The Seduction (Billionaire's Beach Book 5)

by Christie Ridgway

  “That’s not magic,” she protested.

  “It is to me,” he said, aware he was speaking truth, not platitudes. “It’s the kind I believe in.” Certainty settled over him. Not confidence in how this would all play out between them—Emmaline, with all her mysteries, wasn’t a sure thing—but an assurance about the direction he’d decided to take.

  “It’s the kind of magic I can’t resist,” he told her.

  That day of Lucas’s relaxation, Emmaline became very afraid she was going to fall in love with him. She did her best to turn off that path, even to the extent of trying to pick a fight during the beach picnic by criticizing those T-shirts he’d mentioned.

  You’re creating magic all the time.

  “About your drawers,” she said, pointing at him with the remains of a cold chicken leg. They were seated on a blanket he’d spread on the sand, with the basket between them. “You’ve got to winnow the contents. There’s a ratty shirt in there commemorating a fifteen-year-old track meet.”

  “The San Gabriel Relays?” he asked, rummaging in the basket and coming up with a container of chilled apple slices.

  “Most of the writing has rubbed off,” she said. “I can use it as a dust rag. Or I’ve read you can make rugs by tearing the cotton into strips.”

  He stared at her. “I won a gold medal in the high jump during that meet my senior year.”

  The unexpected fact diverted her. Staring at the body lounging opposite hers, lean and muscled in board shorts and nothing else, she could picture it performing—a bound, an arc, a lift into the air. Masculine grace, a poetry of movement.

  As a clumsy athlete herself, feats of sporty prowess only impressed her more.

  His muscle wouldn’t have been as thick as it was now that he was a full-grown man, she mused. Her gaze traced his heavy shoulders and down the corrugated muscles of his torso. She’d seen for herself the strength in his legs when they’d been braced on the paddle board and those two times when she’d sat on his lap, his thighs—

  “When do you work out?” she asked, hoping her sunglasses gave her wandering eyes cover. Surely he didn’t just sit in his big leather chair all day.

  “At the office we have a full gym,” he said. “So the people who work for me can get away from their desks.”

  She thought of the eccentric-looking band she’d seen on his floor, all of them with skinny limbs and pale faces, where piercings gathered like constellations. Maybe the more jock-y types had cubicles on the lower levels.

  “What will change with the merger?” she asked.

  “Not much for anybody but me,” he said. “I’m handing over what I consider to be the headache portion of the job—client recruitment and relations. I hope I’ll only have to drag on a suit a few times a year.”

  Emmaline frowned. She loved his suits, and he looked so good in them, wearing the pieces with a careless aplomb. “Does that mean my monograms will never see the light of day again?”

  He smiled. “I’ll wear the dress shirts still, but with jeans or khakis. How’s that?”

  She wasn’t ready to commit to full approval. “If you’re not spending most of your time recruiting and relating to clients, what will you do?”

  A pause ensued, then he cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m going back into the lab. Looking forward to it, actually.”

  “Lab?”

  “It’s where we develop new testing methodologies. Information systems change all the time, as do ways of hacking into them. We have to stay on the cutting edge.”

  Emmaline blinked. In his striped ties and tailored suits, she’d always assumed he was a businessman with a capital B. “Are you, well, does this mean you’re…”

  “At heart I’m a geek, Emmaline,” he said. “Yeah, I was on the track team in high school, but my best friend growing up was my computer. I spent more time in adolescence with my hand wrapped around a mouse than wrapped around—well, you get the idea.”

  “A nerd,” she said, beaming at him.

  “That pleases you?” he asked, sounding amused.

  “A nerd is the cowboy of the 21st century.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask you to explain that.”

  “Nerds are the new—” She was going to say “hot,” but then considered that might be wandering into dangerous territory. Clearing her throat, she decided to tack back to her original subject.

  “Your drawers. Winnowing. You definitely need to do something about that ancient Velvet Lemons T-shirt.”

  “It was my dad’s,” Lucas said. “They were his favorite rock band.”

  “Oh.” Abashed, Emmaline ducked her head and felt her cheeks begin to burn. “You should definitely keep it, then.”

  In her bedroom at her father’s, she’d had a small trunk Dina had given her that she’d filled with a few of her mother’s things. Colette’s high school diploma, the points of the gold star seal pulling away from the edges, a rose corsage that had dried and darkened until it more resembled the butt of a cigar, some Polaroid photographs―their blurred images leaching color―of her tween mother hamming it up with some unknown girl. Emmaline had kept those particular items because their ephemeral quality was so very like the memories she held.

  Yet even now she wished she could sort through the keepsakes, as if touching them could sharpen the images that faded year-by-year.

  She looked up, her heart opening wider as she thought of the young man who’d never let go of that memento of his dad’s, but instead kept it close.

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever said it out loud to you, Lucas. I’m so sorry for the loss of your parents.”

  “Emmaline.” He reached across the short distance separating them and took hold of her free hand. “They died in a drunk-driving accident.”

  “Stella mentioned it.”

  His fingers lightly toyed with hers. “My father was driving. It was a one-car accident.”

  Meaning he’d been the drunk driver. “Oh.” She set down the chicken leg on her paper plate, but her fingertips were too greasy to stroke against his face like she wanted. Plucking a napkin from the stack, she rubbed them clean. “I don’t know what to say.”

  His gaze didn’t lift from their tangled hands. “My mother’s blood alcohol level was over the legal limit as well. This wasn’t a case of a celebration gone too far. They…had bad habits.”

  Emmaline found her fingers squeezing his, and then the other hand covered their tangled digits as if she could create a barrier to his pain. “I don’t know what else to say but, again, I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “Very few people are aware of the facts. I’ve never explained to Stella the complete circumstances.”

  To protect their parents’ privacy and to keep their memory untainted in his little sister’s heart. Emmaline swallowed. “Why did you tell me?”

  “It just seemed like the right time.”

  But his “right” could only be wrong because the words served to pry her heart open wider. Sharing that piece of his past with her made her want to know more. Know him more.

  And that might lead to love.

  A true tragedy for her, because while he had revealed a private truth, there were lies that she would be carrying on her soul for the rest of her life. Coming to care for him like that would lead to regrets, and she already had plenty of those.

  So. Time to put an end to this dangerous interlude.

  Carefully, she pulled away from him and began repacking the basket. “It’s getting late.”

  Already, the sun had tipped past the halfway point, and even in summer the slide to the horizon went faster than expected.

  “Late for what?” Lucas asked.

  “That dinner with your sister at Cucina Verde.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lucas shifted to his knees.

  “You know that the bridesmaids are joining you and Stella, right?”

  His eyebrows rose. “No.”

  “Change of plans. I thought Stella had explained. Her t
hree attendants wanted in, and I was able to change the reservation. Party of five.”

  “Party of six,” Lucas said firmly. “If I’m to be subjected to nonstop bridal chatter, then you’re coming too.”

  He said it as a given, not a question.

  Emmaline decided against making a fuss about that. With the extra company in tow, she should be as safe as could be.

  Three hours later, wrapped in the chatter of a knot of younger women, Emmaline moved through the doors of Cucina Verde, Lucas holding up the rear. When she’d met him at the front door of the house at the appointed time, she’d wavered in her safety certitude for a moment. His gaze had lingered on her face then dropped to the modest décolletage revealed by her lace dress. It was a color between tan and mocha, and the day spent on the beach and water, despite sunscreen, had deepened her skin tone until it was hard to tell where the dress stopped and her naked flesh began.

  She’d had second thoughts looking in the mirror, but there’d been no time for a wardrobe change if they were going to make the reservation. Stella and her girls were taking a car service to meet them there because they were club-bound after dinner and didn’t want to be bothered with a designated driver. Upon arrival at the restaurant, Emmaline had placed herself in their midst.

  Their group paused by the hostess table, and Emmaline took in the dimly-lit restaurant. Rough-hewn paneled walls divided the space into smaller dining areas which held two-tops and four-tops. A longer table here and there could fit twenty or could be used as community seating.

  Lighting was created from bent pitchforks or old ladders wired with bare bulbs. In one corner sat a small antique tractor glossily restored, and along another wall narrow planters were filled with thriving succulents.

  Gripping drinks in Mason jars, the people at the bar looked happy—a good omen.

  With a practiced eye, Emmaline glanced around to note water glasses were full and dirty plates weren’t left to molder on the tables. Ambient sound wasn’t so noisy that patrons couldn’t converse over their meals. More good signs.

  As they followed a slim hostess toward their table, from the corner of her eye, Emmaline glimpsed a rotund Italian-looking man in a dark suit moving among the customers and stopping to pause and chat.

  One of the owners, she thought, glimpsing another gentleman strolling about dressed in a chef’s jacket and checkered pants doing his own version of tarry-and-talk.

  Both of them getting a read on how they were faring with the patrons. Smart. Experienced.

  A server came over and took drink orders, but before the cocktails arrived, heavily iced glasses of water with wafer-thin slices of lemon and lime were placed in front of them. A basket of sliced artisan breads slid onto the table next, with shallow bowls sharing a yin-yang of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

  Though she sat with a woman on either side of her, Emmaline couldn’t help her hyper-awareness of Lucas. She watched him from under her lashes in his seat across the table, staring at his big hand as it curled around the water glass to bring it nearer. His forefinger traced a pattern on the sweating glass, and she wanted to know, intensely, what he shaped there. An innocuous doodle? Initials? A name?

  The young woman to her right gasped in surprise, and Emmaline looked over, tuning into their conversation. Apparently one of their wider circle had recently broken her engagement and refused to return the engagement ring.

  “Lindsay says she’s owed it for pain and suffering,” one of the others said.

  “Pain and suffering from what?” Stella asked.

  “Curt’s obsession with sports. He has a pair of season tickets to everything, including hockey and women’s basketball.”

  “Women’s basketball?” one of the other young women echoed. “Go, Curt.”

  “Those he has solely for business reasons. He’s a lawyer, and he hands them out to his female clients.”

  “Boo, Curt.”

  Stella frowned. “But wasn’t Lindsay getting married before the end of the summer?”

  “Invitations were supposed to be mailed next week,” answered the know-it-all. “Instead she’s going to barbecue them.”

  “A bride should never cancel a wedding that close to the date,” Stella said, emphatic. “Never.”

  Warning bells went off in Emmaline’s head. She thought of Aaron and his casual cruelties, the bruise she’d seen on the inside of Stella’s arm, staring up at her like a dark, almond-shaped eye.

  “A bride can call a halt even at the very last second,” she said firmly. “Even after the last second. You can…you can refuse to sign the marriage certificate.”

  Stella’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Her friends rushed in to agree with Emmaline.

  “Come on, Stel. You can’t say never. What if a bride found out the groom was having an affair?” one asked.

  “With another man,” the second added.

  “Who was previously married to his first cousin, affectionately known as Turtle.”

  The women went silent for a second, absorbing the non-sequitur, then broke into peals of laughter.

  Her tension relieved, Emmaline joined in, and glanced toward Lucas to see him smiling and shaking his head. Over his shoulder she spied the server coming their way carrying a tray with their drinks.

  She leaned back in her chair as he passed them around. Movement in another section of the restaurant caught her eye. The back of a figure, turning a corner, his black hair curling around his ears, his left hand tracing the wall, the ruby on his pinky ring a dull-blood glow in the low light.

  Emmaline’s heat seized and her stomach dropped as sudden panic shot through her. Going cold all over, she jumped to her feet, desperate to get away. It was imperative that she become invisible. Now.

  Her hand batted at her chair, trying to make room to escape and then she stumbled over one of the legs. As she tried to right herself, her ankle gave out, and the rude wrench made her gasp. Pain arrowed up her calf and then became other pains, remembered pains.

  A sprained wrist, the burn of a slap on her cheek, the heavy cuff of a hand against the back of her head.

  Why do you make me do this? You shouldn’t make me so mad. Coco, don’t you ever listen?

  She slumped to the ground, whimpers rising in her throat like those made by a kicked dog.

  Chapter 9

  Lucas offered to take Emmaline home, and she quickly agreed, limping on her sore ankle as she exited with haste, the bitter taste of fear on her tongue. He took most of her weight as they traversed the parking lot and then solicitously helped her into the passenger side of his car even as she cast furtive glances over her shoulder.

  What if Enzo heard that a patron had fallen and had come out to check on the exiting guest?

  Sliding low, she mentally urged Lucas to rush behind the wheel. She had to bite her tongue in order not to insist he floor the accelerator.

  He would think she was crazy if she did that, she reminded herself.

  As they headed away from the restaurant, her panic subsided a little, and she could hear something in her ears besides the wush-wush of her heavy heartbeat. She swallowed to lubricate her dry mouth.

  “I should have called for a car,” she said, thinking of that solution too late. “I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.”

  “As if I’d let you hobble about on your own,” he said. “We’ll get you some pain relievers and elevate your foot. Do you think it’s too bad?”

  “No,” she mumbled. “But you shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

  “Just a little payback,” he replied.

  Emmaline closed her eyes and rested her head against the seat back, trying to make sense of Enzo’s appearance at Cucina Verde. An answer instantly snapped into place. Roland had said it was owned by a group called Palma—Palm, in Italian. As in Palm Springs.

  That had to be it. His family had owned restaurants in the Southland for years, and to venture into posh-and-cool Malibu with a new eatery wasn’t a big surprise.


  Nor a threat to her, she decided, breathing more easily.

  If she went about her business and stayed clear of the place, she should be as safe as she’d been before seeing him there.

  When the only threat to her was getting too close to Lucas.

  And didn’t she already have a plan for that? A new job as soon as Stella said her “I do.” Tomorrow she’d contact the placement service at the butler academy and give them her availability date, she decided. Though she hadn’t discussed it with any real specificity with her current boss, they’d agreed she’d only remain in his employ until his sister married.

  So she’d start a job hunt right away. And if that resolve gave her a new stab of pain, she ignored it.

  At the house, Lucas instructed her to wait in her seat. Instead of listening, she popped open her door and managed to hop out on one foot. His censuring look didn’t deter her from trying to put her weight on the twisted ankle.

  A minor twinge. Pushing away his helping hand, she limped forward, noting another glorious end-of-day sky. Malibu didn’t do sunsets half-way.

  Lucas’s arm went around her waist, and she leaned into him just a little as they moved into the house. He tried urging her to the couch in the living area, but she resolutely continued toward her quarters instead.

  No dangerous memories lingered there.

  She stretched out on her bed and drew a throw over her bare legs. Lucas slipped off her shoes and tucked an extra pillow under her injured ankle. He murmured about getting her something for the pain and left the room

  Closing her eyes, she contemplated where she’d go next. Maybe an elderly couple would need someone to manage their domestic details and the three of them would putter happily together, with soft-boiled eggs every morning and Big Band tunes providing the soundtrack of their afternoons.

  But…no. That situation would give her too much time to brood. A more dynamic household would be a better fit for her.

  A high-powered couple in their thirties or forties, she decided. Who had to do a lot of business entertaining. She’d be required to plan multi-course meals and juggle caterers and valets—Roland would come in handy—and maybe even a spot of personal shopping here and there for the missus. Her couple would be into long distance biking, and she’d mix them homemade gorp and learn how to make yogurt from scratch.