Secrets on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #1)(3)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“Doubtful.” She croaked the word, probably because there was no way anyone who had a single female hormone floating in her bloodstream would forget him. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

“No,” he said quickly, opening the door even wider. “No, please. Come in…” That frown pulled again. “Amanda, did you say?”

She hesitated a second longer. “Not if you’re in the middle of something with a…a friend.”

The hint of a smile pulled at full lips, his eyes crinkling with a flicker of humor. “Not a friend.” He leaned a little closer and whispered, “But if I tell you who it is, you have to promise not to laugh.”

She didn’t move, her senses slammed by a clean, masculine scent and the low timbre of secret in his voice.

“It’s my mother,” he said, the smile widening. “And if you’re not careful, she’ll want to help you clean.”

She let out a quick laugh, the nerves receding but not the toe-curling impact of him. “I don’t need any help, but if you’re entertaining…”

“I’m afraid she’s not. Entertaining, that is.” He backed up to clear the doorway for her. “We’re on the patio.”

With a little uncertainty, she stepped into the cool air and rich comfort of the Moroccan-inspired decor. He fit in a place like this, as though the high-end designer had planned the dark wood and plush furnishings around someone with his size and command.

Deep inside, a familiar warning bell rang with a reminder that she’d sworn off men. All men in general. This kind of man in particular. Especially one who continued to look at her too intensely.

“Why don’t I start upstairs so I can stay out of your way?” Without waiting for a response, she walked toward the wrought iron banister, gripping her bucket and mop so they didn’t slip out of damp palms. Still, she could feel him looking at her, those gas-flame blues burning a hole in her back. Tensing, she put one foot on a step before sneaking a peek over her shoulder.

Sure enough, he was staring. With so much intensity it stole her breath.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I…I have the strangest question,” he said, coming closer.

“Yes?”  She braced herself for whatever it might be. A cleaning suggestion? A proposition? Maybe something as innocent as his favorite beer in the fridge? Guests could be strange. Not usually this drop-dead delicious, but strange.

He let out a self-conscious chuckle, shaking his head, a little color rising. Good heavens, was he nervous? Did this tall, dark, imposing master of the universe even know what insecurity was?

“Are you…” He angled his head, frowning hard, looking almost apologetic. “Are you Mandy Mitchell?”

Oh. Her knees buckled a little. Maybe with relief, maybe with that same shame that threatened her when Tori taunted with “senior adjectives” ripped from the pages of a yearbook.

“Not anymore,” she said softly, the weight of the bucket becoming too much at that moment. As she set it on the step, she nodded with resignation. “But, yes, I was. Do I know you?” Because, whoa and damn, how was it possible she didn’t remember meeting him?

“It is you.” He broke into a slow, glorious smile that was like someone had switched on a spotlight, blinding and white, that softened the sharp angles of his face and shadow of whiskers in hollow cheeks.

“Zeke Nicholas.” He took a few steps closer, reaching out his hand. “Mimosa High? Class of ’02?”

She’d gone to high school with this guy? And hadn’t dated him? Impossible. Without thinking, she lifted her free hand to his, getting another shock to the system when his fingers closed over hers, large and warm and strong and…tender. “I’m sorry…Zeke.” Zeke? She’d never met a man with that name.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

And why the heck not? “Are you sure?”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest a little too hearty and sincere. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember…” Anyone or anything that looked like him. “A Zeke.”

“I went by my full name then.” He gave her the most endearing smile that reached right into her chest and twisted her heart. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“To help me out?”

He looked down for a split second, then back to her face, the gesture shockingly humble for a man who couldn’t be too familiar with humility. “Ezekiel Nicholas.”

Her jaw dropped as a memory snapped into place. “Ezekiel the Geekiel?” The second she said it, she gasped softly and lifted her hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry.” God, she was as bad as Tori throwing kids’ nicknames around.

“No, no.” He turned his hands up in surrender. “Guilty as charged by the dreaded senior adjectives.” Then he leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, his face close enough for her to count individual lashes. “Mandy the Magnificent.”

This time the words didn’t sound ugly, spiteful, or laden with jealousy. On his lips, the words were a sexy, sweet whisper of admiration that made every nerve in her body dance.

Ezekiel Nicholas. How was this possible? How had that nerdy, skinny, four-eyed freak who could do Einstein-level math but couldn’t make eye contact with a classmate turned into…a god?

“You’ve changed,” she managed.

“You haven’t.” There was a softness to the words that nearly did her in, especially coming as an echo to the ones that had haunted her on the way up here.

Honey girl, have you looked at yourself lately?

Certainly not the way he was looking at her right now. A slow flush rose up from her chest and probably gave her cheeks some much-needed color. “Yes, I have changed,” she said simply. “But clearly the years have been good to you.”

“You work here.” It was a statement of painful fact, but not the way he said it. “That’s great.” He actually sounded like he meant that, unlike others, who couldn’t hide their amusement at the irony of Mandy Mitchell’s fall from magnificent to maid. “Really, that’s great.”

“And you’re staying here,” she said after an uncomfortable few seconds passed. “With…your family?” He did say his mother was on the patio. Was there a Mrs. Nicholas? A Zeke Junior?