The Secret (Billionaire's Beach Book 6) Page 6

  “Only if you let me work on my Monopoly game,” she said, pulling out the deck of cards-version from her purse. The game was one of Wells’ favorites, and the little shark took after his granddad and dad, loving the thrill of the real estate hunt.

  Two rounds didn’t distract Ethan, however, though he let Charlie win to make up for his earlier boorish mood. When she gathered them together a third time, she returned them to her purse.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I thought the distraction might help.”

  “It’s not you. The fact is, I’m shitty company,” he said flatly. “I hate hospitals.”

  Charlie nodded. “Did your…did Michelle spend a lot of time in one, or was she at home with hospice?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Nobody enjoys being at the hospital,” she said, shrugging. “Unless the outcome is a baby, of course.”

  That sent Ethan’s thoughts careening in the opposite direction, back to the day they had been called by their lawyer. It was time to collect their son. Michelle had been rosy-cheeked and full of energy, still completely unaware of the cancer gathering in her body. Wreathed in smiles she’d accepted the precious bundle the nurse placed into her arms.

  “We wanted Wells so much,” he murmured. “That day we took him home, the sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at it.”

  He glanced at Charlie to see there was color in her face too, and her eyes were a brilliant sapphire, as if shined by tears. “Charlie?”

  “I’ve seen skies just like that,” she said.

  Then gloom tumbled over Ethan again. The blue skies hadn’t remained so bright. “Michelle fought so damn hard,” he muttered, looking down. “Sometimes I thought she tried too hard.”

  “She had people she loved to battle for,” Charlie said. “I can’t imagine a mother of Wells doing any less.”

  He glanced up to see her make a face. “I shouldn’t comment,” she continued. “It’s none of my business.”

  “He didn’t get to see her at the very end,” Ethan said. “Wells, I mean. I wasn’t against hospice, and they were in place, but I did worry about the effect that being a part of the final moments would have on him.”

  Charlie stared at him, her expression full of sympathy and sadness.

  “One day we came to the hospital for a treatment and she…she just didn’t make it home.” Michelle had been only a husk of her former self by then. It had taken very little, a whisper, a breath of a breeze, to blow out her last flicker.

  “You cared for her very much,” Charlie said.

  “The love of my life,” he agreed. “I think what we had was something rare. Special.”

  “Perhaps…” Charlie ventured, her voice soft. “Later. Another woman…”

  “I won’t ever expect that kind of love, that deep of a relationship,” he said. “When you struggle to bring life into the world together, are gifted with it in another manner, and then struggle toward death with a person…it’s a kind of bond that can’t be replaced.”

  God, he felt like shit, and from the look on Charlie’s face, he’d just dragged her into his lousy mood. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something else to talk about besides his current worry over his son and his languishing ache over his wife’s death.

  “Did I mention I make horrible company?” he said eventually. “Maybe we can converse about the worldwide rate of hunger or the resilience of cockroaches in a nuclear apocalypse.”

  A half-smile twitched her pretty mouth. “I can share with you some of the facts about wildlife scat that Wells shared with me during zoo camp this summer.”

  He shook his head. “Too close to estimating the number of species that will go extinct in Wells’ lifetime. That’s what he shared with me. I worried he wouldn’t sleep that night.”

  Charlie frowned. “Maybe we should rethink zoo camp.” From her purse, she fished out a notebook and jotted something down.

  “You always have one of those,” he said, curious. “And what is that language you use to write in it?”

  She closed and tucked the notebook away. “It started in high school. My friends and I made up our own form of shorthand. We had a blank book that we traded around where we wrote down our typical teenage girl thoughts.”

  “Which were always a mystery to me.”

  “Teachers we liked, other girls we disliked, boys who made dud dates.”

  “But you still have your little books. In which you write…”

  “Recommendations for restaurants. The best drycleaners. The landscape service that someone tells me deals well with rose rust.”

  “Our roses have rust?”

  “You don’t have any roses. But I file away the information for another time.”

  “For another employer?” he asked, surprised by the sudden sense of betrayal. “Are you planning on leaving us, Charlie?”

  She shook her head. “But you never know what the future will bring.”

  “Yeah,” he said, though agreement felt like shards of glass in his throat. “You’ll likely meet Mr. Right real soon and end up running off to get married to him and have your own kid.”

  Instead of looking at him, she fiddled with the contents of her purse, re-settling her wallet, a pack of tissues, that damn notebook. “I don’t see marriage in my forecast.”

  “What?” Ethan stared at her. “Not ever?”

  “I don’t date well.”

  “You were out with Roland Finch just yesterday.”

  “As he dropped me home, I gave him Merry’s number,” she said wryly. “At her request.”

  “That’s one time.” Someone so young should have a rosier outlook on romance. “One guy.”

  “My first boyfriend was a disaster. The men after him didn’t touch my heart…and I’m pretty glad about that actually.”

  “Charlie…”

  “My parents couldn’t stay together. My father’s defection made my mother unhappy and unpleasant. I prefer not to throw my hat in that ring.”

  “Never?”

  “Maybe I’d entertain some other kind of partnership…but one more practical than romantic.”

  “What does that mean? Are you going to make some sort of bloodless arrangement that gives you a level of companionship but not love?”

  She shrugged. “That sounds okay to me. If the right companion comes along.”

  Frustrated, Ethan scowled at her. What a waste of everything about her that would make her some man’s special and rare.

  Then the memory of their kiss came roaring back. The events that had come after had pushed aside any consideration of that scorching moment they’d shared at Beach House No. 9, of the way she’d fit in his arms. She’d called the cove “almost paradise,” but that had been the taste of her in his mouth, the way she trembled at his touch, the drag of her small breasts against his chest.

  His palms itched, wanting to feel the press of her hard nipple in the heart of his hand. He abruptly stood, trying to redirect his thoughts before he had an inconvenient and uncouth hard-on in a hospital waiting room. He paced toward the window that looked over a parking lot and little else. At least the conversation had momentarily distracted him from concerns about Wells.

  They hit him again, hard now, and he gripped the sill, his knuckles turning white. His boy, who’d looked so small and so vulnerable on that gurney. The hospital gown had been printed with faded cartoon toy trains and tiny cars, passions that Wells had long outgrown—which had only served to twist Ethan’s heart more.

  Ethan would have to buy him a new dinosaur model. They could make it together as he recuperated, which he would start doing as soon as he got out of the god damned surgery. His fist pounded the metal surface for each word.

  His mind drifted to another small figure in another bed. Michelle, looking exhausted even as her grip was firm on his hand. “You’ll take good care of our boy. Maybe you’ll even find him another mother.”

  Ethan closed his eyes, sadness sucking at him like a wave being drawn back
to the sea. There will never be another you.

  Then Charlie was beside him, her small hand on his back, bringing him into the present.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “I know it won’t be long now.”

  He turned to face her, just as he caught sight of the surgeon striding into the room, a diminutive woman in purple scrubs.

  She smiled. “Mr. Archer? Wells did great. He’s in recovery now. Would you like to sit beside him until he wakes up?”

  Relief was a euphoric singing in his blood. He felt his smile break over his face, and then he swept Charlie into his embrace, sharing with her all he felt.

  “God,” he whispered against her hair. “God.”

  It felt so great to have her in his arms. So right. He basked in it for a moment, letting everything else fall way at the sensation of this woman again in his embrace.

  “Charlie,” he murmured.

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  With a final squeeze he set her aside, now eager to follow the doctor toward his son. But at the doorway of the waiting room, he glanced back. His butler stood watching, her eyes bright with tears. Their gazes connected, and then she smiled at him, making a little shooing motion with her fingers. He smiled back then obeyed, even as a new sense of disquiet settled in his chest.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have kissed Charlie.

  But he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

  Charlie thought it was past time to leave the hospital. Wells had come through the surgery with flying colors, and Ethan had been at his bedside for a couple of hours now. One of the nurses said he’d been moved from recovery to a regular room, his father still glued tight. The boy had everything he needed.

  But as she forced herself to a stand, she felt a new burn of tears in her eyes.

  “Charlie.”

  At Ethan’s voice, she whipped around.

  “What is it?” Anxiety tightened her throat. “What’s happened to Wells?”

  He held up both palms. “Nothing. All’s fine. I just came by to see if you’re still here.”

  “I’m on my way out.” She didn’t want him to know she’d been lingering in the room, fingering her concerns over Wells like rosary beads. It didn’t seem…professional. “But first I made a few calls—to Skye, to Sara, and Emmaline—and, well, it was peaceful in here, so I stayed a while.”

  Coming closer, he narrowed his eyes. “You think a hospital waiting area is peaceful?”

  If only he wouldn’t look at her with such…such intensity. “It’s quiet.”

  “You didn’t want to leave without hearing further news,” he said, as if stating a fact.

  She gathered her composure around her like a cloak and lifted her chin. “Is there something wrong with that? I am charged with his well-being. It’s what you pay me for.”

  “Sweetheart, I see traces of tears,” he said, his voice low. He rubbed one away with his thumb.

  “A sappy commercial,” she said with a steel spine and gestured to the TV.

  They both glanced at the blank screen.

  “It was on a while ago,” she said.

  “Charlie.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you want to admit how much you care?”

  Because too much caring could blow up in her face. “You say everything’s fine? Really?”

  “Yes.” His gaze ran over her. “But you’re still trembling.”

  “The air conditioning. I’ll warm up as soon as I go.”

  Without warning, he gathered her into his arms.

  “Charlie,” he said, as she put up a token struggle, “let me hold you.”

  “Ethan—”

  “I could use the creature comfort again myself.”

  She heard the rough emotion in his voice, and her arms circled him of their own accord. As she turned her cheek to his chest, his heart beat strongly there, and she closed her eyes, breathing deep as the chill encasing her body began to thaw. Without speaking, they stood for long minutes, sharing more feelings of relief and reprieve.

  “I can’t help thinking it could have been so much worse,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  “They should have a name for it,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “Like schadenfreude or tartle.”

  His mouth kicked up, and he gave her a quizzical glance. “Schadenfreude I know. But tartle?”

  “I learned it from an instructor at the butler academy. It’s a Scottish word that describes that awkward hesitation when greeting someone or introducing someone, and you can’t recall their name.”

  He smiled, clearly amused.

  Charlie smiled back. In her most cherished dreams, this was the relationship she wanted with a man. This partnership, this sense of shared understanding. Companionship.

  She could give up passion and all the havoc it might wreak just for this.

  Then Ethan’s gaze dropped to her mouth and his embrace brought her inches closer. The warmth of friendship morphed in a single second to something hotter. Wilder. Untamed and undomesticated.

  Everything Charlie had never wanted.

  And, of course, could never have, especially with Ethan Archer.

  Perhaps sensing her mood, his arms unlocked as she took a big step backward.

  “I’ll be going now,” she said.

  “Without seeing Wells?” he asked, frowning.

  She hesitated.

  “He’s asking for you.”

  So, of course, Charlie followed Ethan to the boy’s room. Even though the beds were sized for children, he looked too small in it, she decided, hurrying forward.

  But the smile that broke over his face upon catching sight of her was larger than the entire universe.

  “Charlie!” he said. “Where have you been?”

  “My fault, pal,” Ethan put in, coming up behind her. “I was a little overwhelmed with all the tubes and machines hooked up to you, and so I left her back in the waiting room.”

  “That’s okay,” Wells said. “She woulda cried more buckets than now.”

  “I’m not crying,” Charlie said, swiping away tears.

  Wells’ gaze cut to his dad’s. “She’s mushy.”

  Charlie couldn’t stop her hand from sneaking out to stroke his hair from his forehead. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

  “I’m going to have a scar,” he said, looking at his bandaged arm, propped on a pillow beside him. “Like Frankenstein.”

  Alarm clutched at her. “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes. And we have to watch the wound for redness and pus and other yucky stuff oozing out of it.”

  Charlie ignored the churning in her stomach. “We’ll keep a close watch on it.”

  “And I’ll remind the nurses that Wells likes to play possum,” Ethan murmured. “He might look asleep, but…”

  “Speaking of animals.” She dangled the gift shop bag in front of the boy. “Feel up to a present?”

  He snatched the bag with his good hand, letting her know that the pain meds must be working just fine. In a quick second, he fished out a stuffed animal that came attached to a book of facts.

  “It’s a duck-billed platypus,” she said. “The species comes from the same country as koalas.”

  “Good choice,” Ethan said, and she felt the fleeting warmth of his hand run along her hair.

  “I love him.” Wells brought the animal’s bill close to his own nose. “What’s his name?”

  “Why don’t you think about it?” Charlie reached into her purse for a small pair of scissors which she used to remove the tags and separate the book from the animal. “Better yet, maybe if we tuck him close to your ear and you pretend to sleep like you do, he’ll whisper it to you.”

  Wells instantly closed his eyes, settling his head deeper into the pillow.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Charlie slipped the toy between the boy’s chin and shoulder. Then she lightly stroked his hair, watching over him as he fell into a true sleep.

  Releasing a long breath of air, she gla
nced at Ethan, who occupied a chair on the same side of the bed where she sat. “Pus and redness?”

  He nodded. “Yucky stuff. But I think it most likely will heal with no problems at all.”

  “We’ll see to it.”

  They sat in silence, their attention re-focused on the small boy.

  “You’re wonderful with him,” Ethan said, low-voiced. “I’ve had a handful of caregivers, and you should know you’re by far the best.”

  She swallowed. “Thank you. He makes it easy.”

  “You’d make a wonderful mother.”

  Her jaw ached as she held back the emotion welling inside her. She stood and looked around for her purse.

  “He’s asleep. I’ll go back to the house and gather some things to bring back for the both of you. I’m assuming you’re spending the night with him?”

  “Yes.” He looked down at his chair. “They said this folds out into a sort of cot.”

  She drew out her notebook. “Phone charger, electric razor, a change of clothes for you both. Wells’ word puzzle book and a game or two.”

  He held out his hand. “I’ll take Monopoly now.”

  As she placed the deck on his palm, his fingers closed over hers. “Thank you. You’ve been a rock.”

  She smiled wryly. “A leaking rock.”

  “You might be strong, but you’re also just a little bit mushy,” Ethan said, using his son’s word.

  “I’m really not. I’m very pragmatic and sensible and down-to-earth.”

  “You don’t want drama in your life? Is that the reason you plan to avoid marriage?”

  Slipping her hand from his, she hitched the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

  “Not the kind of marriage I saw in my childhood, that’s for sure. Flying dishes and slamming doors. After my father left my mother became a bitter pessimist.”

  “You know there are good marriages. Romantic and loving relationships like your friends Sara and Emmaline are forging.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Maybe I have disaster in my DNA. I’m not willing to chance it.” She started for the door, but then found herself turning around, needing to check on Wells a last time. She moved back to the bed and smoothed the covers, patted the platypus. Then she took another long look at the child, whispered, “My big guy,” and bent lower to kiss Wells on the forehead.