Barefoot in the Sun (31 page)

While all her friends have
found love, Tessa Galloway
has just about lost hope.

But a mysterious visitor to Barefoot
Bay might be just what she needs—
if his tattoos and secrets don’t
scare her away first. . .

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I
could just walk up to a man and
ask
for sperm.” Tessa picked up her bottle to punctuate her statement with a sip of cold beer but froze midway as she took in the reaction around the booth. “Guys, that was a joke.”

Next to her, Jocelyn gave a thoughtful shrug and leaned in to make her point over the din of the Toasted Pelican crowd. “You never know. They love to give that stuff away.”

“Absolutely,” Lacey agreed from across the table, her topaz eyes lit with enthusiasm instead of humor. “Knowing your donor takes all the guess work out of it. What you see is what you get, unlike anonymous sperm.”

“Spe
rrrrrm
.” Zoe made a disgusted face, her gaze drifting over the action in the bar. “Couldn’t man’s life-force have a more inviting name? You know, like ‘chocolate’ or ‘cabernet’?”

“ ‘Baby juice’?” Jocelyn suggested.

“ ‘Liquid gold,’ ” Lacey added.

“ ‘Nature’s protein smoothie,’ ” Tessa said dryly.

That made Zoe laugh, but she didn’t take her eyes off the crowd. “Always thinking healthy, aren’t you, Tess?”

Tessa waved her beer bottle to move the conversation along and prove that even she could have the occasional lapse in clean living.

“Let’s go back to the chef problem, Lace,” she said. “That’s why we all stole away from the resort to talk tonight. Thanksgiving’s in a few weeks, Casa Blanca is booking up, and we still haven’t found the right chef. We’ll worry about donors after the holidays. This is our first true season and—”

“Tess.” Lacey reached across the table. “It took you a long time to find a surrogate who meets your exacting standards. You know if you don’t act fast she’ll be scooped up by someone else.”

“I harvested my eggs.” Defensiveness lifted Tessa’s voice.

“Sorry, hon.” Zoe tore her attention from the bar, lifting her bottle of water and giving it a shake. “That test-tube cocktail ain’t got no buzz without the right mixer.”

“Ugh, test tubes are so clinical,” Jocelyn groaned. “I still think you should try the old-fashioned way.”

Of course they’d all think she should. Her best friends were falling in bed every night with the men they loved. Lacey had a baby and Zoe’s was due in six months. No doubt Jocelyn would be next.

“Listen, I tried the old-fashioned way for ten years with my ex-husband.” Tessa fought to keep any bitterness out of her tone but might have failed. “And as you know, he’s now the father of two. And I’m…”
Alone.
“Obviously not capable of getting pregnant by traditional methods.”

“But Joss is right,” Lacey insisted. “Maybe your infertility was Billy’s fault.”

Tessa angled her head and gave her a ‘get real’ look. “Tell that to his
two
children.”

“There is such a thing as being inhospitable to certain sperm,” Jocelyn insisted. “It’s an acid and Ph balance thing.”

“Please.” Tessa halted the conversation with a flat hand. “Billy and I were experts on the subject of infertility. I think the conversation was the only thing that kept us together so long. Once we gave up trying, our marriage fell apart.”

Zoe gave a cynical choke. “Yeah, cause it had nothing to do with him boning a twenty-two-year-old yoga instructor.”

Well, there was that. Tessa studied the moon on her beer label, but Jocelyn nudged her arm. “Tess, you need to make history, not change it.”

“Ah, the life coach speaks.”

“The life coach is correct,” Lacey said. “When was the last time you had a date? Gave a guy a chance? When was the last time you even thought about getting intimate with a
man
instead of a
test tube
?”

She smiled. “You know I like things done in a certain order.”

“How long?” the others asked in unison.

“Since I found out Billy was doing more than the downward dog with a fertility goddess. So, three years at least.”

They shared a suitably pitying look and Lacey leaned forward, tightening her grip on Tessa’s hands. “Look at the three of us. We’re living proof that love can happen when you least expect it.”

Tessa gazed up at the ceiling and breathed a sigh, digging for patience. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, not one single bit. But staring all this
love
in the face every single day wasn’t easy. Not to mention the fact that Casa Blanca’s destination wedding business was starting to take off, and now the guests were lovestruck too.

“We just want you to be happy,” Jocelyn said.

“And pregnant,” Lacey added.

The din of Mimosa Key locals blowing off steam competed with an old Tom Petty song on the jukebox, but none of it was loud enough to drown out Tessa’s well-meaning friends. Or the truth.

“I don’t believe the guy exists who could make me happy
or
pregnant,” she finally admitted.

Lacey shook her head. “You don’t know that. Someone amazing could be right around the corner.”

“Someone amazing
is
right around the corner,” Zoe whispered, pointing across the room. “Because if that man right there can’t make you happy or pregnant, then he can certainly make you scream for mercy. Probably a couple of times a night.”

Jocelyn swung out of the booth to peer into the crowd. “
Whoa
. Is that a
scorpion
tattooed on his neck?”

“Lovely.” Tessa took a deep drink.

Lacey popped up to look over their heads. “You mean that guy with the long hair and…wow. Those are some serious biceps. And triceps. And…” She squinted. “All ceps.” She slowly dropped back in her seat. “Speaking of fertility gods…” She let out a slow whistle. “That’s one hot and scary bad-ass sex god over there.”

Tessa rolled her eyes again. “Great, since those are the top qualities I’m seeking in a sperm donor.”

Jocelyn took another look, then turned back to face the booth, her eyes wide like she’d seen something unspeakable. “He certainly looks like he’d make a potent…protein smoothie.”

Zoe’s smile wavered. “And, oh wow, I think he’s—”

“Enough,” Tessa ordered. “I don’t care if he looks like Chris Hemsworth’s twin brother.”

“He kinda does,” Zoe said.

Tessa dug for more patience. They couldn’t help it; they didn’t know how hard it was to be in her position. “Guys, I was kidding, okay? I’m not going to walk up to him and say—”

“You don’t have to,” Zoe said softly.

Tessa closed her eyes and raised her beer bottle in the air. “Hey, scary bad-ass sex god with the long hair and deadly tattoos, can you fill ’er up with some potent liquid gold?”

Silence. Dead silence.

Slowly, Tessa opened her eyes. She felt the presence more than saw it in her peripheral vision. Something large. Something hot. Something scary and bad ass and…

“Liquid Gold. Is that a local brew?”

Oh.
Sex god
was really kind of an understatement.

In Ian’s experience, they didn’t usually keep the best-looking one hidden like this. Normally, females used the real beauties as bait. But this girl hadn’t even gone out of her way to check him out. And that made the sweet-faced beer drinker begging for action even more appealing.

The blonde who’d been staring at him for the last ten minutes wasn’t his type. The one with the wild red curls sported a shiny gold wedding band, and the other one was a little too conservative for his tastes.

But the hottie tucked into the corner was just right, looking at him with wide eyes exactly the color of the amber beer bottle she slowly lowered to the table. She wore barely a hint of makeup, so Ian could easily see her creamy complexion deepen with a flush as they held eye contact for one heartbeat past casual.

“Beer’s a good choice in a place like this,” he said, rattling the ice in his rocks glass. “The scotch is watered-down piss.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. Because of the curse word or had the pisswater been strong enough to bring out his accent? After all these years, he should know better than to slip and give away his British birth.

“What was that beer called again?” he asked.

“It was…a joke,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the bar ruckus. “I’m…fine.”

“You sure are.”

The other three reacted instantly.

“We need to hit the ladies’ room,” one of the women said, sliding out to make room for him. “Coming, Zoe?”

The blonde scooted out too. “We’ll refresh the drinks.” She turned to the married one and gave a look with all the subtlety of a baseball bat. “Move it, Lacey.”

“Oh yeah.” She nodded and gave an equally unsubtle raised eyebrow to the woman in the corner. “Hold the booth for us, Tessa. I’m sure we’ll be a while.”

“We’ll guard it with our lives.” Ian slid right into the vacated seat next to his doe-eyed target, trapping her in the corner and getting a whiff of something flowery and clean. “Tessa. Pretty. Short for something?”

Finally she slid him a sideways look, long lashes tapering into the kind of distrustful gaze he’d been eliciting for a few years. If the tattoos, gym time, or total disregard for a haircut didn’t scare them, the bike parked out front usually did.

“Just Tessa,” she said as her friends disappeared into the bar, leaving laughter and chatter in their wake.

“Just Tessa,” he repeated. Not to be funny, but because he’d want to remember the name tomorrow morning when he was rooting around the floor of her flat looking for his jeans. “
Apartment,” dickhead, not “flat.”

“I’m John, by the way.”

She hinted at a smile. “Hello, John Bytheway.”

Cute. “John Brown.”

“That sounds fake.”

Because it is.
“So tell me something about yourself, Tessa, other than the fact that you like…” He turned the beer bottle and read the label. “Belgian White Wheat Ale.” Bloody Americans would buy anything they thought was from Europe.

“Blue Moon’s my favorite…” She inched back. “Blue Moon,” she said softly, her whole face lighting up in a way that took her from good-looking to gorgeous in the space of a second. “Maybe that’s what Aunt Pasha meant.”

“Who’s Aunt Pasha?”

Her eyes twinkled with a secret. “A late, great…fortune teller.”

He inched closer, letting his thigh press against hers and earning another sweet blush. “Did she see trouble in her crystal ball?”

“She saw…something.”

“Whatever she saw, I hope it happens tonight.” He gave her a slow once-over, letting a nice undercurrent of electricity buzz between them as he admired her toned arms, freckle-dusted skin, and the alluring slope of her breasts under a simple white T-shirt. This one wasn’t trying too hard to get attention, and he liked that. It reminded him of—

Don’t go there.

“Are you staying in Mimosa Key?” she asked.

“At the moment.” For the past month, since he’d left Singapore, he’d ridden around the state of Florida, finally finding his way over a bridge to this suitably out-of-the-way island. He’d checked into the first motel he’d found and headed straight out the door for his numbing agents of choice: cheap scotch and a willing woman. He’d found one and, with a little luck, was looking at the other. “How about you?”

“I live at the resort up the road in Barefoot Bay,” she said.

“You
live
on a resort?”

“I run the gardens.”

That explained the sun-kissed skin and shapely shoulders.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I don’t run anything,” he admitted. “I just run.”

“From what?” She gave him a curious look, and he cursed himself again. What was wrong with him tonight? The scotch mustn’t be watered down enough.

Instead of answering, he put his hand around the back of the booth, letting his fingers graze her shoulder, getting a quick rise of chill bumps on her arm in response.

“You’re pretty,” he said, happy to note that this time his standard line was actually accurate. She was very pretty, in a simple, sweet, completely real way. Another thing that reminded him of—

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Because I’m still fucked up.
“Because you’re so pretty I forgot what you asked.”

She fought a smile, shaking her head in dismay.

“What do you want to know, pretty Tessa?” Not that he’d tell her anything, ever.

“Why do you have a lethal insect tattooed on your neck?”

He angled his head to let her get a real good look, remembering the unspeakably dark night when he’d gotten the ink in some hellhole off Balestier Road.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” she prompted.

“Something.” He slugged the rest of his scotch. Shit, he’d better keep the small talk focused on her or his survival instinct would have him closing up shop and going home alone. “What about you?”

“Me? Well, I don’t wish for death.”

He stole a look at her, lost for a second in the honesty in her eyes. Damn it, sometimes the small talk wasn’t enough. Maybe this meaningless chatter was a necessary evil before getting a woman on her back but for one brief instant, Ian ached for…
more
.

More information, more revelation, more than banging a babe to kill the pain for a very short while.

But John Brown couldn’t have more. And Ian Browning best not forget that.

“Then what
do
you wish for?” he asked, his mouth obviously ignoring the warnings in his head.

“You want the truth?” She dropped her head back, her hair brushing his arm.

Not if she wanted truth in return. “Sure.”

“The fact is, I’m wishing for a man.”

He threaded his finger into her silky locks, gently turning her face toward his. “Looks like you found one.”

“But I want something…specific.” In her eyes, he could see the flecks of gold… and a hell of a lot more. Goodness. Understanding.
Truth
. All things he could never reciprocate.

“Whatever floats your boat, Just Tessa. I’m yours for the night.” He inched back. “No promises for anything else.” At least he could be
that
truthful.

He could have sworn she laughed a little as she leaned a centimeter closer. “Actually, that’s perfect.”