Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(69)

“There is such a thing as being inhospitable to certain sperm,” Jocelyn insisted. “It’s an acid and Ph balance thing.”

“Please.” Tessa halted the conversation with a flat hand. “Billy and I were experts on the subject of infertility. I think the conversation was the only thing that kept us together so long. Once we gave up trying, our marriage fell apart.”

Zoe gave a cynical choke. “Yeah, cause it had nothing to do with him boning a twenty-two-year-old yoga instructor.”

Well, there was that. Tessa studied the moon on her beer label, but Jocelyn nudged her arm. “Tess, you need to make history, not change it.”

“Ah, the life coach speaks.”

“The life coach is correct,” Lacey said. “When was the last time you had a date? Gave a guy a chance? When was the last time you even thought about getting intimate with a man instead of a test tube?”

She smiled. “You know I like things done in a certain order.”

“How long?” the others asked in unison.

“Since I found out Billy was doing more than the downward dog with a fertility goddess. So, three years at least.”

They shared a suitably pitying look and Lacey leaned forward, tightening her grip on Tessa’s hands. “Look at the three of us. We’re living proof that love can happen when you least expect it.”

Tessa gazed up at the ceiling and breathed a sigh, digging for patience. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, not one single bit. But staring all this love in the face every single day wasn’t easy. Not to mention the fact that Casa Blanca’s destination wedding business was starting to take off, and now the guests were lovestruck too.

“We just want you to be happy,” Jocelyn said.

“And pregnant,” Lacey added.

The din of Mimosa Key locals blowing off steam competed with an old Tom Petty song on the jukebox, but none of it was loud enough to drown out Tessa’s well-meaning friends. Or the truth.

“I don’t believe the guy exists who could make me happy or pregnant,” she finally admitted.

Lacey shook her head. “You don’t know that. Someone amazing could be right around the corner.”

“Someone amazing is right around the corner,” Zoe whispered, pointing across the room. “Because if that man right there can’t make you happy or pregnant, then he can certainly make you scream for mercy. Probably a couple of times a night.”

Jocelyn swung out of the booth to peer into the crowd. “Whoa. Is that a scorpion tattooed on his neck?”

“Lovely.” Tessa took a deep drink.

Lacey popped up to look over their heads. “You mean that guy with the long hair and…wow. Those are some serious biceps. And triceps. And…” She squinted. “All ceps.” She slowly dropped back in her seat. “Speaking of fertility gods…” She let out a slow whistle. “That’s one hot and scary bad-ass sex god over there.”

Tessa rolled her eyes again. “Great, since those are the top qualities I’m seeking in a sperm donor.”

Jocelyn took another look, then turned back to face the booth, her eyes wide like she’d seen something unspeakable. “He certainly looks like he’d make a potent…protein smoothie.”

Zoe’s smile wavered. “And, oh wow, I think he’s—”

“Enough,” Tessa ordered. “I don’t care if he looks like Chris Hemsworth’s twin brother.”

“He kinda does,” Zoe said.

Tessa dug for more patience. They couldn’t help it; they didn’t know how hard it was to be in her position. “Guys, I was kidding, okay? I’m not going to walk up to him and say—”

“You don’t have to,” Zoe said softly.

Tessa closed her eyes and raised her beer bottle in the air. “Hey, scary bad-ass sex god with the long hair and deadly tattoos, can you fill ’er up with some potent liquid gold?”

Silence. Dead silence.

Slowly, Tessa opened her eyes. She felt the presence more than saw it in her peripheral vision. Something large. Something hot. Something scary and bad ass and…

“Liquid Gold. Is that a local brew?”

Oh. Sex god was really kind of an understatement.





In Ian’s experience, they didn’t usually keep the best-looking one hidden like this. Normally, females used the real beauties as bait. But this girl hadn’t even gone out of her way to check him out. And that made the sweet-faced beer drinker begging for action even more appealing.

The blonde who’d been staring at him for the last ten minutes wasn’t his type. The one with the wild red curls sported a shiny gold wedding band, and the other one was a little too conservative for his tastes.

But the hottie tucked into the corner was just right, looking at him with wide eyes exactly the color of the amber beer bottle she slowly lowered to the table. She wore barely a hint of makeup, so Ian could easily see her creamy complexion deepen with a flush as they held eye contact for one heartbeat past casual.

“Beer’s a good choice in a place like this,” he said, rattling the ice in his rocks glass. “The scotch is watered-down piss.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. Because of the curse word or had the pisswater been strong enough to bring out his accent? After all these years, he should know better than to slip and give away his British birth.

“What was that beer called again?” he asked.

“It was…a joke,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the bar ruckus. “I’m…fine.”

“You sure are.”

The other three reacted instantly.

“We need to hit the ladies’ room,” one of the women said, sliding out to make room for him. “Coming, Zoe?”

The blonde scooted out too. “We’ll refresh the drinks.” She turned to the married one and gave a look with all the subtlety of a baseball bat. “Move it, Lacey.”

“Oh yeah.” She nodded and gave an equally unsubtle raised eyebrow to the woman in the corner. “Hold the booth for us, Tessa. I’m sure we’ll be a while.”

“We’ll guard it with our lives.” Ian slid right into the vacated seat next to his doe-eyed target, trapping her in the corner and getting a whiff of something flowery and clean. “Tessa. Pretty. Short for something?”

Finally she slid him a sideways look, long lashes tapering into the kind of distrustful gaze he’d been eliciting for a few years. If the tattoos, gym time, or total disregard for a haircut didn’t scare them, the bike parked out front usually did.

“Just Tessa,” she said as her friends disappeared into the bar, leaving laughter and chatter in their wake.

“Just Tessa,” he repeated. Not to be funny, but because he’d want to remember the name tomorrow morning when he was rooting around the floor of her flat looking for his jeans. “Apartment,” dickhead, not “flat.”

“I’m John, by the way.”

She hinted at a smile. “Hello, John Bytheway.”

Cute. “John Brown.”

“That sounds fake.”

Because it is. “So tell me something about yourself, Tessa, other than the fact that you like…” He turned the beer bottle and read the label. “Belgian White Wheat Ale.” Bloody Americans would buy anything they thought was from Europe.

“Blue Moon’s my favorite…” She inched back. “Blue Moon,” she said softly, her whole face lighting up in a way that took her from good-looking to gorgeous in the space of a second. “Maybe that’s what Aunt Pasha meant.”

“Who’s Aunt Pasha?”

Her eyes twinkled with a secret. “A late, great…fortune teller.”

He inched closer, letting his thigh press against hers and earning another sweet blush. “Did she see trouble in her crystal ball?”

“She saw…something.”

“Whatever she saw, I hope it happens tonight.” He gave her a slow once-over, letting a nice undercurrent of electricity buzz between them as he admired her toned arms, freckle-dusted skin, and the alluring slope of her breasts under a simple white T-shirt. This one wasn’t trying too hard to get attention, and he liked that. It reminded him of—

Don’t go there.

“Are you staying in Mimosa Key?” she asked.

“At the moment.” For the past month, since he’d left Singapore, he’d ridden around the state of Florida, finally finding his way over a bridge to this suitably out-of-the-way island. He’d checked into the first motel he’d found and headed straight out the door for his numbing agents of choice: cheap scotch and a willing woman. He’d found one and, with a little luck, was looking at the other. “How about you?”

“I live at the resort up the road in Barefoot Bay,” she said.