night air. The muggy, starry night, she amended, as moisture wrapped around her. She’d been so busy fighting with Chris, and then with the numbers, she hadn’t begun to appreciate the island.
She walked along the ocean side of the road and headed south to a place Bailey had recommend for “da best ribs on the island.” Her stomach gurgled at the aroma of spices and hickory smoke emanating from Barney’s Happy Place. She paused, trying to judge the clientele by the exterior. Barney’s was right off the road, perched several yards from the ocean, or what she guessed was the ocean beyond the sandy shore that turned to inky darkness. The place looked like a large shack, with its faded wood and half walls. Reggae music tainted the night air with a festivity punctuated by the red, yellow and green Christmas lights strung outside. Palm trees rustled in the evening breeze, cast in the glow of those lights. Her parents and ex-husband would be horrified to know she was going into a place like this. She smiled and walked up the ramp.
She almost walked back out again when she saw all the people. Many looked like locals, dressed in colorful garb, their heads adorned with dreadlocks and cornrow braids. Barney’s was not a tourist hangout, to be sure, except for one couple that sat at a corner table with froufrou drinks and burned noses. Music rivaled the laughter and conversation that flowed out the back, which was entirely open to the beach beyond.
A long bar stretched out to the right where a bartender was telling a joke, using his hands and face for expression. The people sitting on the stools laughed in unison. She took a deep breath. Be adventurous. You can tell everyone you went into a real island joint.
Yeah, like they’d believe her.
She made her way to the bar. At least she had brought her one pair of shorts and a tailored shirt with short sleeves. She slid onto the padded stool.
The bartender flopped a red napkin in front of her. “And what have you, miss?”
What was it with the “misses” around this place? First Bailey, then Chris’s mimicked version and now the bartender. She realized that she’d been ensconced in her own little world where she was in control. No one there would dare call her Miss Lucy, nor would they ignore her. “I’ll have a frou-frou drink like that couple is having.” She watched him splash several liquors into a glass with the grace of someone who loved his job.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miz Lucy herself hanging out with the locals.”
Her heart lurched at the sound of Chris’s voice, but she attributed it to surprise and turned to the man at her left. She let her gaze drop from his curly hair to the tank top and jean shorts he wore. To cover what she hoped wasn’t appreciation in her eyes, she said, “So that’s what you look like with clothes on.”
The bartender chose that moment to bring her drink. “Ah, so you know the lady already,” he said to Chris with a smile and a wink.
Her face went up in flames. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. He was in the pool….”
The bartender waved his hand. “No problem, lady. The island bring out the animal in lots of people.”
“But—” The man had already walked away, and she turned to Chris who was chuckling. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t move too fast to defend my honor, now. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
He shrugged. “Hey, I’m way out of practice coming to a lady’s defense.”
She rolled her eyes. “To be sure.”
“So what if he thinks we’ve had a round or two of wild, steamy sex? He’s a bartender in a foreign country.” He gestured toward the lot of people behind him. “Probably sees illicit affairs all the time.”
Wild, steamy sex…just the thought of it sent blood rushing through her veins. She was not, absolutely not, picturing him on the other side of that steamy sex scenario. “But we are not having a steamy affair, I have not seen you naked, and I don’t want him thinking I have.”
He leaned one arm against the bar, facing her. Those green eyes had a lazy glaze to them, probably from those Red Stripe beers he was drinking. “Would you like to?”
“What?”
“See me naked?”
A tickle raced through her stomach even as she made a face and turned to her monstrous pink drink with the umbrella in it.
“Given that tiny bathing suit you wear, I don’t have to see you naked.” Oh, that was great. You sure told him.
He grinned even more widely. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t.”
She couldn’t handle those eyes sparkling at her, teasing her. She turned back to her drink and caught the bartender smiling, probably catching the word “naked” a few times. She pretended to look at the paraphernalia on the walls depicting all kinds of happy faces: buttons, posters, bottle caps, even round yellow faces with dreadlocks.
Her gaze fell to Chris’s long fingers as they slid up and down the curves of his sweating bottle of beer. He had great hands, strong and capable, calloused and work-worn. He tossed back the rest of his beer and set the bottle in front of him. The bartender brought another. He tipped it to her and took a swallow. He seemed different away from his dolphin. More relaxed, open.
He turned around on his stool and leaned back against the bar, one knee jiggling to the beat. His curls dipped to the top of his shirt in the back, and his biceps flexed as his arms balanced him. A few freckles topped his shoulders and that necklace lay over the curves of his collarbone. His tank top was deep blue, which brought out the green even more in his eyes. Did he have maps and beer and not much else wherever he lived?
She turned around, too, after waiting the appropriate amount of time so he didn’t think she was copying him. She had to admit it was nice finding a familiar face among strangers. That was why she felt warm and easy sitting there with the fans pushing the air around and the music lulling her with its beat. Indeed, Barney’s was a happy place.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, keeping her gaze just shy of his eyes.
“At The Caribe Plantation, down the road a piece.”
She remembered seeing the fancy entrance earlier. It didn’t seem like his style. “Sounds nice.”
“The house is something, Colonial style with pillars and stuff. I’m staying in the boathouse.”
That sounded more like Chris. When he didn’t reciprocate, she said, “I’m staying at my father’s apartment a few blocks from here.”
He pulled one leg up and propped his chin on his knee. He leveled that gaze right at her, and she felt as though he were probing her mind. “So, Miz Lucy, what do you do back home?”
Even though she knew he was being sarcastic, something about the way he said her name felt the same way the music did as it washed over her in waves. “I own an advertising firm in St. Paul, Minnesota. Well, I own half of it. My ex-husband owns the other half, unfortunately.”
He lifted his eyebrows, but not in the admiring way most people did when they heard she owned her own agency. “Ah, so you own a company that promotes greed, materialism and bodily perfection that most people can’t live up to.”
She
