The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,64
had done her best to go about her business and keep the relationship out of the personal zone.
But then Essie had shared about his health situation, and Sara had been scared enough to react instead of maintain her distance. Her face heated even now as she recalled just how intimate they had been. Waking in the morning to find herself curled up against his side had been wonderful instead of woeful. While she’d made herself get up immediately to begin her chores, she’d lingered in the doorway a long moment to look at him, allowing herself to fantasize about another life.
She’d still been under the influence of that fantasy as they breakfasted together—another dangerous act. Joaquin retrieving more coffee and Essie helping with the dishes only underscored how the situation had gotten out of hand. The butler didn’t get cozy with the household. The household didn’t take on the butler’s tasks.
Joaquin’s mother and her husband’s visit to Nueva Vida provided Sara with the much-needed prod to step back into her place. On her side of the line, she’d recall who she was and what she couldn’t have.
By night, she decided now, she’d be over Joaquin.
“What are you mumbling to yourself about?”
Whirling, she turned toward the doorway. “Nothing,” she said to Joaquin, swallowing hard. “Nothing at all.”
He sauntered toward her, the expression on his face curious. Without meaning to, Sara scurried back until her spine pressed against the bureau. She gripped its edge with both hands and attempted to look composed as he came much too near.
She cleared her throat. “Do you think they’ll be comfortable in this room? It’s the largest, but I can choose another, perhaps the one with the—”
“This is fine,” Joaquin replied, standing close enough that she could smell his soap and shampoo. “Which is more than I can say for my mood at the idea of their impromptu visit.”
She held tighter to the furniture instead of lifting her hand to smooth the frown forming between his brows.
“And it just makes additional work for you,” he said.
Taking a side step, she put more room between their bodies and then walked to the bed to fuss with the pillows again. “It’s no problem whatsoever. This is my job.”
When he didn’t answer, she glanced back to see his frown had gone even more ferocious.
“Your job,” he muttered. “Yeah.”
“Speaking of which,” Sara said, bending to smooth the spread. “Are there any dietary restrictions for either one of them?”
“How the hell would I know?”
Swallowing her sigh, she straightened. “I was thinking of a dinner menu of grilled salmon on a cedar plank, rice pilaf, and steamed vegetables.”
He groaned. “Go ahead, why don’t you? Pile on.”
“You’ll like it,” Sara said. “I promise.”
His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “If I agree to fish and vegetables for dinner, what do I get for dessert?”
And then I’m going to swallow all that sweet cream down. The best kind of dessert.
The back of her neck burned at the memory, even though she didn’t think he intended her to recall that moment. “Well—”
He snapped his fingers. “I know. That chocolate cake you made before Essie spilled the beans about my visit to the doctor.”
Now she frowned. “Sweets aren’t good for you.”
“But it’s the deal, doll. Salmon and what’s-it. Then chocolate cake. Oh, and you make sure you set the table for five.”
No, she thought, he didn’t mean… She cleared her throat. “Are you…are you expecting someone else for dinner?”
He ambled closer. “Just me, you, and the other three.”
Her eyes popped. “No. That’s not right.”
“It’s right for me,” he said, breezy.
“Your mother…her husband…” She glared at Joaquin. “They’ll think it’s odd.”
“Why?”
“Because…because I work for you.”
He frowned. “That argument again?”
“But I do work for you.”
“So does my assistant Patrick, and they’ve had dinner with him before.”
Why was he being so dense? “Joaquin, come on. I’m the help.”
“Right. And you’re going to help me by being by my side when I have to get through this damn meal.”
She wanted to redouble her protest, but there was something about his demeanor that made her resolve weaken. A new tenseness was waving off him, and he seemed exhausted, tired in way he hadn’t been at the breakfast table. Oh, she thought, since when had she turned into a great big marshmallow?
But resigned, she sighed. “You’re telling me this is part of my job.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly right.” He drew a fingertip along her jawline, leaving a wave of goose bumps in its wake. “As we’ve so often