Barefoot in the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page A

flickered, zigzagging somewhere between amused and amazed as he studied her.
    “Come into my office,” he ordered with the sound of a man who didn’t know the fine art of suggestion . Authority sat well on those broad shoulders.
    “Would you like some coffee? Water?” he asked, ready to send the receptionist on the errand.
    “After what it takes to get into this place? Grey Goose, straight up.”
    He nodded to Red. “Mr. Carlson is in room two. Have Beth tell him I’ll be a few minutes longer.”
    Zoe blasted the woman with a fake smile. “Thank you so much for your help. Attila, was it?”
    The other woman looked at Oliver, who bit his lip. “C’mon, Zoe. In here.”
    He led her down a hushed hallway, staying one step behind as they rounded a corner wordlessly. Her sandals were silent on plush carpet, but her heart thudded against her ribs loudly enough to reverberate through the halls of Dr. Bradbury’s superplush, mega-exclusive, you-can’t-have-an-appointment-without-a-referral-from-God practice.
    His office was large, of course, and bright from a bank of windows, everything so much warmer than the reception area. Zoe took a sniff of cherry, leather, and that hint of success. It smelled like a man in this room, a strong, substantial, still-so-stinkin’-hot-it-hurts man.
    Her feet practically itched as she imagined whipping past him and dashing out the door she’d fought so hard to get through. Sorry! Made a mistake!
    But she didn’t move, a testament to how much she loved at least one person in this world. She kept her back to him, taking one last inhale and reviewing her game plan.
    Which didn’t exactly exist, since she’d left Barefoot Bay on a whim that morning, plan free. So now what? Plead? Demand? Barter? Whatever she did, she had to be strong and unyielding. She would not take no for an answer. She would not—
    “Turn around.”
    Melt.
    Oh, no. Falling into his arms would be much worse than running out the door as fast as—and hopefully with more grace than—she’d entered. Because once she felt those arms around her, all bets were off.
    Slowly, she turned, meeting the gaze of a man who looked at her like he hadn’t eaten in days and she was a human cream puff.
    While his eyes trailed over every inch of her, she took her own visual vacation, lingering on the things about him that had kept her awake so many, many nights. Not his classically handsome face, with all those angles of raw strength, and not his powerful shoulders or silky black hair. Zoe hadn’t fallen for “the man with the teeth,” as her Aunt Pasha had once described his movie-star smile, or the prominent nose that hinted at Roman or Greek ancestors, no doubt Julius Caesar himself.
    No, Zoe loved the unexpected surprises of Oliver. Thick, bottlebrush, black lashes that feathered out to the side when he laughed at something she said. The muscle in his neck that flexed and tightened when he leaned in to kiss her. The tenor and depth of his voice when he whispered in her ear, the jolt of music when he said her name, the way his eyes shuttered before a kiss as if he were about to taste a fine French wine.
    His eyes were open now, though, and slicing right through her. “How is the baby?”
    For a minute she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. That was the thing about Oliver. He made Zoe forget her train of thought, her vows of secrecy, her common sense. He made her dream of things that couldn’t be and remember things she was better off forgetting.
    Things that were so, so good. Like the time they’d done it on the kitchen floor of his apartment. And the time he’d—
    “I assume mother and child are thriving?”
    Oh, that baby. The one he’d delivered last night. “He’s perfect. Just, yeah. You left quickly and Lacey wanted to thank you.”
    “Is that why you’re here?” A shadow of disappointment darkened his eyes, gone almost before she could grab hold of it.
    Or you could grab that excuse instead and run