Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(31)

The Glenlivet burned on the way down his throat, but Oliver didn’t bother to chase the shot with water. Instead he drew in a slow, deep breath so the bittersweet flavors of the scotch worked their way up into his head, clearing it.

And still he stared at the silver-blue pool and imagined he could see Zoe, swimming naked like some kind of laughing, loving water nymph with flowing blonde hair and luscious wet skin.

Well, that beat the darker images that usually haunted him when he was alone in a house. So far the little villa on the beach hadn’t triggered any old memories, but maybe that was because Evan was here. In Chicago the house had never been empty; even if Adele had been traveling and Evan had been sent to stay at his grandmother’s, they’d had live-in staff.

He’d never had to come home to an empty house.

He pushed the glass to the side and returned his attention to the tablet computer on the table, forcing himself to finish the report to Raj and the team, bringing them all up to speed on their newest case and the schedule for tests and treatment.

Still, the words blurred in front of him and his mind wandered back to Zoe.

She wasn’t going to try to fix Pasha’s legal problems. Why did Zoe have to be so driven by loyalty and emotions and an invisible sense of duty when that could be steering her aunt all wrong?

He tapped into the Internet and opened a search bar, an attempt to pull up some facts based on the little information she’d ever given him.

Bridget. Corpus Christi. Foster Child. Missing.

He sipped while a few results flashed on the screen, mostly recent stories that couldn’t possibly be connected to something that had happened about twenty-five years ago.

He took another drink and started to skim the links but a sound at the fence caught his attention. Looking past the pool screen, he peered into the darkness, expecting to see an animal.

Every light in the house was off, the fiber-optic pool lights were too dim to cast much glow, so he listened, definitely hearing something thud against the privacy fence.

And the soft intake of breath.

An intruder at the resort? Without making a sound, he unlatched the screen door and stepped onto the narrow strip of grass around the patio. He walked along the wall, cocking his ear.

Another thud, and this time two hands appeared at the top of the fence, along with a loud bump—someone hoisting themselves up on the other side, probably balancing on the crossbeam that ran along the back of the stockade-style wooden fence.

A ballsy intruder, then.

He hid behind a thick hibiscus bush, placing himself between the intruder and any entrance to the house. He didn’t have a weapon, but he had his bare hands and he’d use them before anyone got near—

Blonde hair popped over the fence.

What the hell was she doing?

Zoe pushed herself up higher and one foot in a bright-yellow flip-flop came over the fence, a short black dress riding up to reveal her bare thigh. Turning her head from side to side, she peered into the darkness and then hoisted herself higher.

Jesus, she was fearless. And crazy. And gorgeous. And here.

He managed not to make a sound or move, watching as she maneuvered over the fence and angled herself to—she wouldn’t jump, would she?

Of course she would. She’d do anything. That was why she made him hard and hot and flat-out insane with how much he wanted to capture her and hold her down and force her to stay still and be his and not leave him.

But if she did that, she wouldn’t be Zoe. She wouldn’t be the woman who climbed fences and…

Jumped. He sucked in a breath as she leaped into the air like a bird, arms out, hair flying, dress high enough for him to see that she was bare-ass naked underneath.

She landed with a soft thump, tumbling to her knees like she was born to be a cat burglar. But something told him she wasn’t here to steal anything, except his sanity. And his breath. And his heart.

Or maybe she just wanted to get laid.

“Can I help you?” He stepped out from behind the bush and earned a loud gasp of shock.

“Oh my God, you scared me!”

He smiled, the irony too obvious to comment on. He reached down to give her a hand. “Let’s see…you didn’t want to knock and wake Evan?”

She let him pull her up. “I was strolling the grounds and ended up back there.”

“By chance?”

“Luck.” She grinned. “Did you think I was a heavily armed intruder?”

“Not when the dress flew up. Don’t know where you’d hide a weapon.” He gestured toward the screen door, letting her brush by him. She left a trail of something that smelled like honeysuckle and sin behind her.

And he followed like a f*cking dog in heat.

Inside the patio, she went straight to the table and his heart stopped. If she looked at that tablet screen…

What difference did it make? Why not let her know exactly what he was doing? He was trying to help.

She lifted the glass and sniffed, made a face, then sipped. “Ewww. That tastes like lighter fluid filtered through swamp water. Why would anyone drink that?”

“It’s manly.”

Laughing, she dropped into his empty chair and draped her arms over the side. “Can I have something girly? Like, you know, beer or vodka?”

“Stay here.”

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose he’d picked up when supply shopping, telling himself it wasn’t because he knew she liked it, poured it over ice, tore into a juice box, and added a splash. Before going back out, he slipped into the living room and broke the bloom off a bright-pink flower from a bouquet to garnish the drink.

He half expected her to be skimming his tablet and following his last Internet search when he came out, but she was sitting at the edge of the shallow end, her feet dangling in the water.

He joined her, sticking his feet in the pool as he presented the drink. “Girly enough for you?”

“Perfect.” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink to…”

“Whatever made you come over here.”

“Dead batteries.”

He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Except when I’m not.” She tapped his glass with hers, casting her eyes downward. “It’s hard to live life as a liar when you’re as open as I am.”

“I imagine it is.”

She lifted the flower and laid it down before sipping her drink, closing her eyes and moaning appreciatively. “Damn, that’s good.” She tasted again. “Cranberry juice?”

“Apple Raspberry Juicy Juice.”

She smiled. “The mixer of champions.”

“So, Zoe, why don’t you stop lying if it’s so hard for you?”

“It’s become a way of life.” The blunt candor actually surprised him. “In fact, just moments ago, life handed me the perfect opportunity to share all my secrets with one of my very best friends and what do you think I did?”

He didn’t answer because he was still trying to process that her friends didn’t know her past.

“That’s right,” she answered for him. “Nothing. Not exactly a lie, unless you count omission.”

“You mean to tell me that Lacey and Tessa and Jocelyn don’t know that Pasha’s not really your great-aunt?”

“They know she’s sick,” she said, as if that were a huge bit of progress. “But the rest of my sad tale of woe?” She lifted her glass again. “Only you, doc. Only you.”

He would have liked to hold on to the sideways compliment, but he was still too perplexed by her confession. “But they’re your best friends, Zoe. They can give you advice and be sounding boards.”

“And I might even be able to return the favor by helping them. At least I could set Tessa straight on the truth about foster kids.” She splashed her feet in the water, creating ripples that danced across the teal water. “But there is a downside.”

“Surely you don’t think they’d turn Pahsa in.”

“No. But they might hate me for not coming clean.”

He let his knuckles brush her exposed thigh, trying not to think about what wasn’t on under that thin dress. It would take one second to have her naked and in his arms. One second.

He lingered on the thought for a lot longer than that, watching her drink and think.

“I don’t believe they’d hate you,” he finally said. “You are judging yourself far more harshly than they would.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” she agreed. “But how do you think they’re going to feel when I tell them I’m not…” She closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m not a girl named Zoe Tamarin.”

He put down his drink and reached for her, wrapping his hands around the slender column of her throat and holding her jaw with his thumbs. “No one cares what your name is, Zoe. You are you. An amazing, funny, beautiful woman. You owe your friends the truth.”