Free Barefoot in the Sand by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

wasn’t even thinking about the attractive man who walked a few steps in front of her, giving her a perfect view of a T-shirt molded to ripped muscles and jeans that curved over his backside and down the length of long, strong thighs.
    The truth was, he was as skilled verbally as he was physically, and his words were painting a picture so vivid and alluring that Lacey felt as though she’d stepped into his imagination.
    And his imagination, it seemed, included villas. Theidea was so out there, so creative, and so perfect that she almost didn’t want to let it get too comfortable in her head. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
    “You really think we could do villas?” she asked.
    “Why not? Lots of resorts have cabins and separate structures.”
    “This isn’t a resort.”
    “It ought to be.”
    She knew that. Deep in her heart, she knew that was what Barefoot Bay needed. But did she dare think that big?
    “I don’t know,” she said quietly.
    “Look.” He pointed to the slight rise in the Everham property, where a small house had once stood but now only the foundation and some studs remained. “Right there. Picture individual, private villas with cozy patios and intimate rooms. Sleek African mahogany floors and sheer netting over every bed.”
    Cozy. Intimate. Sleek. Sheer.
    Bed
.
    His words were as hot as the sun, and the images he conjured had her dreaming of a lot more than profit potential.
    “Sure, you can have a few rooms or suites in the main building,” he continued. “That’s where the lobby and restaurant and offices will be, maybe a spa. But the thing that you can do with this virgin area is give people an oasis. High-end, expensive, one-of-a-kind villas that offer a vacation experience unlike—”
    “Unlike a bed-and-breakfast, which is all I was prepared to undertake.”
    He smiled down at her. “You’re not letting those two bags of wind at the Super Min scare you off, are you? I’m sure we can find a way around some ancient zoning ord.Especially with villas, if there’s a limit to the number of bedrooms you could have.”
    He was right about that. But still. “Clay, I don’t have the money for what you’re talking about. Insurance will barely cover a four- or five-bedroom inn.”
    “Building a place like this requires investors. We’ll get money, Lacey.”
    “Will
we
?” she asked. “This is still a job interview, you know. I haven’t agreed to become a ‘we’ yet.”
    “You will.” He took her hand, the touch as thrilling as his confidence. “C’mon, let’s go look at the view of the beach from that spot. Let’s see this place the way your guests will.”
    So positive. So confident. So attractive. Of course she followed him. Yeah, this was some tough job interview. Who was she kidding? He had the job. Because with every imaginative suggestion, with every “just out of the box enough to be brilliant” idea, with every demonstration of a keen working knowledge of design and building, Lacey was more certain she’d found her man.
    His fingers tightened around hers and a thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach.
Easy, Lacey
.
    “You certain you can buy this lot?” he asked.
    “This one and the one on the other side. I’ve been in touch with both neighbors and they jumped on my verbal offer. They’re just waiting for final paperwork from their insurance company so they can have access to the house deeds at the bank.” She’d only planned to buy the lots to make sure no one built too close to her B and B, but the idea of villas had just changed everything.
    “How many villas do you think?” she asked. “How big? How… much?”
    “You’re not asking the right questions, Lacey.” At thetop of the slight rise he paused, turned her toward the Gulf. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her a little too close to him. She could feel the warmth of his body against her back, the power of his muscles, the length of his legs.
    For a few minutes they