the market yesterday afternoon.”
He shrugged. “I just applied some epoxy.”
“Thank you.”
“It was nothing.”
A small payback. Sure, she was employed as his live-in butler, but she clearly made an extra effort not to be intrusive, which he appreciated. Food showed up at the appropriate times in the kitchen. His drawers and hangers were populated with clean clothes. A dust mote didn’t stand a chance.
But she kept out of his personal space. Though at times he’d heard her moving about between the refrigerator and stove and through the windows he’d spied her fussing with the outdoor plants, she didn’t plop down with him to watch TV in the evening or pass by when he was working at his computer in the upstairs office.
So he’d fixed her side-view mirror. Carried heavy bags of mulch from her trunk to the yard upon seeing her struggling with the first one. When he’d learned the bulky garbage and recycle cans had to be wheeled up to the street, he’d insisted on doing the chore himself.
Over the past couple of days their relationship had settled into something like a marriage…but without the sex.
The thought of it made him sigh as they climbed into his car.
Sara glanced over. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy.” It came out as a grumble, which she didn’t deserve, but the truth was, no matter how inconspicuous she made herself, her presence permeated the house and his consciousness.
He’d catch a whiff of her tantalizing perfume drifting down an empty hallway. When his hand reached for a T-shirt in his drawer, he thought of her small ones folding and smoothing the soft cotton. Eating a meal alone at the bar or the dining table, he’d stare at the empty stool beside him or at the chair across from his and he’d want to see her there, smiling at him.
Flirting with him.
Making him hard so that he’d scoop her up and carry her to his bed.
But really, he didn’t want just the sex. He also craved the company.
Which was totally fucked-up. Beyond odd. At sixteen he’d turned into a decided, dedicated loner and had been content with that status quo for the last decade-and-a-half.
Lust must be messing with him then, he mused. Lust—that hadn’t been exorcised by showers and the slick soap found there—as well as the nagging moodiness that this month invariably brought on.
“Which way?” he asked, as the gate leading to the highway opened. She pointed north, and he steered the car in that direction when the traffic cleared.
“Another day in paradise,” she murmured.
Joaquin couldn’t disagree with the comment. The usual SoCal “May Gray” had been burning off early, leaving blue skies and unfiltered sunshine. Despite that, the stretch of sand outside the back doors of Nueva Vida stayed empty, or nearly so. He supposed when summer set in that would change, as the beach was public between the mean high tide line and the water. But for now there was nothing to distract him from the company’s financial reports he insisted his assistant Patrick regularly send, or the weight of fifteen-year-old events pressing on his soul, or his butler’s alluring presence.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Sara said now. “I could fashion an excuse for Wells. I’m afraid he played on your sympathies. While he did indeed lose his mother, his father dotes on him, and I’m sure the man is wallowing in paternal guilt for missing this event.”
“I want to come.” Joaquin hoped to find it a welcome disruption—a kind of palate-cleansing that might mean he’d return to the house feeling lighter. And less lecherous.
He took a quick, sidelong look at Sara. Not that he could complain that she dressed provocatively. Today she wore light denim pants and a flowing, gauzy white shirt. A hat nearly covered her blonde hair and shadowed her fascinating face. The dark glasses completely covered her eyes and cheekbones—though it only served to make him more aware of the pouting, rosebud mouth.
Suppressing a groan, he returned his attention to the road just as his phone warbled, the call coming through the display on the dash. Renata, the read-out showed.
Joaquin reached out to decline the call.
He could feel Sara’s gaze on him.
“Cell service is notoriously spotty in Malibu, right?” he asked.
“The Santa Monica Mountains are well-known to interfere,” she agreed.
“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “She’ll buy that then.”
A minute passed before Sara spoke again. “Not chummy with Mum?”
Not chummy with Mum. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. If Sara knew what she did to him when she