Secrets on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #1)(19)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

But every once in a while, in the middle of light, breezy conversations with people who all looked like they’d stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad, she’d glance up at Zeke, and he’d give her a smile that was very real.

After one conversation ended and that couple stepped away, Zeke and Amanda were alone, side by side, facing the deepening-blue ocean that grew darker as some evening clouds gathered.

“So, what do you think?” he asked softly, the question innocuous, but the tone was intimate.

“About?”

He didn’t answer right away, but smiled. “The house? The party? Your boyfriend?”

The word did a really unholy thing to her insides. “The house is breathtaking. The party is exquisite. And the boyfriend…” Is breathtaking and exquisite. “Has really honed his social skills since Mimosa High.”

He laughed. “You know you could totally wreck my reputation with that secret knowledge about what a loser I was in high school.”

“Loser?” She scoffed at the word. “If so, you shook that label quite nicely.”

“You’re being kind,” he said.  “As far as the social skills, some networking comes with the job.”

The job of being a billionaire. “Speaking of jobs, this isn’t quite what I pictured when you said you had a business dinner you wanted me to attend.” Amanda gestured toward the infinity pool and the yacht just beyond it, taking in the small crowd, harpist, and white-jacketed waiters. “I thought I’d be surrounded by stodgy old men in a dark restaurant where I’d be sitting next to you like an accessory while you planned to take over Wall Street.”

“No stodgy old men or dark restaurants in business anymore,” he explained. “And Wall Street takeovers are so last millennium. But you know what’s most wrong with your picture?” He leaned closer, his hand secure and seductive on her shoulder, his mouth kissably close. “You could never be an accessory to any man.”

The words sent a splash of white hot emotion into her stomach. Yes, she could. And she shouldn’t let champagne, chiffon, or sharks let her forget it. “Not again,” she said softly.

A frown pulled his brows together. “One of these days you’ll have to tell me about this jerk you married.”

Her whole body tightened. “One of these days, I will.” She tried to inch away. “But not tonight. This is too beautiful and too much fun for ancient history. This is really…” So not the time and place for that particular confession. “Are all your houses like this one?”

“I’m more understated than Garrett. I have a nice place in the city, though, overlooking Central Park. And a really pretty Victorian in San Francisco with plenty of room if you want to come and visit California.”

She let the invitation pass. Pretend would end, and she couldn’t forget that.

“Flynn likes to flash his money,” he said quickly, as though he’d read the look of discomfort on her face. “But he’s much more settled down now that he’s married and has a baby on the way. Much happier.”

She couldn’t help detecting a wistful note in his voice. “Is that what you want?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Isn’t that the American dream?” he finally asked.

She gave a disdainful, but soft, snort. “You’re living the American dream, Zeke.”

“Not entirely.” The subtext in his voice couldn’t be ignored this time. “Not like Garrett,” he added.

“Garrett seems happy,” she agreed. “But, trust me…” She looked hard at Zeke, wondering how honest she should be. Under the circumstances, not too open. “Marriage can be a nightmare.”

He didn’t flinch, his eyes reflecting the water beyond them as he gave her a questioning look. “Did he hurt you that bad, Mandy?”

Why sugarcoat it? “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” He turned her so that they were facing each other, the breeze lifting her hair and the way he looked at her lifting her heart. “I’m sorry he broke you so badly.”

Denial rose up, swift and certain. “I’m not broken. And, thanks to you, I am well on my way to complete independence, which is all I crave, ever.” She lifted her glass in a toast, even though the champagne was nearly gone. “So thank you, Ezekiel Nicholas, for doing deals great and small, even with me.”

He tapped his glass to hers. “Mandy.” Never had anyone made her name sound so pretty. “I’m having a hard time.”

Having a hard time breathing? Because that simple task was next to impossible for her right at this second, under the onslaught of this man’s insane attention. “How so?”

He let his gaze fall to her mouth, his expression telling her he was remembering the kiss on the helicopter. Done to distract and calm her, it had had the opposite effect, making her focused on him and completely unnerved.

“I’m having a hard time keeping this imaginary.”

A ribbon of heat twirled through her, but her body betrayed her with chills. “Ah, yes, the man who hates to lie.” She tried to keep it light, but her voice was tight. “You’re doing a good job of pretending, though. I’m sure every person at this gathering believes I’m your girlfriend. Not that I understand why they need to.”

“So I’m not lying. Remember? The contract.” With his free hand, he held her chin, lifting it slightly as if he were getting ready to kiss her again. And, God help her, she would kiss him right back. “I’m a man who honors a contract, no matter what it’s written on. Ask any of my business associates in this room.”

“Whoa, Nicholas. Please tell me this is your long-lost sister you’ve brought to meet me.”

Zeke closed his eyes and broke into a wry smile. “Except this one,” he said under his breath. “Don’t ask this one anything.” He turned, shaking his head, still smiling as he extended his hand. “I didn’t know you were here, Becker.”

“When Garrett Flynn sends his private jet, I board and fly where it takes me, because it’s usually somewhere cool. Or hot. And speaking of hot…” He shook Zeke’s hand but kept his dark, penetrating gaze on Amanda. “Hello.” He positively drawled the word. Nearly as tall as Zeke and every bit as well-built, this man had a face that looked more rugged, less clean shaven, and raw.

“Mandy, this is Elliott Becker, who is best kept at arm’s length. Becker, let me present Mandy Mitchell, who is not my sister and quite immune to your fake Texas twang and oversized, uh, ego.”