Barefoot in the Sand Read Free Page B

have to get rid of him and find out how to get to the real Clayton Walker.
    “Maybe we want the same thing.” His gaze dropped ever so quickly over her, a stark reminder that she wore far too little today. And it was hot out here.
    Oh, no. No no
no
. Don’t you dare go there, brainless hormones. This guy was twenty-nine on a good day, at least six or seven years younger than she was. The
son
of the man she wanted, not
a man
she wanted.
    “When were you here?” she asked. Since the storm she’d been up here almost every day. “I haven’t seen you.” Because she sure as hell wouldn’t have missed him.
    “A few days ago.” He finally tore his mesmerizing gaze from her and focused on the property behind her. “This is a truly legit location for a resort.”
    Legit? He sounded like Ashley’s friends. Maybe he was even younger than she’d thought. “No resort,” she corrected. “Just a little B and B is all I have in mind.”
    “Really? I’d dream bigger than that, Miss…” He inched imperceptibly closer, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “It is ‘Miss,’ isn’t it?”
    Was he hitting on her? “Miz,” she said, a little edge in her voice. “And this isn’t a dream, it’s a plan for my—our—future. My
daughter’s
and mine.” Did he get the emphasis? “I have very specific plans.”
But they don’t include you
. “And I was hoping to meet—”
    “My dad, I got that. He’s not who you want for this, trust me.”
    Trust him? Not likely. “Your father’s a legend in his field.”
    “But he’s in North Carolina, and I’m here,” he drawled with one more brain-numbing smile. “And I already have a couple of ideas for the kind of place you could put here.”
    “Well, I have ideas, too. A… vision, actually.” And a bedroom-eyed, not-yet-thirty not-officially-an-architect wasn’t part of it.
    “God, Mom, just give him a chance.”
    Ashley’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten her daughter was there, taking in the whole exchange, and, of course, having an opinion. “Honey, this isn’t your concern. And, Mr. Walker—”
    “Clay. The younger one.”
    “I have to be honest with you,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “This is obviously a huge commitment for me, and I had my heart set on the man who designed Crystal Springs and French Hills, which, as you probably know, were built by Clayton Walker.
The
Clayton Walker. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but I want someone with more experience.”
    His expression grew tight and cool. “Sometimes experience can work against you and what you need is”—he ran a hand through sixteen different shades of caramel hair, leaving it just a little more tousled, a lock falling to one eye—“a fresh perspective.”
    Behind him, Ashley was staring at his
backside
perspective.
    No. Yeah. Wow. This guy had to go. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t think there’s any reason to pursue this. Good-bye.”
    He half laughed in disbelief. “Good-bye?”
    “And thank you.”
    He took one step backward. “I’d say you’re welcome, but I have a feeling you don’t really mean that.”
    “Well, I do mean good-bye.”
    With his head at a cocky angle that somehow managed to say “You will regret this,” without saying a word, he tipped a nod to Ashley and turned to jog off in the opposite direction.
    “Mom!” Ashley choked with exasperation. “You were such a b-word to him.”
    “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that he’s not the person I want to hire. He’s not Clayton; he’s not the man I wanted.”
    “But he’s obviously the man you e-mailed.”
    She fired a look at Ashley. “In error.” Or was it? “Or maybe he hijacks his father’s e-mail or something, looking for lonely women.” Not that she was lonely.
    “Well, I bet he finds them.”
    “Dear God, he’s twice your age.”
    “Is that why you sent him away?”
    “No. He’s too young.”
    “You just said he was too old.”
    Frustration