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 w
hat 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.”
“I needed out. That movie…”
When he didn’t say more, she felt compelled to add something. “I’d never seen it before. My grandparents didn’t let me out much and probably thought I was too young when it was showing.”
“It had a bit of a racy rep, what with that scene when she pulls her bra out of her sleeve and the new kid counters by dragging his jock strap from one leg of his shorts.”
“About that—”
“Impossible,” he said. “Pure movie magic.”
“Good to know.”
They sat in silence, and she was exhorting herself to get moving once more when he spoke again. “You watched the whole thing?”
“Yes.”
A long, weighty silence, one that made her squirm. Finally, he spoke again. “What did you think of it?”
Him, she thought. Joaquin wanted to know what she thought of his brother. Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around them. “Clearly Felipe was a very talented actor.”
“24-karat charisma, our father always said. More magnetism in his pinky finger than in my… Well, never mind.”
But Sara did mind—and she didn’t agree. Clearly their father treated his older son like the golden child while not giving the younger one any credit. She figured Joaquin would wow the world if he’d ever directed that smolder she’d seen in him toward a camera.
“Did you get along with your brother?” she asked, curious. Would the second son have resented the favored one? Then she realized how personal the question and how nosy she sounded. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business—”
“I wanted to be like him in all things,” Joaquin said flatly, but the tone was raw. Pained. “And then I wanted to be nothing like him at all.”
Sara tried swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. There was a new chill to the air, too, and a pair of shivers chased down her spine.
Joaquin’s arm came around her.
She stiffened. “I don’t think—”
“You’re chilled,” he said, rubbing his hand along her outer arm in brisk movements. “And my dick is so cold it’s shriveled—and consequently no threat to you.”
Her head turned and she stared at him, exasperated.
“What?”
“I don’t know what to say to you,” Sara told him. “Managing a conversation revolving around shriveled genitalia is not covered in the academy textbook.”
For a long moment he was silent, but then laughter erupted, and he abruptly fell over, clutching his stomach. This went on for a time.
“Stop,” she finally scolded though he was still wheezing. “I don’t want to be accused of having caused you an appendicitis attack.”
He slowly sat up, a chuckle breaking out now and then as he continued to catch his breath. “Is that…is hilarity a cause of that?”
Her spine straightened. “I’m a butler, not a medical practitioner.”
Joaquin shook his head. “You’re doing it again. Using that accent.”
“I’m safe because you’re shriveled,” she pointed out.
Reaching up, he rubbed his jaw, the scratch-scratch sound of his whiskers audible in the quiet night. “It’s possible I lied about that…or maybe it’s all the LOL-ing that’s got my blood moving again.”
It was so dark she couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she could hear the tone of his voice and in it was something besides amusement. Something that sent her heart pumping harder in her chest. Something that dried her spit.
Sara tried recalling his three reasons they shouldn’t sleep together.
Had there been three? And why couldn’t she think of one hundred herself?
“LOL?” she managed to say repressively. “You actually say LOL?”
“The sixteen-year-old’s been texting me.”
The sixteen-year-old! There were three of them, left alone in the house. Sara jumped to her feet, a butler reminded of her duties. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus! “We need to get back to Essie and her friends.” Before he could respond she was jogging up the beach.
No calamity had occurred in their absence, Sara deduced, once she and Joaquin made their way inside. As a matter of fact, all seemed silent from the second floor, telling her that the teen party was over. Joaquin walked up the stairs and then back down to report that their doors were closed and no sound came from behind them.
“RJ’s definitely asleep in his bed. I checked.”
“That’s good, then,” she said, watching him cross to test the locks on the front door and turn off the foyer light as she slipped off her jacket.
Then he moved to the back of the house and started flipping off more switches until the great room was dark and there only came the glow from the kitchen.
She knew he was looking for his phone when he slapped at his front pockets.
Sara pointed in the direction of the chair where he’d been seated when New Kid began. “There. The table there.”
On long strides, he made his way to it, then scooped up the device. She saw the screen blaze to life and his fingers swipe to check his messages. He froze.
It was the kind of freeze that spoke of big news—maybe the dire kind. She felt tension and emotion infuse the air, making it heavy. Her fingers curled into her palms as she continued to watch him, his gaze still glued to his phone.
Then she couldn’t stand the pressure any longer. “What is it?” she heard herself ask, her voice sounding tinny. “What’s happened?”
His head came up, and she couldn’t make out his expression in the dim light. “It’s Essie.”
Her stomach clutched. “She’s not upstairs? Something’s happened?” Her brain began throwing up possibilities and throwing out solutions. She had first aid supplies on hand. Surely Joaquin could be counted on for cash. “Do we need to call 911? Or a bail bondsman? I have a name of two reliable ones in the estate binder…”
He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Joaquin, what is it?”
“She loves me.” His hand came up to turn the phone’s screen Sara’s way. “Essie texted me to tell me she loves me.”
Sudden tears crawled up Sara’s throat, forcing her to swallow them back. “That’s…wonderful,” she whispered. Wonderful.
He sat heavily on the chair he’d vacated earlier and his head dropped back. “God.”
The one syllable drew Sara toward him. She took a seat on the coffee table, their knees almost touching. “You’re okay with it, right?” she asked.
His head didn’t move and his eyes remained closed. “The girl doesn’t even know me.”
“She knows you’re her big brother.”
“Yeah.” With his free hand, he pinche
d the bridge of his nose. “I’m her big brother.”
Then Sara drew in a breath and threw away all thought of distance and professionalism and the metaphorical butler’s rulebook. “Joaquin, what happened to Felipe?”
Later, she supposed she could have looked it up on the internet. But he didn’t tell the tale with much more emotion than was delivered by pixels on a screen. She learned of a talented young man, driven to taste all that big money and new fame could offer him. They’d been a band of buddies, Felipe, Joaquin, and another young actor, Mick Hastings, but there wasn’t a cool head in the group.
And Sara had thought, how could there be, when they were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and not a single person had ever said “no” to them?
Finally, for Felipe, months of combining drugs and alcohol had led to a single night at an infamous L.A. nightclub. Joaquin had received the call his brother was in trouble, and he’d broken speed limits to reach him, only to find Felipe convulsing in the hall by the bathrooms, and then turning blue. When the paramedics arrived, he’d flat-lined. The coroner pronounced him dead of cardiac arrest brought on by acute multiple-drug intoxication.
At the end of the recitation, Joaquin pulled in a long breath. “Just like that, he was gone.”
Sara didn’t know how her knees found the strength to hold her up, but she managed to make it to her feet. Her skin felt chilled, her insides hollowed-out, and though she’d only watched ninety minutes of that beautiful young man strutting across the screen, grinning and cocky and so alive, she felt…wrecked.
Joaquin glanced up at her as she stood before him. “You’re going to bed?”
The place she’d been heading for tonight several times already. Solo. But now she reached for Joaquin’s hand to tug him to a stand.
The heat that always sparked when they touched coursed up her arm. She let it burn away all her doubts.
“We’re going to bed,” she said. “Together.”
Chapter 7
Joaquin’s surprise at Sara’s offer kept him silent on the short journey to her rooms. She didn’t let go of his hand, and he stared at their linked fingers, hers so small and strong. At the entry to her quarters, she didn’t hesitate to cross the threshold, pulling him with her.
The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) Page 10