The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  As the door swung shut behind them, he breathed in air that smelled delicious—and so like his butler.

  His butler. He groaned and, pulling his hand from hers, stepped back so that his shoulder blades hit solid wood. Then he scrubbed his palms over his face, trying to think. Minutes before when he’d told her about Felipe, she’d been quiet and still, her big eyes trained on him, full of sympathy. “Tell me this isn’t a pity fuck.”

  “No,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s about my beating heart.”

  The large room was dark except for the glow of a lamp beside the bed, and its light outlined her small body in gold. She took hold of his hand again and pressed his palm to the middle of her chest, just above the rise of her breasts.

  It throbbed against his flesh, and he couldn’t stop himself from shifting his fingers to test the pulse at her throat, too. He could feel the blood moving under her skin, the fast rhythm of it making his own redouble. Alive. They were both alive.

  “Then it’s about the burn in my veins, too.” He turned them so her back was to the door and he pressed in to her. “It’s about your sweet mouth.”

  Her lips opened beneath the onslaught of his, and he speared one hand into her hair, the soft strands tickling the inner surface of his fingers as he deepened the kiss. It tasted like he remembered, hot and honeyed.

  He supposed going forward wasn’t smart. Even if she denied offering him a pity fuck, there couldn’t be any doubt it was a human-kindness fuck. But hell, he needed her touch.

  Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder and breathed in the fragrance of her skin. His body hummed with tension, still at war between right and want.

  Her hands drifted up his back. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering about you. If you are intending this to also be about a catharsis or a diversion or a balm to my raw feelings.”

  He inhaled another deep breath of her.

  She fisted her hand in his hair and tugged back his head.

  Jesus, just a look at her face could twist him up inside. The long sweep of her bangs framing its triangle shape, drawing his attention to those lushly lashed eyes, so big that he could dive inside their blue and lose himself.

  “Joaquin,” she said, in the tone that was a mix of censure and sugar, the one that drove him mad. “You’re wrong on all counts.”

  On tiptoe, she rose to press her lips to his. “It’s simple. What it’s most about is now.”

  Oh. Oh, yeah. The battle within quieted as he turned from the past and threw away concerns about the future. At this moment Sara was warm and willing and within his arms, and his lust was ready to take over the show. Now. Now.

  Sliding his hands to her ass, he tucked her hips closer to his. Anticipation built inside him like the pressure in a steam engine, and he took over the kiss, feasting. It was about this damn moment and nothing else but the two of them in it, reveling in the fact they were living, breathing sexual creatures.

  He hoisted her up, forcing her legs around his hips and her hemline to rise. She made a surprised noise, and he broke the kiss as he strode for the bed.

  “Fair warning, doll,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Now means no holds barred. Now doesn’t mean a soft seduction or a gentle bounce on the sheets.”

  He let go, dropping her on the mattress to stand over her, his legs braced, his arms crossed over his chest. She stared at him, her skirt still rucked up to expose a tiny glimpse of her blue lace panties at the vee of her thighs. Her face was flushed, her hair tousled, and Joaquin didn’t think she was breathing.

  He continued to lay it out for her. “Now means you might get it just a little bit rough—maybe even a little bit raunchy.”

  Though she squirmed against the spread, she definitely wasn’t breathing now.

  His lips spread in a feral grin. “You’re gonna get more than a little dirty. Is my butler all right with that?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted up, fisted his shirt in her small hand, and yanked him down. Joaquin fell over her, one forearm going to the bed beside her head so Sara didn’t take his full weight. Then he was kissing her again, eating at her mouth, his tongue aggressive, his blood on fire.

  Her hands gripped his waist then snaked beneath his shirt. He shuddered at the soft, sleek feel of her skin on his.

  “God!” He jerked his head away, turning it to suck in harsh breaths.

  “I need more,” he muttered, and whipped the loose fabric over his head. It sailed into a corner of the room, and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving.

  Her mouth was parted, her lips swollen and red.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  She lifted a shaking hand, running her fingertips from his collarbone to his belly, the strokes like a brand searing him to the bone. He caught her hand and placed it palm down on the bed. The other he treated the same, then he reached for the tiny buttons marching down the black-and-white dress. With each slice of skin his actions revealed his dick went that much harder, until his fingers seemed to have lost all blood and could only fumble. Frustrated, as he neared the bottom of the dress he just yanked the two sides apart, the fasteners pinging as they hit targets he couldn’t see.

  Because Sara’s body consumed his vision.

  Her bare skin glowed like a pearl in the low light. Modest bikini panties in a dark blue lace were matched by a pretty bra that cupped her sweet breasts. He groaned, unable to decide where to start first.

  It might take forever…days, weeks, months of time…to explore all that velvet skin, to taste all her textures, to learn every way to feed her desire. As he watched, a shiver rolled over her body, and goosebumps broke across her belly.

  “Joaquin.”

  At her voice, he shook his head, coming out of his sex-stupor to glance at her face. Her tongue extended to moisten her lower lip, and he felt new tension string his muscles. He didn’t have forever. There wasn’t a future.

  Only this moment existed.

  He started to shake, and when she lifted her hand and tucked her fingertips beneath his waistband to pull him down, he fell on her, desperate to slake his appetite.

  His mouth fastened on her throat, and he flicked his tongue over her flesh, feeling her writhe beneath him. Her short fingernails scored his back and the brief, sweet pain enflamed him. He ground his hard cock into her belly and then lowered to take the tip of one of her breasts into his mouth. Tonguing the lace, he wet the fabric and felt the nipple bead to stiffness. He sucked on that, strong pulls that caused her to moan and her hips to arch.

  Her small hands slid beneath his jeans, and she grabbed the skin of his ass, again nails digging in. The touch made him wild and he lifted his head, yanking lace below the rise of her breast so he could graze the nipple with his teeth. She jerked into the rougher touch, moaning more.

  He pulled back, sliding the fabric of her dress from beneath her. Then he stared down at her again, one bra cup revealing her naked breast, its tip wet and gleaming in the light. Her legs shifted, restless, but still modestly closed.

  Breathing hard, he ran both hands up the sleek inner skin of her thighs, opening them to make a place for him to crouch between them. He pressed his palm to her belly, feeling the muscles there twitch beneath his touch.

  “Take off your pants,” she said, her whisper rough. “I want to see you.”

  Joaquin made short work of it and, damn, but it felt good when his cock sprang free. He stroked himself, starting at the root and moving up to drag his thumb across the head. Pre-cum leaked as he noted her fascinated gaze.

  “Yeah,” he said, repeating the movement. “All for you.”

  Her legs shifted wider and he stared at the wetness obvious on the gusset of her panties. A long shiver rolled down his back even as lust shot from his heels to his balls. Joaquin groaned as more pre-cum released.

  “Doll,” he said, sliding his hand up her leg. “Get ready. I’m gonna get a condom—”

&nb
sp; Wait. He didn’t have a condom. Not on him, not in his bedroom or bathroom.

  “Fuck!”

  She jolted, her gaze flying to his face.

  He wanted to kick his own ass. “Sorry, doll.” He tried smoothing out his voice. “You have condoms?”

  Her widening eyes dashed his hopes.

  Double fuck!

  “Okay, okay.” There were other pleasures. “Don’t worry.”

  But the disappointment on her face was almost comic, and it eased some of his own vexation. He tried on a smile followed by another smoothing caress. Lying to her side, he started kissing her again, sliding his tongue against hers and swallowing down her sweet, sweet moans.

  Though he was planning on a slow build, lust was molten in his veins and the craving to have her against him was too much. He spread over her, lifting each sleek thigh around his naked waist as he rocked against her mons, the slight abrasion of her lace panties against his shaft just more sensual torture. His hips moved and hers lifted and he drew his mouth along her jaw to nibble at her ear. Her hands clutched his shoulders and she moaned and then again when he moved lower to suckle at her nipples again.

  He bared the other breast too and shared his attentions with them both, pressing his knee against her sex so she could grind against something solid. And she did, clearly lost in desire.

  Her thumbs brushed the points of his own nipples then, and he jerked, then glanced down at their bodies. His cock was flushed, the veins standing out and the head near angry-looking in its need. Then he glanced at Sara’s sex and saw that all that bumping and grinding had caused her panties to slide lower on her hips, uncovering the top of the bare cleft of her sex.

  He stared, transfixed by that small reveal. His hands flexed on the bedspread, lust driving him to tear the panties away, but God, that would be too risky. He wouldn’t stop himself from slamming into her slick heat. But he had to fuck her, he was too horny not to give himself something close, anyway.

  Once more between her legs, he took hold of his cock and pressed the crown against those few exposed inches. He groaned, working himself into the narrow space that concealed her clit. Her lips seemed to close around his head, and he continued to rub there, using short, jerky strokes confined between the top of her cleft and the barrier of her panties.

  He pressed his face against the side of her throat, and she was breathing hard in his ear. It was beautiful, glorious, even this small piece of her, his pre-cum slickening her flesh. His climax was primed to blow, and he spared a moment for blizzards and icicles but then his horny lust said fuck it and he was in the throes, his hand tight on his dick as he spurt into that narrow seam and on the top of her belly.

  “I said you might get dirty,” he reminded her, and Sara said nothing as he slid to her side and took her mouth once again, his hand going into the hot wetness he’d left on her skin. Scooping some up, he insinuated his fingertips into the place his cock had just enjoyed. Her clit was there, standing up for attention, which he gave to it, using his cum to ease his way as he teased and rolled and caressed the sensitive protrusion.

  Moaning low in her throat, she lifted into his touch and dug her fingernails into the back of his head. Her body grew tauter, her little wiggles and twitches more spastic, and then she came, sucking on his tongue like a special treat. He grunted, thrilled by her eager response.

  No fainting miss, she continued to chase each last quiver of her climax.

  He gentled his touch as her body quieted. When her arm drifted to the mattress, he fell back on the adjoining pillow. Glancing over, he took in her unkempt state—hair tousled, clothes in disarray, her skin flushed from her orgasm and what looked like a hickey beside the nipple on one breast.

  Ooops. Except it only made him grin. I bit the butler.

  Then the grin faded, because lust surged and he wanted to do it all over again. He wanted Sara all over again.

  And again and again.

  Which uncomfortably sounded like now wasn’t nearly enough.

  Sara pretended to fall asleep. Call her a coward, but it was true that she wasn’t brave enough to face Joaquin post-kind-of-coitus. The sex had been what he’d promised. Not rough, not really, though she felt sure she’d have some beard burn here and there. But it had been raunchy, and she did feel just a little bit dirty.

  Used—in a way that made her the tiniest bit smug, too.

  She’d used Joaquin as well, and since she was the one who’d dragged the man to her room she wasn’t going to throw out accusations or recriminations or blame. But that didn’t mean she had enough daring to toss around compliments, either.

  So she’d escape the after-awkwardness for a little while by keeping her eyes closed. When she felt him shift on the bed, she breathed evenly and didn’t move a muscle while she listened to him dress.

  She knew when he stood over her. His gaze skipped over her body—she could feel it—and she worried he might notice her new blush as she considered the askew state of her underclothes. Instead of commenting, though, he arranged a blanket over her semi-nude body. The one draped over the back of the nearby loveseat, she supposed as he fussed with it, making sure it covered both shoulders.

  The tenderness of the gesture—at such odds with the urgency of his hands before— almost made her sigh…which she stifled just in time.

  And then, after the click of the door shutting behind him, she did doze off.

  In the early morning, she realized luck was with her. Not only was it her scheduled day off, but she had actual errands to keep her brain occupied and off Joaquin and what they’d done the night before. Sara rushed through her shower and dressing and then scurried into the kitchen to prepare the coffeemaker. The first person to arrive downstairs would only have to press On.

  Ears attuned to any change in the silent house, she wrote a note explaining her absence and delineating the available food options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then she grabbed her keys and headed out.

  Malibu on a fine morning like this wasn’t made for worries. So she told herself she was ditching hers and stopped for coffee and a bagel at the drive-thru shack. She consumed them in the car, parked where she could look out at the ocean, the sky above turning from the last grays and pinks of early morning to become a true summer-blue.

  Then she drove east and upward. Malibu wasn’t just a beach enclave. It also included shadowy canyons with burbling creeks and mountain retreats with breathtaking vistas from their higher perches. One narrow turn-off took her to an even narrower drive. She snaked down that road and found a charming residence, a Queen Anne-styled cottage that was less fussy than some but had been painted in a charming combination of blue, white, and teal.

  Sara took a moment to appreciate it, then gathered her sketchbook and strode for the front door.

  The owner, Mrs. Carol Madigan, opened it wearing a wide smile. A sixtyish divorcée, she wore drawstring linen pants and a white T-shirt with black leather espadrilles. “Come in, come in!”

  The interior gave off the same bright cheer as the outside. Mrs. Madigan led Sara to a sunlight-filled kitchen that offered incredible views of the ocean in three directions.

  “Are we ready to do this?” she asked Sara, clasping her hands together.

  “If you are,” Sara said. Though she was looking into taking some classes, the truth was she was without formal training in design. “As you know, I’m not a licensed landscape architect—”

  “I’m just sure you’re the right person to plan my cottage garden, however,” Mrs. Madigan declared.

  So they spent the next hour doing just that. The house included a side yard sheltered from the ocean breezes where the older woman could have all the bee-, butterfly-, and hummingbird-friendly plants that her heart desired. Sara sketched, showed off different specimens on her phone, and made herself several lists. Finally, they smiled at each other, both satisfied.

  “I’m going to love it!” Carol Madigan declared.

  “I certainly plan to do my best t
o ensure that.” Sara flipped closed her sketchbook. “And it’s so nice of you to give me this chance.” It had been another opportunity orchestrated by Charlie. The other butler had met Carol’s daughter when the woman accompanied her son on a playdate with Wells. Sara had been in the yard at the time, working on the Archer’s landscaping. Apparently the playdate’s mom mentioned her mother’s interest in a new garden, and Charlie had taken her directly to Sara. A few phone calls later, and she had her second client.

  Pleasure bubbled inside her as she and the older woman walked back through the house. “Are you interested in doing this kind of thing as more than a sideline?” Carol asked. “I know a lot of people who would love your services—and your vision.”

  That warmed Sara more. “Thank you, but I don’t know how many extra hours I can carve out of my life. My butler job is full-time and—”

  “Surely you won’t be doing that forever.”

  I won’t? The thought of leaving Nueva Vida cast a pall on the day. The estate had served as her haven after the London disaster. She’d paid it back by tending it with care, placing the furniture just so, nurturing the plants, and even sweet-talking the plumber into a better placement for the drain from the freestanding icemaker.

  “A girl like you,” Carol continued as they strolled through the front door, “will find a husband and your own home to look after some day soon.”

  A husband.

  And like that, Joaquin popped into her head, no longer unavoidable. She saw him laughing, fallen over on the sand. She saw the intense gaze of his eyes as he pushed her against the bedroom door and pressed the exciting, heavy bulge of his sex to her belly. She imagined the expression on his face as he’d covered her with the blanket before leaving her room.

  A husband.

  Ridiculous!

  She didn’t want one, and he certainly didn’t see her in any lasting role. Soon enough, he’d bring other women to Nueva Vida. Maybe later, even a wife. Then her service might include chilling bottles of champagne and preparing intimate dinners for two. Later, she’d wash sheets that smelled like Joaquin and some other female’s perfume.