Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(14)

Holy hell, he knew their names. Plus, it couldn’t be seven in the morning. Did it never end, this goat business?

Well, this was part of the deal he’d made with the lawyer, right? Burns had salivated at Elliott’s offer and asked for one week to close the sale. During that time, Elliott had to make sure Frankie hit nothing but roadblocks until he and his partners owned the land. That required constant supervision and, evidently, sleeping in a goat barn.

“How’d you sleep?” Frankie asked, the splash of milk into a metal bucket not hiding the little note of concern in her voice. She might act like she didn’t care that he had to sleep here, but she did.

“Like hell in a haystack.” He leaned up on one elbow, scowling into early sunlight that streamed through the opening behind her, backlighting her so she looked...great. Really great. “You’re up early.”

“It’s a farm, big boy. That’s how we roll.”

Too tired to argue, he rested his head and let his eyes focus on her. Jeans today, faded but tight enough to show every curve. And an oversized T-shirt so loose that when she leaned over to adjust the milk pail, he could see right down to a tank top. Her hair was pulled back in her Heidi braid.

Small, taut muscles in her arms bunched as she squeezed out milk, her lower lip tucked under her teeth in concentration, a glisten of perspiration giving her a glow.

“You can use the facilities in the trailer,” she said, not even looking at him.

“In a minute. I’m mesmerized by milking.” And the milk maid.

She tried to hide her amusement by tucking her head under the goat’s belly instead, but he caught the smile. “Good, you can finish for me. I think you learned how to do it last night.”

Yes, he had. Squeezed the udders till those suckers were dry as bones. And never wanted to put his hand on another goat nipple as long as he lived. “Aren’t you almost done?” he asked.

“Still have Ruffles and the little girls. And I need to leave in less than an hour.”

He sat up completely. “Where are you going?”

“County Clerk to get to the bottom of this Burns guy and his bogus will.”

Except, the will was not bogus. Elliott was certain of that. How Burns’s client was able to coerce the old man to sign it might not have been the most ethical of means, but the will was legal. “I’m going with you.”

That earned him a vile look. “No, you’re staying here to milk the goats.”

“I’ll do both, but I’m going with you.”

“I can handle it. I’ve already started, to be honest. Last night I Googled that lawyer and the name of his client.”

Oh, that was not good. “What did you find?”

“He’s a real lawyer, sadly. But Island Management doesn’t have a Web site or anything trackable.

But I have some contacts in the county government who helped me after Nonno died without a will or a deed to this land.”

Brushing some hay out of his hair and off his jeans, he finally got up from the homemade bed, his real estate experience taking over his brain for a moment. “How can he not have a deed to the land?”

“He was a founder of the island, back in the 1940s. A group of people actually settled the island, and were able to claim ownership of land. That’s how the lady who owns Casa Blanca got a lot of that land, from her grandparents who were part of the founding group. But there’s a deed now, on file, and in eight, no, seven more days, it transfers to my name.”

Not if it transferred to another name first. In six days, if all went according to plan. An unwanted pressure of guilt punched hard enough to push him to a stand. “Let me hit the head and I’ll finish the goats, shower, and go with you.”

Her jaw unhinged.

He ignored it. “C’mon. You know you want company.”

Before she could argue, he was crossing the pen and headed for the trailer, blinking into the blinding sunrise, making plans for who to call first and exactly what strings to pull and palms to grease. He had to be at those government offices with her.

Her grandfather was a founder of the island.

He silenced the voice in his head with a litany of rationalization. This place was perfect for the stadium, great access, close to a good population base on the other side of the causeway, still small and out of the way enough to be a real tourist draw. Plus, they’d already secured the surrounding properties, and this little plot shouldn’t hold them up. The whole plan wouldn’t work without a good access road and parking. This was too easy to start over.

Fast, easy, simple, lucrative, and...a shitty thing to do to Frankie.

Swearing softly, he stepped inside the little mobile home to find the bathroom in the hall. He’d have to go get some things from the resort if he was going through with this plan, but Frankie had thoughtfully laid out an unopened toothbrush package with toothpaste, a washcloth, and something that looked like a bar of soap. It was brown and lumpy and smelled...amazing.

He sniffed again, getting a mix of sweet and peppery smells. When he turned on the water to lather up, the scents got stronger, and the soap slid around in his hands with a buttery, luscious texture.

If she washed in this stuff, then he wanted to...touch her.

Oh, hell, he wanted to anyway.

He stripped his T-shirt off and took a French bath, imagining how good a whole shower would be, except he didn’t think he’d fit in that phone booth of a shower. Once he’d dried off and brushed his teeth, he checked outside and, not seeing her, pulled his phone out of his back pocket and called Zeke.