the sky. The ocean was a deep shade of gray, filling in the sweep of the bay with only a narrow white hem of tumbling surf hitting the shore. Many homes on this stretch of beach—no matter how stupendous—were mere weekend getaways that tonight likely stood empty. The entire area was quiet, even the waves keeping their noise to a whisper.
Sara didn’t hear or see or sense Joaquin.
But she descended the steps and turned left, cold sand sliding between the bottoms of her feet and her flip flops.
Once you find him, you’ll return to your quarters, her inner voice intoned again.
Sara frowned. Her verbal stream of consciousness was developing distinct personalities—as well as resemblances to certain people she knew. Emmaline had already been whispering in her ear. Tonight’s voice carried the distinct accent of Mr. Richard Oliphant, who’d taught them classes in protocol and etiquette.
Sara, are you listening?
“Yes, yes,” she muttered. “I’m going to bed.”
“Then you’re going in the wrong direction.” Someone spoke from her left.
Startled, she tripped on her own feet, scattering grains of sand. “Joaquin! You could have said something.”
“I did,” he replied.
She scowled in his direction, making out his dark outline against a scruff-covered berm. He sat with his knees up, his elbows folded on top of them. As she’d remembered, he wasn’t wearing anything more than a pair of jeans and that Hawaiian shirt from earlier. Shivering on his behalf, she decided the temperature must be no more than the mid-fifties.
“You have to be cold.”
“I don’t feel it.”
She trudged toward him anyway and held out the fleece-lined jacket she’d found thrown over a chair in his room. “Take this anyway. Put it on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slid his arms into his sleeves. “You’re sure bossy when you’re supposed to be at my service.”
“The obligations of my service are what prompted me to search for you.” She hugged the blanket to her body. “The butler rulebook expressly forbids letting the man of the house freeze to death on a moonless beach.”
He laughed, the sound a little rough.
“And your sister was worried about you.”
“Yeah. Essie.” He blew out a long breath. “That kid…”
Sara battled again with herself and the voice of Mr. Oliphant. He was urging her away, while another part of her recommended dropping the blanket beside him and dropping her butt to the blanket.
Which she did.
“She’s okay,” Sara told Joaquin now. “The movie…she wanted to find a way to feel closer to you. But now she’s cheerfully making Lulu’s nails look like lemon slices.”
“Is this something I’ve missed?” he demanded. “In my last years of self-banishment to the business cave have females regularly been getting their fingers fruited?”
She figured he was okay if he was making her want to laugh.
So she should get to her feet and get back to the house. It stood not far away, the lights blazing downstairs. Rocking forward to launch herself up, she felt Joaquin’s fingers close over her elbow.
“Is she really all right?” he asked, his tone serious.
Sara settled back, and he dropped his hand. “Fine.”
“I needed out. That movie…”
When he didn’t say more, she felt compelled to add something. “I’d never seen it before. My grandparents didn’t let me out much and probably thought I was too young when it was showing.”
“It had a bit of a racy rep, what with that scene when she pulls her bra out of her sleeve and the new kid counters by dragging his jock strap from one leg of his shorts.”
“About that—”
“Impossible,” he said. “Pure movie magic.”
“Good to know.”
They sat in silence, and she was exhorting herself to get moving once more when he spoke again. “You watched the whole thing?”
“Yes.”
A long, weighty silence, one that made her squirm. Finally, he spoke again. “What did you think of it?”
Him, she thought. Joaquin wanted to know what she thought of his brother. Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around them. “Clearly Felipe was a very talented actor.”
“24-karat charisma, our father always said. More magnetism in his pinky finger than in my… Well, never mind.”
But Sara did mind—and she didn’t agree. Clearly their father treated his older son like the golden child while not giving the younger one any credit. She figured Joaquin would wow the world if he’d ever directed that smolder she’d seen in him toward a camera.
“Did you get along with your brother?” she asked, curious. Would the second son have resented the favored one? Then she realized how personal the question and how nosy she sounded. “I’m sorry. That’s