Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(6)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

Other than a big, fat mess.

* * *

Liza knew every word in that book. Every turn of phrase, every scrawled sentence, every gut-wrenching emotion that spilled out like Carrie’s tears, every time she mentioned Nathaniel Ivory’s name. The account of a naïve and innocent girl’s relationship with a rich, famous, heartless bastard wasn’t very long, maybe fifteen handwritten pages, but it made for good reading.

If you like fantasies with unhappy endings.

While he read, Liza walked around the deck of the boat, trying not to watch him, and failing a few times. She heard the pages flip, quickly, so she occasionally turned to catch a glimpse of him, bent over the notebook.

Any other time, any other circumstance, and she’d react like, well, like any other woman. He was easily six-one or six-two, with strong, square shoulders and the kind of chest a woman wanted to…rest against. Or explore with two hands. His face was classically handsome, with thick brows and a Roman nose, and a hint of shadow where his whiskers grew.

Easy wit, a sexy smile, and dark topaz eyes all attracted her more than she wanted to admit. But attraction wasn’t an option…she needed that signature and then, just as she said, she never wanted to see him again.

He flipped the next page harder than the time before.

Did the truth make him angry? Unless…Carrie had lied.

No. Impossible. Carrie was sweet, simple, kind, loving, and guileless. The day she’d walked into Liza’s cubicle at the County Clerk’s office to apply for a job, the young woman nearly collapsed, whispering her secret that she was broke and expecting. And Liza had instantly liked her and soon loved her like the sister she never had.

In the following three and a half years, Carrie had never once revealed who Dylan’s father was, except to say his family was powerful enough to scare her. But after she died, Liza found the notebook and finally understood just how powerful that family was.  Her friend’s secrecy and fears made complete sense.

According to what she wrote, Carrie worried that Nate would find her and change his mind about the baby. The journal filled in some holes and confirmed the hints that Carrie had dropped all along.

Right? Or had Carrie made the whole thing up?

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Liza whispered to herself as she stepped into the lounge area of the boat. Which was as visually stunning as the golden-eyed god who owned it.

Every piece of furniture and decor was a different shade of cream, covered in leather, suede, or marble, with masculine touches of gleaming teak. No surprise, money oozed from every corner, a testament to the famous Ivory family fortune.

He seemed to think money was all she wanted. Well, it would be nice if he wanted to throw a thousand into a college fund for Dylan, sure. But what she wanted—freedom from worry—was priceless.

“I read it.”

She turned to find him standing in the glass sliders that separated the deck from the lounge, an unreadable emotion etched on his strong cheekbones and square jaw. Unless ice cold was an emotion, then she could read it just fine. 

“This is complete and utter fiction. You know that, don’t you? Pure fabrication.”

Right now, she didn’t know anything. “You said you recognized her when you saw her picture. You met in Key West. You…you had…you slept with her, didn’t you?”

He huffed a soft breath and dropped onto one of the creamy sofas, tossing the notebook next to him. Liza stayed standing.

“Here’s what’s true,” he said. “And I’m happy to swear on a stack of Bibles or in a court of law or whatever you want me to do that will make this legit.”

What she wanted to “make this legit” was for him to sign and disappear forever. Both possibilities were becoming more remote with each passing minute. “Just be honest,” she said. “And tell me your side of the story.”

He nodded a few times, gathering his thoughts. “If your Carrie and this girl I recognize as Bailey are really the same person?” With his left hand, he flipped the cover of the book, opening to her picture. “I think they are. So, then about three paragraphs of this is true. I met her at a party, exactly as it says here, in the driveway of a beach house a friend of mine owns. She thought I was the valet, and I let her think that for a few minutes. It was funny, we flirted, exactly like she said. A few minutes later, she saw me inside and we had a good laugh, exactly like she said. We had a few drinks and talked, exactly like she said.”

“She called it love at first sight.”

He closed his eyes. “I would categorize it as mutual attraction that led to lust. Nothing remotely like love took place.”

Assuming a man like him even knew what love was. “And you took her home and were with her when she got the call about her parents that night, right?”

Very slowly, he shook his head. “That’s not what happened.”

She waited, crossing her arms and leaning against the bar.

“I did take her home. At least, I had my limo drop her off after we…” He swallowed, hard, then met Liza’s gaze. “We, uh, got intimate in the back of the limo.”

She lifted a brow. “Intimate?”

“We had sex,” he said bluntly. “Wholly consensual, lightning-fast, and utterly meaningless sex.”

Each word was like a hammer striking a nail into her heart. Was that how Dylan was conceived? That certainly wasn’t Carrie’s story.

“I dropped her off at an apartment building, but she wouldn’t even let me walk her to the door,” he continued. “She gave me her number and disappeared.” A new kind of pain etched across his handsome features. “I swear to God I tried to find her, and it was like she was vapor. Bogus number, didn’t live in that apartment, didn’t know anyone at the party. She was gone.” He cleared his throat and continued. “So that part she wrote about the phone call from the fire department in Tucson? Fiction. At least, it wasn’t me with her that night, holding her, arranging for a private plane to get her home. Never happened.”

Of all the possible responses she’d played out in her mind, Liza never expected this. Never expected the journal to be a half-truth.

“The trip to France?” she asked. “The vacation with your family? The two weeks at your place in Hawaii? The hot-air balloon ride when you said you loved her?”

With each question, his head slowly moved from side to side. “Never happened.”

Her legs couldn’t hold her anymore, so Liza finally eased into the closest chair, sinking into the buttery leather with a barely audible sigh. “Are you saying that whole whirlwind affair was a…lie?”