The Secret (Billionaire's Beach Book 6) Read online

  Charlie detoured to freshen Ethan’s mug of coffee, pour one for herself, and fill the milk glass set out for Wells. Then they took their seats.

  “You didn’t have to go to such trouble for me,” she said to Ethan. “But thank you.”

  “We can’t have you starting the day with only your usual handful of pistachios and dried cherries.”

  “Yeah.” Wells nodded. “Dad says that kind of breakfast can make your skin turn green and sour your personality.”

  Charlie arched a brow at the man.

  His mouth twitching, he shrugged. “Not that you’re anything but pink and sweet.”

  Pink and sweet.

  Her imagination was whispering again. The three words shouldn’t sound like sex and innuendo, but her fluttering pulse heard them that way. Her body began to hum, and a heavy warmth settled below her navel. She set down her coffee before she dropped it.

  Ethan’s own hand curled around his mug, and she couldn’t help staring at the long fingers that had touched her the previous day. She followed them with her gaze to the bones of his wrist and then up the roped muscles of his forearm. He played racquetball with one of his friends a couple of times a week, and she’d seen him come back once or twice—shirtless and showing off his super-defined arms and chest.

  “Charlotte?”

  At Ethan’s voice, her eyes jerked up to his. “Y-yes?”

  “Lost in thought?”

  Lost in you. “Something like that.” Ducking her head, she applied herself to her breakfast.

  A weighty silence seemed to hang over the table, and she peeked at the man through her lashes. He studied her, and she forced herself not to squirm. Then the corners of his mouth lifted in the barest of secret smiles, and an ache between her thighs started pulsing.

  It was one thing for her to have these physical responses toward him. If he was seeing her as a sexual being as well, however…that presented all kinds of hazards.

  But as they finished eating, cleaned the kitchen, and prepared to leave the house, nothing untoward was said or done. Her nerves calmed as Wells chattered about anything and everything. He doled out his usual complaints when she applied sunscreen, but held still for it.

  “I’m next,” his father said.

  Charlie held out the bottle.

  “I don’t get personal service?” he asked.

  Everything inside her stilled. Then she gave him a censorious look. “Everyone over twelve learns to stroke themselves.”

  “Indeed.” Ethan took the proffered lotion, looking ready to laugh.

  Replaying her words, Charlie went hot all over. “Apply it themselves. That’s what I meant.”

  “Of course,” he said, pouring some sunscreen into his hand and then tossing the bottle back to her. “But looks like you need another layer, Charlotte. You’re already looking a little…heated.”

  Pink and sweet. Heated.

  Ignoring him and the voice in her head, Charlie tucked the sunscreen away and headed toward the garage. “Are we ready?”

  In Ethan’s silver-and-black Range Rover, she took the passenger seat as Wells settled into his booster in the back. As he reversed, Ethan’s long arm crossed the distance between their seats, and he braced his fingers on the cushioned leather by her shoulder.

  There was nothing the least bit personal about the gesture, but still it unnerved her. Closing her eyes, she tried breathing deeply and evenly.

  “Tell me,” she said, when she thought her voice wouldn’t squeak, “about this place…Crescent Cove?”

  It had a fascinating history, she came to find out. South of Malibu, in the next county, the two-mile-long cove had been purchased as a location to make silent movies in 1919. Tropical vegetation had been added to the California landscape so it could double as a deserted island or the coast of Africa for movies with titles like The Courageous Castaways and Sweet Safari. Later, when talkies had taken over, it became a vacation campground, and from the Twenties through the Fifties, beach houses had been added.

  “My parents are friends with the descendants of the original owner of the land, the Alexander family,” Ethan said. “We stayed every summer for a couple of weeks in Beach House No. 9.”

  He pulled into an expansive parking lot on the eastern side of the coastal road, with signs that pointed to paths leading down the tall bluff to Crescent Cove and to Captain Crow’s.

  “That’s a restaurant right on the sand,” Ethan went on to say as they unpacked their gear. “The main part of the competition is held there.”

  Each of them shouldered backpack beach chairs that also held space for towels, snacks, and toys. Even Wells had one—size appropriate—though his dad carried a plastic container of sand tools.

  “Come on,” Wells said, grabbing Charlie by the hand. “I bet they’re making another sea monster this year.”

  Laughing, she allowed him to tug her toward the sandy path. When the soles of her rubber sandals slid on the surface, Ethan reached out to steady her…and ended up with her other hand. The three of them walked that way, linked, like a family, and she felt a yearning that brought the sting of tears to her eyes as they reached the edge of the bluff. Her breath caught.

  Below was golden sand and the dark, glistening blue of the Pacific. Tucked against the hillside, with the beach as front porches, were about fifty eclectically-styled cottages. Charming and just slightly shabby, they looked to be constructed of cast-off architectural elements and were painted in various colors, but that harmonized with sand, sea, and the bright bougainvillea and hibiscus shrubs that flowered around them.

  “Almost paradise,” she murmured. “It actually doesn’t look real.”

  Ethan’s fingers squeezed hers. “The kids that vacationed here every year were told stories of the mer-people who lived in the cove waters and protected the place with their supernatural powers.”

  “They use sand dollars for money,” Wells said, with an air of authority. “And the beach glass that washes up here is the lost pieces of mer-children board games.”

  Charlie cast a look at the boy’s father. “Is that right?”

  Smiling down at her, he shrugged. “I still believe in magic.”

  How she wanted to! It had seemed magical, a miracle, to land the position in Ethan and Wells’ household, but she’d never anticipated how it might go wrong.

  Ethan frowned now. “Charlie? What is it?”

  She shook her head, trying to wipe the worry from her face.

  He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell sunscreen and man. Ethan’s scent that she knew so well from every personal service she provided for him.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “You can tell me anything. Everything.”

  Because that was so very far from the truth, she pasted on a smile, broke from the hold of the other two and began to skid down the slick path. “Last one to the beach is a rotten egg!”

  The competition was already underway, with the skilled artisans hard at work near the open-air restaurant/bar. As predicted, there was a sea serpent emerging from the sand in the roped-off area labeled for “Experts,” as well as a pirate ship—nubile maiden mounted on the prow—and a clever display of treasure chests, broken open to reveal yards of plunder.

  After admiring those works of art, they moved onto the “Adult Amateurs” section, then the “Under Eighteen Amateurs,” and finally to the “Kid Zone” where a dozen or so kids were at work.

  They dumped their stuff onto the sand, then Wells hunkered down to begin his own masterpiece. Ethan ambled off to see if he could find the current owner/operator of the beach houses, one Skye Alexander, to say hello. Charlie plopped down beside Wells, ready to act as assistant.

  As he worked, she traded smiles with another woman nearby, mother to the little girl whom she ranged behind, if their identical shade of ginger hair could be believed.

  “What are you making?” she asked Wells, as he threw off his T-shirt and began to shape the sand.

  “Dino villag
e,” he said. “And then there’ll be a castle nearby for the head paleontologist.”

  Charlie grinned. He seemed to imagine the duties of the profession as something akin to those of a zookeeper. But she didn’t point out that dinosaurs were extinct or that the people who studied them likely didn’t live in castles. Why smother his imagination? She was more than a little proud of it, as a matter of fact.

  I still believe in magic.

  Ethan had clearly rubbed off on his son.

  “How old is he?” the ginger-haired woman asked, nodding at Wells.

  “Almost seven,” she said. “And your little girl?”

  “Already seven.” She sighed and brushed some sand from her daughter’s shoulder. “It goes so fast, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She’d only been with Wells for about a year, and it had flown by, the time made so delightful by the boy.

  “We have to enjoy every day,” the other woman said now. “Every minute of every day.”

  Charlie could only nod as another wave of longing surged inside her, making it hard to breathe. She touched Wells then, pretending there was something on his back that she needed to sweep away. He glanced her way, his blue eyes vivid in his sun-warmed face, and their familiarity jolted her.

  Suddenly anxious, she jumped to her feet and scrambled through her stuff to find her sunglasses. Sliding them on, she felt a degree of relief at the protection they afforded. She didn’t even startle when Ethan called her name.

  Turning, she saw him approach with a dark-haired woman by his side. Skye Alexander. She was friendly and looked pleased by the response to the sand sculpture event. Wells, clearly viewing her as a comfortable friend, offered to give her a tour of his dino digs.

  “Speaking of tours,” Ethan said to Charlie. “Want to take a walk down the way so I can show you Beach House No. 9?”

  “I’ll hang here with Wells,” Skye put in. “We can’t interrupt the master hard at work.”

  So Charlie found herself alone again with Ethan. They ambled along the surf line, and she kept her head down, thinking Wells might get a kick out of her finding a sand dollar or some beach glass.

  Ethan glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his son. “I can’t believe a whole year’s gone by since we were last at this competition.”

  “I was chatting with a mom who was lamenting the passage of time.” Charlie slipped her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I guess parents can tick off the days easier than the rest of us as they measure them in the growth of their children.”

  “Right.” Ethan forked his hands in his hair. “Christ, I can’t think of where I’d be without Wells.”

  Charlie’s heart played sponge again, wrung by the emotion in the man’s voice. “He’s a great little guy. I’ve felt privileged to have had these months with him.”

  Ethan peered down at her, his gaze narrowing, and Charlie was glad she wore sunglasses. “You love him.”

  She hesitated. Of course, she’d always loved him, but speaking of it was one of those boundaries which should never be crossed. Instead of replying to that, she peered into the distance. “Which one is Beach House No. 9?”

  It was the final bungalow on the beach, at the south end of the cove. It hugged the bluff there, a two-story, brown-shingled building with blue-green trim and a large deck extending over the sand. In the warmth of the day, it seemed to shimmer, like a mirage.

  “Let’s go up on the deck,” Ethan said, taking her hand and towing her closer.

  “We shouldn’t. Someone’s renting it.”

  “They already left,” he said, still pulling. “Skye told me.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Resistance is futile,” he warned, his big hand firm on her own.

  And since she couldn’t really articulate her reluctance, she followed him up the steps until they reached the wooden surface. They stood side-by-side at the railing surrounding it, looking out to sea.

  “That’s the home of the mer-people?” she asked.

  “If you believe in magic,” Ethan said, turning toward her. “Do you, Charlotte?”

  She scowled, his use of that special name for her much too familiar. “Charlotte again. Only my mother calls me Charlotte,” she said, lying.

  “Then I’m giving it up,” he replied. “I don’t want you to see me like your mother.” His hand came up to tuck her flying hair behind her ear again. “As a matter of fact, I definitely want you to see me as something other than a parent.”

  Charlie froze, muscles and bone going still even as her heartbeat began flailing wildly in her chest. Boundaries! Boundaries! her common sense shouted. But another part of her made her lips move and words come out of them. “How do you want me to see you?”

  “As a man,” he said.

  Closing her eyes, she wished she could unhear the words. “That’s not a good idea,” she murmured, even as his other words echoed in her head. Resistance is futile.

  Ethan’s thumb cruised over the edge of her cheekbone. “As a man who wants to kiss you.”

  When she opened her eyes, the sun dazzled them, despite her dark glasses. Everything was sparkly in her vision, and there was glitter in her body too, great handfuls of the stuff being thrown around inside her so that she felt both jittery and dazed.

  Kissing him was a terrible idea. But there were so many conflicting voices and thoughts in her head, and one was winning out. We have to enjoy every day. Every minute of every day.

  And suddenly Charlie could think of no better way to enjoy the next sixty seconds.

  She lifted her face. His head lowered, then his tongue snuck out to barely skate across her lower lip. He did it once more, and she clutched her hands together in order not to touch him. The way he was tasting her—barely tasting her—was maddening, and her nerves knotted in anticipation of more, her breaths panting in and out like she was a teenager experiencing her first contact with a boy. Then Ethan pressed harder, the kiss turning into a kiss, and she had to clutch his waist to keep from keeling over. It was that good―his mouth minty, his tongue sure as it slid against hers. Her thighs quivered and her womb clenched, aware of a sudden achiness there and a wet rush of desire.

  He made a sound, low and almost a growl, and his hand came to her face, angling it so that he could take her mouth again, deeper, more demanding. Her breasts swelled, and under her fingers she felt his muscles harden. His other hand slid down her spine, his palm flat at the small of her back, and she trembled as the kiss turned more urgent. Her body melted into his, the tight ache of her hard nipples against the broad wall of his chest.

  A long whistle wound its way into her consciousness. Charlie jolted, breaking them apart.

  Ethan steadied her with his hands. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “It’s not you,” she said, and driven by some instinct, whirled around. In the distance, she saw Skye Alexander, waving her arms overhead to get their attention. Charlie flew toward the stairs, her stomach shrinking into a knot of dread. “Something’s happened. Something’s happened to Wells.”

  Chapter 4

  Ethan sat with his head in his hands in the surgery waiting room at Children’s Hospital. Even with his eyes closed, the glare from the overhead lights burned his retinas. The bulbs buzzed too, a hive of bees that seemed to hover over him.

  The quiet tones of a medical professional speaking in an adjacent room almost pushed him over the edge. He wanted to leap up and speak in his outside voice, wave his arms around, throw stuff. Anything to scare all this anxiety away.

  Approaching footsteps caught his attention. He glanced up, saw it was Charlie. She slipped into an adjacent chair. “I gave Skye the update. She feels terrible, of course.”

  “I wish she wouldn’t,” he said wearily.

  His old friend had still had her eyes on his son when Wells left his sand sculpture and started playing around at the bottom of the bluff with some other boys. Climbing the big rocks there wouldn’t have seemed particul
arly dangerous. It was only when he’d reached to catch a Frisbee that someone else flung toward him that he’d lost his footing and fell, breaking his wrist upon landing.

  “She wants another report after he gets out of surgery,” Charlie said.

  Upon consultation with his regular pediatrician, they’d driven Wells to the children’s hospital located between the cove and Malibu. There, the orthopedic surgeon had delivered the news—the tricky break required surgery to install some metal hardware that would stabilize the bone. Wells had been disappointed to find out he would have bandaging and a plastic splint afterward instead of a cast. Ethan had been somewhat reassured by his son’s lack of alarm at the idea of going “under the knife” as Wells put it.

  “I heard them say it like that on TV,” the boy said when Charlie had sucked in an audible breath.

  She’d been big-eyed and mostly silent the entire time, but had held on to her usual calm through getting Wells prepped for the procedure. After he’d been wheeled away, she’d disappeared, only to return now.

  Leave it to his butler to have the presence of mind to make the soothing phone call to Skye. If only she had some magic power to make his own rising tension abate.

  He grabbed up a weekly current-issues magazine. Three months old. Tossing it down, he got to his feet and stalked to the counter which held a coffeemaker, a basket with dried creamer and sweeteners, and a stack of cups. Though the dark brew smelled as vile as he was beginning to feel, he poured himself a few ounces.

  Charlie looked at him askance. “You drink some of that,” she said, “and they’ll admit you to the hospital.”

  In response, he dropped it into the trash untouched, then flung himself back into his seat. Down the hall, a door clicked shut with a snick, but he jerked like it was the report of a gun.

  Charlie stared at him as if he was a dangerous convict. “Do you want me to get you some fresh coffee from the cafeteria?”

  “No.”

  “A book or magazine from the gift shop?”

  “No.”

  She glanced to a corner of the room. “I can turn on the TV—”

  “No.” Then he winced, aware his maddening sense of helplessness was turning into bad temper that he was directing at his butler. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” he said. “Forgive me?”