The Secret (Billionaire's Beach Book 6) Page 8

  Seeing her later with his son, tucking that duckbilled platypus beneath his chin, the idea of her as wife and mother had jumped into his head. Lodged there, damn it. Despite knowing the timing was all wrong and probably the entire notion as well, he’d put it out there. Out loud.

  Charlie, you should marry me.

  Now he found a place to park in the lot adjacent to the school and walked through its gates, his attention instantly snagged by Liz Fields, who waved to him from behind the table designated for Book Fair signups. Crossing to her, he smiled at the perky blonde and the thumb-sucking toddler on her hip.

  “Liz,” he said. “Miss Rosalie.”

  The little girl wiggled the pinky of the hand curled around her snub nose.

  He directed his gaze back to her mom. “Once I collect Wells from the classroom, I know I’m supposed to man the table for fifteen minutes before packing up and taking everything back to Charlie.”

  “Great,” Liz said, obviously relieved. “I have to leave as soon as the bell rings. I should have known Ms. Efficiency would have it covered. Where is she?”

  “Out for the afternoon.” He hesitated. His butler and the mom of Jake and Miss Rosalie were friends. Might she know something about Charlie’s current frame of mind? “Has she, uh, said anything to you?”

  Liz blinked. “All manner of things. About Wells’ injury and the new yogurt place and your son’s upcoming seventh birthday party. Do you have something specific in mind?”

  “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Has she mentioned anything about leaving my employ?”

  That was his most immediate concern—that his hasty words had made her uncomfortable enough that she might be planning on leaving him and Wells.

  His gut tightened just thinking about it.

  “Not a word,” Liz replied, big-eyed. “Do you think that’s on her mind?”

  “No, no.” Ethan brushed the thought away. “Forget I said anything. It’s just…she’s great. We’d be lost without her. I mean, Wells would be lost without her.”

  Liz opened her mouth again, but the loud bell sounded. She glanced at her watch.

  “I’ll collect Wells and Jake,” Ethan offered, “then take your place.”

  “Sounds good.” She hesitated. “I hope you’re braced for the Single Dad Deluge?”

  “The what?”

  “You’ll see,” was all she would say.

  The boys bustled through the doorway of their classroom as Ethan arrived. He took the backpack from his son, even though the boy was managing well with his plastic-splinted arm. A little girl in pale candy colors passed by and stuck her tongue out at Wells.

  “There’s a charmer,” he murmured.

  “What, Dad?”

  “That girl there…who is she?”

  “That’s Serafina.” Wells shrugged. “I think she doesn’t like me.”

  “Why?” he asked, directing his son toward the exit with his hand on his shoulder. “Have you done something…”

  Jake piped up. “You don’t have to do anything for Serafina not to like you. This is the second year in a row she hasn’t liked me.”

  The towhead seemed to take it in stride.

  But Wells… “Are you okay with that, son? How do you respond to her, uh, attitude?”

  “Charlie says I have to be friendly to everyone, but I don’t have to be everyone’s friend.”

  “Wise words,” Ethan said, and wished he’d shown as much intelligence lately. “By the way, we’ve got to stick around a few minutes to do the book fair thing.”

  “Okay,” his son said. “I’ve got reading.”

  Ethan ruffled the boy’s hair and found him a seat in the shade, then traded places with Liz, who took off in a hurry and without any more hints about the Single Dad Deluge.

  But he figured it out himself soon enough. Women clustered around the table, all bright smiles and brighter laughs. They hadn’t seen him in ages. Did he want to set up some play dates? Had he heard they were divorced/separated? One guy in a well-pressed madras shirt and loafers mentioned his husband was away on business a lot.

  Bemused, Ethan fielded their questions and overtures as best he could without making any commitments…he hoped. They were an aggressive lot, and he was unprepared. He decided to be annoyed at Liz for leaving him in the dark, or, better yet, Charlie. If she’d agreed to his proposal the other day, then by now he’d be a taken man, and—

  No. That scheme couldn’t be allowed a serious place in his mind.

  But he did have to wonder how he’d escaped this kind of attention before. Was it there all along and he hadn’t noticed? Probably. For years he’d existed in a fog of grief that had lifted only off-and-on, when he was in the sunshine of his son’s company or when he could escape it by total focus on work. Now, it seemed to have moved farther off.

  He felt lighter. Younger, he realized. The world again filling with possibilities.

  Huh.

  “Babysitter busy today, Ethan?” a voice asked.

  He pulled out of his ruminating to note the presence of the woman across the table. Piper Taylor. They’d met, he recalled, at some school event the previous year. At her elbow was Serafina, apparently her daughter, who didn’t like Wells.

  He resisted giving the little girl the stink eye, but let his gaze narrow on her mom. “Excuse me, Piper?”

  “Your babysitter. Jamie? Junie?”

  “Charlie,” he said, and started gathering up the book fair materials. “She’s a member of my household.”

  And didn’t that sound pompous as shit, but this lady looked to be sharpening her talons. To what end?

  “Can you ask her to give me a call?” Piper said, voice sweet as saccharine. “My number’s in the school handbook. I need to coordinate some volunteers for classroom events, and it seems she wants to be helpful.”

  “You could talk to me about it.” Ethan gathered up everything he needed to take back home and tucked it under his arm.

  “Oh, I thought she was your employee—”

  “We’re a team.”

  “Oh. Are you?” She drew out the question like he’d just confessed he and Charlie had been having sex on every stable surface in the house.

  Shit. Just something else he shouldn’t have in his head.

  “I’ve got to go.” He looked toward his son. “Come on, Wells.”

  In the parking lot, he shoved the book fair stuff into the cargo bay as Wells slipped into his booster seat. Ethan prepared to climb behind the wheel, when a man’s voice called his name. Looking over, he saw a face he hadn’t seen in years.

  “Steve!”

  They clasped hands, and the other man clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  Steve McDonald had run the grief group Ethan had attended for a few months after Michelle’s death. The fifty-five-year-old had lost his beloved wife to ovarian cancer and had been a few years ahead of Ethan in the process.

  “I’m managing.” Talking about his feelings had been more burden than relief, so Ethan had stopped attending. But he hadn’t forgotten the older man’s kindness and empathy. “You?”

  “I pick up the grandkids from kindergarten a couple of days a week for my daughter,” he said, indicating a cute pair of twins. “They’re a reason to get up in the morning.”

  “That’s good.” With another handshake, and sincere good wishes, they parted ways.

  Ethan drove the familiar route home, enjoying the sun in the sky, the sound of his son’s chatter, and a renewed sense of well-being. No doubt he’d find a way to address the awkwardness between him and his butler, and everything between them would return to normal.

  He pulled into the garage and Wells was out of his seat and into the house in one heartbeat. Ethan followed more slowly, taking time to retrieve the paraphernalia from the back. As he let himself into the house, he heard his son’s high-pitched voice, Charlie’s lower tones, and then…and then a man’s deep, amused laugh.

  Something primal, from deep in th
e heart of him, drove him to rush toward the kitchen. Smoke practically billowed from his heels when he skidded to a halt, taking in the scene.

  Wells digging in the cookie jar with one hand. Charlie, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of her more usual ponytail or bun. She wore a blue-and-cream striped summer dress that complemented her tan and her brilliant eyes. Short-heeled, dressy sandals. Her bow-shaped lips, delectable, tempting, were colored a soft raspberry, and they were curved in a smile directed at…

  The VP of his company, John Packard.

  “Hey,” John said now, glancing over with the casual air of a man who felt right at home. Built like a running back, he sat on a stool pulled up to the kitchen island. There was a sweating glass of tea in front of him and a crumb-strewn plate, signaling he’d been in the cookie jar as well. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing here?” Ethan said, trying to dial down the tone of demand, but thinking he must have failed because John’s brows shot high.

  “Checking on Wells,” he said. “I brought him a get-well gift.”

  “See, Dad?” Wells said, holding high a miniature Woodie complete with tiny surfboards strapped to the roof.

  “Nice,” Ethan said, then directed his gaze back to his friend. “I didn’t notice your car.”

  John shrugged. “It’s there in your driveway. Behind the pool guy’s truck.”

  Apparently he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, Ethan had missed it. Feeling foolish, he continued into the room and took a closer inspection of the gift his buddy had brought his son. “Thanks, John. That was thoughtful of you to stop by.”

  “Oh, I had my ulterior motive. I know that Charlie bakes on Thursday mornings.” He patted his flat belly. “Fresh cookies.”

  How the hell did John know Charlie’s schedule? And since when did he look at Ethan’s butler with that twinkle in his eyes?

  For her part, Charlie was sending him another easy smile and crossed over to offer John the open jar. “Flattery will get you everywhere…including into my cookies.”

  The other man laughed. “What I dream of every night,” he said, and dipped in for another Snickerdoodle.

  Ethan’s favorite.

  There was no explaining how the sight of the treat in his friend’s hand caused Ethan to burn with…fuck, was it jealousy?

  Jesus. He shoved his fingers through his hair and tried ignoring the edgy possessiveness snaking through him. His kitchen. His cookies. His Charlie.

  It tied his tongue and made knots of his gut. He cleared his throat as the butler came toward him with another glass of tea.

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly, taking it from her. “What else is going on?” he asked John. “Did you go into the office this morning?”

  Since the last trip, they’d been taking it easy, doing most of their work from their respective homes, with the occasional physical check-in with their assistants and associates in Beverly Hills.

  “All’s running smooth,” his VP said, “which leaves me free to shore up my weekend plans. What do you say, Charlie? Shall we make a date?”

  The smile he turned on her was that winning one he used when negotiating deals—full of charm and smarts. Ethan recognized it for what it was, John intending to get everything he wanted. Soup to nuts. The keys to the kingdom and the one next door too. The beautiful butler in his bed.

  Ethan should let Charlie decide for herself. She was an adult free to make her own choices. John, at core, was a gentleman, and wouldn’t pressure her into taking off her clothes and getting naked unless she was on board.

  But…fuck. His butler taking off her clothes and getting naked.

  Charlie, you should marry me. Damn, but the notion still held so much appeal for Ethan.

  “Charlie?” John prompted, with another I’ve-got-the-football-at-the-goal-line grin. “You ready to agree we’ll go out on Friday night?”

  “She can’t,” Ethan answered for her, his voice flat. “She already has a date.” His gaze shifted to meet Charlie’s widening bright blues. “With me.”

  Satisfaction seared through him as she opened her mouth, closed it. No objections from her…good.

  Because he’d decided right then and there to hell with making things less awkward between them. To hell with dismissing the marriage proposal as some whim-of-the-moment.

  It was time to seriously consider the idea.

  Because taking Charlie as a wife seemed increasingly sensible. Practical.

  Damn necessary.

  Chapter 6

  Later that night, after Wells was in bed, Charlie folded and stacked a tangle of dry of towels in the spacious laundry room, trying to get her thoughts into the same kind of order. Ethan had asked her out on a date.

  Well, he’d used that word. But he’d not “asked” her anything. Instead, he’d announced to his friend John, caveman-style, that she already had plans with him for Friday night.

  Maybe it was because of Wells’ upcoming seventh birthday. They’d talked about sitting down and hashing out the details. Ethan was opposed to extravagant celebrations for children. No “Kidchella” concert, no limousines to theme parks shuttered just for the party, no exotic animals to display on the premises.

  Wells had selected a sports theme, and his teacher had allowed him to pass out invitations to the entire class the week before. But putting on a party to entertain twenty-two kids wasn’t going to happen on the fly.

  Still, they’d be better served hashing over the details here at the house, where she had room to draft several lists.

  With the dryer tumbling another load, she scooped a stack into her arms and headed upstairs. All seemed quiet, and with her feet bare she added little of her own sound. Wells usually slept like a log, and about forty-five minutes before Ethan had let her know he was leaving the house for his customary nightly constitutional on the beach.

  In Wells’ bathroom, she slipped the top four towels onto a shelf in the built-in linen closet. Then she moved down the hall, toward the very end where it opened into the spacious master suite.

  As she walked, it suddenly came to her why Ethan had made his proclamation. It was because of John Packard.

  The men were friends and colleagues, but Ethan had called his pal an “alley cat.” Charlie saw John clearly enough—as a charming rogue—and had planned to refuse him anyway.

  Or maybe not. Maybe a date with John would be the diversion she deserved. Because a charming rogue could be entertainment. A distraction from the realities of her situation. A way to distance herself and her fortressed heart from the men of the Archer household.

  But this afternoon Ethan had made it clear he disapproved of any such association.

  Charlie’s temper, usually kept under a chilly layer of ice, began to heat.

  Who did he think he was? The uncle she’d never had who needed to save his niece from the scalawags of the world?

  She was a grown woman, damn it, and she was tired of Ethan tying her shoes and buttoning her cardigans and almost all of the time treating her as if she was some young relative who didn’t know her own mind.

  Letting her mad continue to kindle, she shoved open the half-closed door to the master bedroom and stomped across the soft carpet. Most nights, she slipped in while he was out on the beach and pulled back the duvet to expose the sheets, but he could perform his own turn-down service tonight. Let him plump his own pillows!

  The opening to the master bath was at the rear of the space, and she was so consumed by her irritation with Ethan that she didn’t comprehend at first what she’d stumbled upon as she crossed the threshold.

  The man. In the shower.

  He must have returned to the house, and she hadn’t heard him over the dryer.

  Speaking of dry…that was her mouth as she stared at him in profile, his back against the marble tile, the lines of his body almost wholly revealed by the wavy glass enclosure.

  The water was turned off and the steam was dissipating by the second, but she could see that his
head was thrown back. One hand was braced against the tiled wall while the other fisted his erect penis, his arm pumping his sex with deliberate, lingering strokes.

  This second was past time to leave the room, Charlie told herself. But her feet seemed rooted to the floor, and she squeezed the towels against her chest, against the aching swell of her breasts and the tightening points of her nipples. Anyway, if she moved now…

  He groaned, the low, soft sound like the brush of a hand down her spine. It riveted her gaze and caused her heart to double its beat in her chest.

  She’d never watched a man make himself come.

  Her skin burned hot, and she felt her eyes sting. Oh, right. Must blink.

  Then Ethan groaned again, longer, lower, and she held her breath, eyes wide open. His arm movement sped up with a rough efficiency that caused wet and heat to rush between her legs. She saw the fingertips of his free hand curl, trying to dig into the tile and her body tensed, taking in the strain of his own.

  Another groan. Then, “Charlotte.”

  Her mouth opened on a silent gasp as she saw him begin to orgasm, great arcs of ropey cum spurting from the tip of his penis, one, twice, three times. Four.

  Then he sagged against the wall, his harsh panting echoing in the shower.

  Her heart stalled in her chest, and the walls of her core clenched. Hard.

  It was the raunchiest, sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life.

  And witnessing it had brought her near to climax herself—without human contact and while standing.

  She continued to stare, breathing hard and trying to release the frustrated tension in her muscles. When she could walk again, she needed to head to her bedroom for a session with her battery boyfriend.

  Then, in a quick move, Ethan straightened and flipped on the shower head. Water doused his hair and ran down his neck and over his shoulders. Steam began to billow, obscuring her view, causing a stab of disappointment followed by a sharper one of shame.

  She’d become a wicked voyeur of a woman.

  Dismayed by the thought, she spun, attempting to leave the room as silently as she’d arrived.