Barefoot Bay: When You Touch Me (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read Online Free Page B

the wrong place at the wrong time.
    “Sam.” Drew’s voice grew solemn. “I didn’t mean it was lucky you—”
    “I know what you mean. This is a great place to spend a week and a half before I return to the real world.”
    Sam wasn’t quite sure yet what that real world was.
    “Spotted any hot women yet?”
    Sam laughed. “I just got here. Even I need time to scope out the prospects. But so far a lot of them have either been attached, or they’re employees and they’re off limits.”
    “And since when has that ever stopped the Hart Throb?”
    Yeah, when?
    “Ah, little brother, you give me too much credit. And do you know how much I hate that nickname?”
    “Of course I do. Why do you think I use it?”
    The brothers chatted a little longer, and Sam promised to post some photos of the resort online. After ending the call, he put on swim trunks and a t-shirt, grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen and headed to a shaded spot on the beach with a spy thriller he had bought in the airport.
    It was really too hot to wear the shirt. But aside from the scars on his back being sensitive to sunlight, they alarmed most people. And when they learned he had been injured in Afghanistan, they gave him the pity stare. They shouldn’t pity him. They should hate him because he hadn’t been able to save everyone in that Humvee.
    * * *
    When Sam Hartman hadn’t shown up at the spa by ten o’clock, Jillian began the hunt for him. She had been very clear about their schedule. She had asked the receptionist to call his room, but there was no answer. So she wondered if the man was serious about his claim to spend his time getting drunk and getting laid.
    She found him stretched out on a lounge chair under a thatched palapa, a fruity-looking drink in one hand and a paperback book in the other. Though his eyes were hidden behind a pair of Ray Bans, she could tell he scanned the surrounding area at regular intervals. The lift of his chin. The almost imperceptible side-to-side movement of his head. Those actions indicated more than general curiosity over who might be sitting on the beach.
    Mrs. Granger had mentioned the same behavior in her son, who had an official diagnosis of PTSD. Perhaps Sam Hartman did too, but she had no concrete proof of it, and she wasn’t a psychologist. She had chosen modalities to address PTSD as well as his shoulder and scars. They couldn’t cause any harm if he didn’t have the disorder.
    She watched as he sucked the last of the drink through the straw and motioned to a server for another. Jillian shook her head ruefully. He had started drinking early. At this rate he would be sloshed by noon. Had he found a willing woman, too? Jillian really didn’t want to know. She only wanted to get him to the spa so she could prove to Jocelyn that hiring her hadn’t been a mistake. Grasping his client folder to her chest, she marched across the sand to confront him.
    “Mr. Hartman,” she said with authority. “We had a nine o’clock appointment at the spa. I’m sure there’s some compelling reason you didn’t keep it and decided to lounge on the beach instead?” Her gaze zeroed in on the drink in his hand.
    “It’s a fruit juice slushy,” he said. “You can ask the bartender if you don’t believe me. It’s a particularly tasty combination of pineapple and orange juice with some banana and grenadine. He calls it a Barefoot Blush. You really should try it sometime. It’s a great way to chill out.”
    He had placed emphasis on the last two words, and Jillian understood they were a dig at her. Taking her job seriously did not mean she needed to chill out.
    “Maybe after we’ve finished today’s sessions. And speaking of which, while we’re both here, why don’t I go over the treatment plan I’ve developed? Then we can head to the spa to get started.” Jillian wanted to accomplish something with him before noon.
    He shrugged dismissively. “If we have to.”
    “Mrs. Granger—”
    “Yeah,”