Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(37)

“When he woke up?”

And there was the rub. She looked up at Elliott. “I...think so. Maybe. I’m not sure.” She took a slow, long breath. “He never opened his eyes, but his voice was clear and so was our conversation.

But...he died.” She swallowed hard. “I think he died before we had that conversation.”

Elliott just looked at her, clearly not quite getting where she was going.

“I fell asleep after we talked...” At least, she thought she had. “And I woke up when the nurses came running in, and they said...he was gone. They told me he’d never come out of the coma because they would have known it. They told me...I imagined the whole conversation, but I talked to him, I know I did. I heard him and he heard me and we...talked.”

Hadn’t they? Sometimes it was hard to be absolutely certain.



And if it had never happened, how much weight could she put on that promise?

“Then the nurses were wrong,” he said, at least acting like he believed her.

She sighed. Deep in her heart, she knew that they couldn’t have been, but... “Sometimes, I think that he was already...gone.” She shook her head, the memory of that conversation so vivid it couldn’t have been a dream.

“So...” He got up on his elbow, looking down at her. “What you’re saying is you aren’t sure if you really made that promise or not?”

She didn’t answer for a long, long time, then finally, she nodded. “It might have been, you know, my imagination.”

He stroked her cheek, silent, thinking. “No, it wasn’t. And you’re lucky, then.” He leaned closer and kissed her. “You’ve talked to angels.”

Her heart folded in half and then burst in her chest. “Yes,” she said, fighting tears. “I have.”

“I’m lucky, too.”

“So you’ve said a million times.”

He smiled at her. “You talk to them. I get to fall in...”

She waited. What would he say? In love? In bed? In—

On the floor, her cell phone rang inside the bag she’d brought in, shredding the moment. She huffed out a breath of frustration, but he gave her a nudge.

“You can get that.”

“No, I—”

“Really, you can get it.” He leaned over the bed and snagged her bag, flipping it up on the bed.

“It’s the middle of the day and...it could be Jocelyn.”

Did he want this intimate conversation to come to a crashing halt? It sure seemed so.

“Plus, I have something important I have to do today.” He pulled her phone out of the side pocket and handed it to her, pushing himself off the bed.

Had they gone too far? Revealed too much? Bewildered, she took the phone and barely glanced at the screen, half-registering that it was Liza Lemanski from the County Clerk’s office.

Before she could sit up to answer, Elliott was halfway across the room, and then he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door. Frowning and ignoring the punch of disappointment in her chest, she tapped the screen and answered the phone.

“Hi, Liza.”

“If you tell anyone I made this call, I will deny it until they tie me up and hang me in red tape.”

Any other time, she’d have laughed. But... Frankie stared at the closed door and reached behind herself to hook her bra, a flush of embarrassment rising even though Liza couldn’t possibly know where she was. “Your secret’s safe. What’s up?”

“I found the will. And the property deed.”

“That’s go—”

“And the multimillion-dollar offer from a third party that is set to close in forty-eight hours.”

“What?”

“I’m not kidding, Frankie, someone has made a cash offer, and it is going through fast, fast, fast.

That Burns guy has a one hundred percent legitimate will that your grandfather must have signed in a moment of weakness. He works for some seedy company that preys on old people who don’t have official wills.”

“Is that legal?”

“It isn’t illegal if no one contests the will or they unload the property before a family member gets involved. And that’s what Burns is doing. He’s sold it to the highest bidder for so much more than market value, it should be a crime.”

“How much?”

“I don’t even want to tell you because I can’t stand to hear a grown woman cry.”

Oh, God. No. “How much?”

“More than you can beat, unless you have a few million or ten stashed away. Who even has that kind of money?”

She stared at the door. Elliott did. A man who could be...unreal.

“Who’s the buyer?” she asked, the metallic taste of dread and shame filling her mouth.

“I can’t—”

“Liza, please. You have to tell me. I have a feeling I just...I almost had sex with him.” And, worse, dreamed of a future.

“Oh, God, I hate men. Have I told you how much I hate men? Hate.”

“Liza?”

“The name is Becker. Elliott A. Becker. I’m guessing the A is for Asshole.”

Frankie closed her eyes as the blow hit her heart. “You’d be guessing right,” she muttered, already scooping up her bag and turning to the door. “Let me ask you something, Liza.” She kept her voice low as she tiptoed down the hall to the living room.