The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  Sara watched Essie slide hangers along the bar in her closet.

  “You must have something in here beyond your butler-masquerading-as-a-librarian wardrobe,” the girl said.

  Freshly showered, hair shampooed and dried, Sara tightened the belt on her robe and watched the teenager look over her clothes with a critical eye.

  “I appreciate your assistance, Essie, but…”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I have great fashion sense.”

  Right now the teenager was wearing tiny cut-offs with a Mickey Mouse tank top. On her feet were red high-top sneakers, and she’d tied a red-and-black plaid shirt around her waist. For a modest touch, Sara thought, because the hem hung past her butt cheeks that those short shorts would surely put on display any time she bent over.

  Though there was nothing remotely close to that in Sara’s closet, the idea of Essie picking her dinner outfit still made her nervous. The whole idea of the dinner out made her nervous! Yes, Essie would be there, and her chatter would keep the event from turning totally awkward, but Sara couldn’t get comfortable with the idea.

  Earlier, with the shower’s spray shooting down on her head, she’d decided on a vow. No making a fool of herself by word, deed, or thought.

  It would require sitting back and shutting up and letting the siblings run the show. Which shouldn’t be a problem if she could only suppress the disconcerting habit her mouth had recently taken up of saying things that appalled her as they slid between her lips!

  I thought it a shame you didn’t have any covering. Where had the double-entendre come from? Somewhere deep, deep in her subconscious she supposed, sighing.

  Essie emitted a short crow of delight and pounced on a hanger, pulling free from the other clothes a dress that Sara remembered Emmaline had passed on to her.

  “Turns out it’s too short for me,” her friend had said.

  It looked too short for Sara as well, who had several inches less height. “Um, I don’t know—”

  “Nonsense, it’s perfect,” Essie said with that same bulldozer-ish attitude her brother had used to insist on the socializing “practice.” Turning them both toward the free-standing mirror in the corner, the girl hooked the hanger over Sara’s head so the dress draped against her body. “It’s so cute!”

  Sara held out the sides of the swing hemline, examining her reflection. The bottom six inches of the garment were aqua, then a band of cream about half that width. The body of the dress was a peachy-melon color and sleeveless, with a vee neckline. The spaghetti straps and the trim around the bodice were more of the aqua. It was summery and definitely good colors on her, but…

  “It doesn’t look like a nightgown?” she asked Essie.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Not if you leave your fuzzy slippers in the closet.” She whirled around to pluck out a pair of cream sandals with a block heel, a wide strap across the toes and a narrower one that went around the ankles. “These. And I’ll do your make-up.”

  Sara put herself in the teen’s hands. Essie seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, and without the company of Lulu and RJ she’d seemed a bit down in the dumps until now. Instead of allowing Sara to watch, the girl insisted she turn away from the mirror.

  Essie had brought her own bag of tricks from her room and used the items inside to swipe, dust, smooth, and blot.

  “How are things going with Zachary?” Sara asked, her eyes obediently closed as mascara was applied.

  The wand hitched. “Darn,” Essie muttered, and then dabbed at Sara’s eyelid. “It’s going fine,” she said. “Fab. Fab. U. Lous.”

  Maybe it was her imagination, but that last syllable might have come out more like “louse.” Sara hoped the girl’s relationship with the boy wasn’t going wobbly.

  “There,” Essie said. “You can look now, Sara.”

  Seated on the edge of the mattress, she turned toward the mirror. “Oh.”

  Her face looked like her face, but with a slight bloom of peachy-pink on her cheeks. A neutral shadow dusted her eyelids, but the tiniest, skinniest line of shimmering aqua—as thin as a fine hair—edged her upper lash line. A liberal amount of mascara had been added, but not enough to appear too sticky.

  “Just this to finish up,” Essie said, handing over a tube. “It’s a light gloss the same color as your blush.”

  Sara complied, then stood to give herself an all-over inspection. The dress didn’t cling, the hemline wasn’t so short she feared a breeze, and the make-up was tasteful. Wonderful, actually.

  “You did such a great job,” she told the girl, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear. Essie had lent her turquoise teardrop earrings in a gold setting. They swung as she moved to check herself from all angles. Thin gold, bronze, and silver bangles chattered at her wrist.

  The teenager beamed behind her, then cast a pointed look at the clock on the bedside table. “Time for you to head downstairs.”

  Sara frowned. “We didn’t leave enough time for you to get ready.”

  “No worries. Go wow Big Brother, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

  Wow Big Brother? Sara slanted her a suspicious look, but Essie shooed her off with her hands, her expression all innocence.

  With worry niggling at the back of her mind, Sara scooped up her purse and light sweater and made her way out of her room.

  Don’t mess this up, she reminded herself. Don’t make a fool of yourself with word, deed, or thought.

  Joaquin, in buff-colored chinos and a linen sports jacket, stood with his back to her at the glass doors that looked out over the deck and ocean. Though she didn’t make a sound, he must have sensed her presence, and turned.

  They stared at each other. Beneath the jacket he wore an indigo button-down, which, combined with his new Malibu tan, emphasized the paleness of his blue-tinged gray eyes. His hair, still damp from his shower, was combed back from his face, but it was already beginning to wave, something she’d noticed it did as it grew longer.

  She swallowed. “You look…nice.”

  More than nice. More than very nice. Her blood started to chug in her veins as a yearning to touch him overwhelmed her. She’d had that hair between her fingers. That hard body over hers. She could feel it even now, the delicious weight of him imprinted on her, and she felt her flesh prick with goose bumps.

  Could he sense how much she wanted him again?

  One finger in the air, he made a circle. “Let’s see the whole thing.”

  She hesitated, then complied, making a little spin on one foot. It felt silly and fun, and she could feel the new flush on her cheeks. As she came to a stand again, he threw his hand over his heart and staggered.

  She would have been alarmed except for the wide grin on his face.

  “You can really knock a man off his feet, Ms. Sara the Butler.”

  Sara was spared the need to reply because of the clatter of Essie’s feet on the stairs. Glancing back, she noted the girl still wore her shorts and sneakers.

  “Change of plans!” she said in a breezy voice.

  Oh, no. Sara’s stomach dropped to her toes.

  “Zachary and I have a phone call scheduled in an hour,” Essie said. “I haven’t talked to him in days and days, so I have to stay here for this.”

  “You text him all the time,” Joaquin pointed out.

  “I haven’t talked with him in days and days,” she repeated, with added teenage melodrama. “Joaquin, please.”

  He looked to Sara, then back to his sister. “We have reservations. Sara’s all dressed up.”

  “I know. I helped her find just the right thing. That’s why you have to go while I stay home. Please, Joaquin.” She beamed her brother a winning smile, one that visibly made him melt.

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure.” Essie latched on to Sara’s elbow and started towing her toward the door. “Now you two crazy kids go out and have a wonderful time.”

  It was only because Sara knew she’d look f
oolish that she didn’t drop to the floor and wrap her arms around the teen’s shins, refusing to leave without her.

  At the restaurant, they had a table on the balcony railing overlooking the ocean. Though the view was no more spectacular than the one from Nueva Vida, the atmosphere was still impressive—the starched white linens, the sparkling crystal, the gleaming silverware. A tiny vase held creamy gardenias, and a votive candle glowed in its holder.

  The attentive waiter kept them occupied for the first few minutes with a complimentary cocktail, an amuse-bouche, and a recitation of the specials of the day. Once they’d made their choices, he strode off, leaving Sara to face Joaquin.

  He lifted his glass. “To a night without teenagers.”

  She returned the gesture. “Okay. But I still wish Essie was here.”

  After sampling the cocktail, she fussed with placement of it on the cloth, inching her water goblet to the left. Next she adjusted the placement of the spreader crossing the bread and butter plate.

  Feeling Joaquin’s gaze on her, she glanced up. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

  “You seem a little…nervous for someone who has to know by heart which fork and which knife to use when.”

  She gave half a shrug and tried surreptitiously drawing in a calming breath. “It’s just, you know…weird.”

  His eyes still on her he sat back in his chair, looking as relaxed as she felt tense. “And I’m sorry for that,” he said. She was grateful that he didn’t pursue whether it was the sex or the socializing that caused the awkwardness.

  “Let’s think of a way you might unwind…”

  At her little jolt, he grinned.

  “Not that,” he said, clearly amused by her obvious turn of thought.

  Instead of glaring like she wanted to, she straightened in her seat and clasped her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, prim and proper.

  He laughed. “I have to know all about the Continental Butler Academy. It must be the most interesting place if it taught you how to fold up as crisply as a brand new envelope.”

  A safe enough topic, she decided, so while dinner progressed, she told him of her coursework, her instructors, the friendships she’d struck up with the other butlers in the first all-female class.

  She even confessed why she’d gone there after graduating from culinary school and spending a few years in restaurant kitchens. “Too noisy, too loud, not enough personal touch.”

  They were to dessert and coffee—or in her case, tea—now. Sipping from her cup, she noticed him studying her more intently than before.

  “I get that about you,” he said. “What you enjoy is the personal touch—and I don’t mean that in a lascivious sense, by the way.”

  Sara ignored the way her neck heated.

  Joaquin tilted his head. “That’s the why behind your interest in landscape design as well, I’m thinking. Creating an outdoor space for someone is just as personal as creating an indoor space or creating a meal.”

  “I…” She’d never thought it through, to be honest. “I guess…yes.”

  For the rest of their time at the restaurant she felt a little frantic, trying to decide whether it was dangerous to be so transparent to Joaquin. Would it give him some advantage that might trip her up?

  Then she called herself the fool she didn’t want to seem. He wasn’t an adversary. They weren’t in a battle of any kind.

  She was his butler, he was her boss.

  On the return to Nueva Vida, she stared out the car window and congratulated herself on her composure. How ridiculous had been her fears!

  After parking in the garage, they walked toward the side entrance into the house. He held open the door for her, and the narrow opening necessitated she brush past him. She felt his body heat and breathed in the soap and aftershave scent so familiar to her now. It caused her head to spin a little and she stumbled.

  Joaquin caught her arm. “Okay?”

  “Yes.” She carefully pulled free of his grasp and continued on, pausing before the turn that would take her toward her quarters. Only a few lights were on downstairs. Essie presumably was in her bedroom reliving her phone call with her boy.

  “It’s been a lovely evening,” Sara said. “Thank you so much.”

  “I should thank you,” Joaquin replied, “for answering all my questions.”

  “I hope I didn’t bore you.”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head, a half-smile on his face as he gazed down on her. “You know,” he mused, “I think I know you better than just about any other woman.”

  Except he didn’t know about the scandal.

  The thought of it tumbled into her brain like a thorny weed ball—prickly and unwelcome. For a second she considered confessing—but she didn’t want to mar the end of the night out with that story, and whatever might be Joaquin’s reaction to it.

  Would he see her in a different light?

  Would he believe her side of things?

  “One final question,” he said now. “What do you say to a walk on the beach?”

  Her mind still preoccupied, she answered absently. “Sure.” Then, catching up to the conversation, she said, “What? Wait!”

  But he already had her by the elbow and was leading her to the back doors. The next thing she knew, he was kneeling at her feet and unbuckling her shoes. His touch on the bare skin of her ankle caused a trail of fire ants to march up her legs. Her skin twitched, and she wanted to bat his hands away, but he was already rising and toeing off his suede loafers.

  She stepped out of her shoes as he caught her hand.

  “We shouldn’t miss this,” he said.

  Her breath caught as she looked around her. The light of the moon turned the sand to silver, and its reflection floated on the water. There was no breeze to speak of, just the cool kiss of the air on her bare skin. But with Joaquin’s fingers entwined with hers, she didn’t feel a chill.

  Only…something like possibility.

  At the height of the scandal she’d felt wronged and dirty and horribly embarrassed. She’d run from London to the States to hide herself and her shame. Months of hats and baggy clothes and fearful glances at anyone who passed her in a car or at a store hadn’t calmed her or made her feel clean again.

  But right now, in the quiet night with a handsome man at her side, she could breathe once more. She could dream.

  Maybe a landscaping design business. And possibly what Carol Madigan had said? A girl like you will find a husband and your own home to look after some day soon.

  She’d always been too wary to indulge in that fantasy. Following the scandal, wary and spooked. Yet now, in the magical moonlight, she could picture herself with a man, dark-haired and strong, who would cherish her company and ease her long-held loneliness. He’d look at her with cool eyes that made her hot, and he’d promise that forever was as real as their heartbeats.

  It was foolish and romantic, and she felt tears sting and more clog her throat as the pretty bubble floated in front of her, though she didn’t quite dare grasp it.

  “Sara,” Joaquin said, his voice almost a whisper. He stopped walking.

  “Hmm?” She glanced up at him.

  “You’re crying.”

  “I am?” Her hand crept up to brush the moisture from her cheeks. More foolishness. How to explain herself. “It’s just…just so beautiful,” she said, gesturing to the deserted beach and the murmuring waves.

  “Yes,” he answered, without looking away from her face. “Yes, it is.”

  Chapter 9

  Joaquin trailed Essie and Sara down the beach toward the Archer home, carrying a huge bowl of potato salad cradled in his arms. The girl and woman were burdened as well, one carrying a cake and the other a platter of vegetables and dip.

  The back doors of their destination were folded open, glass accordioned so the outside and inside became one. Music flowed from the speakers on the deck, a classic summer song, and the notes floated in the air along with the fish-shap
ed kite that was flying from a line connected to the railing. Two women moved about while the boy, Wells, ran around with his arms splayed like airplane wings.

  The domesticity of the scene gave him pause. He’d been looking forward to the evening, but now he realized he’d be completely out of his element.

  I could make an excuse like Essie had the night before, he thought. Claim a call—a business call.

  But Essie had been moping about all day, and he wanted to keep an eye on her. Then there was Sara.

  Ah. Sara.

  She’d looked like sherbet and acted like a skittish animal during last night’s dinner. A delectable combination, as it turned out. And then she’d told him about butler school. He’d been both amused and impressed by her description of her coursework that included menu planning, etiquette, and the best practices when packing a suitcase.

  The last had made him want to plan a trip, just to watch her neat hands at work to tuck and roll and fold. He could imagine upon opening said suitcase that he would snap straight each item of clothing and think of her.

  But packing would mean leaving, and he wasn’t keen on putting her out of his sight, either.

  Not when he couldn’t forget her on the beach, moonlight in her eyes and that sweet and pensive expression on her face. Then tears. He’d said he knew her—and he did—but there were secrets, and secret places, yet to uncover.

  He glanced around, wondering what alchemy of sand and sun and sea was at work on him. In the mirror he looked the same, but inside his head he was no longer the man mired in business concerns. His family obligations had felt like just that—obligations—and he’d rarely engaged with his mother, and with Essie virtually not at all.

  But he’d turned a new page. Maybe because of that Felipe smile that Essie wore. Though being a brother was as out of his element as this dinner event, he wasn’t running from it any longer.

  Still, tonight he could hole up back at the house in his usual hermit-style and save himself the trouble of making social niceties.

  Essie turned to look at him now. “Coming?” she said, mounting the steps.

  Disappointing her seemed like not an option now.