Barefoot Bay: Silhouettes on the Sand (Kindle Worlds Novella) (6 page)

"Let's just say privacy is important to my family."

The unexpectedly serious expression that took over his face had her thinking maybe all the brothers were closet Naughty Ivorys.

The Perched Pelican was not far from the resort. She didn't have to know anything about the restaurant to recognize it would not have a blue-jeans-and-sneakers type of menu. The parking lot was nearly empty, and yet Chase pulled up to valet parking. Thousands of children were starving in the world, but the Ivorys couldn't walk ten feet to park their own car.

Her door opened, and a good-looking guy held out his hand to her. She'd barely gotten one foot out the door when Chase handed off his keys and extended his arm to her. A crackle of electricity shot down her arm to rather embarrassing places, and she scolded herself.
Only business.

"I ate here on my last visit. You'll love the food."

She didn't doubt it. Finding expensive food that was delicious shouldn't be tough. The trick was finding the special epicurean treat for the price of cheap hash. Like everyone else today, once inside, the hostess greeted Chase by name. Was there any place in this world where no one knew who he was? How would this guy handle being treated like an ordinary Joe? To have to wait for a table or search through sales racks in a crowded department store, unable to find a clerk to ring up the sale? How would he handle coming home from months of sleeping in tents fully dressed and armed—in case the need to spring awake struck in the middle of the night—to find he couldn't sleep in the quiet of his own house, the softness of his own bed? Or worse, coming home to no job, no wife, or a home he could no longer live in because it wasn’t handicap-friendly?

"Where did you go?" Chase waved his fingers in front of her face.

C.J. looked around. They were seated at a secluded corner table for two with sweeping views of the bay. Water had been served, and she held the menu in front of her, yet all she could see were the faces of the boys she'd sent home in less-than-perfect shape. "I'm sorry. I guess my mind wandered."

"Give us a few more minutes," he instructed the waiter patiently standing beside the table then Chase skewered her with a questioning glare. "Wherever you wandered off to wasn't a pleasant place."

"Why do you say that?"

He lifted his chin and pointed at her menu. Her grip had tightened to the point of turning her knuckles a creamy white and creasing the plastic-coated menu beneath them. Setting aside the menu, she folded her hands in her lap. "Not every place in this world is pleasant."

"I'm sorry." The intensity in his gaze shifted from curious concern to pained empathy. The sincerity in his gaze, his strength, his compassion, offered her a sliver of comfort she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Thank you." It wasn't fair of her to paint him with such a harsh brush for having the unique circumstances of being born more than a little wealthy and equally handsome and charming. There was definitely much more to this perceptive man with comfort and compassion in his eyes.

***

Chase had hoped to learn more about C.J. over lunch, but, after losing her briefly to someplace dark, he feared the wrong question would send her back. Instead he kept the conversation light and breezy. He now knew she'd enjoyed her fish, liked her new slacks, that the khaki shorts were her favorite purchase, and she didn't drink wine in the middle of the day because it would put her to sleep. But he knew little else about who C. J. Lawson was.

"Several packages have been delivered to your villa, Mr. Ivory." The young man at reception informed him as he handed over the card key.

"Thank you, Jason." Chase made it a point to refer to the people who worked for him or did business with him by name. Unlike most companies whose CEOs only considered the bottom line, Chase ran the company the same way his grandfather had, with an iron fist, but the safety and morale of his employees always came first. The last time Chase had checked into the resort for Dylan's birthday celebration, Jason and he had held a lengthy conversation over the effects of the current economy on the hotel and travel trades. For a young man at the start of his career, the guy had a good head on his shoulders.

Despite Chase's assurance to C.J. that the accommodations would be plenty spacious and with no strings attached, he could feel the waves of tension emanating from her. She stood nearby in that same rigid stance he'd grown accustomed to seeing. He'd even begun to tense up himself. "Ours is the villa closest to the main resort. If you don't mind, it's a very short walk, or I could have them bring around a golf cart."

"I'd prefer to walk. Normally I run in the morning, and I haven't been able to the last few days."

Chase waved her through the rear double doors and the path to their villa. "Nate raves about running on the beach here. It's very quiet and very private. If you'd like, we can do an early morning run tomorrow."

"That would be nice. Is six too early?"

"The sun doesn't rise until almost seven."

"I know. I like to watch it come over the horizon."

"Then six o'clock it is." From where they stood, he could see the row of villas dotted along the beachfront perimeter of the resort. "We'll be staying in Bay Laurel. The Colonel and Mimsy are next door in Saffron. Mitch and Greg are in the two after that, then Beth has the one-bedroom villa tucked into a garden at the very end."

"You mentioned other family. Who else will be coming?"

"The bets are still out on whether or not my father will show up. He and my grandfather are having a bit of a snit over Father’s wife number four. My mother is due to arrive Thursday evening. This will be the first Ivory family shindig she'll have attended since … well, for a long time. As for the rest of the Ivorys, my father is one of six children, and this is the first wedding since Mitch’s, so there should be a good-size crowd, except for my uncle Jim, the eldest, who was killed in a training accident during the first Gulf War."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. I was too young to remember him, but his two sons will be here."

"Not their wives?"

"They're not married."

"Oh."

"That's one of the Colonel's complaints. Most of his grandchildren circle about on either side of thirty, and yet none are married."

"Really? Out of how many cousins?"

"I have twenty-one first cousins, four siblings, and two half sisters. One from wife number two, while Dad was still married to my mother—"

"Oh, dear. That sounds messy."

"It was. My grandfather was less than happy. I don't think my mother has ever fully recovered. But the affair apparently lasted much longer than the marriage did. My other half sister"—he felt his cheeks tug at the edges of his mouth—"Siobhan. Her mom's Irish. Maura fell for Dad's charms and got pregnant before she figured out Dad didn't have a clue how to be a faithful husband. Siobhan is pretty cool. She's only a teenager, but she's got lots of spunk. She's all Ivory with an Irish twist."

"You really like her."

"I really
love
her. Family is important to Ivorys—no matter how connected or how much of an ass the father is. It's why the Colonel has become so crazy about finding everyone spouses."

"And why you felt the need to bring a date."

"More like a distraction. A little bit of smoke and mirrors. I'm hoping, if he thinks I'm seeing someone, he'll focus on any of my other siblings or cousins."

"And how many of these cousins are attending?"

"Frankly I lost count, but I think it will be near a full house. Every time we have a birth or baptism, the event becomes a borderline circus of Ivorys."

"Baptisms? I thought you said all the cousins were single and teetering on thirty?"

"I did. A few of the younger aunts and uncles got married a little older and have younger kids, and, of course, both my half-sisters are in their teens. I remember their baptisms very well. I think the Colonel went especially hog wild on that one to make sure everyone understood the girls were as much an Ivory as my mom's kids."

"Did any of your other aunts or uncles have second families?"

He nodded. "My uncle Doug has two kids in their late teens too, but my aunt Margie passed away from cancer. For a while there he came pretty damn close to crawling into a grave beside his wife."

"But then he met his current wife?"

Chase nodded. "My aunt Eileen was my cousin Adam's math teacher. Adam really sucked at math, so he constantly goofed off in class."

"And your uncle constantly met with the teacher." C.J. smiled. A sweet smile that made him want to smile back.

"They were married as soon as the school year ended. And, just in case you're curious, Adam's an actuary."

C.J.’s sparkling brown eyes rounded like chocolate coins. "I thought he sucked at math."

"So did everyone else. We're not sure if he started
getting
math because his stepmom was a math teacher who made him pay attention or—"

"If he sucked at math so his teacher would become his stepmom."

Chase nodded. "Yeah."

"So basically what you're saying is, with this many grandchildren in attendance, I don't have to worry about being interrogated by your grandparents?"

"Absolutely." At least that was his plan.

Now C.J. understood why they were called villas. Propped against a tiny sandy hillside, at least a hill by Florida standards, the detached dwellings might have fit in with the resort’s Moroccan-themed architecture, but, to her, they looked like they belonged on any vineyard in Tuscany. Two stories high, this particular villa touted three bedrooms, two living areas, a study, a laundry room, a full kitchen—though she couldn't imagine anyone who could afford to stay here would take the time to do their own cooking—gleaming hardwood floors, and a killer view of the ocean. The three-quarter wraparound balcony called to her.

"Housekeeping put you in the master bedroom." Chase stood behind her at the edge of the expansive living room.

She could see from his reflection in the glass that he'd been watching her. Even when not meeting head-on but deflected by a shiny piece of glass, knowing his eyes were on her sent tiny bursts of sparkly tingles up her spine.
Only business
, she reminded herself and her traitorous tingles. "I don't need the master."

Leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, and looking sexy as hell with his crisp white shirt rolled up at his forearms and his sunglasses perched atop his head, allowing her to soak in his steel blue eyes, Chase shrugged. "The secondary bedrooms aren't a hardship."

C.J. spun about, glancing left and right, then up the stairs.

"All bedrooms are upstairs. Master's at the end of the hall. Your clothes are already unpacked and put away."

"Someone put away my things?"

"Not someone. The maid."

"Since when do hotel maids unpack for the guests?"

"Since Lacey decided to offer villa guests the use of a private maid and cook if requested. The Colonel always requests the personalized service."

And why didn't that surprise her? For a guy who retired as a colonel, Chase's grandfather sure behaved an awful lot like a five-star general accustomed to having the tiniest detail of his day handled by other people. Of course a great deal of his grandfather’s behavior probably came more from the Ivory money than his years in the military. Maybe.

Turning slowly, she paused to look head on at Chase. Sometimes she wished she could be more spontaneous, like her sister. Maybe then she could throw out the rule book and renegotiate their
business
. When she'd first considered her sister's odd acting job here as performing for some rich old lecher, making it clear that there would be no intimate benefits seemed critically important. Even when she'd first met Chase and discovered, instead of old, he was rather easy on the eyes, she still felt the need to protect herself against the lecher factor. Now, staring at Chase Ivory—handsome, smart, considerate, and, yes, charming—she concluded that negotiations were highly overrated. "I'll check out the rooms."

Chase didn't move, didn't speak, only nodded.

Upstairs she made her way down the hall and peeked into each of the bedrooms. The first one was of average size and in light and breezy shades. The next one, a little larger, had a set of keys and a man's wallet on the night table. Chase's. He must have emptied his pockets earlier when he'd gone upstairs to check on her delivery. The master was by far the biggest room. Even bigger than she'd expected and, of course, with a king-size bed. A bed intended to be used by two people. Which matched the enormous Jacuzzi in the bathroom, also intended for two. The oversize shower, on the other hand, was large enough for a small cocktail party.

Most of her adult life she'd lived on base; it was easier and cheaper. Deployed, well, she was lucky. As a female officer she could expect a tent with a half a dozen or less fellow officers instead of the fifty or more marines crammed into a human oven. But at no point in her life had she ever set foot in luxury anywhere close to this. Talk about living in two different worlds. Until today she didn't realize just how much “the haves” had compared to “the have nots.”