentation. This land”—he held up the papers again—“will be part of the resort and spa that Lacey Armstrong just presented. With one minor stipulation.”

Lacy held her breath.

“The resort is called
Casa Blanca
.” He leveled her with a gaze. “Not
Windswept
.”

Oh. She dropped an inch against the wall, bracing harder.

“What difference does it make?” Charity barked. “Just tell us what you want.”

“What I want…” He inhaled deeply and finally smiled. “Is to spend every day and night with Lacey Armstrong, building…”

She absolutely couldn’t breathe, holding his gaze, squeezing Ashley’s hand, fighting the burn behind her eyelids.

“A life together.”

“Oh my God,” Zoe practically cooed in Lacey’s ear. “I love him!”

“So do I,” Lacey whispered, aware of the tears filling her eyes. “So do I.”

“And if she would just come up here and join me”—Clay held out his hand in invitation—“we will answer any questions the good people of Mimosa Key might have so we can assure you that we want to make this island a destination that remains true to its roots but looks forward to the future.”

“Amen!”

“Hear! Hear!”

“Go kiss him, Lacey!” The loud suggestion came from the woman in the baseball cap.

Clay leaned very close to the microphone and lowered his voice to dead sexy. “I think my sister just had a very good idea.”

His sister? That was Darcie?

Ashley grinned, turning to her. “He likes you, Mom. A lot.”

She looked at her daughter, putting a hand under her chin, holding her gaze. “You know that no man, ever, will come between us.”

“Mom, don’t be weird. Go kiss the guy. Listen to this place. They’re going nuts.”

The entire room clapped in unison, a chorus of female “Oohs” and “Aahs” adding to the cacophony.

She started up the aisle, and Clay left the podium to meet her halfway.

There, he put his arms around her and pulled her into a deep, dreamy, delicious kiss. The whole audience hooted so loudly she could barely hear when he whispered in her ear.

“Windswept at Barefoot Bay? Are you kidding me?”

She looked up at him. “Only because in
Casablanca
, the wrong guy gets the girl.”

“Let’s change the ending, Strawberry.”

When the last of the council members had cleared out after the vote and a noisy victory celebration, Clay shook hands with many townspeople and promised more than a few job interviews for construction-crew candidates. Even Ashley congratulated him and told him about her own scary trip to the hospital.

Lacey was always nearby with a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, giving instructions to her friends as they packed up the car, accepting congratulations as people milled about the meeting hall and eventually left.

He saw her talking to Darcie for a few minutes and then end that conversation with a quick hug.

Finally he made his way over to her, hands outstretched. “Hey, Strawberry. I missed you.”

She came right to him, folding into his embrace and offering one of her own. “Oh, Clay, I’m so sorry I thought the worst of you.”

“I can’t believe you’d really think I’d buy those lots and build on them,” he said. “What made you think that?”

“I didn’t. I mean, that’s not…” She closed her eyes as if just saying the words hurt her. “I looked at your phone the night we went to the beach. I thought you were going back to Jayna.”

He let out a sigh, finally understanding. “And I should have told you why she texted. In fact, I should have told you my dad was sick before that, but I really thought you’d preach to me about forgiving him, and I wasn’t ready.”

“Did you?” she asked.

“Done and done.” He held her closer and put his lips on her hair and inhaled, the smell of strawberry mixed with sun and maybe a little antiseptic reminding him that she’d had her own trip to the hospital. “How’s Ashley doing?”

“She’s fine and very apologetic for whatever it was she said to you that she thinks made you leave. But it was a hellish night, I’ll tell you.”

He held her again, hoping the hug could express how sorry he was that the last twenty-four hours had happened the way they had.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.

“Not going to happen.”

“Even after”—she fought to finish her thought—“even after we’re done building the resort?”

“Did you not listen to my big speech?” He slammed a hand to his chest, only partially feigning pain. “I bared it all up there for you, woman.”

“That wasn’t just to win votes?”

“Maybe a few.” He winked, but then his expression grew serious. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, Lace.”

“Thirteen hours, Darcie said.”

He sighed, shaking his head, looking into her eyes. “Maybe more than that. But when I talked to my dad in the hospital yesterday, I realized something. I realized that he can be a complete jerk, selfish as hell, and willing to do almost anything for what he wants. A man who hates the word
can’t
.”

“You’re not like him, if that’s where you’re going with this, Clay.”

But he could be. “I let him go. I let go of all the anger and hate. I forgave him because there’s something—someone—I want to focus my attention on. You.”

She sank deeper into his arms with a happy sigh. “Oh. I like that.”

“I like
you
.” No. This time she deserved more than their inside joke. “In fact…” He lowered his mouth to hers, brushed his lips against hers, and whispered, “I—”

“
Ahem
.”

They separated, turning to face a woman who looked vaguely like Lacey, only older, thinner, colder, and nowhere near as happy.

“Mother.”

“I heard you got what you wanted, Lacey. That’s good.”

Sure didn’t sound good. Not in that tone.

“
We
got what we wanted,” Lacey corrected her, slowly standing straighter, dividing her attention between her mother and him. “Have you met my… Clay?”

The older woman marched a few steps closer, an amber brown gaze leveled at Clay, the same color as Lacey’s but completely flat.

“I’ve been with Ashley in the parking lot,” she said. “I don’t think she should be in the sun with that injury. So I let her go off with that Zoe, but—”

“Clay Walker is the architect who is going to build the business I’ve always wanted to run. Clay, this is my mother, Marie Armstrong.”

The woman sniffed, reaching out one hand to shake his, the other smoothing hair he’d never call “strawberry” blonde, although maybe a distant, dull cousin. “Then I guess congratulations are in order,” she conceded with a nod.

“For Lacey,” he said. “She’s the owner, manager, lead investor, brain trust, and inspiration for the whole Casa Blanca concept.”

A reddish brown eyebrow launched north. “I’m sure there are a lot of smart people behind her on this. Lacey’s a follower. Her brother Adam’s the leader in our family.”

“Not anymore,” he said.

Her mother ignored the comment. “Could I speak with you privately, Lacey?”

“Later,” Lacey said. “Clay and I have to get that last model in the car and get—”

“Now.”

Lacey froze and a few fireworks of fury sparked inside Clay, but he kept his mouth shut.

“What is it, Mother?”

“Privately.”

They faced each other like gunslingers while Clay debated if he should offer to leave. Before he could, Lacey put a hand on his shoulder.

“Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Clay,” she said. “He’s my… he’s my…”

“I’m her partner,” he supplied, suddenly wishing he could use a term with far more impact and emotion attached.

“I know what he is,” Marie said, cutting a cool glance his way. “And, Lacey, I think you’re entirely too old for this.”

“For what?” Lacey asked with a soft cough of disbelief. “For a man? For a lover? For a business? For a
life
?”

“For a boy.” She gestured toward Clay. “And you should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a lonely older woman.”

Clay started to laugh. A chuckle at first, then a full, sharp, from-the-gut laugh. “You’re funny, Mrs. Armstrong.”

But Lacey wasn’t even smiling.

“C’mon, Lace.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s go.”

“No.” She pulled her hand away from him. “I don’t want to go, Clay.”

No? Was she going to give in and let this cold, cruel woman do what she’d obviously been doing to Lacey her whole life? “Lacey?”

“Very smart of you, honey.” The first bit of softness formed around Marie’s eyes, and a spark of satisfaction. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

“I have,” Lacey said softly.

Disappointment curled through him, landing low and hard in his gut. Was she this weak? Had he misjudged her that much? A woman he was a breath away from loving?

“You can leave, Clay,” Lacey said.

He stood speechless. What power did Marie Armstrong have over her? “Leave?”

“Just go.”

Marie wore a smug smile and tipped her head to the door. He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again, taking the few steps to the back door. Pulling it open, he waited for Lacey to change her mind, but she didn’t.

Without turning, he stepped outside into the hallway. Behind him the door started to close with the hiss of a pneumatic hinge, slowly enough that he heard Lacey’s next words.

“Mother, listen to me.”

He slid a hand in the frame to keep the door ajar.

“I don’t need to hear your excuses, Lacey. Everyone makes mistakes and he, well, he was a doozy.”

“I’m not making excuses, Mother. I want to say something to you. One time and one time only.”

Clay inched closer. He had to hear. Had to know.

“Say it fast and then let’s go. I can’t stand the thought of Ashley with that Zoe woman.”

He heard Lacey’s intake of breath, as though she were about to start a speech. Then silence.

“What?” her mother demanded.

“I don’t know why you have so much anger in you, Mother, or why you are so disappointed in me.”

“I’m not—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lacey insisted. “Because I forgive you.”

Clay closed his eyes at the echo of his own words to his father. He knew exactly how liberating that was.

“I don’t need your forgiveness. I don’t need—”

“Anything or anyone. I know. But I do.” Lacey’s voice cracked, making Clay squeeze the door. “I need love and I need that man out there. I need him like I need my next breath.”

“You’re confusing sex with need.”

“I’m not confused about anything.” Her voice rose with conviction and clarity. “I love him and I want to spend every possible minute next to him.”