Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

stylist.”
    So his instinct was right. “And a damn good one, I’d say.”
    “You don’t know that yet.”
    “Yes, I do.” He reached to take a playful tug of her brightly colored hair. “Look how you rock a pink wig.”
    A soft flush of that very color rose over her cheeks, making her even prettier and making him damn glad he’d made this deal, a feeling that only deepened as she gave him the details and dates, and finalized dinner plans.
    He didn’t know why, exactly, but for the first time in a month, he felt a glimmer of happiness. Probably because he would be getting a camera back in his hands. Or maybe because of the stylist he’d be working with.
    As he watched her walk away, he was certain it was the latter.

 
    Chapter Three
     
    Junonia was crowded, even midweek, since the resort’s restaurant had become a destination not only for guests, but for discerning diners from all over Mimosa Key and the mainland, too. Still, Gussie had managed to persuade the hostess to give her a waterfront table, where she waited for her guests with way too many butterflies.
    She still couldn’t believe her good fortune. Ari and Willow had high-fived and danced in the office, and even Rhonda Lyons had sounded downright thrilled when Gussie called to confirm dinner with TJ DeMille, famed photographer.
    To get him for a wedding was such a coup. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of working with him, of styling the shots and watching him hold the camera with those strong, sexy hands.
    Whoa, girl . Keep it professional now. Shaking off the thought, she turned to appreciate the beach view, the panorama awash with a midsummer sunset that turned the nearly still water of the gulf a mix of tangerine and cobalt.
    “That’s my favorite color.”
    She whipped around at the sound of a man’s voice, meeting a gaze that was as gorgeous as the water and so… “Blue.”
    “No, the orange.” He pulled out the chair closest to her, openly checking out her hair, face, and the lacy yellow sundress she’d chosen to match her mood. “Very pretty.”
    “The sunsets at Barefoot Bay are amazing.”
    He smiled and unbuttoned a cuff of a crisp white shirt, casually rolling up the sleeve to get comfortable. And torture her with the sight of his masculine forearms. “I didn’t mean the sunset.”
    She felt a familiar blush, along with the denial that always popped out when someone complimented her. But before she could speak, he touched the edge of her wig.
    “Pretty in pink.”
    “Sometimes I wear purple or black.”
    He lifted an interested brow, and she braced for the questions, the inevitable “why” she’d fielded for much of her adult life, but it didn’t come. Instead, he unbuttoned the other cuff and folded it up, revealing that string of blue ink she’d seen in the Super Min.
    “So, here’s your wedding photographer, reporting for duty.” He winked and helped himself to her water. “But be warned.” He gave a faux toast. “The last time I shot a wedding, I was about seventeen, and I got in trouble for spending too much time in the bridesmaids’ dressing rooms.”
    She laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”
    “But the shots were stellar.”
    “Still not surprised. I spent a little time this afternoon researching your most recent work.”
    “The layout in the Vanity Fair you bought?” He squinted, looking off to the distance as if remembering the shoot. “The lighting in Madagascar was brutal.”
    Reminding her just how preposterous it was to have this photographer shooting a wedding. “You really are a master of the art, both fashion and commercial.”
    He tipped his head in gratitude. “I try.”
    “You succeed. That Fendi campaign? All saturated color and simple shots with complex backgrounds.”
    He inched back, amusement making his blue eyes sparkle. “Nice of you to notice.”
    “I told you I’m a stylist and I blog about things like that.”
    “What’s the blog called? I’ll have to visit