Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(42)

The following week, his messages reflected the state of her heart with uncanny accuracy. Tender Ache. Empty Arms. Lonely Days. Sleepless Nights.

What was he trying to tell her with the complex fragrances and cryptic messages? Each one confused and intrigued and delighted her. No phone calls. No texts. No letters or flowers or emails or postcards.

Just glorious fragrances and mystifying messages.

And this week, the tone had changed again. Now, instead of angst, she got... Sweet Anticipation.

Hopeful Heart. Counting Hours. And, then, today’s, the most perplexing of them all.

Coming Home.

Home? Her heart raced, but she calmed herself with a slow, deep inhale of the sweetest fragrance he’d sent to date. A marvel of vanilla and oak blend, like nothing she’d ever made before.

Maybe he was sending messages, maybe he was trying to help out, maybe he was the world’s most creative groveler. She didn’t care. The fragrances and names were a gift she gladly accepted. She’d re-created every one up until today’s, producing a total of twenty new fragrances and beautifully packaged sets of soap she’d wrapped and ribboned and turned into a celebration of romance. Jocelyn would love these, use these, and sell these like crazy.

She took a sniff of Coming Home. She’d make that, but maybe save it for herself.

Putting the last of the baskets in the back of her truck, she absently ran a hand over Lucretia’s soft neck, rewarded with a loopy goat smile.

“Wish me luck, girls.”

Before she left she checked on Daisy and...that guy really needed a name. Black and shiny as his father, the little buck had a gleam in his eyes and a constant need for affection. She shouldn’t get attached, but she reached down and gave him a hug anyway, his baby fur tickling her cheek.

“You know I’m going to end up calling you Becker and will regret it every time I have to say the name.”

He whined noisily and stomped his tiny hooves in response. A chorus of goats guided her to the pen gate, but before she left, Frankie stood and looked at her little homestead. Her home. It was, now.

And it was time to build La Dolce Vita. The resort would help get people over here, and she’d already talked to the gardener and head chef about using her goat’s milk and selling that, too. First step, today’s sale. Then tonight, she’d be...

Coming Home.

Alone.

She climbed in the truck and drove to Casa Blanca, trying to focus her thoughts on the meeting ahead with Jocelyn, a woman she’d grown to like and trust in the past few weeks. Jocelyn had confided that her father was very sick, with advancing Alzheimer’s, and her dream was for him to live long enough to see her baby. She’d also shared the story of how she’d forgiven her father for the sins of his past, making Frankie think long and hard about letting go of the misplaced anger she harbored against her parents.

They’d only been trying to do the right thing for her. She had to stop blaming them and their careers for dying and remember that they loved her fully and wholly.

The parking lot of the resort was packed, but that wasn’t so much of a surprise. Business in the restaurant, Junonia, was booming, and this late in the day, the promise of a gorgeous sunset brought people all the way from the mainland for cocktails and beach walks. Still, she’d never seen it quite this packed. She had no choice but to use the valet service, otherwise she would have had to cart all those baskets across the lot.

“Here for the event, ma’am?” the valet asked as he opened her door.

“I’m meeting with Jocelyn Palmer, the manager of Eucalyptus.”

“No problem, we’ll park it for you.”

“I need to get those baskets out of the back.”

He helped her take them into the lobby, which was even more crowded than the parking lot, with dozens milling about, sipping champagne, and waiters carrying trays of more flutes and food.

“Is there a wedding today?” she asked the valet.

“No, a press conference. ESPN is here!” His eyes bugged with excitement. “There’s some big baseball thing. You should see who’s here, too. Couple of Yankees, people from the MLB, and...” He leaned closer and looked side to side before lowering his voice. “Nathaniel Ivory is here.”

“Oh.” She had to get out of here before she saw Becker. Still holding one of the baskets with two hands, she shouldered through the crowd to the double doors of the spa, struggling to figure out a way to get the door and not put down the basket.

Suddenly, someone came up behind her and grabbed the oversized brass handle for her.

The tightening in her chest squeezed until it crushed her heart as she stared at the hand in front of her. Long, strong, tanned, masculine, and far too familiar. A hand she’d held. A hand that had touched her. A hand that—

“Let me help you.”



She gathered her wits, took a breath, and looked up to meet the very ebony eyes that haunted her every night.

“You already have,” she said, hoisting her basket a little higher, as if it could protect her from the impact of his size and proximity. “Thanks for the poetic and creative ideas.”

“I have one more.” His voice was low and intimate, and just a little too close for comfort.

“I got today’s, thank you.”

“One more creative idea. Would you like to hear about it?” Without waiting for her response, he took the basket she carried and opened the door for her, using his whole body to usher her in.