Would she guess that Sara was almost-but-not-quite over him?
Then another thought chilled her. Was it possible Renata recognized Sara from the coverage of the scandal?
“Do I know you?” she asked Sara. “Where are you from?”
“Um…” Oh,
why
had she let down her guard? For a while now, since that incident with Imogen, she’d put from her mind all the London ugliness. But perhaps she shouldn’t have returned to her regular hair color. Going raven-wing black would have been smarter.
Except she’d wanted Joaquin to see the real her.
Remembering the older woman was waiting for an answer, Sara kept her gaze on her plate. “I went to school in Michigan.”
“That’s not a Michigan accent I hear,” Renata replied.
“Yes, well, my father is from the U.K.” Sara speared a bite of fish but didn’t dare place it anywhere near her dry mouth.
Joaquin’s mother frowned. “Hmm. A cold, damp country.”
“Renata likes her creature comforts,” Joaquin said.
And not as if it was a compliment. Renata realized that, too. Sara could see it in her little twitch.
“Speaking of comfort,” Sara hurried to say, “I hope you find the guest room pleasing.”
“Of course.” Renata relaxed. “The flowers are lovely, by the way.”
“Sara grows them,” Joaquin added. “She did all the landscape design at the estate herself, and she tends the flowers like a good mother would tend to her children.”
Renata twitched again. “I…see.” Her hand trembled as it reached for her wine.
Sara sent Joaquin a glance. While he’d admitted he and his mother weren’t on the best terms, she was surprised by his barbs. Was it merely Renata’s presence that gave him this unfamiliar edge, or had something else happened?
She thought back to his phone call that morning. Then, she’d suspected something was off. As Essie’s parents turned to the teenager to hear about her Malibu adventures, under cover of the girl’s chatter she touched Joaquin’s thigh.
He glanced over, his expression set. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
His demeanor seemed to soften. “Yeah. Okay. Even better when I get a big old slab of chocolate cake under my belt.”
Her lips twitched. “I made it with carob.”
“No. That’s too mean.”
She waved a hand. “You won’t even know the difference.”
His eyes narrowed. “If I do…” he threatened.
“And you, Joaquin?” Renata said from across the table.
He looked up. “And me, what?”
“Essie was just telling us about what her Zachary has been up to. It has me wondering if there’s someone special in your life as well.”
“No,” he said shortly.
Sara returned her attention on her plate.
“That’s too bad. I do hate to think of you all alone—”
“If I am, it’s because I like it that way,” her son ground out, and Sara could feel tension humming from him, like angry bees about to swarm.
Renata carefully set down her fork, clearly having more to say.
Drop it
, Sara thought, trying to urgently deliver mental direction to the older woman.
Don’t say another word on that subject. He’s clearly touchy right now.
“Son.” She leaned forward. “I wish so much more for you. If only you would—”
“Your ‘if onlys’ are too late, Renata,” Joaquin said, his voice hard. “And you lost the right to tell me how to live my life a long time ago. I believe I was seven.”
“Joaquin,” Martin said in a warning tone as the color drained from his wife’s face, and she went absolutely still.
Kill shot
, Sara thought.
Joaquin must have realized it too, because he forked a hand through his hair. “Christ,” he muttered. Looking down at the table, he breathed roughly through his nose.
Sara touched his thigh again, found his muscles strung tight.
“You’re right, of course,” Renata said. “And I can’t try to un-do the past now.”
Joaquin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m having a rough day. Give me a second to smooth out.”
“I’m sorry for that, too.”
He looked up. “No, that’s on me. I take responsibility for my own screw-ups.”
“No, Joaquin.” His mother shook her head, this time tears springing into her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We both know I did.” He held her gaze and there was no missing that silent messages were being sent back and forth.
“No,” she repeated.
The stare down continued for several more moments. Then Essie, who had been uncommonly quiet during the exchange between mother and son, scooted out her chair and jumped to her feet. “I have this party I need to get to. May I be excused?”
Renata’s attention snapped to her daughter. “What party?”
“A beach party. Everybody I know is going.”
Martin frowned. “Esmerelda, I don’t think so.”
His daughter’s mouth pursed, and temper kindled in her eyes. “Teenagers need independence and a social life. There are studies.”
“No, Essie.”
“But
Zachary
will be at the party. This is his first night home, and I want to see him.”
“He can come here,” Martin said, his tone reasonable.
“He doesn’t
want
to come here. He
wants
to go to the beach, and so do I.”
“Well, this is our first night home too and—”
“That’s not fair!” Essie protested
Then parents and child entered into a teenage angst-fueled skirmish. Joaquin looked at Sara, Sara looked back, and as one they escaped around the corner to the kitchen, leaving the battle behind.
At the island, they huddled over generous slices of cake.
“Better now?” she asked him as he chewed his first bite.
“I can be an ass.”
“You don’t say.”
He shot her a tepid grin. “Saucy wench.”
As he took up another bite, she studied him. Definitely tired. Definitely stressed. Definitely in the painful grip of something that tore at him.
Was this love that made his hurt tug at her own heart?
Of course it was. Sara sighed. She should have known she couldn’t order herself out of the feeling. All the songs, the stories, and the movies were apparently right. Love didn’t listen to sense, reason, or rules.
Even those stated in plain black and white in the Continental Butler Academy’s classic textbook.
Chapter 12
Later that night, Joaquin rapped his knuckles on the door to the butler’s quarters. It swung open an inch to reveal one bright blue eye. He lifted the plate holding a slab of chocolate cake in its line of vision without saying a word.
The gap between door and jamb widened in an instant.
His butler frowned at him, her brows almost meeting over her small straight nose. “
More
chocolate cake?”
“For you. And I thought it was carob.”
“And I notice there are two forks.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Joaquin leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “You didn’t eat much of your other slice. I didn’t want to chance any of this piece going to waste.”
“Why are you here, Joaquin?”
He hesitated, frowning, as his gaze ran over her figure. “Are those pajamas?”
She glanced down at the light cotton garments, designed like something a little boy might wear. “What else would they be?”
“I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re printed with teapots and—” he leaned closer “—are those flying pieces of toast?”
Sara’s cheeks turned pink. “The set is a present from Emmaline.”
“Cute. So can I come in?”
“Joaquin, your mother and Martin…”
“It will only take a few minutes.” He’d talked with the older couple and then Essie, only to realize he wouldn’t sleep unless he spoke with Sara too. “Please.”
On a sigh, she stepped back. The space was lowly lit by a lamp on the bureau. He moved inside and slipped the plate onto the small table beside the bed. As he glanced at the turned down sheets, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Was it only last night that they’d rolled around there?
Suddenly, it was too much effort to cross to the loveseat or even continue standing, so he dropped to the edge of the mattress. Sara stayed where she was, and he took a closer look at her. Was that unhappiness lurking in those big blue eyes? “You seemed off earlier. Is something the matter?”
She blinked, then looked away. “You seemed off, too.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s why I’m here. To explain myself.”
“Oh?”
He patted the bed beside him. “Sit down.”
Her approach was wary. Her perch on the mattress hesitant.
“I’m not going to pounce,” he said, then smiled. “Yet.”
She didn’t smile back.
He sighed. “Okay. I wasn’t at my best today because at the end of the month it’s the fifteenth anniversary.”
Her eyes widened and her body stilled. “Of…?”
“Felipe’s death.” He tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact. “Usually…usually it’s a hard time of year for me.”
“Joaquin.” Sara slid closer and put her hand over his. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. Usually my old buddy Mick Hastings and I get together for a couple of days and drink ourselves into numbness. Our way of coping.”
Sara squeezed his hand. “But?”
“But this year Mick isn’t coming. I got the phone call this morning, right before Renata and Martin arrived.”
“Oh, dear.” She hesitated, then shifted, drawing one knee onto the mattress to better face him. “When that day comes, even if Mick isn’t here, you don’t have to be alone.”
Her sympathetic gaze felt like a comfort he didn’t deserve. Closing his eyes, he fell back onto the bed. God, he was tired. “Based on my behavior today, I think we all might agree I’m better alone, actually.”
“Your mother—”
“I apologized to her.”
“Did you?”
“She didn’t deserve what I said. I usually keep myself on a tight leash when it comes to Renata, but tonight…”
“I think she feels remorse for the past.”
“Yeah, she does. And dredging up old hurts won’t change what happened. But I think
she’s
changed. Essie made me see that. Not only did she tell me our mother regrets that she left Felipe and me, but then there’s Essie herself. Despite her little tantrum at the dinner table—”
“Teenager stuff.”
“Yeah. I talked to her, too. She thinks Zachary wants to break up, which is why she was so keen on getting to see him.”
“Oh, poor Essie.”
“I think she’ll survive no matter what happens. She’s a resilient kid, and Renata and Martin have her back. I can tell now that I’ve seen them together.”
“I agree.”
Joaquin opened his eyes to see Sara stretched on the bed, too, elbow propped on the mattress, head in her hand.
That face. Those bright eyes, the lush mouth. He reached over to stroke her cheek. “Which brings me to you. I shouldn’t have insisted you be part of that dinner.”
“It’s all right.”
“It made you uncomfortable. I never want to make you uncomfortable.” He caressed her soft skin again. “Who knew I needed a butler?” he mused aloud.
“Patrick.”
He smiled. “You’re funny.” An emotion rolled through him that he couldn’t name, and he had to touch her again. “Let me…” His fingers drew down her neck to linger where her pulse beat. It thrummed against his fingertips, and he saw a flush turn her face a lovely pink. Suddenly, he wasn’t so tired.
Suddenly, he had other wants besides sleep.
“Let me take you to bed, Sara.”
“We can’t have sex with your parents in the house,” she declared, clearly flustered by the idea.
He smiled. How he enjoyed a flustered butler. His finger traced the tailored lapel of her adorable pajamas, prim, like he knew she wasn’t once he got her naked. “I don’t want to have sex. Instead let me make…” What was the best way to say it?
With a gentle push, he took her to her back and then rolled on top of her. “Let me make sweet with you, Sara.”
“Joaquin…”
But it wasn’t a protest or a refusal, because she threaded her fingers in his hair and drew down his head so they could kiss.
And kiss they did. Sweet, as he’d promised, and as if they had all the time in the world. As if kisses were an end unto themselves.
She must have just bathed because her skin was fresh with that special Sara-scent. He buried his nose against her throat and breathed her in, the fragrance soothing him. Her touch tended to his raw emotions, and he hoped he returned the favor, his hands gentle and slow. As he undressed her, he cherished each new section of skin bared to him—the slope of her breasts, the ticklish skin over her ribs, that place between her navel and her mons.
He lingered there, spreading kisses from hipbone to hipbone and watched while she undulated, clearly enjoying his attentions.
Then she flipped him to his back and it was her turn to undress and explore, but without the urgency of their other couplings. She played with his hands, inspecting each finger and rubbing them against her lips as if memorizing his texture and his taste.
In the quiet of the night, between the kisses and sighs, Joaquin became aware of the sound of the ocean’s waves. In the past weeks he’d become accustomed to their constant noise, from the crash when the surf was high to their gentle shush, like tonight, when they tossed themselves gently but relentlessly against the sand.
His desire for her matched that persistent rhythm. It beat in his blood but didn’t hurry him, and as her breathing sped up, he slowed his hands. She was under him again, and he cruised his lips over her jaw and to her ear and down her neck.
Her nipples were beaded and stiff, and he suckled them with a soft, insistent suction, until her breath hitched and her legs wound around his hips. His cock bathed in the heated wetness between her thighs and a bolt of lust shot through him but he ignored it to slide down her body and feast on that soft flesh.
She cried out as he slid two fingers inside her velvety grip, and he lapped at her clit as he stroked inside her, steady but tender.
He could do this forever, he thought, hold her in his hands and feel the rising pleasure in her body. When her breath caught and she jerked like a fish trying to get free of a line, he gripped her tighter but lightened his strokes in order to sustain the bliss that heated her skin and made her fingers strangle the sheets.