Seduction on the Sand - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1
that enough in his life.
“It’s not for sale.” She spun around, making her hair swing like a curtain opening to a stage play. “So get back on your fancy helo, cowboy, and leave me alone.”
He blinked at her, still not fully processing the demand because, man, oh, man, she was pretty. No, she rounded pretty and slid right into gorgeous, despite the fire in whiskey-gold eyes and the daring set of a delicate jaw.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded. “Are you deaf or just dumb as dirt?”
“Blind. By your beauty.”
“Oh, puhlease.” She looked skyward and sighed. “Spare me the lines.”
“That’s not a line.”
Her eyes turned into golden slits of sheer disbelief.
“Okay, it’s a line,” he conceded. “But in this case, it’s also true.”
“Did you hear me? It’s not for sale.”
Yeah, he’d heard her, and the statement was starting to make sense, considering he’d come to the barrier island for one purpose, and it wasn’t to flirt with sexy brunettes on the beach. Not that he’d fight the inevitable, but his goal was to buy land, and these words were not what he wanted to hear, no matter how scrumptious the mouth that spoke them.
“Do you know Frank Cardinale?” he asked.
She crossed her arms, which was patently unfair considering what that did to her cleavage. “I am Frank Cardinale.”
He snorted softly and didn’t fight the need to examine her breasts further. ’Cause, hell, now he had an excuse. “Considering ol’ Frank is in his eighties and a man, I’d say you have one hell of a plastic surgeon, Mr. C.”
“Miss,” she corrected. “Miss Francesca Cardinale.” She squeezed her upper arms as if nature and good manners were telling her to reach out and offer a handshake but she had to ignore the order. “Frank was my grandfather. He’s dead.”
The lady wasn’t married, and the landowner was dead. Meaning this little excursion to the remote island would be fast, easy and possibly quite fun. He refused to smile at the thought, but took off his hat with one hand and extended the other. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m Elliott Becker.”
She didn’t take his hand, but met his gaze. “I know why you’re here. You’re not the first person to come sniffing around the land. Although you’re the first to drop down like you owned the place.”
“Which I don’t.” But he intended to.
The thump of helicopter blades pulled his attention. There went Zeke, whisking away the woman he’d recently gone stupid in love over. Zeke had taken the chopper for the day, leaving Elliott with the task of finding Frank—er, Francesca—Cardinale to close the land deal.
“But you’re not getting my land, Mr. Becker, so you better find another ride out of Barefoot Bay.” She gave him a tight smile, which only made him want to see that pretty face lit up with real happiness.
“Maybe you could give me one.”
“A ride? Maybe not.” She took off, not even bothering to end the conversation.
“I can walk with you, then.”
“No.”
He fell in step with her anyway. “Can I call you Francesca?”
“Make that a hell no.” She refused to look at him.
He kept stride. “So, what’s your price?”
That got him a quick look and almost—almost—a smile of admiration. Of course. Women loved relentless men. In cowboy hats. With Texas twangs.
“My price is too high for you.”
And money. Women loved money, and he had even more of that than charm and sex appeal. “Not to be, you know, immodest or anything, but cash really isn’t an issue.”
She stopped and closed her eyes, so close to a smile he could almost taste it. And, damn, he wanted to. “Good for you, but let me make this clear: I don’t want to talk to you, walk with you, or sell you one blade of grass that I own.” With that, she powered on, shoulders square, head high, bare feet kicking up little wakes of sand and sea.
Damn, those were pretty feet. Would be even prettier if they weren’t moving so fast in the wrong direction.
“Course there is the fact that you don’t, uh, actually own that land.” He cleared his throat. “Unless you really are Frank Cardinale.”
Her speed wavered, her shoulders slumped, and she let her head drop in resignation. “What do I have to do to make you go away?”
“Smile.”
She slowly turned to him. “Excuse me?”
“Smile for me.”
She did, like a kid being forced to say cheese.
“A real smile.” He gave her a slow,