Read Online Barefoot in the Sun by Roxanne St. Claire - Free Book Online
Authors: Roxanne St. Claire
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little house without a note, but maybe she’d gone out to the greenhouse to talk to Tessa. Grabbing a mug of coffee on the way, Zoe stepped out to the tiny back patio of the bungalow, one of a half-dozen units that had been built for resort staff who would move in once Casa Blanca was fully up and, they hoped, booked, in the next few months. The little cul-de-sac of cottages was tucked behind all the villas, overlooking the gardens that Tessa Galloway had planted and nurtured since she’d taken over the job as Casa Blanca’s gardener.
Zoe didn’t see Pasha in the rows of veggies and leafy greens. Or on any of the paths, which meandered through the gardens and were lined with palm trees that stood stark against the midday sky. Beyond the gardens color splashed everywhere, from purple and red hibiscus flowers to the poinciana trees bursting with persimmon buds, but no sign of Pasha.
Despite the hurricane that had ripped through Mimosa Key’s northern inlet nearly two years before, Barefoot Bay now thrummed with life again—plant and people life. Now that it was June, Casa Blanca had a few “beta” guests—travel agents and friendly bloggers—and Lacey had started to hire in anticipation of a trickle of summer guests. In a few months, it would be the first real “season” for the Northern snowbirds they hoped to attract to the small, upscale resort.
Zoe leaned against the railing, enjoying the salty Gulf breeze from an inlet she couldn’t quite see this far away from the beach.
God, she loved Barefoot Bay. Of course she hadn’t admitted that to anyone, even though her three best friends from college, Lacey, Tessa, and Jocelyn, were all living on this island now. Tessa had taken the staff bungalow right next door, and Jocelyn had moved in with Will on the southern end of Mimosa Key, living next door to her aging father.
If the girls even got a whiff of Zoe’s desire to stay, they’d start a full-court press to permanently reunite the Fearsome Foursome of Tolbert Hall.
The sweet idea had been teasing her for weeks, and she’d been ready to whisper the possibility to Pasha, planning to start with a reminder that they’d been in Arizona three years, which was the longest they’d ever stayed anywhere except for the years Zoe had gone to college in Gainesville. She’d been hoping Pasha would get better and finally let go of her determination to run fast and far and often.
But that hope was dashed now, and not by Aunt Pasha. By Oliver.
Truth was, she couldn’t live in a place that was one causeway drive away from Oliver. And his son.
The son conceived before they’d even met.
Blowing out a breath, she let all the disappointment that had been brewing since yesterday morning settle low in her belly. Pasha needed a doctor, and she’d let pride and jealousy steal the best possible solution.
Somehow, she had to go back to Oliver and try again.
Or did she?
The debate had raged for twenty-four hours now. Would he treat Pasha in secret? The man who obviously felt compelled to marry the woman he got pregnant, whether or not he loved her? Because Zoe might question a lot of things in her life, but not that. Oliver had loved her; she believed that. But he would always do the right thing in any situation—that was what made him tick.
So what was the right thing in this situation?
And, really, did he have to be hot, even these nine years later? Did he have to still emit some kind of crazy, sinful, senseless pheromones that attacked Zoe’s sex-deprived brain like little hormone ninjas? Would Oliver fire up her girly bits if she hadn’t sworn off sex after a string of excruciating few-night-stands almost four years ago? Probably.
Come on, Zoe. You practically inhaled the guy the night you met.
But we’d waited, she countered her mental adversary, also known as the voice. They’d waited—almost twenty-four whole hours. And in that time, Oliver said, he’d gone straight to his girlfriend, the daughter of
Zoe didn’t see Pasha in the rows of veggies and leafy greens. Or on any of the paths, which meandered through the gardens and were lined with palm trees that stood stark against the midday sky. Beyond the gardens color splashed everywhere, from purple and red hibiscus flowers to the poinciana trees bursting with persimmon buds, but no sign of Pasha.
Despite the hurricane that had ripped through Mimosa Key’s northern inlet nearly two years before, Barefoot Bay now thrummed with life again—plant and people life. Now that it was June, Casa Blanca had a few “beta” guests—travel agents and friendly bloggers—and Lacey had started to hire in anticipation of a trickle of summer guests. In a few months, it would be the first real “season” for the Northern snowbirds they hoped to attract to the small, upscale resort.
Zoe leaned against the railing, enjoying the salty Gulf breeze from an inlet she couldn’t quite see this far away from the beach.
God, she loved Barefoot Bay. Of course she hadn’t admitted that to anyone, even though her three best friends from college, Lacey, Tessa, and Jocelyn, were all living on this island now. Tessa had taken the staff bungalow right next door, and Jocelyn had moved in with Will on the southern end of Mimosa Key, living next door to her aging father.
If the girls even got a whiff of Zoe’s desire to stay, they’d start a full-court press to permanently reunite the Fearsome Foursome of Tolbert Hall.
The sweet idea had been teasing her for weeks, and she’d been ready to whisper the possibility to Pasha, planning to start with a reminder that they’d been in Arizona three years, which was the longest they’d ever stayed anywhere except for the years Zoe had gone to college in Gainesville. She’d been hoping Pasha would get better and finally let go of her determination to run fast and far and often.
But that hope was dashed now, and not by Aunt Pasha. By Oliver.
Truth was, she couldn’t live in a place that was one causeway drive away from Oliver. And his son.
The son conceived before they’d even met.
Blowing out a breath, she let all the disappointment that had been brewing since yesterday morning settle low in her belly. Pasha needed a doctor, and she’d let pride and jealousy steal the best possible solution.
Somehow, she had to go back to Oliver and try again.
Or did she?
The debate had raged for twenty-four hours now. Would he treat Pasha in secret? The man who obviously felt compelled to marry the woman he got pregnant, whether or not he loved her? Because Zoe might question a lot of things in her life, but not that. Oliver had loved her; she believed that. But he would always do the right thing in any situation—that was what made him tick.
So what was the right thing in this situation?
And, really, did he have to be hot, even these nine years later? Did he have to still emit some kind of crazy, sinful, senseless pheromones that attacked Zoe’s sex-deprived brain like little hormone ninjas? Would Oliver fire up her girly bits if she hadn’t sworn off sex after a string of excruciating few-night-stands almost four years ago? Probably.
Come on, Zoe. You practically inhaled the guy the night you met.
But we’d waited, she countered her mental adversary, also known as the voice. They’d waited—almost twenty-four whole hours. And in that time, Oliver said, he’d gone straight to his girlfriend, the daughter of
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