Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (29 page)

“I’m sure they know exactly what we’re doing,” he teased.

“They do?” she asked, looking back at them in obvious panic.

He laughed. “Yes, they know we’re going for a walk on the beach. It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?”

She punched him. Hard. And her laughter penetrated the warm salty air . . . and his heart.

“Leave your shoes here,” he instructed, pointing out a grassy area beside the wood plank beach access. He kicked off his, then waited for her to do the same.

“What if someone takes them?” she asked.

“Then I guess we’ll buy more shoes.”

Laughing, she tossed her sandals, then wiggled her toes in the sand. “This feels good.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It does.” Only Ethan wasn’t talking about the cool sand beneath his feet. They walked hand in hand, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin inside her palm.

“Wow.” She stopped and surveyed a large cruise ship, dark water swooshing against its side as it made its way through the Gulf of Mexico. The engine rumbled steadily as it moved against the current. They walked in silence, while the ship shifted lazily along the waves, and while Ethan pondered how to get Clarise to open up. He was her friend, for crying out loud, but when it came to getting her to talk about commitment, which she’d informed him wasn’t on her list, he was clueless. Why? Because he didn’t want to force her into sharing anything she wasn’t ready to share, that was why. And because he cared about her. But dammit, he didn’t want it ending when they returned to Birmingham. How could they go back to being mere Friday afternoon coffee chatting friends, after they’d shared
this?
He only had two days before they returned home. Ethan winced, remembering last year’s return from Gasparilla and the awkward incident that occurred back then. Unfortunately, he’d have to tell Clarise about it, given the other party involved, and damned if that didn’t figure to be a gigantic obstacle in their path toward a long-term relationship. But he wouldn’t worry about that now. One step at a time. And the most important step was getting Clarise to admit that this thing they’d started had the potential to become more. Much more.

“Look.” She pointed to a long, snowy white egret sailing above their heads.

In spite of its elongated body, the bird was graceful in its approach . . . until it nearly collided with a boy’s head. The teen had been riding a bicycle down the concrete path that ran between the condos and the beach, but he stopped and watched the tall bird land on the deck of a vast beach house. Shrugging, the kid reached in his backpack, snatched a newspaper, then slung it toward the back of the house. It hadn’t been aimed at the bird, but the egret departed nonetheless.

“It’s almost as if that bird was playing a game with him,” Clarise said, still staring at the boy throwing papers toward each home sporadically placed in the midst of the condos, which claimed the majority of the beach.

“Maybe he was.”

She began walking again, her hand comfortably clasping his. “I didn’t even realize kids still delivered papers on bicycles. My father said he had a paper route growing up and made the deliveries on his bike, but our newspaper was always delivered by an adult in a car.” She looked at him. “Do you ever see kids delivering newspapers in Birmingham?”

“Yeah, but the majority of them are sixteen or better, and they all drive.”

“Too bad. There’s something old-fashioned and fun about a boy on a bicycle delivering the paper.”

“That’s the way I did it.”

“You delivered newspapers?” she questioned. “On a bicycle?”

He nodded. “I didn’t always work at the department store. Dad thought it was important for his boys to earn their own keep in business before he gave us jobs working for him. I had a paper route; Jeff designed and sold model cars.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly, then she laughed.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“With you being twins, I would have thought your career choices as teens would have been similar. I can’t imagine two jobs that are more different.”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m the traditional one. Jeff’s the risk-taker.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone designing model cars,” she admitted. “Building them, yes. Designing them and reselling them, no. Why would someone want to buy a model that was already complete?”

“It was the design,” Ethan explained. “I guess you could say that Jeff was a little ahead of his time, since he was playing ‘pimp my ride’ with those model cars. He’d give them custom paint jobs and have the engines so meticulous that you’d swear they were real.” He shrugged. “That’s the kind of thing he does now to make his store stand out in Atlanta. He advertises with flair, which is what he’s doing this week in Birmingham. He made a bet with our father that he could outsell him, with Dad running the bigger Atlanta store and Jeff running the smaller, Birmingham one.”

“He’s running our store?”

Our store.
Ethan liked the sound of that. “Only this week, to prove he can handle overseeing the new acquisitions in Florida.”

A small gasp echoed in the breeze. “Are you going to Florida too?” The hint of disappointment in her tone told him she didn’t want him leaving. Good to know, because he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He liked Birmingham, liked the people there, particularly the one squeezing his hand a little tighter while awaiting his answer.

“I’ll stay in Birmingham and have a hand in the company’s big picture. There’s no way I won’t, since I handled all of the details with the acquisition. That’s not Jeff’s cup of tea. Me, on the other hand, well, that’s right up my alley. I like looking into the future; he likes focusing on the here and now. But when you put the two of us together . . . ”

“You’ve got everything covered to give Nordstrom’s a run for their money,” she said, and her death grip on his palm relaxed.

He grinned. “I believe my father said those very words. And Jeff and I may be night and day, but we work well together. Twins aren’t usually totally alike, you know. Most siblings aren’t.”

“Babette and I sure aren’t. She’s the wild one, the risk-taker, in our scenario.”

Even though he could agree, he chose not to. Yeah, her sister was a hellion, but the past few days had told him that Babette Robinson wasn’t the only one in that family with spunk. And he’d say the real “wild one” of the bunch was the one currently standing on a sandy beach at dusk, her big doe eyes blinking in the salty breeze while she waited to hear what he said when comparing her to her sister. No problem. There was no comparison. “I’d say the real wild one would have to be the one who composed a sex fantasy list and headed to Gasparilla to accomplish each wicked item on it. Has Babette ever done anything like that?”

Her cute lower lip dropped open again, then that sweet mouth curved into a grin. “Not that I know of.”

“See? Lucky me, I have the unruly sister.”

She punched him in the arm and leaned against him playfully. “I bet that’s the first time anyone has ever called me the unruly one.”

“If the shoe fits,” he said, which made that gorgeous smile even brighter. “And double lucky me, since I have the gorgeous wild one in my store, every day, working as the best damn department head in the South, helping other women look and feel gorgeous too—in my store’s clothes. What’s not to like about that?”

Clarise swallowed hard. “Do you really think I’m the best?”

“I’ve told you that before,” he reminded her, surprised that she hadn’t already realized he’d never given her anything but the truth.

Another thick swallow made her throat pulse. “And do you really think I’m gorgeous?”

Damn, why didn’t she see it? “I do, and so does any other male who happens to look your way.” He decided to lighten this conversation, since she looked on the verge of tears, and he didn’t want to make her cry. “And did I mention my best department head also looks really good in the shower?”

She delivered another sound punch to his arm. “You’re making it sound like I slept my way into the job.”

He shrugged. “Hey, whatever works.”

This time, she stopped walking, put her hand behind his neck and lowered his face.

Ethan let her, of course, expecting a hot and heated kiss.

She bit his lip. “Just in case you have any glitches in your memory, Mr. Eubanks, I did
not
sleep with you until I had already obtained the status of”—she paused then grinned—“best damn department head in the South.”

He pulled his bottom lip in and checked for blood. Surprisingly, he tasted none. “Actually, there aren’t any glitches in my memory, Ms. Robinson, about anything that has to do with you. Your initial job interview, for example, when you stunned me into silence with your ready-for-the-runway ensemble. A silk white blouse and black skirt that you’d obviously purchased at the store. I recognized the pieces, of course, but hadn’t seen them put together so well, or on a woman who wore them so nicely.”

Her lip twitched slightly, as if she were trying to determine how to respond. Then she whispered, “You remember what I wore?”

Thrilled she was starting to see the big picture, Ethan nodded. He’d noticed her from that first day, and though it took him three years to see the truth, that she should be his forever, he had seen
something.
From that very first day. “Yeah, I remember. And it was the classic long strand of black pearls, knotted seductively beneath your breasts, that pulled the entire look together.”

Her lip quivered. Tears spilled forward. He really hadn’t wanted to make her cry, but she was sure crying now. And smiling. Which couldn’t be a totally bad thing, right? She swallowed, and a small red splotch appeared at the base of her neck. “Thank you.”

Was she thanking him for remembering her attire the first time they met? Or for helping her see how appealing, how desirable, she was as a woman? Either way, he was glad he’d told her the truth; from their first meeting, she’d made an impression. “You’re welcome.”

They started walking again, Clarise staring out over the water and Ethan reflecting on everything that had happened between the two of them since that initial job interview. He wanted more than the casual friendship they’d shared until this weekend. For the first time in his life, he wanted it all. And he wanted it with Clarise.

She turned away from him, toward the water. “When we were growing up, Babette and I didn’t exactly complement each other the way you and Jeff did. She may have been younger, but I was the one who couldn’t compete. Babette was the pretty one, the thin one, and she didn’t try to make me feel bad about my—size—but I did anyway. Just being around her, standing next to her at family reunions and seeing people whisper about the differences. Or at school, with only two years between us, she was always right there, the perky little sister that everyone adored. It was hard not to hold that against her back then, and she didn’t deserve that. She really didn’t try to rub it in my face or anything.” Her voice was faint, as though admitting her insecurities regarding her sister were tearing at her very soul. And Ethan, knowing more about Babette Robinson than Clarise realized, silently wondered if the hellion hadn’t played on those insecurities back then.

He cleared his throat. Now was not the time to inform Clarise that he’d seen firsthand how conniving her little sister could be. Sure, he’d have to come clean. But not now. “You’re beautiful, Clarise, and you were beautiful back then too. You just didn’t realize it. I only wish I’d have known you then, to tell you.” He placed a finger to her cheek and tenderly brushed a tear away. “And to show you—then.”

As if uncomfortable with the direction of their current conversation, she turned to view a ship sailing smoothly out to sea. Then she twisted to look at him and shoved her hands in her pockets. The action made them dip down and flashed him a sweet view of the flesh between the edge of her shirt and the waist of her jeans. “You’re making me believe it now, you know.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The red splotch spread toward her collarbone. She inhaled deeply, and her breasts lifted the pale pink fabric of her shirt for a brief moment before she exhaled. “Why did you tell me now? About remembering what I wore that first day? All of those afternoons over coffee and you never mentioned it.”

Okay. It took some time, but she was starting to see that he’d always noticed her, and evidently, it scared her. Unfortunately, it also reminded her that she wasn’t like her sister. If she only knew, not being like Babette was a very, very good thing. “I simply want to know you better, Clarise.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re special.”

“Because we’re friends,” she clarified. “And for today and tomorrow, we’re more?”

“Yeah, because we’re friends, and yeah, because right now, we’re more, but also because I want to be closer to you.” He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable; I don’t want you uncomfortable around me, Clarise. I want the opposite.”

She shivered. “It’s so hard to believe this is real.”

Ethan wrapped an arm around her. “You want to sit down?”

She nodded.

He unfolded the blanket and let it catch the gentle wind, then he lowered it to the sand. They sat on the soft cloth, a thin covering over the cool beach. Ethan pulled her closer and held her in his arms while the wind whistled through the sea grass that bordered their private haven.

Clarise sniffed loudly, then laughed. “Things like this, where a guy tells a girl he remembers the first time he ever saw her—oh, and consequently, where the same guy offers to fulfill her every sex fantasy—don’t typically happen to girls like me. Girls who are . . . ”

“Voluptuous?” he completed, which made her laugh even harder. “And how do you know things like this don’t happen to them? Maybe every curvy, desirable female has had a guy beg to accomplish her sex wish list. Maybe, they didn’t kiss and tell.”

“I don’t recall you begging.”

“Trust me. I would have.”

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “You are rotten Ethan Eubanks.”

“If it’s rotten you want, you’ve got it.” He leaned back, crooked his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. The sky had darkened as late afternoon turned into early evening, but he could see her dark lashes, spiked from tears. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”