The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (14 page)

It might take forever…days, weeks, months of time…to explore all that velvet skin, to taste all her textures, to learn every way to feed her desire. As he watched, a shiver rolled over her body, and goosebumps broke across her belly.

“Joaquin.”

At her voice, he shook his head, coming out of his sex-stupor to glance at her face. Her tongue extended to moisten her lower lip, and he felt new tension string his muscles. He didn’t have forever. There wasn’t a future.

Only this moment existed.

He started to shake, and when she lifted her hand and tucked her fingertips beneath his waistband to pull him down, he fell on her, desperate to slake his appetite.

His mouth fastened on her throat, and he flicked his tongue over her flesh, feeling her writhe beneath him. Her short fingernails scored his back and the brief, sweet pain enflamed him. He ground his hard cock into her belly and then lowered to take the tip of one of her breasts into his mouth. Tonguing the lace, he wet the fabric and felt the nipple bead to stiffness. He sucked on that, strong pulls that caused her to moan and her hips to arch.

Her small hands slid beneath his jeans, and she grabbed the skin of his ass, again nails digging in. The touch made him wild and he lifted his head, yanking lace below the rise of her breast so he could graze the nipple with his teeth. She jerked into the rougher touch, moaning more.

He pulled back, sliding the fabric of her dress from beneath her. Then he stared down at her again, one bra cup revealing her naked breast, its tip wet and gleaming in the light. Her legs shifted, restless, but still modestly closed.

Breathing hard, he ran both hands up the sleek inner skin of her thighs, opening them to make a place for him to crouch between them. He pressed his palm to her belly, feeling the muscles there twitch beneath his touch.

“Take off your pants,” she said, her whisper rough. “I want to see you.”

Joaquin made short work of it and, damn, but it felt good when his cock sprang free. He stroked himself, starting at the root and moving up to drag his thumb across the head. Pre-cum leaked as he noted her fascinated gaze.

“Yeah,” he said, repeating the movement. “All for you.”

Her legs shifted wider and he stared at the wetness obvious on the gusset of her panties. A long shiver rolled down his back even as lust shot from his heels to his balls. Joaquin groaned as more pre-cum released.

“Doll,” he said, sliding his hand up her leg. “Get ready. I’m gonna get a condom—”

Wait. He didn’t have a condom. Not on him, not in his bedroom or bathroom.

“
Fuck!
”

She jolted, her gaze flying to his face.

He wanted to kick his own ass. “Sorry, doll.” He tried smoothing out his voice. “You have condoms?”

Her widening eyes dashed his hopes.

Double fuck!

“Okay, okay.” There were other pleasures. “Don’t worry.”

But the disappointment on her face was almost comic, and it eased some of his own vexation. He tried on a smile followed by another smoothing caress. Lying to her side, he started kissing her again, sliding his tongue against hers and swallowing down her sweet, sweet moans.

Though he was planning on a slow build, lust was molten in his veins and the craving to have her against him was too much. He spread over her, lifting each sleek thigh around his naked waist as he rocked against her mons, the slight abrasion of her lace panties against his shaft just more sensual torture. His hips moved and hers lifted and he drew his mouth along her jaw to nibble at her ear. Her hands clutched his shoulders and she moaned and then again when he moved lower to suckle at her nipples again.

He bared the other breast too and shared his attentions with them both, pressing his knee against her sex so she could grind against something solid. And she did, clearly lost in desire.

Her thumbs brushed the points of his own nipples then, and he jerked, then glanced down at their bodies. His cock was flushed, the veins standing out and the head near angry-looking in its need. Then he glanced at Sara’s sex and saw that all that bumping and grinding had caused her panties to slide lower on her hips, uncovering the top of the bare cleft of her sex.

He stared, transfixed by that small reveal. His hands flexed on the bedspread, lust driving him to tear the panties away, but God, that would be too risky. He wouldn’t stop himself from slamming into her slick heat. But he had to fuck her, he was too horny not to give himself something close, anyway.

Once more between her legs, he took hold of his cock and pressed the crown against those few exposed inches. He groaned, working himself into the narrow space that concealed her clit. Her lips seemed to close around his head, and he continued to rub there, using short, jerky strokes confined between the top of her cleft and the barrier of her panties.

He pressed his face against the side of her throat, and she was breathing hard in his ear. It was beautiful, glorious, even this small piece of her, his pre-cum slickening her flesh. His climax was primed to blow, and he spared a moment for blizzards and icicles but then his horny lust said
fuck it
and he was in the throes, his hand tight on his dick as he spurt into that narrow seam and on the top of her belly.

“I said you might get dirty,” he reminded her, and Sara said nothing as he slid to her side and took her mouth once again, his hand going into the hot wetness he’d left on her skin. Scooping some up, he insinuated his fingertips into the place his cock had just enjoyed. Her clit was there, standing up for attention, which he gave to it, using his cum to ease his way as he teased and rolled and caressed the sensitive protrusion.

Moaning low in her throat, she lifted into his touch and dug her fingernails into the back of his head. Her body grew tauter, her little wiggles and twitches more spastic, and then she came, sucking on his tongue like a special treat. He grunted, thrilled by her eager response.

No fainting miss, she continued to chase each last quiver of her climax.

He gentled his touch as her body quieted. When her arm drifted to the mattress, he fell back on the adjoining pillow. Glancing over, he took in her unkempt state—hair tousled, clothes in disarray, her skin flushed from her orgasm and what looked like a hickey beside the nipple on one breast.

Ooops.
Except it only made him grin.
I bit the butler.

Then the grin faded, because lust surged and he wanted to do it all over again. He wanted
Sara
all over again.

And again and again.

Which uncomfortably sounded like now wasn’t nearly enough.

Sara pretended to fall asleep. Call her a coward, but it was true that she wasn’t brave enough to face Joaquin post-kind-of-coitus. The sex had been what he’d promised. Not rough, not really, though she felt sure she’d have some beard burn here and there. But it had been raunchy, and she did feel just a little bit dirty.

Used—in a way that made her the tiniest bit smug, too.

She’d used Joaquin as well, and since she was the one who’d dragged the man to her room she wasn’t going to throw out accusations or recriminations or blame. But that didn’t mean she had enough daring to toss around compliments, either.

So she’d escape the after-awkwardness for a little while by keeping her eyes closed. When she felt him shift on the bed, she breathed evenly and didn’t move a muscle while she listened to him dress.

She knew when he stood over her. His gaze skipped over her body—she could feel it—and she worried he might notice her new blush as she considered the askew state of her underclothes. Instead of commenting, though, he arranged a blanket over her semi-nude body. The one draped over the back of the nearby loveseat, she supposed as he fussed with it, making sure it covered both shoulders.

The tenderness of the gesture—at such odds with the urgency of his hands before— almost made her sigh…which she stifled just in time.

And then, after the click of the door shutting behind him, she did doze off.

In the early morning, she realized luck was with her. Not only was it her scheduled day off, but she had actual errands to keep her brain occupied and off Joaquin and what they’d done the night before. Sara rushed through her shower and dressing and then scurried into the kitchen to prepare the coffeemaker. The first person to arrive downstairs would only have to press On.

Ears attuned to any change in the silent house, she wrote a note explaining her absence and delineating the available food options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then she grabbed her keys and headed out.

Malibu on a fine morning like this wasn’t made for worries. So she told herself she was ditching hers and stopped for coffee and a bagel at the drive-thru shack. She consumed them in the car, parked where she could look out at the ocean, the sky above turning from the last grays and pinks of early morning to become a true summer-blue.

Then she drove east and upward. Malibu wasn’t just a beach enclave. It also included shadowy canyons with burbling creeks and mountain retreats with breathtaking vistas from their higher perches. One narrow turn-off took her to an even narrower drive. She snaked down that road and found a charming residence, a Queen Anne-styled cottage that was less fussy than some but had been painted in a charming combination of blue, white, and teal.

Sara took a moment to appreciate it, then gathered her sketchbook and strode for the front door.

The owner, Mrs. Carol Madigan, opened it wearing a wide smile. A sixtyish divorcée, she wore drawstring linen pants and a white T-shirt with black leather espadrilles. “Come in, come in!”

The interior gave off the same bright cheer as the outside. Mrs. Madigan led Sara to a sunlight-filled kitchen that offered incredible views of the ocean in three directions.

“Are we ready to do this?” she asked Sara, clasping her hands together.

“If you are,” Sara said. Though she was looking into taking some classes, the truth was she was without formal training in design. “As you know, I’m not a licensed landscape architect—”

“I’m just sure you’re the right person to plan my cottage garden, however,” Mrs. Madigan declared.

So they spent the next hour doing just that. The house included a side yard sheltered from the ocean breezes where the older woman could have all the bee-, butterfly-, and hummingbird-friendly plants that her heart desired. Sara sketched, showed off different specimens on her phone, and made herself several lists. Finally, they smiled at each other, both satisfied.

“I’m going to love it!” Carol Madigan declared.

“I certainly plan to do my best to ensure that.” Sara flipped closed her sketchbook. “And it’s so nice of you to give me this chance.” It had been another opportunity orchestrated by Charlie. The other butler had met Carol’s daughter when the woman accompanied her son on a playdate with Wells. Sara had been in the yard at the time, working on the Archer’s landscaping. Apparently the playdate’s mom mentioned her mother’s interest in a new garden, and Charlie had taken her directly to Sara. A few phone calls later, and she had her second client.

Pleasure bubbled inside her as she and the older woman walked back through the house. “Are you interested in doing this kind of thing as more than a sideline?” Carol asked. “I know a lot of people who would love your services—and your vision.”

That warmed Sara more. “Thank you, but I don’t know how many extra hours I can carve out of my life. My butler job is full-time and—”

“Surely you won’t be doing that forever.”

I won’t?
The thought of leaving Nueva Vida cast a pall on the day. The estate had served as her haven after the London disaster. She’d paid it back by tending it with care, placing the furniture just so, nurturing the plants, and even sweet-talking the plumber into a better placement for the drain from the freestanding icemaker.

“A girl like you,” Carol continued as they strolled through the front door, “will find a husband and your own home to look after some day soon.”

A husband.

And like that, Joaquin popped into her head, no longer unavoidable. She saw him laughing, fallen over on the sand. She saw the intense gaze of his eyes as he pushed her against the bedroom door and pressed the exciting, heavy bulge of his sex to her belly. She imagined the expression on his face as he’d covered her with the blanket before leaving her room.

A husband.

Ridiculous!

She didn’t want one, and he certainly didn’t see her in any lasting role. Soon enough, he’d bring other women to Nueva Vida. Maybe later, even a wife. Then her service might include chilling bottles of champagne and preparing intimate dinners for two. Later, she’d wash sheets that smelled like Joaquin and some other female’s perfume.

And sex.

“Are you feeling okay, hon?” Carol asked as they reached Sara’s car.

Sara pressed her hand to her stomach. “A little queasy, that’s all. I’m on my way to the nursery where I’ll forget everything but the plants and the plans for your garden.”

And she’d forget about Joaquin and intimate dinners and the scent of some woman that wasn’t her.

Sara’s favorite garden center sat off the highway in one of the canyons, sharing its generous parking lot with a hippie-ish yogurt place, an organic restaurant, and a spin-and-yoga studio.

Before climbing from her vehicle, she reached for the deep-brimmed ball cap on the seat beside her and tucked it over her hair. With her usual large-lensed sunglasses and nondescript cropped jeans, sneakers, and thin sweatshirt over a tank top, no one would take a second look at her. Who would recall a four-month-old scandal or see the “Homewrecking Hottie” in a Malibu woman shopping for verbena and lavender?

An unusual knot of people clustered around the yogurt shop but she ignored them, her mind on Carol’s wishes.

Inside the nursery, she indulged herself for several minutes by perusing the near-empty aisles, engrossed in the colors, scents, and textures. She breathed in rosemary and basil and admired some fat, pink roses that reminded her of the belled skirts of dance dresses from the 1950s. Turning another corner, she happened upon a slim figure.