Secrets on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #1)(13)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

I thought you were an angel.

His confession still rang in her ears. After one of the most difficult, harrowing days of her life, when she’d actually been told: “I’m sorry, Amanda, but we have to let you go”—yet the only words that she wanted to think about from today were…I thought you were an angel.

She stared at his picture, able to see the early lines of what would become a handsome male jaw and those piercing blue eyes hidden by thick glasses. He wasn’t smiling. Had anyone even talked to him? Had she ever again been nice to him?

The doorbell made her jump, pulling her from her reverie. That was Jocelyn Palmer, of course. Her neighbor who ran the Casa Blanca Spa hadn’t been at the resort today when Amanda got fired, but no doubt she knew about everything, since she was very close friends with Lacey Walker.

She waited a minute, staring at Ezekiel the Geekiel a minute longer. She didn’t really want to face her neighbor right now. She didn’t want to admit she’d gotten herself in such a sticky situation with a resort guest that it had cost the job Jocelyn had helped her get.

The bell rang a second time, followed by a loud knock. On a sigh, Amanda pushed herself up, still holding the yearbook. She snagged the wine glass, as though that would prove just how bad she felt about losing her job.

At the end of the hall, she turned toward the living room, glancing out through the white sheers just as a figure walked away from the door.

A male figure. Frozen, Amanda stared at Zeke Nicholas. What was—

He turned at that instant and caught her looking before she could duck out of the way.

For a second, time froze as they stared at each other, then a slow, easy smile broke over his face that was as real and warm as the setting sun behind him. He pointed to the front door, and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Oh, God. There was no reasonable way out of this, she supposed. She tucked the yearbook under her arm and opened the front door. He stayed on the walk, down two steps, so they were at eye level, but he was no less gorgeous and intimidating than when he had her by a good five or six inches.

For a moment, they stared at each other, and all she could think of was how much he’d changed since…

His eyes dropped, and she realized her tank top was just this side of see-through. She angled the yearbook over her chest. “I looked you up,” she said, hoping that explained why she suddenly felt the need to shield herself with it.

“And I see I’ve driven you to drink.”

She raised the glass. “Clearly, I’m having my own little pity party.”

“No one should do that alone.”

No one…should look that damn good after being positively invisible in high school. How had he done that?

She could practically feel his desire to move forward, like a horse held at the starting gate. “Can I come in?”

No. She could hear the word in her head, imagine how easy it would be to say, and how effective and right and smart and safe it would sound. Just…no. Simple. Two letters. One syllable.

“Of course you can.” Or that.

He strode forward and up the steps, making her clutch the yearbook, determined to hold her ground and not back up. Except, now he was too close and too tall and too…much.

“You’re under me,” she said softly.

His eyes glinted with surprise. “Not at the moment.”

“Right under me on the senior picture page. The L’s, M’s, and N’s are on the same page and we…lined up.”

“Really? I’ve never seen that yearbook.” He reached for it. “May I?”

Well, he had seen her boobs for a flash already today. She relinquished the book and tried not to feel self-conscious about the thin material covering her. “You’ve never looked at our yearbook?”

“I didn’t have great memories of high school.”

She gestured toward the sofa. “Well, have yourself a stroll down memory lane then. Would you like a glass of wine?”

She watched him walk past her to sit down, placing the book on the table without opening it. “I’m all right, thanks.”

That was an understatement. He still wore the same crisp khakis and five-hundred-dollar shirt he’d had on today, and he still looked perfect. He still smelled like summer in the woods. He still oozed power and control and testosterone, all those things she was determined to avoid.

She folded into a chair across the coffee table, crossing her arms and curling her legs under her, not asking the obvious question of why he was here but wanting to see how he’d open this conversation.

Sitting down, he leaned his elbows on his knees, steepling his long fingers right under his chin. “I understand you lost your job.”

“Good news travels fast on Mimosa Key, as always.”

He didn’t say anything, looking directly at her. But why was he here? To apologize? To finish what he’d started? A slow heat traveled up her body. She damn well better get acquainted with the word “no” or she could qualify as the world’s stupidest woman.

“You and I both know that’s not good news. I feel really bad about what happened.”

Yes, he was there to apologize. She could let her poor hormones rest now. “Thanks, but, honestly, it was inevitable. You—that, um, situation—forced me to move faster to find another job.”

“What are you going to do?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I heard the Toasted Pelican is hiring waitresses. All the peanuts you can eat and rotgut you can drink.”

He didn’t smile at the local humor. “You need to start your own business.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” So would robbing a bank.

“I mean it.”

“I know it,” she replied, unnerved by more than his intense gaze. She couldn’t breathe. How did he know this, anyway?

“I have a check for five thousand dollars in my pocket.”

She stared at him, the words nearly doubling her over with their impact. “What?”

“I have a check for—”

“I heard you.” She shot to her feet, indignation and fury and shock rocking through her body. “How? Why? What…why?”

He stood, too, instantly gaining the advantage of height. “Because you need it to start your business, and I’m the reason you don’t have a job.”

Her jaw hung open as she tried to piece together the puzzle and came up with…nothing that looked like a picture.

“I spoke to Lacey Walker,” he said, obviously reading her confusion.