Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(41)
“But we could change that,” he said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about a way to change that.”
“By finding some other piece of land on some other island that’s owned by some other unsuspecting, lonely, stupid, easily manipulated female?”
He just stared at her. “You’re lonely, Frankie?”
Damn it. “No, I’m not,” she ground out. “And notice how you didn’t correct ‘stupid’?”
“Because I know you’re not stupid, but if you are lonely...” He reached for her, and she jerked away as if his hand were made of fire. His beautiful, large, sexy hand that she wanted...
Oh, Lord, have the kid already, Isabella!
“What if we worked the farm into the stadium?”
She blinked at the tiny baby in front of her, barely able to process the question. “Like a seventh-inning stretch and goat parade? What the hell, Becker?”
“I’m serious.” He got a little closer, his dark eyes flashing like they did when he had some brilliant, grandiose, ridiculous idea that always ended up being...perfect. “We could have your whole idea for a stone house and a little store, maybe a petting zoo for the kids.”
She frowned at him. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
“Not if the team were called the Barefoot Bay Bucks. Then the goats would be mascots. It’s amazing, don’t you think?”
“Certifiable.” She shook her head and pointed to Isabella. “Shhh. Here comes another one.”
Just as slowly, but with much less drama, a little brown and white face emerged, protected by a shiny bubble. Isabella bleated with relief as the shoulders came through, then the backside. The kid plopped onto the hay with a soft thud.
“Would you look at that?” Elliott whispered. “We had a boy.”
She gave a sad smile. “I might be able to keep one.”
“Keep this one,” Elliott said, putting his arm around her. “Let him be the Barefoot Bay Buck mascot. We can call him—”
“Stop.” She cut him off with a harsh look and a sharp bark. “Don’t do this anymore!”
“Do what?”
“Make me fantasize and imagine and dream and want. You’re not real, Elliott A. Becker. You’re not genuine. You’re a fake. You’re working me and toying with me and making me fall for you and then, wham, you’ll be gone when the next investment or opportunity or lucky money-making scheme comes your way.”
He still stared at her, a world of hurt in his eyes. “No, I won’t, Frankie.”
She turned away. “You will. Like everyone else, you’ll...disappear.” Like her parents. Like Nonno.
Like any hope of having someone stay forever.
“Only if you want me to.”
“I do!” she cried, hating the crack in her voice. “I want you to disappear. Now.”
Without a word, he pushed up, the only sound the soft whimper of Isabella’s relief and the rustle of hay under his feet. She didn’t turn to watch him go, but listened to his footsteps through the shelter, the barks of her dogs, and goodbye nays from the girls.
She stayed very still, petting Isabella and the brand new babies, while the sound of his car engine started, then grew quiet as he left her.
Ozzie came prancing over, barking his displeasure.
“I know, Oz.” She kept him away from the stall with one hand, but looked into his sad brown eyes.
“I liked him, too.” Too much.
Ozzie made a soft harrumph and flattened on the hay, every bit as broken and bereft as Frankie.
Chapter Twelve
Twenty-one.
There were now twenty-one little cotton balls lined up along Frankie’s soap-making counter. Three weeks’ worth of fragrant messages.
But nothing else.
Agnes and Lucretia flanked her, their pygmy bodies pressed up against Frankie’s knees as she neatly sealed the last of the soap bars for the meeting with Jocelyn that would start in less than an hour. Behind her, the doeling and buckling romped, still a little wobbly and high-pitched, alternating between crazy and exhausted every minute of the day.
She’d named the girl Daisy because of the flower-like white splotch on her forehead. And the buck? She hadn’t named him yet. Still unsure if she could keep two of them here because of the complicated logistics of two bucks on the same little farm, she refused to let herself fall for him by giving him a name.
She just thought of him as Becker’s boy, and that made her think of Becker, and that made her...not completely sad but damn close.
She picked up the cotton ball that had arrived today, hand-delivered by special messenger, who brought one every day when Frankie finished the morning milking. Each one arrived in a plastic box with nothing but a tiny piece of paper bearing a few words.
So now she had twenty-one obscure, impossible messages from Elliott Becker. Was he trying to tell her something or just help her with the soap fragrances he knew she was creating for Casa Blanca?
Hard to say, but with every new arrival, her heart softened ever so slightly. She picked up the one that had arrived today and sniffed it.
The first few had come with names that recapped so much of their time together. The good parts, when they were falling hard and fast. First Kiss. Intimate Moments. Moonlight Madness. Secret Whispers.