Weekend Agreement (8 page)

The trill of Vivian’s laughter cut the air behind her as she joined him. “Out of curiosity,” she asked when she reached his elbow, “how long does cocktail hour actually last?”

One corner of his mouth curled wryly. “Well, if William had his way, we’d sit out here all evening, but Mother’s a stickler for having dinner at a ‘proper’ time, so we’ll no doubt eat shortly. Thankfully I timed our arrival fairly well this evening.”

Timed? “You mean we’re late on purpose?”

“I make it a point of enduring as little of cocktail hour as possible. My family’s easier to take on a full stomach. Speaking of which, keep an eye on your drink. William doesn’t like a half-empty glass.” Across the way, his stepfather was, yet again, freshening his drink.

“You missed some terrific sailing today.”

She’d forgotten Cole had gone to get her a cocktail. He appeared at her elbow, smiling a little too broadly. As if to reinforce Daniel’s comment about half-empty glasses, his eyes had a slightly glassy look.

“We had the boat heeled about thirty degrees,” he said. “Waves breaking over the bow. Absolutely fantastic.”

“Cole lives for sailing,” Daniel explained.

“Boating, fishing—you name it. It’s in the blood. The whole family loves being on the open water.”

“Except for Daniel,” Vivian remarked from her perch. “He always wanted to stay on the beach and do his own thing rather than participate.”

“Now Vivian, so what if Daniel’s not much of a sailor,” William reminded her. “It’s no great sin.”

“At least not too much of one,” he added with a chuckle. “Are you a sailor, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never tried.”

“We’ll have to get you out on the
Lucky Duck
,” Cole said. “Give you a taste of what it’s like.”

“I don’t know if we’ll get the chance, Cole. The way this wind is picking up, it might be too gusty to head out tomorrow.”

“Well, then,” Cole said, his smile growing impossibly broader, “you’ll simply have to come back another weekend.”

“It’s that storm, William. I knew we should have postponed our party.” Pinching her brow, Vivian sighed in a dramatic fashion. “That hurricane is going to move in and ruin all our plans.”

“Now, now, sweetheart, the weathermen all say the storm is moving out to sea. It’ll miss us entirely. Besides,” William scooped up his wife’s hand and planted a kiss on her wrist, “the powers of nature know better than to cross you.”

“Heaven help us if they do,” Daniel muttered. Charlotte held back a smile. Looking up, she saw he had that same unreadable look as on the plane. An equally mysterious feeling swept over her. “You all right?” she asked.

He nodded. His eyes swept over her, bringing another warming sensation. The rest of the veranda faded away, leaving only him and the ocean backdrop. She found herself unable to speak as he slipped the glass from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in a quiet voice. “Let’s take a walk.”

Chapter Five

“So what do you think of my humble family?” Daniel asked as they walked along the shoreline.

They were walking barefoot in the surf. The waves churned up by the distant storm dampened the rolled cuffs of Daniel’s slacks, but he didn’t mind. The more shoreline they covered, the more the headache that had plagued him since the flight receded. He loved the feel of water swirling around his ankles, the sand rushing out from beneath his feet with the receding waves.

Next to him, Charlotte had bent to retrieve a shell, her tan thighs smooth and inviting. “They were expecting someone else,” she said.

“Guess they’re behind on their supermarket reading.”

Her raised brow told him the reference didn’t go unnoticed. “Valerie Pinochet, then. No wonder they were surprised.”

“Surprised is one way to put it.”

“Disappointed?”

Did she mean him or his family? He watched as she turned the scallop shell over and over in her hand, as if judging its worth. “They’ll get over it.” At least William and Cole would. They didn’t really care whom he showed up with anyway. As for his mother… “Vivian will simply have to find another photo opportunity.”

“She’s very strong-minded, your mother.”

As diplomatic an answer as he’d ever heard. “You don’t need to mince words with me, Professor. I’m well aware my mother is a self-absorbed princess.”

Take, for example, that drivel about writing a book. Vivian wouldn’t read an entire book, let alone write one. She simply wanted the conversation away from Charlotte. His mother only shared the spotlight if there was something in it for her.

“We’ve no one to blame but ourselves, of course.” He picked up a shell and skimmed it into the surf. It disappeared into the foam. “No one does anything to stop her. What’s the proper term? Enabling? We’re all guilty.” Himself included.

“Sometimes it’s easier to acquiesce,” Charlotte said.

Surprised, he paused. She had the same expression she wore when offering him crackers: earnest and sincere, as if she truly understood. A queer tightness filled his chest. “William and Cole have the formula down perfectly. I tend to be a little more passive-aggressive.” Benefit of being the billionaire son. Still, he gave in too, eventually. Ingrained behaviors died hard.

He kicked at the water, hoping to push aside the gloom threatening to rise inside him. There was a time when he saw his mother as a princess, an ethereal beauty who floated in and out of his bedroom in a cloud of silk and rose perfume and kisses that promised attention tomorrow. There was a time when he believed the promises too. Before he learned better.

“Your stepfather seems nice,” Charlotte was saying.

“William? He’s all right. At least, I’ve always been welcome in his house.”

“And your brother?”

He laughed, unable to help himself. “Cole is… Let’s say Cole is definitely Vivian’s son.”

The wind whipped around them, churning the surf. Moisture found its way into the air, spitting drops on their faces. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte rubbing her arms. “You’ve got goose bumps,” he said, brushing her skin. Beneath his fingers, her arm trembled.

“So much for the hot, humid weather. Should we head back to the house?”

“I have a better idea.” Daniel wasn’t ready to leave the tranquility just yet.

He led her away from the water. There weren’t any dunes on this portion of the island. Rather, the land dropped off suddenly, the wind and erosion working together to create a natural shelf. They settled in a small nook, their backs leaning against the sand. Long tufts of grass blew above them, but nestled in their little curve, they were protected. Daniel slid his blazer over Charlotte’s knees like a blanket. She smiled gratefully, making the tightness in his chest a little stronger.

“This might be my favorite view on the whole island,” he said, forcing his gaze from her smile to the endless whitecapped horizon. “No land, few boats. Just open water for as far as the eye can see.”

He felt a nudge against his shoulder. “And here I thought the Ferncliffs were the ones with the love of the sea.”

“I love it; I just don’t love being on it.”

“No crackers on the
Lucky Duck
?”

“Wouldn’t know,” he said, chuckling. “The few times I went, I spent the trip curled up on the berth, doped up on seasick pills. I’m much better as an observer.”

He looked back to the surf where a cormorant struggled to make progress against the wind. “There’s something about the raw power of nature. The way the shoreline changes with every wave. Did you know the seashore is never the same twice? Sand washes away, new sand arrives. Dunes erode and shift. All without us lifting a finger.” He stopped, embarrassed at how whimsical he sounded.

“In other words, you finally admit there’s something you can’t control.”

She had him there. “You win, Professor. Nature is the one force we can’t control.”

“Maybe that’s why you hold it in such high esteem?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s because nature doesn’t ask anything of us in return, except to allow it to exist.”

There he went again, sounding fanciful. This wasn’t like him.

Charlotte burrowed a little deeper into the sand, her body rubbing against his. “You know, for a bloodthirsty businessman, you’re quite a poet.”

“Now that’s a first. I’ve been called many things over the years, but never poetic.”

“You mean no one’s accused you of being a smooth talker?”

“Sure, but not because I’m talking about nature.” He didn’t normally share those kinds of thoughts with anyone.

“Too bad,” he heard her say in a voice nearly muffled by the wind. “Too bad.”

They lapsed into silence. Daniel stared at the darkening shore. It was almost dinnertime. His mother and the others would be wondering where they went. He couldn’t bring himself to move. The heat was leaving the sand, and dampness settling in, but all he could feel was the warmth of the body beside him. More than that, he felt a closeness that went beyond proximity, a sensation he couldn’t name or explain.

“I never went to the beach when I was little,” Charlotte said suddenly.

“That’s too bad. You missed out.”

She nodded. “My father was one of the country’s leading experts on the Cold War. If we traveled, it was because he was speaking somewhere and couldn’t find anyone to watch my brother and me.”

She need not say more. Daniel knew the story well, the notion that your presence was a burden to be borne.

But she quickly elaborated anyway. “Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t a bad father. Just preoccupied. Caught up with his goals.”

“And your mother?” He was curious now. Her mother’s farm was the reason she agreed to this farce of a weekend. Surely there was a bond there.

She drew a circle in the sand, then wiped it away. “My mother, she uh… She left when I was little. Guess the distance got to her.”

“Oh.”

“She died in a freeway accident six months later.” Another circle got wiped away. “I’d like to think she was planning to send for Michael and me.”

“So the farm…?”

“It’s where she grew up. It’s the only connection I have left.”

And she wanted it to what? To hold on to the memory?

To give her context.
Her words from his office came back to him. Despite himself, Daniel felt the sadness in her voice getting to him. He had the sudden urge to reassure her, to tell her yes, their mother was planning to send for them, even though common sense told him the words were far from the truth.

“Do you look like her?” he asked.

“Her coloring and her eyes. My aunt—the woman who owned the farm—she showed me some pictures.”

The cormorant that had been struggling in the wind gave up its fight and settled on the water’s surface. Turning away, Daniel stared at the woman beside him. Her cheeks were pink from the wind. Strands blown loose from her ponytail swept across her face. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Her dishevelment only made her more so.

He tucked a strand behind her ear. “She must have been very beautiful then.”

Charlotte’s eyes locked with his. Large and green and grateful.

Suddenly, it was more than empathy stirring in his soul. He let his fingers linger on her skin. She nuzzled her cheek against his hand and he rewarded her by cupping her jaw.

“I can feel the salt on your skin,” he murmured. The smell of sea air filled his senses. He wanted more than to feel and smell. He wanted to drown in the sensation.

“I bet you taste like the sea.”

He moved closer, his mouth dry in anticipation.

“Daniel!”

Cole’s voice cut through the wind like a foghorn, killing the moment and shoving them to their separate corners of the sand. A moment later, his blond, overly pleased face appeared from around the curve. “There you are,” he greeted. “Mother sent me to find you. She’s fit to be tied that you’re holding up dinner.”

With a silent groan, Daniel sat back against the dune. Charlotte looked as flushed and unsettled as he felt inside. If Cole had been but one minute later…

He would have blown that damn propriety clause clear out of the water.

Damn. For once in his life, his brother’s timing was actually useful. Saved him from making a very expensive fool out of himself. He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Charlotte.

It was time to return to clarity.

…

Dinner was sautéed halibut with risotto and a healthy portion of tension. Vivian, unhappy about having to send Cole after them, was already seated when Charlotte and Daniel entered the dining room.

“I realize you’re used to having the world wait on you, Daniel,” she said, without glancing up from her wine glass, “but we adhere to a schedule. Now I’m afraid Professor Doherty won’t have the chance to freshen up after being dragged through the sand.”

“She doesn’t need to freshen up; she’s fine.”

Charlotte looked to the man holding her chair. Those were the first words he’d spoken since Cole found them. The moment his brother arrived, something in Daniel’s mood shifted. Gone was the gentle, sensuous man who brushed sea salt from her lips. A curtain dropped over his hooded gaze and he was once more the detached and on-guard businessman. Too late though. She’d already glimpsed the vulnerability he was working so hard to keep hidden.