The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (25 page)

Felipe!
Where the fuck are you?

No. Not Felipe. Felipe was gone. Joaquin stumbled away from the Bluetooth speaker blaring at his feet. Then he squeezed shut his eyes, rubbing at them to center himself in the now. Essie. It was his sister Essie he had to locate.

A small hand circled his forearm. He jolted, and he looked down to see Sara at his side. “Did you find her?” he demanded.

Her palm slid toward his elbow then back toward his wrist, as if to soothe him. “No. And I tried her phone again. No answer. No response to my text.”

His jaw tightened so hard his temples started to ache. “We gotta keep going then. Look harder.”

Now Sara’s fingers moved down to his, entwining them, squeezing. “Joaquin, maybe she’s not here. Maybe we should go home and wait.”

“She’s here.” Every instinct he had told him so.

Sara didn’t appear convinced. “Even if she is, we can—”

“I left Felipe at that club,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

He slid his hand from hers, to shove both of his through his hair again, sensory echoes of that night still in his head—the loud music, the sour stink of spilled beer, the spicy perfume of the girl rubbing her breasts against him. “Mick and I had a better offer—a couple of girls wanted to party at their place.”

She sent him a cautious look. “Okay.”

“Felipe wanted us to stay, but he was already high, and I didn’t feel like hanging around until he passed out and I had to cart his ass home.”

Now Joaquin was there again, in that dark nightclub, his brother swaying, his legs already unsteady.

“Don’ go, Wock,” he’d said, the nickname he knew Joaquin despised. “We’ll just stay a little, Wock.”

But he’d been through too many “stay a littles,” and the latest ones had been ending in dumb, drunken grapples with strangers over stupid perceived slights. Puke was the alternative conclusion to an evening out with his brother. On the sidewalk, in the car, all over Joaquin as he hauled Felipe back to their apartment.

That night, he’d not had the patience for it.

“I told him,” Joaquin looked away, swallowed, looked back at Sara. “I told him, ‘I’m not my brother’s keeper.’ Original, huh?”

“Understandable.”

He stared at her. “That I left my brother there to die?”

“Of course you couldn’t foresee the outcome.” A couple ran past them, the girl shrieking as the boy chased her toward the surf. Sara moved closer to Joaquin, and put a palm on his chest. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“I should have known. He was reckless. Self-destructive.” Joaquin sucked in a breath, and his hand crept up to enclose Sara’s, his fingers curling around hers. “How could I have left him?” The ghosts huddled around him, nodding in agreement.

“You were sixteen. Essie’s age. Think about that. Your adult self has to give your teenage self some compassion. Forgiveness.”

He stared into her blue eyes and felt his own heart beating against his knuckles. He’d
never
been as young as Essie.

“Joaquin? Sara?”

At the sound of his sister’s voice, they both jumped and swung around to face her.

A red Solo cup in hand, Essie’s gaze jumped between their faces, guilt written all over hers.

“Where have you been?” Joaquin thundered.

He checked her out from head to toe, but she looked unharmed, in cut-off shorts, a bikini top, and a thousand bracelets jingling at her wrists.

Essie’s expression turned stubborn. “I told you in the note. I came to the party.”

“Well, you’re leaving it now.” He reached for her.

She backed away. “I won’t. I can’t.” Her attention turned to Sara, her tone pleading. “Please. I have to stay.”

For the first time, Joaquin noticed the woman who’d accompanied the butler stood behind her, taking in the scene without comment.

“Is it Zachary?” Sara asked.

His sister nodded, her defiant expression crumpling. “He’s here with another girl,” she said, in an undertone. “And he can’t know I’m bothered by it. I need to show him I’m having a good time, too.”

That’s when Joaquin’s gaze went to that Solo cup again. He lunged for it, grabbing it from his sister’s hand to bring it to his nose. Fruit punch. Sweet. “What the hell is this?”

“I wasn’t drinking it,” Essie said, instantly defensive.

Great.
Joaquin poured the contents into the sand. “Time to go back to the house.”

Essie took another step back. “You go on. I’ll just stay a little—”

“No.”
Stay a little.
The words cut loose the knot on his control. His emotions flung free—frustration, anxiety, panic. He moved in, bending so he and his sister were nose to nose. “I am never going to leave you here. Do you understand me? I am
never
going to leave you.”

From the look on her face he’d frightened her, but he didn’t give a shit. “I just started loving you, Essie. I’m not going to chance losing you now.”

She froze as her expression went from scared to stunned. Then the girl gasped, burst into tears, and finally flung herself at him. Joaquin caught her close, holding her in his arms, one hand sliding into her silky hair.

Shutting his eyes, he breathed in the salty air. The last time he’d held a sibling it was to watch his brother die in his embrace, and God, this was so, so much better. Suddenly, the skulking ghosts moved off and he felt the sun, warm on his skin. Then things inside of him seemed to shift, broken pieces moving in his chest, torn edges matching up and miraculously healing. Old pain leached away, and in its place grew something bright and beautiful.

The world that had seemed so narrow for so long opened up before him.

“Okay,” he said in a gruff voice. “Okay.” He stroked his sister’s hair and looked over her shoulder to meet Sara’s dazzling blue gaze. “Let’s go. Let’s all go home.”

Sara drove at the tail end of their short caravan back to Nueva Vida with Essie’s car in front, Joaquin following, then her small sedan containing her and Imogen riding shotgun.

Glancing over at the other woman, Sara cleared her throat. “You’re really okay going with me to make sure they’re settled before I take you home?”

“Mm-hmm.” Imogen’s gaze was trained in the direction of the side-view mirror.

“We don’t need to stay long.” Sara calculated the length of time it would take to pack the rest of her things. Whatever she could gather in forty minutes, she decided. If there was more to collect after that, she’d put it off for another day.

“Mm-hmm.” Imogen sounded absent again.

“And if I can’t get a hold of my friend Emmaline, may I stay one more night with you?”

This time the pop singer didn’t answer.

Sara glanced over, to find the younger woman staring at her. “What?”

“You’re going to give up on
that
guy?”

“Um…” She’d explained over a bottle of wine the night before the circumstances of why she’d left Nueva Vida. “I shouldn’t have fallen for him, I told you. I’m his
butler
.”

“You’re a butt-
head
, if you think being his butler or his shoeshine girl or his banker makes a whit of difference to that man.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I watched him. I heard him. I saw how he got through to his sister.”

Thinking of it tightened Sara’s throat. “She’s a good kid.”

“He’s a good man,” Imogen declared. “And I saw the way he looked at you, touched you, when he was worried about her.”

Sara shrugged. “We have…chemistry. But he’s not looking for romance.”

“I hope he’s looking ahead,” Imogen muttered, suddenly straightening in her seat. Then she turned around to look behind them. “And you better be careful of the cars on your tail.”

“What?” Sara glanced in the rearview mirror. A car was following close behind, with something poking out from its sunroof. “Is that a selfie stick?”

“That’s the paparazzi,” Imogen said with a grimace. “And if that’s where we’re turning in up ahead, another bunch are waiting.”

“Good God.” Sara gripped the wheel and tried to think. “How did they find us?”

“The masseuse,” Imogen said after a moment. “She’s new, and she gabbed the whole time about which celebrities she’s met or seen. As she was leaving she heard us talking, and I bet she tipped off the bastards.”

Nearing the entry to the estate, Sara followed Essie and Joaquin’s lead and flipped on her left clicker and edged close to the center line. The car behind her followed suit, nearly making contact with her rear bumper. But there was only room for one vehicle at time to pull into the driveway before the gate barred the way. Essie made the turn, then braked and unrolled her window to key in the passcode. Half–a-dozen photographers gathered around her car, making kissy faces and calling questions.

“Damn it,” Sara exclaimed. “I can’t believe I brought this to her.”

“Keep cool,” Imogen advised. “And I’m just as much to blame as you.”

Finally Essie was on her way down the drive and Joaquin swung right in behind her, before the gates could close. But a car traveling in the opposite direction meant Sara couldn’t immediately do the same.

Once clear, she made the turn, but then had to roll down her window, key the passcode, and wait for the barrier to open. It seemed like days, long enough for the relentless paparazzi to pepper her with questions.

“Are you marrying the mogul in Malibu?”

“Did his wife blacklist you in the U.K.?”

“What’s going on with you and Imogen?”

The pop star giggled at that. “Granny and I will sure have something to talk about on Sunday.”

But Sara couldn’t find it amusing because the reporters—if she could call them that—now ringed the car so tightly that when the gate began to move, she couldn’t.

Then Joaquin was there, shoving away the photographers to clear a space for her. She gunned the engine, almost crying in relief as the car cleared the entrance and the barrier closed behind her.

When she braked near the garage, Joaquin pulled open her door, Essie hovering at his elbow. Then the girl’s eyes went as wide as saucers as Sara’s passenger climbed from the other side. The pop singer had ditched her visor and her sunglasses and now she walked around the car to hold out her hand.

“Hi, Essie. We didn’t get to meet before. I’m Imogen.”

“I…wow…I had no idea…” The girl swallowed. “You’re my favorite singer.”

“Thank you. And sorry about bringing the paps with us,” Imogen said breezily. “Occupational hazard. Want to show me inside? I could use a soda or something.”

Clearly star-struck, Essie led the way to the front door of Nueva Vida.

Sara glanced back at the estate’s entrance then met Joaquin’s gaze. “I’m truly sorry. You wanted peace and quiet.”

“And what I got was a butler, a sister—”

“And my scandal.”

“About that…”

Sara felt herself cringe. “None of the story is true…at least on my side. I
never
encouraged him and his idea to leave his wife for me. Not once, not one single time by word or by deed.”

“It’s okay, doll,” Joaquin said. Then he took her by the hand and led her toward the house. “Now you come inside, too.”

“I can understand that you wouldn’t believe me,” Sara continued, miserable, as he drew her over the threshold and in the direction of the deck. The setting sun washed it with warmth and the sky had taken on a rosy hue. “Considering the way I…I behaved around you.”

“I know why you behaved the way you did.”

Because she loved him. She’d told him she was in love with him, and he’d heard the words. Sara felt smaller and smaller by the second, and she decided she’d collect Imogen immediately and be on her way while she was still tall enough to reach the gas pedal of her car.

Joaquin dropped her hand to wrap both of his around the deck railing. “It was the same reason I behaved the way I did.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He glanced over. “I’ve not been too happy with the way you make me feel, Sara.”

Embarrassed? Obligated?

“It’s easier to be the reclusive single man, you see. To keep free of attachments in case you fuck them up and let down the ones you care about.”

“You didn’t let down Felipe,” Sara said, aching for the self-reproach Joaquin couldn’t seem to surrender. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Joaquin sucked in a long breath and turned to face her. “The fact is,
he
let
me
down.”

She blinked.

“And I might have learned to let go of my guilt and regrets if I haven’t been so damn infuriated with him about that for the last fifteen years.”

“You’re angry with him.”

Joaquin shoved his hands into his pockets. “He left me, Sara. And my father left me.”

And your mother before them both
, Sara thought.

“And then you left me.” Joaquin’s gaze bored into hers. “I’m so fucking ticked at all of you.”

“Are you mad at me, too?”

Sara turned to see Essie walk onto the deck with Imogen in her wake. The pop singer’s gaze snapped from Sara to Joaquin.

“Maybe, Essie, we should go back inside…”

“Stay,” Joaquin said. “I might need witnesses.” His expression darkened. “Or someone to stop me from committing a not-accidental homicide if the butler won’t cooperate.”

Suddenly wary, Sara stepped back.

Joaquin moved closer. “You didn’t trust me with your ‘scandal,’” he said, putting air quotes around the last word. “And you didn’t trust me with your feelings for me.”

That stung. She lifted her chin. “Did you
want
to know I’d fallen in love with you?”

“I didn’t want any of it,” he shot back. “I wanted to stay in the darkest corner of my private bachelor cave and not commune with anyone. But then you lured me out with your cookie crumbs and your rose petals and your chicken and dumplings and these walls and floors and sheets and pillowcases and cushions that you’ve made into a home.”

Her pounding heart had moved into her throat, nearly choking her.

“So now I want it all, Sara,” Joaquin continued. “And it’s a fucking risk that I’ve spent fifteen long years running from. What are you going to do about that?”