The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  “Right behind you,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret the decision.

  On the deck, he was told where to place his bowl and then introduced to butler Emmaline. A striking brunette, she didn’t have Sara’s intriguing reserve. But he liked her at once, especially upon seeing her pleasure at being reunited with her two friends.

  The three women instantly included Essie in their circle, and his sister perked up, helping to arrange the table and putting flowers in a vase.

  It left Joaquin to Wells.

  “I’m the host,” the boy said. “Charlie told me. Because my dad’s on a trip and my mother, she’s—”

  “Dead,” Joaquin finished for him, trying to keep it casual. “I’m sorry about that.”

  With some of his thunder stolen, Wells blinked. Then he shoved his small fists into the pocket of his shorts and gave Joaquin an assessing stare. “You play horseshoes?”

  It turned out to involve pounding stakes into the sand with a mallet first—something Wells wasn’t allowed to do on his own—but Joaquin managed the task with credible aplomb, ignoring the official pitch length recommended on the box.

  He had no idea how far a little kid could throw a shoe—again, out of his element—but figured he’d set the boy up to have a decent chance. His and Felipe’s father had nursed a nasty competitive streak that led him to take his kids to a park or playground on occasion where he’d wing a football at them and jeer when they dropped it or sneer when they ducked the tennis ball coming across the net at a million miles an hour.

  Turned out Joaquin might have made this game too easy for the kid. Wells nearly cleaned his clock. The truth was, he would have let him win, but the boy sent him a narrow-eyed glance that told him not to do him any favors.

  When it came time to eat, they both felt satisfied, Joaquin figured. Doing the social bit with a child wasn’t too bad, he decided, picking up a plate to fill. You followed your instincts and treated them with respect.

  The group gathered around another table set for the meal, Charlie directing Wells to the head seat. The boy sent her a pleased smile at the honor she seemed not to notice at first. Then her fingertips walked lightly over the top of his head, a covert acknowledgment.

  While they ate, the voices and conversation of the females at the table burbled and splashed like water in a stream, eddying around subjects and rippling with laughter. Joaquin sat back in his chair and let it flow around him, more content than he could remember as he watched his little sister giggle and smile and then Sara take the lead to tell some school story that made her friends double over.

  Even without getting the joke, he grinned, too, and his eyes caught on the bright ones of his butler who sat directly across from him. She wasn’t wearing sherbet-colored clothes tonight—more like her usual self in cropped jeans and a Kiss the Cook T-shirt—but suddenly that seemed like a great idea…kissing. He needed to hold her, taste her, stoke this warm feeling into the fire they made together in a bed, against the wall, anywhere he could have her.

  A wary expression chased the good humor off her face.

  Yeah, doll, be wary.

  The beast in him wanted to have another go with the butler. And when the beast came out, his better judgement receded to a distant cave. Stretching out his long leg, he let his foot find hers beneath the table. He nudged with his toe, nothing blatant, but it had the color rising on her face.

  Maybe he could mention that urgent business call and bring along Sara so they could have a few minutes at the house alone.

  But the moment was lost as Charlie stood to begin gathering empty plates. The other butlers jumped like puppets to help, but Joaquin stood too and gestured for them to sit down. “Essie, Wells, and I will take care of the scraping and stacking,” he declared. “You ladies relax.”

  They were in mid-protest when a stranger—fortyish man, handsome features, fit body dressed in wealthy-casual—walked onto the deck. For a moment everyone froze, and the air went heavy with an emotion Joaquin couldn’t put his finger on. Concerned, he scrutinized Charlie’s tense expression, but then Wells let out a godawful shriek and rushed the newcomer.

  “Dad!” He threw himself onto the man who caught him up in a bear-like hug, burying his face in the boy’s hair.

  Charlie edged into overdrive. Before anyone else could move, she was clearing the table and rushing past the reuniting father-and-son. Just as the two broke apart, she was back with a full plate for the man and a sweating bottle of beer.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you, Ethan,” she started awkwardly.

  “I surprised you,” he said, giving her an avuncular smile. “I hoped I’d catch an earlier flight but didn’t want to promise in case I didn’t make it.” Looking down at his son, he smiled again. “Miss me?”

  “Yes,” Charlie and Wells said together.

  Then the butler’s eyes widened, and she bustled over to place the food and beverage she held onto the table. “Wells always misses you when you’re gone.”

  Introductions came next. Ethan Archer didn’t seem put out to find a small party on his deck. But under her breath, Joaquin heard Charlie apologizing anyway.

  He waved it away, again with that indulgent expression on his face. “Stop. You know you’re to consider this your home.”

  But Charlie didn’t seem reassured, even as everyone was back at the table with dessert. The new seating arrangement had Sara sitting beside Joaquin and Ethan at the head spot with Wells to his right.

  Maybe the other man sensed his butler’s continued unease, too, because as she hurried past—she’d yet to alight anywhere—he caught her by the wrist. When she halted, he scooted out his chair a little in order to tie the trailing shoelace on her sneaker.

  Like she was Wells’ age…but Charlie didn’t watch him perform the task like Ethan Archer was any kind of dad to her.

  Interesting. Joaquin leaned over to murmur in Sara’s ear. “Wow. She’s gone for him, huh?”

  Sara turned his way, a line between her brows. “Pardon?”

  “Charlie, gone for him.”

  “Wells? She takes good care—”

  “I’m talking about Ethan. Your friend Charlie’s in love with him.”

  As Sara stared at him in shock, those blue eyes round and her rosebud mouth hanging open, he turned back to confirm his conclusion. Yep, though Charlie might think she was hiding how she felt, it was written in the taut lines of her body and in the watchfulness of her gaze.

  Yeah. In love, and in the deep end of it.

  Joaquin reached for his own beer, taking a long swallow. The discovery of Charlie’s secret didn’t diminish his good mood, even though it was obvious that Ethan Archer had no idea what was going on right beneath his nose. The whole evening, Joaquin decided, had been enjoyable, from playing horseshoes with the kid to his insight into the drama playing inside the Archer home.

  Instead of regretting his attendance, he might even be able to admit that he felt a slight twinge of envy for the other man, who was chatting with his son while Charlie hovered near, but not too near to either one.

  Ethan had a boy he doted upon and a beautiful butler who’d given him her heart.

  Toying with the final bite of her dessert, Sara turned Joaquin’s words over in her mind. Your friend Charlie’s in love with him.

  Charlie? Charlie “gone,” as Joaquin had said, for Ethan Archer?

  No, Sara thought, rejecting the notion out-of-hand. List-making, practical, uber-organized Charlotte Emerson wouldn’t fall for the widower she worked for, the man obviously still broken up over the loss of his wife.

  The one who treated her in a friendly but wholly platonic fashion.

  Sara didn’t want to examine too closely her sense of panic at the thought, nor did she want to scrutinize Charlie for any confirming signs. Instead, she directed her gaze to the boy at the table.

  “Wells,” she said, “I think it’s about time we show off our mad beanbag skills.”

  The kid leaped to his feet, a gr
in overtaking his face. “Yeah. Me ’n‘ Sara against all comers.”

  Sara looked to the inquiring expressions on Emmaline, Essie, and Joaquin’s faces, then rubbed her palms together. “Fresh blood, Wells. Let’s get out what we need.”

  They set up the game on the beach, the 2 x 4 foot wooden platforms set about twenty feet apart and angled so that the holes cut into them were about twelve inches above the sand.

  “It goes like this,” Sara told the assembled group. “Wells?”

  The boy demonstrated an underhand toss with a bean bag. It sailed through the air and landed with a plop directly in the hole. Sara applauded her partner.

  And those new to the game immediately demanded practice time.

  Wells and Sara took seats on the beach to watch and assess the competition. Essie—decent. Emmaline—terrible. Joaquin—much too competent for a newbie.

  “Have you really never played this before?” Sara called out, suspicious.

  His grin blinded her with infectious unrepentance. “Afraid, little girl?”

  “We’re the champions,” Wells declared staunchly. “We’re not afraid of anyone.”

  “Yeah,” Sara said, slinging her arm around the boy. “Champions of the world.”

  “Care to put a wager on it?” Joaquin asked, voice sly.

  “Like what?” Wells asked, excited. “What do we get if we win?”

  “For you, my man, an ice cream run. For her…” He looked over at Sara, rubbing his chin as if he was mulling the many possibilities.

  A kiss. A caress. An orgasm. She cursed her wayward mind and blushing face. Would he be able to read her thoughts? “I like ice cream, too,” she said.

  Joaquin’s gaze seemed to laser in on her mouth. “I happen to know quite a few things that you like.”

  Oh, crud. Her hot face must be really obvious because Emmaline was suddenly giving her the side eye. Desperate to regain her cool, Sara jumped to her feet and then made a big show of glancing at her watch. “Five more minutes of practice time. Use it wisely.” Then she hurried into the house as if in search of something more than escape.

  There, in the kitchen, she saw Charlie and Ethan putting leftovers away. Instead of strolling straight in, Sara found herself hovering. Eavesdropping.

  “I can do this myself,” her friend was saying as he handed her a plastic container to shelve in the refrigerator. “Go out and join the others.”

  “You’re already doing more than your contract states,” Ethan answered. “With the nanny quitting…”

  “I have feelers out. We’ll find a replacement soon. I’m sorry the last one didn’t work out—”

  “Don’t apologize again, Charlie. We both know I made the selection.”

  She glanced over at the man with a small smile that made Sara’s pulse hammer in that disconcerting fashion again. “She told you she didn’t have a lot of experience but needed the job. I know someone else to whom you gave that same exact chance.”

  “Ah, but you had that diploma from the Continental Butler School and, happily, that’s worked out well.” He hesitated. “Right? You’re happy?”

  “Of course,” Charlie said, her gaze on the items she was rearranging. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I… It’s important that you’re honest with me, Charlie. Lately you’ve seemed a bit…stiff.”

  At that last word, Charlie’s spine snapped straight. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her voice as cool as the milk carton she slid to the right. “Everything is just fine with me and with Wells and I hope with you, too.”

  “There it is,” Ethan said, frowning. “You’re—”

  “Almost late for the cornhole match!” Sara said, strolling into the kitchen as if she’d just arrived. “I’m here to bring you back to watch the magnificence of Wells and me as we defeat any and all competitors.”

  Both Charlie and Ethan turned, Charlie’s face registering gratefulness for the interruption and the man donning an amused smile.

  “Put like that, I can’t plead jet lag. I’m just going to have to show you young ’uns that an old guy like me still has a win or two inside him.”

  They all three trooped back to the beach. The setting sun painted the sky in a poppy orange and yellow, and the ocean looked like an animated painting as a sailboat crossed its surface. Seabirds dared the waves and more swooped above with their hoarse cries, and Sara looked from the scene to the players gathered on the sand. Charlie stood far from Ethan.

  She had not fallen in love with Wells’ dad, Sara decided. The universe had rules, like the direction of the setting sun and the moon’s responsibility for the ocean’s tides. Those same rules precluded Charlie from making a mistake by becoming attached to Ethan Archer.

  With that thought firmly planted, Sara outlined the rules of the game for the group, teams were picked, and competition began.

  As predicted, in the doubles round, Wells and Sara won the day. The boy crowed in triumph and ran victory laps around the rest, not stopping until he was out of breath. But he wasn’t too tired to lead off in the singles round, with his dad and Joaquin promising retribution. Charlie and Essie hung in to compete as well, while Emmaline and Sara opted for being mere bystanders now, sitting on the cooling sand.

  “This has been fun,” the brunette butler said.

  “Agreed.”

  Emmaline had her gaze trained on the players. “Hot,” she said. “Very hot.”

  “Take your sweater off.”

  Her friend’s lips twitched, and she glanced over. “I just might have to. But you know I’m referring to the two men out there, right?”

  Sara’s own gaze swerved from Emmaline to take them in. First Ethan who looked younger than usual with his hair wind-tossed and his lips curved in a half-smile. Wells was giving him pointers as he hefted a bean bag in one hand.

  Near the other platform stood Joaquin, his eyes alight as he laughed at something his sister said. Sara’s heart hiccupped, and she caught her breath as his gaze cut to her. She could feel it, as strong as a physical touch, and she pressed her fist against her stomach as if to still the flutters there.

  Then she realized that Emmaline was giving her the side-eye again, so she cleared her throat. “They’re quite handsome, I suppose,” she said, her voice prim.

  Emmaline chuckled. “I suppose.” Her elbow nudged Sara’s ribs. “I’m hoping I get so lucky.”

  “I didn’t get lucky!” Sara responded quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, it was, um, Charlie who tipped me off about the job. How about you?” she asked, desperate to redirect the conversation. “Any prospects?”

  “Maybe,” Emmaline said. “I have an interview tomorrow.”

  “That’s great…” Sara’s train of thought drifted away as her gaze landed on Charlie. The woman had her hands in her hair, pulling pins. The wind took hold of the long, glossy tresses, and they flew out like a flag. Charlie drew her fingers through them as if enjoying the sensation.

  “Letting down her hair,” Emmaline murmured. “Good.”

  Bad, Sara thought, because Charlie was looking in the direction of father and son, and her expression was one she’d never seen on her friend’s face. “She’s…she’s fond of Wells, don’t you think?”

  Emmaline’s brows rose. “Sure. Fond of Wells.”

  “And…Ethan? It seems they get along. It’s nice that they get along.”

  “I only just met him tonight,” Emmaline said. “But he seems to like and respect Charlie very much.”

  Sara nodded with vigor. “And she likes and respects him very much right back.”

  “Um…” Emmaline turned her head to look at Sara, eyes narrowing. “Are we talking in euphemisms?”

  “We’re just talking,” Sara said, jumping to her feet to get away from her friend’s inquiring gaze. “No way is it any more than that.”

  When the competition concluded this time, the singles bragging rights went to Joaquin, who ran his own victory laps until Essie stuck out her foot an
d he tumbled, taking her down with him. They lay with their backs on the sand, laughing like loons, and Sara felt something new wash though her heart.

  A…fondness, maybe. Yes, a fondness like Charlie felt for darling Wells.

  No crime that, being fond of Essie and her big brother. There might be other things Joaquin activated—Sara’s libido, for example—but it wasn’t any dire thing to care about the people of her household in this warm fashion.

  It was all part of being their butler.

  As dark descended, the guests dispersed. Emmaline headed off in her car to the small apartment she was subletting. Sara, Joaquin, and Essie started up the beach to Nueva Vida. Sara found herself looking back over her shoulder to see Ethan, Charlie, and Wells standing on the deck, backlit by the lights in the house. She waved, and as one, they waved back.

  Sara suppressed the sudden need to race to her friend and warn against disaster. Don’t fall in love. It’s too easy to fall in love with the wrong person!

  “Ms. Sara the Butler, when are we going out for ice cream?”

  She looked back at Joaquin. “What?”

  “Our bet. I owe you and Wells triple cones.”

  “You were nice to him,” she said.

  “Yeah, it’s a real hardship to play horseshoes and a silly beanbag game with one little kid.”

  They’d reached the house. Essie jogged up the steps to the deck and disappeared inside the house.

  “You didn’t let him win at horseshoes,” Sara said. “He would have hated that.”

  “Yeah? Well, he didn’t let me win doubles cornhole, so that’s fair.”

  She smiled at his fake grumble. “Thanks. Thanks for it all. I had fun.”

  “Good.” Joaquin began mounting the stairs, then stopped and looked back. “I had fun too, and I’d sort of forgotten what that’s like. Thanks for continuing to remind me.” He resumed his climb.

  Sara stayed where she was, a smile still on her face. Yes, she was very fond of Joaquin. Then he stopped again. In the deepening dusk, she saw the concern on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Images from the night played in her mind. Joaquin as the bearer of potato salad. Joaquin charming Emmaline. Joaquin playing with Wells and then playing cornhole. Joaquin whooping like the boy while taking ridiculous victory laps until being taken down by Essie. Their two faces, alight with laughter.