Secrets on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #1)(8)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

Like the sight of this man was squeezing the life out of her lungs? Nothing—not even the DragonBastard—should suffer like that. She shook her head. “He may live.”

“How about you?” With his other hand, he reached down.

“I may die of embarrassment.” She pushed up on one knee, but he closed his hand over her elbow to help her up.

“Don’t die until you dry off.” His gaze dropped over her uniform, slowly enough that she couldn’t help imagining the soaking wet cotton clinging like a second skin to her body. He lingered for a second on her breasts, definitely not reading her name tag this time. Under his gaze, she felt her nipples bud like little traitors.

“I call it a sign you throw yourself into your work. Literally.”

Despite the chill of cold water trickling over every inch, heat rose to her cheeks. “I try,” she said, attempting a smile.

He returned it as he helped her stand, backing up with the dragonfly fluttering madly in his other hand. “Let me take him out.”

When he disappeared, Amanda nearly folded right back down on the wet marble. What was she going to do now? She glanced down at the thin, wet, nearly see-through fabric and swore softly. Wouldn’t that be a nice sight for resort guests as she walked back down the path! No doubt, that would get back to her boss.

She stepped out of the shower stall, unable to avoid a glance in the mirror. Her heart dropped like she just had from the upside-down bucket.

Tori’s words echoed. Have you looked at yourself lately?

Sopping hair, soaked face, drenched uniform, and…oh, nothing about the woman gazing back from the mirror was magnificent.

Hearing his footsteps, she stepped away from the depressing sight and inhaled, digging deep for cool and composure.

“Would you like something dry to wear?” he asked, filling the bathroom doorway.

The question threw her, so unexpected and kind. Any other guest would have been furious at the intrusion and insisted she leave, right after they reported her to management.

“I’m…” She ran her hands over her torso. “I’ll be out of here in a minute and send a…better maid.”

“That’s crazy. There’s a clothes dryer here, right?”

Her pulse kicked, and not just because the offer was so damn thoughtful and the man delivering it was as handsome as he was sincere. It was so…unexpected. “In the laundry room, but I—”

“Then we’ll have those dry in ten minutes.” He reached for the knob to close the door. “There’s a robe in the closet, but I’m sure you know that.”

Without another word, he closed the door and left her standing in stunned shock. Really? No chastisement for her incredible clumsiness and stupidity? No derisive look that he didn’t get better service for all this money?

Grateful to the point of shaking, she slowly undressed, trying not to think about the fact that she could—no, she would—get fired if she got caught undressing in a guest’s bathroom.

She slipped off her ID lanyard and set it on the counter, then unbuttoned the shirt, peeling the wet fabric from her body. Kicking off her sneakers, she did the same to the slacks, opting to keep her underwear but tossing in her water-logged bra.

She stepped into the robe and pulled out her ponytail, toweling her hair in the mirror, where things weren’t that much better than they’d been a minute ago. Touching her pale cheeks, she leaned closer, seeing her face through his eyes.

Mandy the Mess.

She pinched her cheeks to return some color and licked her finger, blinking in an attempt to darken her pale lashes. But that didn’t work. Then she remembered that inches from her hand, in the top drawer, was the complimentary makeup kit that management supplied in every bathroom in Casa Blanca. One of the perks of a resort owned by a woman, she’d often thought.

Very slowly, she tugged at the handle and pulled out the drawer, seeing the makeup, sunscreen, and some personal items.

It had been a long time since Amanda had bothered to put on makeup for a man.  So why start now? She closed the drawer harder than necessary. What was she doing, anyway? Trying to impress a rich man? Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men like that the hard way?

Scooping up her wet clothes, she opened the door, wearing a bathrobe and no mask.

* * *

Amanda found Zeke in the laundry room, the dryer wide open and waiting. He was staring straight ahead, his thoughts so far off and intense that he didn’t hear her behind him. She paused for a second, taking him in, from the soft black hairs that brushed his collar to the strong, muscular back that pulled an expensive white shirt tight across his shoulders. His waist was narrow, the shirt tucked into crisp khaki pants, and his ass…

She let out a sigh. That right there ought to be illegal.

He spun around and caught her, sending a rush of shame to her cheeks. “Sorry, I…” Flustered, she walked to the dryer. “I can do this.”

“No, please, give them to me.” He reached for the ball of wet uniform, his hands closing over hers. She caught his gaze, locked on her, and they stood for the span of two, three, four strong heartbeats.

“I can do it, Zeke,” she said quietly. Almost reluctantly, he lifted his hands from hers but didn’t look away. “My guess is you don’t run a lot of the dryers in your house…houses. Four, is it?”

His gaze flickered away. “You were listening.”

“No, no. I did catch a little of your conversation, though.” She shouldered him to the side and leaned over to toss her clothes in the dryer. “Your mom is…”

“Relentless,” he supplied with a laugh, crossing his arms as he leaned on the granite folding counter next to the dryer. “It’s a family trait.”

“Is that how you account for your success?” she asked, bending over to unhook a button that had gotten caught inside the dryer.

“Might be, yeah. I get what I go after.”

The smokiness in his voice made her turn in time to see his gaze on the gap in her robe. Slowly, she stood, tightening the robe, her stomach plummeting like she was on a roller coaster.

“And apparently you have a fondness for…sports equipment.” She attempted a lightness despite the blood singing in her head.

“I have my weaknesses.”

“Like most rich men,” she muttered, turning away.

“Excuse me?”

She froze in midstep on her way out of the tiny laundry room, already feeling breathless from the lack of space and the growing heat from the dryer. “Never mind, I’m…I guess I’ll…”