Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

said. Without waiting for a response, he swooped her up, clamped her kicking legs and flailing arms, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
    “Damn it, Luke! Put me down!”
    He ran full-out to the path, using the lightning to guide him to the bottom of the hill since his hands were too full of furious woman to get that flashlight.
    The last bolt struck right between the hill and his truck, so he didn’t even take a millisecond to think. He tore through the wide-open doorway of the house and practically slammed Arielle’s feet onto the ground.
    He didn’t know which was worse—the deadly lightning or the look of rage on her face. Guess he was about to find out.

Chapter Five

    Ari didn’t know whether to throw her arms around him or smack his smug-ass face.
    Instead, she slammed her hands on her hips to keep herself from doing either one, glaring so hard at him she couldn’t believe sparks didn’t actually ignite in her eyes.
    “You threw my butt over your shoulder like a caveman.”
    “I saved your butt from getting fried like a steak kabob.”
    A massive lightning-and-thunder combo lit and shook the structure as rain poured in the doorless entry behind him. “I am not afraid of nature. Not in the least.”
    “You should be.” He gave her a soft nudge deeper into the front room. “Get in that hallway. I’m not sure this house can weather another storm.”
    She stumbled over something on the floor, but got her footing, letting him guide her to a narrow, dark hallway. He shouldered the first door open and pulled her to him.
    “It’s a closet,” he said. “That means there’s no metal and no wiring, so we won’t sizzle if the house gets hit.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he thought it might collapse any second.
    “It’s just a little thunderstorm,” Ari said, still stinging from being hauled down the hill. “You better man up if you’re afraid of them, because we get a storm almost every day for half the year down here.”
    “Man up?” He snorted softly. “I fought wars in jungles, Arielle. My masculinity isn’t in question.” He gave her a look like her sanity was, however, up for debate. Then he pointed to the ceiling. “You haven’t seen the specs on this structure. It wasn’t exactly built to code.”
    The tiny closet smelled musty and damp, the scents going to battle with the rain—and frustration—she could still sense on Luke. His wet shirt brushed against her bare shoulder, making her shiver despite the airless heat.
    “If being built to code is important to you, then making sure you’re not breaking the law by building in the first place should be, too.”
    He sighed softly, his breath ruffling her hair. “Got your point, Ari.”
    The use of her nickname tweaked her heart a little. Darn. She missed the way Arielle rolled off his tongue. Missed the flutter in her stomach when he said it the way he did, with the barest, slightest, infinitesimalest whisper of an accent from his years in France.
    That was the problem with this guy. All the primal, visceral, physical stuff was off the charts and exactly how she’d been led to believe she’d feel when she met The One.
    But why would the universe set her up to meet him only to have a problem of this magnitude separating them? Shouldn’t things with her perfect mate be problem free? Wasn’t that part of the promise of fated love?
    Maybe Ari had dreamed the whole damn thing up out of desperation because her friends were falling in love left and right, and she was still alone. Her whole life she’d fought this battle. Certain of what she felt, uncertain of how right it was. It was as though her practical, rational, non-spiritual mother pulled at one hand and her mystical, supernatural, otherworldly grandmother pulled at the other. And sometimes it felt like she was split in half.
    “So, do you believe in ghosts?” he asked in between rolls of thunder, almost as if he were the mind reader now.
    “Not Casper, if