Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(35)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

He put his finger on her lips, silencing the ugly word. “No.”

“Um, yes.” She jerked to the side to escape the burn of his touch, but it didn’t work. Her lips were still warm. “Unless you want to give it another name, Nate. All I was about to be was another girl. A notch on your bedpost. Or desk. Or…limo.”

He flinched, and she waited for a jolt of satisfaction, but felt nothing like it. Only sadness.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I know what it looks like on the surface, but you’re as wrong as my grandfather for making assumptions about me. I wish you would give me a chance.” He reached out his hand, palm up, the peace offering obvious.

If only she could.  “Your family is never going away.”

“And neither is the fact that Dylan is my son, but,” he added quickly when he saw the look on her face, “you are his mother in every other way. And that, Liza Lemanski…” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Makes us family, too.”

Her chest squeezed so hard she didn’t bother trying to breathe. Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out her keys, turning to the car. Without saying a word, she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

After she turned on the ignition, she tried to pull the door closed, but he held it open. So she looked up at him, right into his eyes.

“You have to answer one question,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Which family matters more to you?”

He hesitated one second. Just one millisecond, and she knew the answer. Getting a hold of the door, she yanked it closed with a loud bang and backed out of the parking lot to go get Dylan.

They’d been so close. So, so close to…love. Almost-but-not-quite love.

Chapter Thirteen

Nate put his signature on the final document and checked the clock. He still had twenty minutes to finish before Zeke and Becker showed up and another ten before the reporter came.

Grabbing the next file from the pile, he opened to find all the documents labeled and in chronological order. He pushed thoughts of the woman who’d made his life so organized out of his mind. She’d been gone long enough that he knew he had to find another assistant, but he still clung to the hope that every time that door opened, she’d be standing there, blue-green eyes sparkling, both arms out bearing his second chance.

A knock kindled life into that hope, but the sound of his friends’ laughter crushed it out. He got up to let them in, checking the time once more.

“We have twenty minutes,” he said to Zeke and Becker when he opened the door. “And I need every one of them to get my work finished. Why don’t you guys wait on the beach?”

Zeke and Becker did simultaneous double takes at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Becker said. “I thought we came to Nate Ivory’s villa, not a workaholic’s. Who are you?”

“I’m running a damn operation that you’re both deeply invested in, so I’d think even a moron like you, Becker, would want me to work.”

Becker muscled into the villa. “Give it up and get a damn assistant.”

Zeke stayed in the doorway, slightly more sympathetic. “No word from her yet?”

He shook his head. “But my grandfather has completely backed off, so there’s that victory.” A hard-won battle, too, keeping the old man from tracking down Dylan and demanding to take him away. But the Colonel finally let go and returned to the Ivory Tower with Mimsy.

Behind him, Becker slapped a friendly hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You know what you need?”

What he needed was the smart, gorgeous, sexy, amazing woman who was raising his son. “I don’t drink when I’m working,” he replied. “Which is pretty much twenty hours a day now. But the good news is we can have a groundbreaking very soon.”

“That is good news,” Zeke said, finally coming in.

“I didn’t mean you need booze,” Becker finished, undeterred. “You need a grand gesture.”

Nate laughed. “I know you like those.”

“Not about what I like, my man. This is about exactly how to tell a woman you love her.”

He inched out of Becker’s touch. “How grand?”

“The bigger the gesture, the harder they fall is my experience.” He grinned at Zeke. “And in Mr. Nicholas’s, too, if I recall from his not-too-distant past.”

“He’s right,” Zeke said. “You have to show her you mean business. Do something she isn’t expecting. Get her attention and keep it.”

As the two men settled onto seats in the living room, Nate returned to his chair at the desk that took up most of the middle of the room.

“I bet you can’t wait to get out of this villa and into an office on-site,” Zeke said.

Nate shrugged. The villa—and this desk, including all the files—was still a connection to Liza. She knew where he was in case she wanted to—

“Hello? Anyone in there?” A woman’s voice accompanied a light knock on the door, and Nate hated that his heart actually skipped a freaking beat. But that wasn’t Liza.

“She’s early,” Nate said. “My calendar says noon.”

Zeke was already up, shooting him a look. “You better have an attitude adjustment for this interview,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know The Mimosa Times isn’t The New York Times, but we have to make the entire island love us and support this baseball team and stadium. Cultivating a relationship with a local reporter is critical.”

“Plus, maybe she’ll be hot,” Becker—the moron—suggested. “And you can hire her to replace the nice girl you scared away.”

Nate gave him the finger right before Zeke opened the door.  “Ms. Simpson?”

“Yes, hi. I’m Julia Simpson from The Mimosa Times.”

Becker was right, damn it. She was quite attractive, with long blond hair pulled into a neat clip and cheekbones from here to Sunday. “I know I’m early, but I’m…” She laughed softly. “I’m really excited about interviewing you three for the feature.”

She was introduced all around, taking a minute to get their names straight, and let out a few nervous laughs before she accepted a cold glass of water and perched on the edge of a chair. She crossed long, shapely legs at the ankle and daintily tucked them as she opened her notebook on her lap. 

Nate tried to see her as the beautiful young woman she was, probably a week out of journalism school and deliciously adventurous in…