The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (23 page)

At her final orgasmic twitch, he freed himself from her to grab a condom from the drawer in the bedside table. She watched him roll it down his heavy shaft, and her eyes on him made it ache and throb. He traced her features with his gaze and looked at the picture she made, laid out like a prize.

“You’re so lovely,” he said. “You take my breath.”

But his heart was still beating and his cock was still alive, and he made a place for himself inside her—slow slow
slow
—until he was balls-deep in her blistering, mind-blowing heat. She tightened her interior muscles, clenching him like a fist, and he moaned.

“You’re trying to make me mad,” he accused.

Her only answer was a smile that prodded his lust to new heights. But he didn’t heed its urge to rut. Instead, he again took his direction from the waves and pushed in and pulled out, pushed in and pulled out, like the night would never give way to dawn, like the world would never end, like they should be joined for millennium.

But of course they were human after all, and it was Sara who proved it. She began rising to each of his strokes, tipping her hips to take more of him, and when her breaths were harsh in his ear he slid his hand between their bodies and found that hard, wet trigger at the top of her sex.

A short caress, another, and then she was on her way again, her body latching onto his cock to take it with her on the ride. He shuddered as he came, staring into those eyes that had amazed him from the beginning. The blue of trust, loyalty, peace.

Whether or not he deserved those things, he wanted them.

Afterward, contentment settled over him as they lay close together sharing a pillow. Exhaustion joined next and his eyelids felt as if weights were attached to each lash. “I’ll get up in a minute,” he murmured. “I know you don’t want me here.”

“Never that,” she whispered.

Smiling, he found her hand and brought it to his lips. “You know what I mean.”

He heard her sigh, but wasn’t sure if it was a happy sound or a sad one.

“I’m really sorry for earlier, you know,” he murmured, sleep tugging at him hard. “At the table. I usually have better control.”

But he’d done his best to fix things, and now well-being flowed through him. He couldn’t remember a time when it warmed him like tonight. He kissed Sara’s fingers again, letting his body roll out on the tide of sleep.

Beside him, Sara stirred. Her fingers slipped from his loosening hold. She turned to her side, her backside just brushing his hip, then she drew up legs, then she flipped onto her back again.

“Can’t get comfortable?” he said in his mind, but it came out slurred and drowsy. “Cn g cmbl?”

She didn’t answer, probably figuring he was halfway to dreamland, which was true. But when she stirred again, he tried rousing himself. “Whatzit?”

Damn, still sounding half-drunk.

“Sump on your min?”

Her reply sounded like a half-stifled giggle.

“Jus say out loud,” he advised, from his place somewhere on a cloud. “Then ull sleep.” His cloud drifted farther above the bed as he felt Sara tuck herself close to him again. He breathed, steady and slow, and her head settled onto his chest.

Though he wanted to curl his arm around her, it was too heavy to lift.

“Joaquin Weatherford,” she said, her voice barely penetrating the edges of his sleep. “I’m afraid I’m in love with you.”

Her whisper might have come from the dream about to snatch him away, but his heart stuttered, telling him that wasn’t so. He didn’t move, waiting for the phrase to jolt him with alarm, to galvanize him into movement, to send some joking response from his mouth so she’d know he didn’t believe a word she’d said.

Instead, pleasure poured through him and he rode the feeling into a deep, deep slumber.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Emmaline said to Sara, her hands around her latté cup while her gaze scanned the tables at the beachside café. “When I see Mr. Curry arrive—I’m supposed to recognize him by his white shirt, khaki pants, and the fact that he’s carrying today’s paper—I’ll pop up and we’ll find another table.”

“I’m happy to wait with you. It’s my day off,” Sara answered. And of course she’d been glad to have a real reason to leave the house early that morning. Joaquin had left her bed sometime in the night, and she was in no way eager to face him today.

For some foolish reason she’d told him she was in love with him.

Though she’d been certain he was sleeping, why had she risked the whisper?

Sara sighed. She knew why. Lying next to Joaquin, replete, she’d been willing to chance it because she’d wanted to say the words out loud, if only the one time. If only while he lay in that near-comatose state.

But now she worried he might somehow pull the memory from the dream banks of his sleep. Or that he’d read on her face the truth.

Emmaline tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Sara focused on her friend, ready to be distracted from her own unease. “Because you’re a step away from getting a job you need.”

“True. Funds are running very low, and my success with scratch-off lottery tickets isn’t keeping up with the cost of living.”

A lottery win was what had funded Emmaline’s tuition to the Continental Butler Academy. She’d been backpacking around Europe for a few years, scraping together travel money through
au pair
jobs and teaching English. When a providential gamble on the Irish Lotto had garnered her a modest windfall, she’d told Charlie and Sara she’d heeded an impulse and applied to the butler school. Free spirit Emmaline was big on impulse—and lucky hunch-heeding.

Sara reached across the table to pat her friend’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. You said you’re sure his sister liked you in her interview. That’s why she passed on your name to her brother.”

“Yes.” Emmaline blew out a breath. “Apparently he’s some genius tech guy who needs help picking out his suits and ties as well as tending to his household needs. Actually, she said what he really requires is a wife, and I said I could be all that without the inconvenience of a wedding or the embarrassment of getting naked.”

Sara’s brows shot high. “Embarrassment? I never heard you say you think sex is embarrassing.”

Her friend waved that away. “You know what I mean. Like when that guy with great potential you take home at midnight can’t bring it between the sheets and you wonder if it’s you. Then it’s embarrassing to look at your own reflection in the mirror the next morning.”

“Emmaline—”

“I’ve given up on sex altogether, actually. Because for all my good fortune when it comes to the lottery, I have terrible luck when it comes to men.” The other woman grimaced. “I’m nervous babbling. Tell me about you. What’s going on at Nueva Vida?”

Sara leaned back in her chair. “The potted plumeria by the front entrance is starting to bloom—the flowers smell wonderful. And I patched and re-painted one wall in the laundry room that the workmen dinged when they installed the dryer.”

Emmaline tilted her head. “You love the place.”

“Is it so obvious?”

Smiling, Emmaline nodded. “And what’s new with the handsome master of the house?”

“Oh. Well.” Sara stared down at her coffee. “He’s kind to his sister. His mother and he are coming to a new understanding.”

“You like and respect him.”

“Yes,” said Sara, latching on to that. “Like and respect.”

“Hmm.” Emmaline tapped her index finger against her chin. “Can I venture to guess you might even be a trifle…fond of him?”

“Sure.”
Why not?
“Fond is a good word.”

“Ah-hah!” her friend said, triumphant. “I knew it! We’re speaking in euphemisms again! Like Charlie, you’re in—”

“Emmaline,” Sara said, hushed but urgent. “Um, khaki pants, white shirt, and a newspaper just arrived on the patio.”

“You’re only trying to get out of admitting—”

“And he’s clearly looking for someone.”

“No fooling?” Emmaline’s body tensed, then she glanced over her shoulder. Her head whipped back, her eyes wide and almost panicked. “That can’t be him. Sara, that
can’t
be him.”

“Um, why not?”

“Because that would mean Lady Luck is having a big ol’ laugh at my expense. Is he going away?”

Sara shook her head. “What’s the problem?” The thirtyish man was strikingly handsome if somewhat rumpled, with blue eyes, dark hair, and a day’s worth of stubble.

Emmaline put her head in her hand. “He’s the guy I told you about. The great potential, but no follow through once I brought him home. We struck up a conversation while waiting for missing luggage at the airport the night I arrived in L.A.”

“He’s coming this way, Em.”

“God, oh God.” She squeezed shut her eyes for several seconds, then opened them again to glance downward. “Since there’s no hole in the floor at my feet, I guess I’ll just have to face him.”

“You can do it,” Sara encouraged.

Sucking in a breath, her friend squared her shoulders and stood, turning just as Great Potential arrived at their table.

He stared at the brunette—something ninety-nine percent of the population did because of her eye-catching beauty—
but in his gaze was no recognition at all
.

Emmaline shot Sara a swift look.
Do you see what I’m seeing?

With a little nod, Sara stood too, her coffee cup in hand. “Maybe your luck with men is turning around,” she murmured and strolled away just as Emmaline shot out her hand in Mr. Curry’s direction.

Later, after Sara had spent some time working the soil in Carol Madigan’s garden space, she returned to Nueva Vida. Seeing no one around, she washed and dried two loads of her own personal laundry then stood at the counter beside the appliances to fold the garments, contemplating the two texts Emmaline had sent earlier.

He really doesn’t remember me. Insult or relief?

Um…he actually wants a wife. Like now.

Sara’s puzzlement over that last didn’t abate, but the sound of Martin’s and Joaquin’s voices distracted her from the mystery. She heard the refrigerator door open and close followed by the scrape of stool legs against the floor. Presumably they were sitting at the kitchen island.

“You really don’t mind Essie staying on?” Martin was saying. “I’d insist she go with us on this unexpected business trip, but we did promise her another few days at the beach.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll look out for her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Martin, it’s fine. And you have my promise that no harm will come to her on my watch.”

“Okay. Thank you.” The older man sounded truly grateful. “And thanks again for your hospitality. Nueva Vida is truly spectacular.”

“I agree.”

Sara imagined Joaquin looking over his shoulder to the stupendous view, framed by the green foliage and bright flowers she’d planted and nurtured. The interior showed well too, and she loved the oversized glass bowl shaped like a giant abalone shell she’d unearthed in the garage the day before. She’d washed away the dust of neglect and polished it until the interior mass of swirling green, turquoise, pink, and orange shone.

It made an arresting accent on the table between the couches in the great room. Had Joaquin noticed?

Then he spoke again. “I think it will do well on the market.”

Sara froze.
Do well on the
real estate
market?

“You’re not keeping it?” Martin asked, sounding surprised. “You need a home base now that you’re back in Los Angeles.”

“Not this home base.”

Sudden, hot tears pricked Sara’s eyes. It hurt, physically felt like a blow to the chest, to think of Joaquin selling the estate. She’d no longer be able to tend the plants, and she’d never see the cutting garden she’d planted grow to full fruition. It wouldn’t be her hands that dusted the pieces of furniture that she’d personally arranged in every room.

“It’s too big,” Joaquin continued now, “for one reclusive bachelor. I’ll only be rattling around the place by myself once Essie returns to your house. I want peace and quiet, but I don’t need this much space.”

“You have your butler.”

Sara held her breath, loath to miss any nuance in Joaquin’s response. It was a long time coming.

“I don’t need her, either.”

That stabbed in the back. Last night, in an amused and appreciative tone he’d said,
Who knew I needed a butler?

Moments following that, they’d been having sex again.

Squeezing shut her eyes, Sara could only castigate herself for her foolishness. He must have heard her admission last night.

Or was he just generally tired of her company? Perhaps he judged her work performance poor.

Humiliation crawled over her skin and fear opened a hole in her belly. She was going to lose her job. That would leave her in another bad spot—without financial reserves, without any lengthy butler experience to put on her resume, without prospects for finding another position.

Maybe Emmaline’s Mr. Curry needed
two
wives, she wondered, hysteria rising.

Calm yourself, Sara
, she ordered herself as a bubble of panic stole her breath.
Calm down and think.

Surely, no matter what he’d heard her say last night, Joaquin wouldn’t turn her out without a reference. And she knew, damn it,
knew
that she’d done a good job, a fantastic job, getting the house into shape. There were before and after photos on her phone.

Not to mention her talent in the kitchen. Cooking wasn’t always the purview of the butler, but it was her ace-in-the-hole skill.

With all of that going for her, of course she’d find someplace else to work. Martin and Renata Nichols might even have some ideas.

Though it still meant leaving Joaquin.

She didn’t want to leave Joaquin.

Looking down, she saw she was throttling the teapots-and-toast pajama top. She dropped the fabric, then snatched it up again to blot the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. How had this happened? Hadn’t she been too cynical to fall so hopelessly in love? Hadn’t she been too smart to fall in love with the entirely wrong person?

The click of heels sounded over the murmur of the men’s voices.