The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (12 page)

But her sharp gaze didn’t waver and her soft concern didn’t subside. Both seemed to be boring a hole through his skin and bone. Soon, she’d see directly inside him if he didn’t stop her.

“We’re about to start a movie.” Essie wagged a licorice whip at him. “Watch with us?”

“Sure,” he said, needing space and distraction even more than before. Glancing at Sara, he registered her little frown. Yeah. Space and distraction.

His sister dropped onto one of the couches next to Lulu. Joaquin opted for an oversized easy chair. RJ manned the remote, and the program on the big screen changed from a laugh-track sitcom to a black screen and then to a title sequence.

Familiar music began to play. Joaquin stiffened as an acoustic guitar picked out a single melodic line.

Get up
, an inner voice urged.
You don’t have to stay for this.

But his muscles felt encased in concrete and his heartbeat had gone sluggish. His limbs wouldn’t obey the commands of his brain. He closed his eyes, awaiting another lash of pain.

“I’ve seen it like a million times,” Essie said blithely. “But this time will be special. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Joaquin opened his eyes. As he watched, the movie played.

In the distance, a skinny young teenage boy palms a basketball on a weed-dotted outside court surrounded by a ragged chain-link fence. The blacktop is crumbling, and the metal rim of the hoop is rusted.

Bounce. Bounce. Rattle as the ball drops through the net-less rim.

Bounce. Bounce. Rattle.

A beat-up old station wagon passes by, equally beat-up suitcases strapped on top and the cargo area filled with boxes. Another, slightly older boy, leans out the back window and waves.

“Seeya, sucka!” he calls, his friendly grin belying the words.

Felipe’s grin.

The younger kid runs along the fence as the car cruises on, waving and waving, like he’ll never see the other boy again and it is breaking his heart.

The station wagon turns at the corner and passes a sign. You Are Now Leaving Crystal, Texas. Population 623.

Again, from a distance, a shot of the younger boy leaving the playground, his manner dejected, his ball under his arm.

Joaquin could gather himself and leave now, too. He almost managed it—his palms pushing against the arms of the chair, the soles of his shoes pressing against the floor—when Sara came to sit on a nearby ottoman. Joaquin felt her gaze again.

The touch of it gave him second thoughts. Sure, he could run like a coward. Or instead, he could stay. Man up and face down the twin beasts of grief and remorse. Prove that in fifteen years he’d managed to tame them some.

“What’s going on?” the butler asked, her voice low.

“Do you know this movie?” He didn’t take his eyes off the screen as the opening credits began to roll.

“I don’t think so. That basketball boy was you?”

“Yeah. My dad made them put me in the movie. The other, older kid’s my brother, Felipe Cielo.”

“An actor.” She hesitated. “Essie told me he passed away.”

“Right. This was his first feature film. It’s kind of a teen classic, though the storyline’s pretty typical. Small town tough hits the big city and has to find a way to fit in. The female factor went crazy. Moms and daughters saw it together in droves, it was said.”

Now the plot began in earnest. There was Felipe, in the wrong kind of jeans and the wrong kind of sneakers, walking into his new school.

It was his brother’s real walk, with that little bounce, like his heels had springs on the bottoms of them. Joaquin remembered being in front of the mirror in their shared bedroom, at ten years old trying to copycat that extra cocky saunter, while Felipe lounged on the nearby bed giving him shit.

Now Joaquin swallowed, trying to loosen his tight throat. He forced his shoulders down and his back to relax against the chair’s cushion. His fingers digging into the arms he commanded to loosen.

I can handle this.

In the movie, Felipe zeroed in on a busty brunette in tight jeans—the right kind—and a pair of short, red cowgirl boots. His gaze tracked from her face, to her boots, to her boobs. She batted bedroom eyes at him.

And suddenly Joaquin recognized her, his gut churning like a cement mixer. He’d forgotten that Penny Jakes had a bit part in
New Kid
…or he’d blocked it from his mind. But now he recalled how she’d looked that last night, older than when she’d made the movie, her mouth glossy and red, her voice a seductive purr. His emotions of that evening came back to him too—lust, irritation, rebellion.

I’m not my brother’s keeper
, he told Mick as they’d left Felipe at the nightclub.

And he’d been so fucking wrong.

Pain sliced through Joaquin, but he doggedly forced himself to pull air in and out of his lungs, reminding himself that fifteen years had passed. That he could do this, at least, watch one of his brother’s iconic performances without climbing a wall or trashing the television.

He could keep his reactions under control.

On screen, the hopes of the new kid were dashed as the little brunette’s boyfriend stepped up to her, sliding one arm around her shoulder and using his other hand to shove Felipe in the chest.

He stumbled back, then looked straight at the camera, using the film’s device of breaking the fourth wall.

“It’s never as easy as you think,” Felipe’s character said, and he spoke straight to Joaquin.

It wasn’t easy at all. The walls were closing in, the roof coming down, and all the oxygen was being squeezed out of the room.

Joaquin shoved up from his chair and started for the nearest door. Then his gaze caught on Sara’s startled face, a clear indication he must look as raw as he felt inside.

But he continued on, even as the third reason to keep her out of his bed sprang up in his mind. It would be stupid to fuck a woman when his emotions weren’t nailed down and his peace of mind was so fucked up.

It could only lead to trouble.

Sara watched
New Kid
until the final credits, with one eye on the door to the beach through which Joaquin had disappeared. He remained absent.

With the movie finished, the kids discussed going upstairs to the guest rooms. Lulu was sharing with Essie, and RJ had the one across the hall. As they shuffled in that direction, Sara struggled with her own next move.

Wait here for Joaquin to come home, or…

Stop worrying
, she ordered herself.
He’s a grown man.
Go to bed.

But despite the command, she stalled, taking the time to fold a blanket the girls had snuggled under and then to gather up some empty glasses. When she turned toward the kitchen with them, she saw Essie descending the steps.

“Oh.” She took in the teen’s downcast expression. “Did you need something?”

“The movie might not have been my brightest idea,” Essie said, looking about the room. “Joaquin’s still not back?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure he’ll return soon.” Sara resisted sending her own worried glance into the darkness.

“Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

“Of course not.” Sara set the glasses on a nearby side table and approached the girl. “I’m sure he just needed a breath of fresh air.”

Essie twirled a lock of hair around one finger. “I suppose he hasn’t seen it in a while—
New Kid
.”

“Perhaps not. And…” Sara hesitated.

Though she’d gleaned a little, the full history of the two brothers and the circumstances of the older one’s death remained a mystery to her. She’d joked with Joaquin about keeping the household’s secrets, but she didn’t think it was right to solicit them. On the other hand, how could she ease the girl’s concerns without a little more light on the subject?

“Essie—”

“I just want to get to know them better!” she burst out. “I’ve only seen Joaquin a few times in my life, and Felipe was gone when I was a baby.”

The plaintive note in her voice twisted Sara’s heart. Oh, this was why she should have gone to bed right away. A butler was supposed to keep that professional distance. But right now it seemed impossible.

“You look like him,” she said. “Felipe, I mean.”

Essie brightened at that. “You think?”

“I do. You both have the same pretty eyes and smile.”

The girl ducked her head. “My mother says the same.”

“She should know.”

This time Essie made a face. “She’s right about hardly anything.”

Sara suppressed a small laugh. “I think it’s natural to feel that way when you’re sixteen.”

Essie’s eyebrows rose. “Is that how
you
felt?”

“My mom died when I was five. I barely remember her…and probably those memories are just based on photographs I’ve seen.”

“I never met Felipe, but I still miss him. Is that weird?”

“I miss my mom, too, though she’s so hazy in my mind,” Sara admitted. “I think we can miss what could have been almost as much as a person.”

Essie sighed and her gaze drifted toward the door through which her other brother had disappeared. “Joaquin left his phone, you know.”

“Yes.” It sat on the table near where he’d been sitting.

“Should I go out and look for him?” Essie asked.

And double her worry? “No,” Sara said in her firmest voice. “Go up and do Lulu’s nails. Isn’t that what she told you she wanted?”

“And for me to bring up the licorice vines,” Essie said, a grin signaling a mercurial mood change. She skipped toward the container and tucked it under her arm. “’Night, Sara.” Her feet paused at the bottom of the stairs and she cast a look over her shoulder from those beautiful liquid-brown eyes she shared with her oldest brother. “And thanks.”

Sara nearly crossed to give the teen a hug, but drew her Continental Butler Academy dignity around her instead. Professional distance! “You’re very welcome.”

Then she watched the teen start to climb. As the girl turned on the landing, Sara moved to re-collect the glasses. In the kitchen, she took a final look around. Everything in place, not a crumb to be seen. She flipped off the ceiling lights and flipped on the ones that glowed beneath the cabinets.

When Joaquin returned would he be hungry? Should she set something out?

Stop procrastinating, Sara. Go to bed.

Her gaze went toward her quarters and then once more to the dark night beyond the glass.
Sara, go to—

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered to her good sense.

A few minutes later, with a jacket over her dress and carrying Joaquin’s coat and a thick blanket, Sara let herself out the back door while promising herself she wouldn’t go far. The locked front gate would keep the teens safe from that direction, and she’d limit her search to a distance that allowed her a straight sight-line to the beachside entrance.

At the top of the steps leading to the sand, she paused, her gaze sweeping the scene. The night was clear, the stars pinpricks in the black canopy of the sky. The ocean was a deep shade of gray, filling in the sweep of the bay with only a narrow white hem of tumbling surf hitting the shore. Many homes on this stretch of beach—no matter how stupendous—were mere weekend getaways that tonight likely stood empty. The entire area was quiet, even the waves keeping their noise to a whisper.

Sara didn’t hear or see or sense Joaquin.

But she descended the steps and turned left, cold sand sliding between the bottoms of her feet and her flip flops.

Once you find him, you’ll return to your quarters,
her inner voice intoned again.

Sara frowned. Her verbal stream of consciousness was developing distinct personalities—as well as resemblances to certain people she knew. Emmaline had already been whispering in her ear. Tonight’s voice carried the distinct accent of Mr. Richard Oliphant, who’d taught them classes in protocol and etiquette.

Sara, are you listening?

“Yes, yes,” she muttered. “I’m going to bed.”

“Then you’re going in the wrong direction.” Someone spoke from her left.

Startled, she tripped on her own feet, scattering grains of sand. “Joaquin! You could have said something.”

“I did,” he replied.

She scowled in his direction, making out his dark outline against a scruff-covered berm. He sat with his knees up, his elbows folded on top of them. As she’d remembered, he wasn’t wearing anything more than a pair of jeans and that Hawaiian shirt from earlier. Shivering on his behalf, she decided the temperature must be no more than the mid-fifties.

“You have to be cold.”

“I don’t feel it.”

She trudged toward him anyway and held out the fleece-lined jacket she’d found thrown over a chair in his room. “Take this anyway. Put it on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He slid his arms into his sleeves. “You’re sure bossy when you’re supposed to be at
my
service.”

“The obligations of my service are what prompted me to search for you.” She hugged the blanket to her body. “The butler rulebook expressly forbids letting the man of the house freeze to death on a moonless beach.”

He laughed, the sound a little rough.

“And your sister was worried about you.”

“Yeah. Essie.” He blew out a long breath. “That kid…”

Sara battled again with herself and the voice of Mr. Oliphant. He was urging her away, while another part of her recommended dropping the blanket beside him and dropping her butt to the blanket.

Which she did.

“She’s okay,” Sara told Joaquin now. “The movie…she wanted to find a way to feel closer to you. But now she’s cheerfully making Lulu’s nails look like lemon slices.”

“Is this something I’ve missed?” he demanded. “In my last years of self-banishment to the business cave have females regularly been getting their fingers fruited?”

She figured he was okay if he was making her want to laugh.

So she should get to her feet and get back to the house. It stood not far away, the lights blazing downstairs. Rocking forward to launch herself up, she felt Joaquin’s fingers close over her elbow.

“Is she really all right?” he asked, his tone serious.

Sara settled back, and he dropped his hand. “Fine.”