by Roxanne St. Claire
Barefoot Bay Undercover series
by Roxanne St. Claire
Barefoot Bay Undercover Book Two
Francesca Rossi might be the youngest in a long line of badass siblings, but this computer whiz would rather hack a database than pack a pistol for the family business in Barefoot Bay. When an assignment forces her out of her comfort zone and into the field, Chessie decides to amp up the excitement quotient and has her first one night stand with a smokin’ hot stranger she’ll never see again.
Former CIA agent Malcolm Harris is fresh out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and knows the government is watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up. But the only mistake he makes is to assume the sexy, sassy woman he seduces on the way to Barefoot Bay is a spy. He learns too late that the beauty he’s bedded is really his best friend’s sister…and his undercover partner on a risky mission.
Chessie and Mal have to stay one step ahead of the CIA, navigate their way through a perilous country, and fight the insane chemistry that sizzles between them. It doesn’t take long for this hacker and spy to discover the power of their unplanned partnership…and learn that falling in love might be the riskiest business of all.
Genre: Romantic SuspenseBarefoot with a Stranger Purchase links: Amazon iTunes Kobo Google B&N
Content/Theme(s): Hacker, Spy, Military, CIA, Contemporary
Release Date: October 14, 2015
Publisher: South Street Publishing
Excerpt, Barefoot Bound, Barefoot with a Bodyguard & More
Barefoot with a Stranger Excerpt:
Chessie squinted at the departures screen and adjusted her glasses, certain she had to be reading the numbers wrong. Her connection was delayed for three hours?
Sheesh. This was not in Francesca Rossi’s carefully laid-out plan for tonight.
She turned away, spinning through her options like they were hypothetical computer bugs she needed to identify and eliminate. But this was not a tech issue she could solve with a few smart keystrokes. This was Atlanta Hartsfield Airport, full of grumbling travelers trapped by the stormy night skies and widespread delays for many flights, not just her commuter hop to southwest Florida where her brother waited.
The jammed gate area practically vibrated with frustration and inconvenience. Behind her, the concourse bustled with impatient people rolling their bags, and the airport restaurant teemed with captive customers. Leaning against a sliver of space on the wall, Chessie pulled out her phone and texted her brother Gabe to deliver news she knew would elicit enough cursing to stroke out a nun.
Gabe had been breathing fire down her neck for weeks, desperate to get Chessie to Barefoot Bay to help accomplish what he called “the plan.”
The plan. Chessie loved a plan as much—probably more—than the next person and appreciated a clever and succinct title to sit on top of a well-ordered list. But this plan?
There were no fancy covert names, like Operation BabyLift or Mission: Munchkin for this project. Locating a child that could be Gabe’s son was too serious and too major for cutesy code words.
Weeks earlier, Gabe had flown Chessie down to Florida and enlisted her help in hacking an encrypted website to search for a woman supposedly living in Cuba. She didn’t know who Isadora Winter was or why Gabe wanted to find her, but when Chessie discovered the woman was dead, Gabe’s response told Chessie plenty. Isadora mattered to him. A lot. So Chessie had dug deeper into the layers of code to discover that Isadora had a child…named Gabriel.
And that news had stunned them both.
Her phone buzzed with Gabe’s reply. WTF? Get your ass on another flight!
She looked at the board again, which flashed with even more cancellations. She still didn’t know why she couldn’t do her computer research from Boston, where she worked as a tech specialist for the Guardian Angelinos, their family’s security firm. But Gabe had insisted she return to the Gulf Coast island where he was running his own security-type of business, and he also insisted she tell no one about the child or their plans to find him.
That last bit wasn’t a surprise. Like the rest of her siblings and cousins, ex-spook Gabe was always up to something adventurous and dangerous and secretive, saving lives and taking names.
But not Chessie. The youngest in a long line of bodyguards, investigators, cops, agents, and spies, she was convinced that the Rossi and Angelino gene pool must have run out of the Badass DNA by the time she emerged. She was happiest in front of a computer monitor. Her idea of a brush with danger was refuctoring a line of code to make it irreversible. And maybe, when she felt wild, kicking her Mustang into fourth gear and doing doughnuts in an empty parking lot.
Her phone flashed with another text from her brother.
Fly to Orlando or Tampa, rent a car and drive. Or rent one in Atlanta and drive all night. You can be here in time for Nino’s peppers and eggs.
There weren’t going to be flights to Orlando or Tampa, and while the idea of her grandfather’s signature breakfast sounded heavenly, Gabe was smoking something if he thought she was going to drive eight or nine hours at night in this weather.
Not in the plan, bro.
She texted back a sisterly “shut your pie hole” and peered over the gate crowd again, catching sight of a woman getting up to free a seat near the back. Shouldering the oversized handbag that carried her laptop and grateful she’d checked her suitcase, Chessie headed straight to the vacancy. She was two feet away when a middle-age man with a shiny dome and mustache beat her, practically throwing his backside into the chair to make sure he got it before she did.
Chessie slammed on her brakes with a soft grunt, a little taken aback at his audacity. The man whipped out an iPad and ignored her, leaving Chessie feeling awkward as a few people stared at her. She glanced around on the off chance there was another open seat.
Not happening. Her gaze landed on the man in the chair directly across from the one she’d almost snagged, meeting dark eyes that glinted with a mix of dismay and humor. Instantly, he stood.
“Here, take mine.”
“Oh, no, I…” Damn, he was big. Not just tall, but solid and broad. “That’s not necessary.”
She started to reply but got a little lost while looking at his face, which was pretty much a straight-up dime. A rugged blend of chiseled and rough, a strong nose, soft lips, and a shadow of whiskers that didn’t quite hide a cleft in his chin that was downright lickable.
She shook her head. “I…I…can’t.” Can’t think or talk, apparently.
Slowly becoming aware of her surroundings again, she realized most everyone in earshot observed the exchange—but not the tacky seat-thief.
“Please. It would be rude of me to let you stand there.” He put the slightest emphasis on rude, more of a deep rumble from that impressive chest, and a few onlookers shifted their attention to the truly rude guy. Who didn’t look up from a riveting game of Words With Friends.
“Nope, you had it first.” Chessie smiled up at him. “Giving your seat away would be a breach of airport protocol.”
“What about gentleman’s protocol?”
Oh, a gentleman. A big, hot, sexy, lickable gentleman. “You would set dangerous precedent,” she agreed. “Every man in this place would have to get up and let the ladies sit.”
“It could start a riot.” He added a smile that was purely unfair.
“But you’d be a national hero.”
The smile faded, and he shrugged a little, as if hero status held no appeal for him. Well, he certainly held appeal for her.
Easy, girl. You’re nursing a heartbreak, remember? But one look at thick black hair that curled over his collar and framed chiseled features and a slash of black brows…and she pretty much forgot good ol’ Matt Whatshisname.
The seat-stealer cleared his throat without looking up from his iPad. “Do us all a favor and go flirt with each other in the bar.”
The man standing in front of her flinched ever so slightly, his eyes flicking to the right but not actually shooting the chair hog a proper dirty look. Instead, he gave Chessie a slow, conspiratorial grin that took him straight to an eleven. And a half.
For one, two, maybe the span of three insane heartbeats, they looked at each other, and at least one X in every female chromosome in her body climbed out of their breakup funk to momentarily consider what else was out there.
He openly checked her out for a few seconds, his gaze practically feasting on her face, then the faintest shrug gave her the impression he’d lost some kind of inner battle.
He nodded toward the concourse. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Chessie opened her mouth to say no. She hadn’t planned on a drink. But she hadn’t planned on a three-hour delay between Boston and Barefoot Bay, either. Gabe hadn’t said she couldn’t talk to anyone, just not share why she was on her way to Florida.
For once, she should go with the flow because this particular flow was so fine. “Sure, thanks.”
The man leaned over to grab a duffel bag, then turned and got in the seat-stealer’s face. “I owe you one, dickhead,” he whispered.
As they walked away, a woman watching the whole exchange gave a loud, slow clap, and a few others joined her.
Well, what do you know? A drink with a smokin’ hot stranger. That was an interesting change in plan.
Barefoot with a Stranger Purchase links: Amazon iTunes Kobo Google B&N
by Roxanne St. Claire
Barefoot Bay Undercover Book One
When former CIA consultant Gabe Rossi creates a secret “privatized witness protection” operation hidden within the security firm at the local resort, things get a little more suspenseful on the island paradise. Gabe’s clients need to keep a low profile and stay safe while he helps them create new identities...and, sometimes, they find love.
About to take the bar exam after ending a five-year marriage that derailed her career plans and her life, Kate Kingston craves independence and a vacation. Somewhere warm with sea breezes, sunshine, sand...and no scary threats against her that have been showing up in her dad’s office. Barefoot Bay is the perfect place for some serenity while she studies and puts her life back together. But when she meets the brooding wall of muscle her father hired to protect her, Kate feels her hard won independence slipping away as fast as her resolve to avoid men who wield power over her.
Mixed martial arts trainer Alec Petrov has been on the run for a long time. Guarding a feisty attorney-to-be while pretending to be her husband is not a bad way to live off the grid, hidden from the Russian mobster who is hunting Alec with deadly intent. But Kate brings out a tender side Alec doesn't understand, or believe he deserves, and he soon realizes that keeping them both safe is only half the challenge. Keeping his hands off her and his attraction under control will be every bit as difficult in the close quarters of an exclusive resort.
When their make-believe honeymoon in paradise turns sensual, complicated, and dangerous, Alec and Kate realize it’s not just their lives that are in jeopardy, it’s their hearts. And they’ll have to fight to the end to save each other…and their love.
Genre: Romantic SuspenseBarefoot with a Bodyguard Purchase links:
Content/Theme(s): MMA, Military, Contemporary
Release Date: June 12, 2015
Publisher: South Street Publishing
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Barefoot with a Bodyguard Excerpt:
Blood trickled from Alec’s shredded knuckles, red trails sliding over the purple Cyrillic letters that marked him. The cuts stung like a mother under a dribble of water, the best he could get from a sink that barely hung on the wall with a pipe and a prayer. His head throbbed from the last few hits, and his chest heaved from the run for his life. He leaned against the rusty metal door of the gas station bathroom and finally looked in the dingy, cracked mirror at his face.
And wished he hadn’t. Oh, he was used to seeing a fighter’s mug in the glass, but now blood crusted around his broken nose, and one eye had already swollen shut. Somehow he’d managed to keep his teeth, but…he winced on the next breath. One rib, at least, was broken.
That was the third time this month he’d been ambushed, and things were getting worse.
He’d taken out one of them with well-placed elbow strikes and got another guy in a leg lock that probably wrecked the son of a bitch’s knee for life, but Alec had no finesse with that last moron. He just slammed that fucker’s head on the concrete and grounded-and-pounded with all he had. Might have killed him.
Wouldn’t be the first man he’d killed, but it would have been the first time he’d actually done it with his bare hands using the mixed martial arts he taught. Firing at an insurgent who’d just buried an IED in a Baghdad schoolyard didn’t count as murder—it was war.
But now he was in another war, for his life, not his country. The enemy wasn’t a ruthless terrorist, but filthy, murderous Mafiya enforcers who loved nothing more than following Dmitri Vlitnik’s orders.
Alec stared at his hands, raw and swollen from the fight. He didn’t think it was possible for his hands to get any uglier, but they had tonight. Too bad. They were all he had, all he needed. And his knees, feet, elbows, and head—all his weapons of choice. Could they keep him alive during the next attack? And the one after that?
In his pocket, his phone vibrated. He blew out a breath when he saw Grigori Nyekovic’s name on the screen. Of course. The former KGB agent turned Russian millionaire who had a soft spot for Brighton Beach kids and a determination to bring down the notorious “brotherhood” had always been there when Alec needed him the most.
After that dark night when Vlitnik “tested” a thirteen-year-old Alec, Gregg showed up and led Alec to martial arts to channel his anger and frustration. When Alec needed that financial boost to pay for college, Gregg wrote the check. And when Vlitnik came calling again only a year after that, determined to have his due, Gregg pulled strings to get Alec into the Marines. And when Alec could no longer fight for his country, Gregg had helped him heal and found him a home in Philly so he could open an MMA training facility.
And now, here was Gregg again, when he was needed the most.
“Yeah?” Alec answered, copping the attitude that had gotten him through the shittiest of shitty times. Even though he owed Gregg his life several times over, Alec wasn’t about to go all gooey on him now.
“Two hundred thousand dollars.” The man’s voice was still tinged with a Russian accent, despite the fact that he’d traveled the world and lived most of the past decade in New York City.
“You want it? You have it? Or I need it?” Alec asked.
“That’s the price Dmitri Vlitnik has put on your fucking head. After tonight, it might be more.”
His head? Alec’s gaze slipped to his hands again—the price should be on those things, not his head, which, after that last patrol in Iraq, was good for only one thing: butting an opponent. Dropping onto the edge of the yellowed toilet seat, he ignored a cockroach that scurried under the door, letting it escape. Alec had kicked enough ass for one night.
“I figured I had some value,” he finally said. “Considering what they sent after me tonight.”
“You have to get out of Philadelphia now.” Gregg spoke with complete authority.
Damn it. He’d finally made the place a home and had his training business in the black. “There’s no other way?” Like someone take that bastard out for good? “Isn’t he ever going to back off?”
“You know he won’t,” Gregg said. “It’s like he’s obsessed with the idea of getting what was promised to him.”
And Alec had been promised to him.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” he ground out.
“That’s not how Vlitnik sees it.” True enough, in the rules of the Mafiya, Alec did, technically, “belong” to the mob leader. Alec’s father had forged the deal in blood, from his cancer-ridden deathbed, bartering for krysha, protection that normally cost thousands. Sergei Petrov didn’t have thousands, but he had something that the Brighton Beach mob boss wanted—a big lug nut of a teenage son who would grow into a fine enforcer someday.
Protect my wife, and you can have Alec when he’s ready and trained.
So, Alec had been essentially sold into slavery, sealing his fate as a man whose only value was his ability to kill. Yes, Vlitnik’s monsters had left the family butcher shop alone; Mama had never been beaten, raped, or robbed. But when Alec was nineteen and his mother died, Dmitri Vlitnik came to collect what was his.
Alec had been running from the mob boss ever since, and he was so damn sick of it. “He’s never going to give up.” Alec could hear the resignation in his voice, and he hated it.
“Unless we get him on something. And we are close.” In his role as a protector of the Brighton Beach kids, Gregg might be on the side of the angels in this war, but he had spies in Vlitnik’s mob. That was how he quietly, secretly, and carefully fed information to the authorities to assist in the effort to stop one of the worst gangs of Russian mobsters in the US.
“I can wait him out,” Alec said. “I can fight him off.”
“Not forever, and not now. It’s better if you hide.”
“Fuck that. I’d rather face him down and choke the life out of him with my bare hands.”
“I’m sure you would,” Gregg said. “And then you couldn’t testify when we do get him, because you’d either be dead or in jail.”
“Okay, look, I’m in an Exxon bathroom in the middle of north Philly. My car is—”
“Probably wired to blow the minute you stick a key in the ignition.” Gregg nearly growled the words. “You’re done, Alexander. You have to hide or die before the sun comes up.”
That was a great choice.
“Alec, I want you to go somewhere they can’t find you.”
“Like where, the moon? Vlitnik has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Not quite everywhere, not where I’m sending you. You know my wife’s boss owns one of the best security firms in the world.”
“I don’t need a fucking bodyguard, Gregg.” He held a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu and trained MMA fighters for a living.
“You’re not getting a bodyguard. You’re going to be a bodyguard. And that’s going to take you as far off Vlitnik’s radar as we can get you.”
Alec opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. We. Gregg was more than a friend—he was like a father. And too smart, good, and connected to deserve Alec’s argument.
“Raquel’s boss knows a guy who has just started a covert operation that is essentially the equivalent of a privatized wit-sec deal down in Florida.”
Witness security? The government wouldn’t give him protection, since he had nothing concrete to put Vlitnik away. “How?”
“That’s what this guy does. He’ll get you a new identity and find you a place to go. In the meantime, you hide on an island in the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Bet the price is steep.” How many times could Gregg throw his money at Alec’s problems? How many times could Alec let him?
“It is, and I would pay it, but he wants you to work instead.”
“Okaaay.” He dragged the word out, more in response to the way Gregg said work—like it was something he wouldn’t like. “As a bodyguard.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be undercover, too. On your honeymoon.”
“This guy’s got another client who also needs to hide out for a while, since she’s been the target of some threats. You’ll be there as newlyweds, staying at a resort on a secluded island, and you will be with her twenty-four seven to be sure she’s safe. Both of you will have assumed names—the same last one—and no one, not a single soul except this guy who runs the operation and his top people, will know you are anything but head over heels in love with your new bride.”
Alec blinked into the shadows of the foul bathroom, not even able to wrap his head around this plan. “Look, I know I’m not firing on all cylinders right now, but there’s no way in hell you said what I think you said.”
Gregg laughed softly. “I thought you’d like the idea.”
“I didn’t say I—” The scuff of a footstep outside shut him up. “Shit. They found me,” he whispered.
“No, I’m using an advanced satellite tracking system on this call. That’s my man outside your door. Go with him.”
Alec closed his eyes, a cocktail of mixed feelings rising up. “Guess I’m running again, huh, Gregg?”
“Running to stay alive long enough to testify if the feds can shut down Vlitnik’s mob.”
“And if they can’t?”
“Then you get yourself a new name and move your ass to a new country. There’s nothing cowardly about keeping yourself alive.”
Alec let the advice sink in, pinching his throbbing nose as he tried to think. “Okay, what do I have to know about this chick?”
“That she’s not a chick. She’s the daughter of a high-profile judge who wants his precious girl protected. You have to act like her husband in public and treat her like daddy’s little princess in private. Hands off.”
He looked down at his raw, bruised knuckles and his ugly, blistered fingers. Hands that could do nothing but hurt and maim and fight and…kill. Hands that wouldn’t know how to touch a bride if he’d even deserved one.
“No problem,” he promised.
“But in public, the two of you are madly in love.”
Alec looked in the mirror and saw his bruised and battered face, shadowed with the pain he was either receiving or inflicting. “Hope she has low standards,” he muttered, but Gregg had already hung up.
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by Roxanne St. Claire
Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 0.5
Before you slip off your shoes and go all the way undercover, get to know Gabriel Rossi, the hero at the heart of Barefoot Bay Undercover.
Former spy and current bad boy Gabriel Rossi is headed to Barefoot Bay to start and run a new covert operation, but before he goes, he has some business to take care of up in Boston. Family business. With the Rossi and Angelino family, that means there will be laughter, love, food, and forgiveness…and the possibility someone is in danger.
On the eve of his departure, Gabe learns that his grandfather, Nino, might be in some serious trouble. Gabe will stop at nothing to help the man he considers his best friend, even if that means risking his own life to save Nino’s. But even Gabe might not be sly and smart enough to protect Nino from the one thing that could really hurt this sweet old man…a broken heart.
Genre: Romantic SuspenseBarefoot Bound Purchase links: Amazon iTunes Kobo Google B&N
Content/Theme(s): Spy, Contemporary
Release Date: May 14, 2015
Publisher: South Street Publishing
Barefoot Bound Excerpt:
Casa Blanca? Seriously? Did someone have a Bogart fetish, or had Gabe just landed in Disney Does Morocco, complete with the geometric patterns in the sun-dried bricks and U-shaped archways? Gabe scanned the sprawling resort tucked into a hidden corner of an island so remote it was accessible only by boat and one bridge. There wasn’t a single high-rise, nightclub, shopping mall, or Starbucks in sight. The only people were the poor slobs who worked for the privileged bastards who flew in on corporate jets and helicopters to demand seclusion, anonymity, and privacy.
And the proximity to a certain island off the coast of Florida? Well, the place was fucking perfect.
At least, perfect for what Gabriel Rossi had in mind. And that was so not what his old friend from the French Foreign Legion had meant when he’d called and asked for a little security consulting advice in exchange for an all-expense-paid trip to paradise.
But Gabe would drag Luke McBain over to the right playground soon enough. First, he had to run the final test. Before he could take the next step and kick-start his plan that had been brewing for the past five years, he had to see just what kind of yahoos worked at this joint.
Time for a game of Test the Staff.
Standing in the expansive lobby, he scanned his possible targets. A smokin’ blonde with fake lashes and real tits at the front desk had already taken note of him. Twice. Two men, both dressed in custom threads, a Rolex visible on one tennis-tanned arm, talked outside of the spa, probably waiting for their wives. A teenage girl sat on a bench under the mosaic, texting and oblivious.
None of them was right for what Gabe had in mind.
To his right, a couple stood in front of an understated Guest Services desk, deep in conversation. The man was about his own height of six feet and had short dark hair, and while he obviously hadn’t done a hundred one-armed pushups at five a.m., like Gabe had, he was buff enough.
Gabe took a few steps closer to the couple to pick up their exchange with a sharply dressed concierge. Staying far enough away not to draw attention, he pulled out his phone and pretended to read messages while listening to their conversation.
Tapping the screen, he opened the interceptor software he’d, uh, borrowed from the CIA, and tilted his phone toward the woman’s handbag.
“All right, then, Mr. Carriger,” the concierge said. “Your tee time is confirmed, and our driver will pick you up in five minutes at the front door.”
The man turned to his wife, a concerned look on a CEO-handsome face. “You sure you don’t mind if we forgo the boat trip today, Beth?”
“I’m spending the day in the spa, honey. I far prefer that to getting seasick and looking for dolphins.” She laughed and gestured to the concierge. “Married twenty years, you’d think Doug would know that by now.”
The concierge gave a warm nod as he picked up his phone, but Gabe filed the man’s name, Doug Carriger, and snapped a mental image of how he held himself. He watched the man’s facial expressions carefully and pegged an accent someone with a less-trained ear wouldn’t even hear. South of Philly, not quite Virginia. Baltimore.
The concierge leaned forward, listening with one ear to the phone. “I’m sorry we can’t get you into Eucalyptus until eleven, Mrs. Carriger. But this treatment is worth the wait, I assure you. We are the only spa in the entire state of Florida that offers it.”
“I can’t wait. In the meantime, I’ll go back to the villa and sit by the pool. The housekeeper won’t be there, will she?”
“Let me check,” the concierge said, glancing at his tablet. “Poppy’s doing Bay Laurel Villa in about twenty minutes.”
“Oh, Poppy,” Mrs. Carriger crooned. “What a lovely housekeeper. I was so touched by the rose petals on the pillow.”
The concierge smiled as if he’d heard the compliment before. “We do love to celebrate anniversaries here at Casa Blanca. And speaking of celebrations, let’s talk about tonight’s dinner reservations. May I reserve one of our outdoor private cabana tables at Junonia for you?”
While they discussed dinner, Gabe tapped his phone and did a quick Internet search of exclusive spa treatments available only at Casa Blanca while he walked toward a house phone not too far away. The answer popped up on the screen just as Gabe picked up a house phone.
“Eucalyptus Spa,” a cool voice crooned in Gabe’s ear. “How may I help you?”
“I’m afraid I have to cancel my wife’s Ayurvedic treatment. I think she made it for ten, maybe nine thirty? She can’t remember the time.” He glanced at his targets, still arranging their dinner reservations. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Is this Mr. McPherson?”
Some keys clicked. “Yes, we had her in at nine forty-five so she had a few minutes to prepare. Would Mrs. McPherson like to reschedule?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
That business complete, Gabe took a few steps back toward the Guest Services desk, placing himself exactly ten feet away from Mrs. C’s handbag as he typed: We have had a cancellation in the spa for the Ayurvedic Massage at ten o’clock. Would you like this time slot?
He waited for a phone number to appear courtesy of the interceptor software—a 410 area code, confirming his guess about Baltimore—then hit send. Within a few seconds, Mrs. Carriger reached into her bag and pulled out her rhinestone-encrusted iPhone.
Nice to see he still had it after a few years out of the game.
As expected, her face brightened as she read the text. “Well, look at that. They have an opening for me. Don’t rearrange Poppy’s cleaning schedule, then.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Gabe left the lobby, glancing over his shoulder at the front-desk blonde who was still not so surreptitiously checking him out. Lose the lashes, toots, and we’ll talk.
Outside, he nodded to the doorman and walked slowly until he saw the limo turn the corner to pick up Mr. Carriger for his golf game.
As the glass doors to the lobby opened, he caught a glimpse of Mrs. C heading into the Eucalyptus Spa for her overpriced Indian alternative massage. She’d be there long enough for him to do what he had to do.
He rounded a lush grouping of palm trees, finding the wide stone path that led to the villas. He’d done enough research to know where Bay Laurel was, the closest and largest of the villas on the property. And enough research to know that this little resort could be the answer he’d been seeking, or at least get him closer to the person he’d been seeking.
So far, it certainly had potential.
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Be on the lookout for Roxanne St. Claire's future release(s): Barefoot with a Bad Boy coming early 2016 and They All Fall Down (ppbk) coming March 2016
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