The Seduction (Billionaire's Beach Book 5) Read online

  “Joaquin seems elated to have dodged that bullet.”

  Emmaline set her half-eaten slice aside. “They both seem so happy.”

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Lucas said.

  Her pulse jumped. “I don’t know.”

  “Just a little way down the sand.” Standing, he reached for her hand.

  “The dishes—”

  “Here comes Charlie to gather them up.” He yanked Emmaline to her feet. “It’s this butler’s night off.”

  As he led her down the beach, her stomach started jumping again. Even the firm clasp of his hand made her edgy, the warmth of his hold like a promise she thought it better not to believe in. Her mother’s early death had made her wary of all such intangible things.

  You’re creating magic all the time yourself, Emmaline.

  Her eyes stung as she remembered Lucas saying that, how the words had pleased her. How it had pleased her even more that he understood what they would mean to her.

  Now he began climbing a dune, pulling her after him even though gravity seemed to grip the hem of her flowing skirt to try to draw her back.

  “Why are we going up here?” she asked, a little breathless as she floundered up the incline.

  “To be closer to the stars,” he said, tugging her down beside him at the top. They sat on sand tufted here and there with beach grass. “In case you want to make a wish.”

  “It’s too late for the first star.” She stared up at the scatter of them across the sky, visible despite the moonlight. “And there aren’t any shooting ones.”

  “I’ve never seen any reason to follow those rules.”

  She started to open her mouth, then closed it. For a man like this one―successful, confident, handsome―there probably were no rules.

  “I think things should come a little harder for you sometimes,” she grumbled.

  “You haven’t made anything easy, Emmaline,” he said without heat.

  After a moment of silence, she glanced over at him. “I should thank you for what you did today.”

  “Should you?” He brushed a hand over the back of her hair. “I can admit it might have been a tad autocratic of me.”

  “Only a tad?”

  He chuckled. “Still, I’m not sorry I made it happen.”

  “I told Charlie and Sara what you did made me free.”

  “I want you to be free.” Lucas put his arm around her waist, adjusting their positions so they faced each other, their legs at opposite angles. “And you know what else I want, Emmaline. Almost since I first set eyes on you.”

  She recalled that strange, almost mesmerizing, moment when a stranger had touched her arm and something deep inside her as well. It had awakened her sexuality and also forged a link between them that had felt like…like belonging in that one, charmed instant.

  “We both were suffering serious jet lag,” she said, because admitting to the enchantment of that initial meeting seemed fraught with danger.

  “I’m not suffering anything now, Emmaline, except a serious need to be with you for the rest of my life.”

  Alarm bells sounded in her head, and goose bumps broke out everywhere—her neck, her chest, underneath her arms and at the bend of her legs. Her feet scrabbled on the sand.

  “It’s getting cold out here. We should go back.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, keeping her from rising. “We should go forward, Emmaline.”

  She closed her eyes, a liquid heat burning behind them. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Of course I know what I’m saying.” He spoke with all the patience in the world, which she decided she found annoying. It was best to find everything about him annoying.

  “I’m saying, Emmaline, that I’m in love with you.”

  The words fell on top of her like the grand piano in a cartoon. Thoughts couldn’t form under its weight. Breath couldn’t be drawn into lungs squashed paper-thin.

  “No,” she finally managed to say. “You don’t.”

  “Turns out I do,” he said cheerily, which was even more annoying. “I think you should tell me you love me back, and then agree to go to Las Vegas and marry me with the pasty girls to watch over the ‘I do’s.’”

  She clicked onto only the safest part of that. “I think Joaquin and Sara made up the girls with the fancy nipple covers.”

  “Then we’ll get Elvis. I’m confident he’ll do the deed.” Lucas’ hand caught her chin and tilted her face so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I’m in love with you.” He leaned forward to draw his lips across her cheek to her ear. “I love you so much.”

  She dug her fingers into the cool sand, wishing she’d held onto that mussel shell so that those wings could fly her into the sky to find another midnight rainbow.

  “Emmaline,” Lucas whispered. “It’s your turn.”

  She wanted to. She didn’t want to.

  It was a risk, a threat, a means of becoming even lonelier if somehow the magic dissolved and the feelings evaporated. All these years, her past had been her pain—and a shield from more pain. Given the choice to make a real connection now, she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

  With a hard swallow, she managed yet more words. “You know I’m a free spirit.”

  They weren’t the ones lodged in her heart, of course, but the phrase that echoed his couldn’t seem to break free.

  It was caged, like Emmaline herself had been by the past. It seemed freedom still eluded her.

  “Hey, Emmaline!” Wells yelled at her from the beach below the dune.

  Beyond grateful for the distraction, she straightened her spine and peered down at him, noting Ethan and Charlie by his side. “What’s up, Wells?”

  “A game I learned at summer camp. Want to play?”

  She was already on her feet. “Do I have to throw anything? Because we know I’m terrible at that.”

  Digging her heels into the sand, she propelled herself forward, almost like skating off the side of the dune.

  “I didn’t face plant,” she told the boy as she came to a stop beside him, and pinned on a grin. “I think I can take on your game. What is it?”

  Lucas had followed after her and now stood at the base of the sand mound too, staying silent as Wells explained the summer camp game.

  “It’s so cool,” he said. “You just climb up a few feet, then close your eyes and fall back.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Emmaline said, frowning.

  Charlie chimed in. “I agree.”

  “No, no, it’s not dangerous at all, because a person below catches you. So it’s fun-scary just for a couple of seconds.”

  “That still sounds dangerous,” Charlie said.

  Ethan laughed. “I know this one. It’s a staple of corporate team builders, and perfectly fine as long as an ant’s not expected to catch Godzilla.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Wells said, with little-boy fiendishness. “Ant becomes ant jelly.”

  “You always have such a way with words, Wells,” Emmaline said, elbowing him.

  The boy laughed.

  Ethan gestured at the dune with his hand. “Go on up, Wells, and I’ll catch you.”

  “I think this is a terrible idea,” Charlie said, sounding genuinely worried. “Please—”

  “Why don’t you go first then, Charlie,” Ethan suggested. “Climb a little way up, fall back, and I’ll catch you. You’ll see Wells will be perfectly safe.”

  The boy pumped his fist. “Go Charlie, go Charlie, go Charlie.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Don’t be a chicken,” Wells said. “Don’t be a chicken liver.”

  With a sigh, the Archer family butler sent the boy a censuring look. Then she squared her shoulders and trudged up the dune. At the halfway point, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

  Wells started pumping his fist again. “Go Charlie, go Charlie, go Charlie.”

  Ethan held up his arms. “It’s going to be okay. Just let go.”

  �
��Just let go,” Charlie muttered, sighed, then turned to face away from them. “On three. One, two, three!”

  Her body dropped, and Ethan stepped up, easily catching his butler in his outstretched arms. In the moonlight they stared at each other for a long moment, then Ethan hastily set her on her feet.

  “That was…not terrible,” Charlie said faintly.

  “Emmaline goes next,” Wells said, taking his position as director of fun seriously. “Dad’ll catch you.”

  “No, I will,” Lucas said, cupping Emmaline’s shoulders in his hands and squeezing. Then he patted her bottom. “Show Wells what you can do.”

  The boy started another chant to encourage her. It would be craven to refuse the kid, and anything Charlie could do, Emmaline decided she could at least attempt.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, she mounted the pile of sand. At roughly the same point as her friend, she paused and looked over her shoulder.

  Wells gave her a thumb’s-up sign. Charlie and Ethan were studiously looking at anything but each other. Lucas stood at the base of the dune, his head lifted, his features etched in starlight and hollowed by shadows.

  He was in love with her.

  Once again she muted the joy that rose at the thought. You had to be careful, she knew. A package under the Christmas tree shaped like the very thing you asked for might end up being a badminton set or an electric toothbrush. Your birthday gift, once unwrapped, could be a goldfish with a death wish instead of the kitten you’d always wanted.

  “C’mon, Emmaline,” Wells shouted now. “Don’t be such a scaredy.”

  She glanced at Lucas’s face, and her palms went damp with sweat. Her legs trembled.

  “I’ll catch you,” he called, raising his arms. “You can trust me.”

  But in that moment, she couldn’t. Hot tears sprang into her eyes, and she wanted to lift her head and scream at the moon, the stars, the beautiful night that stood stoically by as she messed up the most amazing thing in her life.

  Lucas loved her.

  But she couldn’t find the trust inside her to embrace it. Though she’d trusted him with her body, her true self was another thing altogether. It was impossible to tell him the truth—that she loved him in return.

  For years she’d held herself aloof from forming this kind of attachment, her situation dictating she keep herself apart. That had been sad and solitary and a certain kind of hell. But this was much worse, she discovered, when it wasn’t circumstances holding you back, but yourself, all your doubts and fears and insecurities, the damage built up over years of loneliness and rootlessness.

  How wretched it was to find that the scars formed to protect your heart made it now impossible to let anyone into it.

  Instead of falling back, Emmaline ran to the top of the sand dune, then down again to continue along the beach, racing to get away. A quick glance behind proved no one followed her, but she plowed on, past Joaquin and Sara’s. Finally, she came to a stop at Lucas’s house, sweaty, winded, and with an absolute determination.

  She had to get away from here. Him. Now.

  But as she approached the steps, the surrounding security lights blazed on, and a thought rose along with a sob in her chest—her herb garden.

  I just need to see it one more time, she told herself and hurried around the side of the house to the tidy rows of basil and rosemary and lemon verbena. The lavender patch needed weeding, and she dropped to her knees, too late realizing the automatic watering system had been on and now her legs were going to be caked with mud.

  She stretched for a particularly persistent interloper and got dirt on her dress too. Rising up again, she brushed at the dirt and mud and only managed to smear it worse. Everywhere. She tucked her hair away from her face and realized it was wet from tears. So now her cheeks were muddy and likely marred by mascara tracks too.

  Lovely. But there was no time to make repairs. Surely Lucas would find his way home soon, and she’d have to be gone before he returned.

  Swallowing a bubble of panic, she ran back around the house to let herself inside. As she passed through the kitchen, she noted the half-carafe of cold coffee. Why hadn’t she cleaned it this morning?

  Irritated by the oversight, she crossed to the machine, then went through the ritual cleaning and also preparing it to brew another pot in the morning. That done, her gaze caught on the kitchen towels hanging sloppily on the rod, and she adjusted those, lining up the edges and making sure the hems fell evenly.

  The flowers in the pitcher on the island needed fresh water if they were going to last another few days. Bringing it to the sink, she dumped the green-tinged liquid, washed out the earthenware, added new water and then the flowers again after cutting a half-inch off the stems.

  Hands on hips, she looked about the space, inspecting it to make sure nothing more was out of place.

  What’s out of place is you, a warning voice inside her said. You were going to leave, and you’re procrastinating instead of packing.

  Aware tears had started flowing again, Emmaline marched herself into her rooms and pulled her suitcases from under the bed. After years of moving regularly, she kept her wardrobe to a minimum and had the pieces rolled and tucked into place in no time. In the bathroom, she gathered her toiletries and stored them in their own special bag that kept the perfume upright and had a dedicated container for her bar of facial soap.

  Back in the bedroom, she hurried for the only two items on top of her dresser—the photo of the three butler friends on graduation day, their faces wreathed in smiles and shiny with the possibilities of new futures. She had that again, she told herself as she tucked the photograph between a pair of nighties. There was a new future for her.

  The Napa couple liked birdwatching and cabernet.

  Her remaining treasure she cradled in the palm of her hand for a moment, and staring at it, remembered the day Wells had given her the small piece of ruby-colored beach glass he’d found.

  “It’s shaped like a heart,” he’d pointed out.

  Now tears bathed its glazed, weathered surface. Emmaline rubbed the piece against her dress to dry it, then dropped to her knees to tuck it into the toe of her favorite pair of shoes. Leaning over the soft-sided case, she grasped the tab of the zipper and ruthlessly began tugging the thing into place. It made a sound like something being ripped in half, but she ignored the noise and finished the job with a vicious jerk.

  Only then to realize a thick lock of her hair had become entangled in the gripping teeth.

  Emmaline froze for a long minute. Then she tried pulling the hair loose, to no avail. Unzipping the closure didn’t work, either—the teeth were jammed. A second try yielded the same unsuccessful results.

  It didn’t take a genius to conclude that she was well and truly stuck.

  A new sob tore up her throat, and she pressed her forehead against the cool side of the suitcase as she pictured herself—legs dirty, dress disheveled, face tracked with mud and mascara. A woman made prisoner by her own hair.

  Humiliation complete.

  “Nobody can see me like this,” she muttered. But she had to do something.

  And then it was clear to her, like the sun breaking through clouds, that there was only one person she trusted under the circumstances.

  Fumbling for the phone she’d thrown onto the bed, she closed her eyes and let that last thought sink in. More tears slid down her face.

  Great, her cheeks would be mottled and her nose reddened, too.

  But she placed the call.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her door. She sniffed, trying to get her emotions under control.

  She felt Lucas’s presence behind her and imagined him taking in the sight.

  “Were you attempting to pack yourself inside your suitcase?” he asked in a wondering voice.

  “I was attempting to pack and then this…this just happened.” Pointing to the trapped hair, she swallowed another sob. “You’re going to have to c
ut it.”

  He came closer and bent to get a better look at the situation. “Probably so,” he said, after attempting his own cautious tug.

  “I have scissors in my toiletries case,” she said bravely, and indicated the small bag on the mattress.

  Upon finding them, he experimentally worked the blades. The metallic, slicing noise made Emmaline a little bit sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes.

  He stepped closer.

  Her hand instantly fisted the imprisoned lock of hair. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Yes?” he asked, signaling mild interest.

  “I…I might be a little vain.” She swallowed. “I might be a lot vain about my hair. Please, please be careful.”

  He sighed. “You Italians. All the drama. It’s just going to be a little snip-snip.” His fingers worked the shears again.

  Emmaline squeezed her eyes tighter shut and loosened the hand around her hair. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.” She took a deep breath in. “I trust you.”

  He dropped to his knees behind her and placed a hand on her back. “Do you, Emmaline? Do you really trust me?”

  She gave a short nod, the best she could manage in her situation. “I think I just needed a little time,” she whispered.

  But she refused to be any kind of prisoner from now on. She was finally ready to believe she could have her own happy-ever-after because the alternative was leaving the best man she’d ever known. The best man for her.

  Even her own hair had balked at the ridiculous idea.

  “I get that trust is hard-won,” he said, curling around her so that she felt his strength and heat. “I can give you all the time in the world you need, Emmaline. All the time I have left on Earth.”

  Warmth flowed from her heart outward. She could do this—it suddenly seemed like no danger at all. Oh, God, she was going to be so happy. She was going to make him so happy.

  “You better hurry up with those scissors so I can look in your eyes when I tell you I’m in love with you.”

  His laughter disguised the quick snip of the shears. Then he threw them down and grabbed her so they were both on the floor, with her seated on his lap.