Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(35)

“Water, please.” She stayed right where she was while the sound of his footsteps disappeared into the house.

Well, hell. This wasn’t turning out as planned. First he’d dragged out a confession that made her ache in a way that—well, in a way that she hadn’t ached in a long time. And then he made her ache in a whole different way and didn’t seem inclined to satisfy it. What the hell?

Maybe he’d gone for a condom. Maybe he’d gone to be certain Evan was asleep. That gave her hope, because she needed this. So what if it was an escape? It would be an amazing, wonderful, delicious escape.

In one easy move, she slipped the cover-up over her head and slid into the water. It had worked very well with a bathing suit on, and now it would—

“What are you doing?”

Maybe not work so well. Shit. “Skinny-dipping. That against the law?”

“In some states.” He had two bottles of water, which he set on the stones as he sat back down on the edge of the pool. “I’ll watch.”

Watch? “Suit yourself.” She dove down to the bottom, staying as long as she could, letting the water cool her. Would he jump in and join her? She kicked to the surface, each stroke taut with anticipation.

He hadn’t moved, but sat there chugging a bottle of water.

She stayed immersed up to her shoulders. “So, what’s your game?” she asked. “Hard to get?”

He shook his head and finished the last of the water.

“Make me beg?”

Another shake.

“Fear of failure?”

He laughed. “Never a problem for me.”

She put her hands on her hips and stood straight so that her whole upper body was exposed. He stared and she didn’t move, knowing full well he never could resist her breasts. “Then why won’t you f*ck me?”

The response was almost imperceptible, but she caught the little flinch. “I don’t want to f*ck you. I want to make love to you.” He lifted the other bottle and held it toward her. “When you’re ready.”

For making love or the bottle? “Color me baffled, doc.”

“A water color,” he fired back. “Looks great on you.”

“Then join me.”

“No.”

She slapped the water with the same force that the word hit her. “No?”

“No.”

“At the risk of sounding a little overly cocky, why the hell not?”

He angled his head a little, like he was considering the question. Or just wanted to stare some more. “Damn, you’re hot.”

Her jaw loosened a little. “Then why don’t you dive in here and get burned?”

“Because…” He took another sip of water. “That’s not what I want.”

What did he want? A commitment? A romance? A flipping ring on his finger? Or maybe he didn’t want her now.

“Was it everything I told you?”

He actually laughed softly, as if she’d said something absurd. “Zoe, I’m going to hold out for something better than pool sex with you.”

“The bedroom’s right there.”

She saw the longing. It flashed in his eyes, passing quickly, but not so fast that she didn’t get it and know—absolutely know beyond any shadow of a doubt—that he wanted her in that bedroom. But something was stopping him.

“Is it because Pasha’s your patient now?”

He laughed again. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Evidently not.”

“There’s more to it…than sex.” The words were soft, almost a whisper, and as loving and tender as anything she’d ever heard.

“More to what?” Her heart thudded softly as water sluiced down her bare breasts and his gaze followed each droplet.

“More to everything.” He gestured toward her discarded dress. “Your clothes are vibrating.”

“My cell.” She strode forward, water sluicing down her naked body. “Can you pull it out of the pocket and read the ID? I want to be sure it’s not Pasha.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her as he found the phone. He looked at the screen and drew back.

“Who is it?” She forgot her nakedness and need. “Pasha?”

“The sheriff.”

“Very fun—” She blinked at him. He wasn’t joking. Shaking water off her hand, she reached for the phone and tapped the screen, a dark feeling of dread building inside her. “Hello?”

“Ma’am, this is Deputy Slade Garrison of the Lee County Sheriff’s Department.”

Holy, holy crap. They’d been caught. This was the call she’d dreaded her whole life. “Yes?”

“I’m with a woman by the name of Pasha Tamarin. Do you know her?”

She almost sank right into the water. “Is she okay?”

“No, ma’am, she’s not. She’s not okay at all.”





Chapter Thirteen



Doctor Bradbury was a godsend in a crisis. During the blur that was the next hour—two?—Oliver handled everything. Everything. With calm, unquestioned authority, not the least bit ruffled by a life-and-death situation.

He took the phone and talked to the sheriff, helped Zoe dress, called Tessa to come and stay with Evan, talked to a doctor in the ER at North Naples Hospital, and, through it all, he stayed completely calm as he drove them over the causeway.

Zoe, on the other hand, was a wreck, with two words echoing through her head the whole time Oliver dealt with one thing after another: She left. She left. She left.

Pasha had packed the f*cking panic bag and left, only to collapse in the parking lot of the Super Min and be found by the night clerk, Gloria Vail, who happened to work during the day at the Casa Blanca salon and also happened to be dating Deputy Garrison.

Gloria recognized Pasha and called Tessa and got Zoe’s cell number.

Otherwise, Zoe might never have learned where Pasha was until she got home and discovered her missing and then called every hospital and law-enforcement agency in the county.

She had to remember to thank Gloria for calling the sheriff.

Now if that wasn’t irony, what was? Thanking someone for doing what Pasha and Zoe had been actively avoiding for twenty-five years.

At the hospital they wouldn’t let Zoe see Pasha. When the desk clerk had asked for insurance, identification, and other normal information that abnormal Zoe didn’t have, Oliver had swooped in once again, promising to handle it—how?—and demanding that Zoe sit in a waiting room to wait.

And there she stayed, in a blue leather chair that stuck to her bare legs, staring at a TV with no sound and vaguely aware that people walked by while her world crumbled into a million pieces.

“Hey.”

Zoe jumped at the greeting, yanked from her miserable meditation to see Tessa and Jocelyn hustling down the hall toward her. Even in T-shirt and jeans, Jocelyn looked completely collected, her dark hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail. Tessa didn’t look quite so together, but they had gotten her up from a sound sleep to stay with Oliver’s son.

“Where’s Evan?” Zoe asked, standing up to meet them.

“He woke up and I took him to Lacey and Clay’s house. She was up anyway with the baby, and we wanted to come and be with you.” Tessa handed her a plastic supermarket bag. “I happened to notice you were next to naked and thought you might want something to wear.”

Zoe nodded thanks and gave them both quick hugs.

“You okay?” Jocelyn asked, a gentle hand on Zoe’s face. “ ’Cause you look like hell on a stick.”

“I am hell on a stick. She ran away!” The words tumbled out on a sob.

“Why would she do that? Was she trying to find you?” Tessa asked.

“My father has run away,” Jocelyn said.

“But he has dementia,” Tessa replied. “Pasha has…”

All three of them were quiet, almost refusing to say the word.

“Cancer,” Jocelyn finally said. “She has cancer and now she’s going to get help. She can’t fight you on it, no matter what her reasons.”

Tessa looked hard at Zoe, the silent question all over her face. What are her reasons? “Why do you think she ran away, Zoe?” she asked instead.

Zoe fell back into her chair, the leather still warm. The girls bookended her in the chairs on either side, both instantly grabbing Zoe’s hands.

Zoe gave them both a death grip. “I don’t…” She swallowed the standard response—also known as a lie. “She ran away because she doesn’t want…” No, that was another lie. She hadn’t run from doctors and the opportunity to be cured; she’d run from reality. She ran away… “So I can have a normal life.”

They both stared at her.