It wasn’t smart. It wasn’t fair.
It was what he wanted more than any fucking thing.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and tried thinking of igloos and icicles. He recalled the cold glass of water he’d downed at Charlie’s.
“By the way,” he said, “the three of us are invited to have dinner with Charlie and Wells at their house tomorrow night. She said another friend—Emmaline—will be there, too.”
At the long silence, he opened his eyes to find Sara staring at him in some alarm. “We can’t do that,” she said.
“Why not?”
“You’re…me… I work for you. You’re my employer.” She wiped her palms on her apron. “We shouldn’t socialize.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Did they teach these prissy, stuffy rules at the Continental Butler Academy?”
“Well…”
“Charlie extended the invitation. She didn’t seem bothered by the idea.”
“You’re not her boss.” Sara stubbornly shook her head as she pointed at him and then at herself. “
We
shouldn’t socialize.”
He gnashed his teeth. They’d
sexualized
, right? How come that line could be crossed but not this one? And though some logical part of him acknowledged he might be courting trouble with this, he wasn’t operating on logic now. The chocolate chip cookies might have something to do with it. Or the way the XX in the house turned him upside down.
“Maybe we need to practice,” he declared.
“Practice?”
“Socializing. We have a night before we take our act public.” He glanced over at Essie, still consumed by whatever was on her phone. Texts with the boyfriend? Photos of friends doing something interesting or something outrageous?
Suddenly that frustrated him, too. His little sister, so free with her “I love yous,” and he didn’t know what went on in her phone, her head, her life. That had to change.
They’d get away from this house and cell phones and other distractions. “You ladies are going to put on your prettiest party clothes tonight.”
Now two pairs of eyes stared at him, blue and brown. Essie’s expression said he’d finally captured her interest.
“You’re taking us to a party?” She glanced at Sara who wiped her hands on her apron again but didn’t comment further.
Good
. “I’m taking you two out to dinner. Be ready at seven.”
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 foolish 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?”