Barefoot in the Sand by Roxanne St. Claire

stood very still, nothing but heat and sun and humidity pressing down.
    “Ask yourself this question,” he finally whispered into her ear. “What would someone pay to wake up to this view, in a private villa, with coffee brewing and a tray of homegrown fruits waiting on their patio? Someone—two someones, probably—who would roll out of bed and bask in the sunshine just like we’re doing now?”
    Roll out of bed… oh. Did he
have
to say that?
    “They’d stare at that gorgeous blue horizon all day, romp in the waves, roll in the sand, and appreciate this magical place until the sun kissed the water and turned the sky pink gold. Then they’d uncork a bottle of wine and cozy up on a chaise to watch the moon rise and dapple the water.”
    She closed her eyes, awash in peace, serenity, even hope. Could she create a place like that? It was so much more than she’d ever imagined. It was terrifying and thrilling and daunting and
fabulous
.
    And way out of her price range and capabilities. “I can’t—”
    He squeezed her shoulders. “Hey.”
    Laughing softly, she dug for a better way to use the banned word. “I
can’t
imagine how amazing that would be.”
    Another squeeze, this one more affectionate and tender, his thumbs on the nape of her neck, buried in her hair. The move was intimate but completely natural and nothing in heaven or earth could get her to step away from this man or this moment.
    “Do you know how rare and valuable this land is, Lacey?” he asked. “You can get loans and investors just based on the value of the property.”
    “True, if I want to go deep into debt and make promises I might not be able to keep.”
    “You’d keep them. And you wouldn’t be in debt long, not if the resort was like no other around here.”
    There was that word again. “Resort.”
    “Doesn’t that sound better than bed-and-breakfast?”
    “It sounds… big.”
And better than a bed-and-breakfast
.
    “Big and bold and beautiful.” He threaded his fingers deeper into her hair and pulled her body closer. “Go big or go home, I say. And, come on, it would be a crime not to build something unforgettable here. There aren’t many beaches like this left in America.”
    “All the more reason to keep it pristine.”
    “You sound like Charity.”
    “I just want to build something that belongs here. It has to be true to the land.”
    “I promise I will,” he said softly, the words pouring over her like the sunshine. “But in the process you can make Mimosa Key the next St. Simons or Tybee or Cumberland.”
    She snorted softly. “Patience and Charity would love that.”
    “They just need to see you as a source of income and not competition. You could single-handedly turn this island around.”
    The thought made her dizzy. Or maybe that was his hands, his chest, his hard body behind hers. His seductive voice and even more seductive ideas.
    David.
    David
? What the hell made her think of David at time like this?
    Maybe the seductive voice and ideas. David had had both, and it had cost her.
    “I don’t know,” she said on a sigh. “I just wanted a little inn.”
    “And a little in-come,” he said wryly. “Why settle for that?”
    “Because… because…” There was no reason. She was just scared. She’d never tried anything so big. What if she failed? “I just can’t—sorry, but I can
not
—figure out a way to afford that.”
    He didn’t say anything for a moment, but stayed very still. Had she disappointed him? For some reason she didn’t want to let him down. She wanted to impress him, to appeal to him, to think as big and wild as he did. But—
    “What if your architect was free?”
    This time she stilled, and he eased her even closer, taking away all space between them, nestling her head under his chin like it was the most natural place in the world for her to be.
    “You would do this job for nothing?” she asked.
    “I’d get something out of it.”
    Could he mean… “What, if not