The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (17 page)

“Yes.” She carefully pulled free of his grasp and continued on, pausing before the turn that would take her toward her quarters. Only a few lights were on downstairs. Essie presumably was in her bedroom reliving her phone call with her boy.

“It’s been a lovely evening,” Sara said. “Thank you so much.”

“I should thank you,” Joaquin replied, “for answering all my questions.”

“I hope I didn’t bore you.”

“Not at all.” He shook his head, a half-smile on his face as he gazed down on her. “You know,” he mused, “I think I know you better than just about any other woman.”

Except he didn’t know about the scandal.

The thought of it tumbled into her brain like a thorny weed ball—prickly and unwelcome. For a second she considered confessing—but she didn’t want to mar the end of the night out with that story, and whatever might be Joaquin’s reaction to it.

Would he see her in a different light?

Would he believe her side of things?

“One final question,” he said now. “What do you say to a walk on the beach?”

Her mind still preoccupied, she answered absently. “Sure.” Then, catching up to the conversation, she said, “What? Wait!”

But he already had her by the elbow and was leading her to the back doors. The next thing she knew, he was kneeling at her feet and unbuckling her shoes. His touch on the bare skin of her ankle caused a trail of fire ants to march up her legs. Her skin twitched, and she wanted to bat his hands away, but he was already rising and toeing off his suede loafers.

She stepped out of her shoes as he caught her hand.

“We shouldn’t miss this,” he said.

Her breath caught as she looked around her. The light of the moon turned the sand to silver, and its reflection floated on the water. There was no breeze to speak of, just the cool kiss of the air on her bare skin. But with Joaquin’s fingers entwined with hers, she didn’t feel a chill.

Only…something like possibility.

At the height of the scandal she’d felt wronged and dirty and horribly embarrassed. She’d run from London to the States to hide herself and her shame. Months of hats and baggy clothes and fearful glances at anyone who passed her in a car or at a store hadn’t calmed her or made her feel clean again.

But right now, in the quiet night with a handsome man at her side, she could breathe once more. She could dream.

Maybe a landscaping design business. And possibly what Carol Madigan had said?
A girl like you will find a husband and your own home to look after some day soon.

She’d always been too wary to indulge in that fantasy. Following the scandal, wary
and
spooked. Yet now, in the magical moonlight, she could picture herself with a man, dark-haired and strong, who would cherish her company and ease her long-held loneliness. He’d look at her with cool eyes that made her hot, and he’d promise that forever was as real as their heartbeats.

It was foolish and romantic, and she felt tears sting and more clog her throat as the pretty bubble floated in front of her, though she didn’t quite dare grasp it.

“Sara,” Joaquin said, his voice almost a whisper. He stopped walking.

“Hmm?” She glanced up at him.

“You’re crying.”

“I am?” Her hand crept up to brush the moisture from her cheeks. More foolishness. How to explain herself. “It’s just…just so beautiful,” she said, gesturing to the deserted beach and the murmuring waves.

“Yes,” he answered, without looking away from her face. “Yes, it is.”

Chapter 9

Joaquin trailed Essie and Sara down the beach toward the Archer home, carrying a huge bowl of potato salad cradled in his arms. The girl and woman were burdened as well, one carrying a cake and the other a platter of vegetables and dip.

The back doors of their destination were folded open, glass accordioned so the outside and inside became one. Music flowed from the speakers on the deck, a classic summer song, and the notes floated in the air along with the fish-shaped kite that was flying from a line connected to the railing. Two women moved about while the boy, Wells, ran around with his arms splayed like airplane wings.

The domesticity of the scene gave him pause. He’d been looking forward to the evening, but now he realized he’d be completely out of his element.

I could make an excuse like Essie had the night before
, he thought. Claim a call—a business call.

But Essie had been moping about all day, and he wanted to keep an eye on her. Then there was Sara.

Ah. Sara
.

She’d looked like sherbet and acted like a skittish animal during last night’s dinner. A delectable combination, as it turned out. And then she’d told him about butler school. He’d been both amused and impressed by her description of her coursework that included menu planning, etiquette, and the best practices when packing a suitcase.

The last had made him want to plan a trip, just to watch her neat hands at work to tuck and roll and fold. He could imagine upon opening said suitcase that he would snap straight each item of clothing and think of her.

But packing would mean leaving, and he wasn’t keen on putting her out of his sight, either.

Not when he couldn’t forget her on the beach, moonlight in her eyes and that sweet and pensive expression on her face. Then tears. He’d said he knew her—and he did—but there were secrets, and secret places, yet to uncover.

He glanced around, wondering what alchemy of sand and sun and sea was at work on him. In the mirror he looked the same, but inside his head he was no longer the man mired in business concerns. His family obligations had felt like just that—obligations—and he’d rarely engaged with his mother, and with Essie virtually not at all.

But he’d turned a new page. Maybe because of that Felipe smile that Essie wore. Though being a brother was as out of his element as this dinner event, he wasn’t running from it any longer.

Still, tonight he could hole up back at the house in his usual hermit-style and save himself the trouble of making social niceties.

Essie turned to look at him now. “Coming?” she said, mounting the steps.

Disappointing her seemed like not an option now.

“Right behind you,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret the decision.

On the deck, he was told where to place his bowl and then introduced to butler Emmaline. A striking brunette, she didn’t have Sara’s intriguing reserve. But he liked her at once, especially upon seeing her pleasure at being reunited with her two friends.

The three women instantly included Essie in their circle, and his sister perked up, helping to arrange the table and putting flowers in a vase.

It left Joaquin to Wells.

“I’m the host,” the boy said. “Charlie told me. Because my dad’s on a trip and my mother, she’s—”

“Dead,” Joaquin finished for him, trying to keep it casual. “I’m sorry about that.”

With some of his thunder stolen, Wells blinked. Then he shoved his small fists into the pocket of his shorts and gave Joaquin an assessing stare. “You play horseshoes?”

It turned out to involve pounding stakes into the sand with a mallet first—something Wells wasn’t allowed to do on his own—but Joaquin managed the task with credible aplomb, ignoring the official pitch length recommended on the box.

He had no idea how far a little kid could throw a shoe—again, out of his element—but figured he’d set the boy up to have a decent chance. His and Felipe’s father had nursed a nasty competitive streak that led him to take his kids to a park or playground on occasion where he’d wing a football at them and jeer when they dropped it or sneer when they ducked the tennis ball coming across the net at a million miles an hour.

Turned out Joaquin might have made this game too easy for the kid. Wells nearly cleaned his clock. The truth was, he would have let him win, but the boy sent him a narrow-eyed glance that told him not to do him any favors.

When it came time to eat, they both felt satisfied, Joaquin figured. Doing the social bit with a child wasn’t too bad, he decided, picking up a plate to fill. You followed your instincts and treated them with respect.

The group gathered around another table set for the meal, Charlie directing Wells to the head seat. The boy sent her a pleased smile at the honor she seemed not to notice at first. Then her fingertips walked lightly over the top of his head, a covert acknowledgment.

While they ate, the voices and conversation of the females at the table burbled and splashed like water in a stream, eddying around subjects and rippling with laughter. Joaquin sat back in his chair and let it flow around him, more content than he could remember as he watched his little sister giggle and smile and then Sara take the lead to tell some school story that made her friends double over.

Even without getting the joke, he grinned, too, and his eyes caught on the bright ones of his butler who sat directly across from him. She wasn’t wearing sherbet-colored clothes tonight—more like her usual self in cropped jeans and a
Kiss the Cook
T-shirt—but suddenly that seemed like a great idea…kissing. He needed to hold her, taste her, stoke this warm feeling into the fire they made together in a bed, against the wall, anywhere he could have her.

A wary expression chased the good humor off her face.

Yeah, doll, be wary.

The beast in him wanted to have another go with the butler. And when the beast came out, his better judgement receded to a distant cave. Stretching out his long leg, he let his foot find hers beneath the table. He nudged with his toe, nothing blatant, but it had the color rising on her face.

Maybe he could mention that urgent business call and bring along Sara so they could have a few minutes at the house alone.

But the moment was lost as Charlie stood to begin gathering empty plates. The other butlers jumped like puppets to help, but Joaquin stood too and gestured for them to sit down. “Essie, Wells, and I will take care of the scraping and stacking,” he declared. “You ladies relax.”

They were in mid-protest when a stranger—fortyish man, handsome features, fit body dressed in wealthy-casual—walked onto the deck. For a moment everyone froze, and the air went heavy with an emotion Joaquin couldn’t put his finger on. Concerned, he scrutinized Charlie’s tense expression, but then Wells let out a godawful shriek and rushed the newcomer.

“Dad!” He threw himself onto the man who caught him up in a bear-like hug, burying his face in the boy’s hair.

Charlie edged into overdrive. Before anyone else could move, she was clearing the table and rushing past the reuniting father-and-son. Just as the two broke apart, she was back with a full plate for the man and a sweating bottle of beer.

“I’m sorry to surprise you, Ethan,” she started awkwardly.

“I surprised
you
,” he said, giving her an avuncular smile. “I hoped I’d catch an earlier flight but didn’t want to promise in case I didn’t make it.” Looking down at his son, he smiled again. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Charlie and Wells said together.

Then the butler’s eyes widened, and she bustled over to place the food and beverage she held onto the table. “Wells always misses you when you’re gone.”

Introductions came next. Ethan Archer didn’t seem put out to find a small party on his deck. But under her breath, Joaquin heard Charlie apologizing anyway.

He waved it away, again with that indulgent expression on his face. “Stop. You know you’re to consider this your home.”

But Charlie didn’t seem reassured, even as everyone was back at the table with dessert. The new seating arrangement had Sara sitting beside Joaquin and Ethan at the head spot with Wells to his right.

Maybe the other man sensed his butler’s continued unease, too, because as she hurried past—she’d yet to alight anywhere—he caught her by the wrist. When she halted, he scooted out his chair a little in order to tie the trailing shoelace on her sneaker.

Like she was Wells’ age…but Charlie didn’t watch him perform the task like Ethan Archer was any kind of dad to her.

Interesting.
Joaquin leaned over to murmur in Sara’s ear. “Wow. She’s gone for him, huh?”

Sara turned his way, a line between her brows. “Pardon?”

“Charlie, gone for him.”

“Wells? She takes good care—”

“I’m talking about Ethan. Your friend Charlie’s in love with him.”

As Sara stared at him in shock, those blue eyes round and her rosebud mouth hanging open, he turned back to confirm his conclusion. Yep, though Charlie might think she was hiding how she felt, it was written in the taut lines of her body and in the watchfulness of her gaze.

Yeah. In love, and in the deep end of it.

Joaquin reached for his own beer, taking a long swallow. The discovery of Charlie’s secret didn’t diminish his good mood, even though it was obvious that Ethan Archer had no idea what was going on right beneath his nose. The whole evening, Joaquin decided, had been enjoyable, from playing horseshoes with the kid to his insight into the drama playing inside the Archer home.

Instead of regretting his attendance, he might even be able to admit that he felt a slight twinge of envy for the other man, who was chatting with his son while Charlie hovered near, but not too near to either one.

Ethan had a boy he doted upon and a beautiful butler who’d given him her heart.

Toying with the final bite of her dessert, Sara turned Joaquin’s words over in her mind.
Your friend Charlie’s in love with him
.

Charlie? Charlie “gone,” as Joaquin had said, for Ethan Archer?

No, Sara thought, rejecting the notion out-of-hand. List-making, practical, uber-organized Charlotte Emerson wouldn’t fall for the widower she worked for, the man obviously still broken up over the loss of his wife.

The one who treated her in a friendly but wholly platonic fashion.

Sara didn’t want to examine too closely her sense of panic at the thought, nor did she want to scrutinize Charlie for any confirming signs. Instead, she directed her gaze to the boy at the table.

“Wells,” she said, “I think it’s about time we show off our mad beanbag skills.”

The kid leaped to his feet, a grin overtaking his face. “Yeah. Me ’n‘ Sara against all comers.”