The Seduction (Billionaire's Beach Book 5)

by Christie Ridgway

  “Oh,” Stella said, glancing down. “He’s blocked my texts. It’s not how Aaron likes to communicate.”

  Emmaline met Charlie’s gaze. Hmm. “We’ll see him when he comes in,” she assured the younger woman. “I’ll keep my eye out.”

  Following Sara’s added encouragement, Stella sat down, perching on the edge of the seat. “It’s nice to meet Emmaline’s friends,” she said. “I’ve been glad to put my bachelor brother into her capable hands.”

  The other two women smiled at that, and then, true to their calling, drew out the younger woman, learning that she planned to seek out a job in marketing once she returned from her honeymoon. When they brought up her wedding plans, however, Stella started twisting her ring again.

  Uh-oh, Emmaline thought. I need to get to the bottom of this.

  A little delicate probing uncovered the fact that the designated wedding planner had foisted Stella off onto an assistant who was not only inexperienced, but not very nice, either.

  Emmaline shook her head. “Honey, that’s not okay. Can you talk to your brother about it?”

  Stella hesitated.

  “I will, if you’d like,” Emmaline said.

  But before Stella could answer, her head jerked up, and they all saw a handsome man striding toward their table.

  “Aaron,” she said, and jumped to her feet.

  Emmaline did too. She’d yet to meet Stella’s fiancé, Aaron Owens. He was whip-lean, with brown hair and eyes, and a confident air.

  “You weren’t at the entrance,” he said to Stella, almost like an accusation. “You were supposed to wait where I could see you immediately.”

  Stella swallowed. “I—”

  “Blame it on me,” Emmaline put in cheerfully. “I saw Stella and insisted she visit with us.”

  Before she could introduce herself or her friends, Aaron grabbed Stella’s wrist. “Our table’s waiting.” With a cold nod to their group, he began tugging away his bride-to-be.

  Emmaline watched after them, her heart sinking.

  “He seems nice,” Sara remarked, sotto voce. “Not.”

  “Maybe he’s had a busy day at work,” Charlie said.

  “Right.” Emmaline hauled in a breath and re-took her seat. “We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Then they ordered coffees, and the conversation turned general and breezy again. Sara decided they just had to try the apple-pear pie, and when it was half gone, it was so good that Emmaline decided to order a slice to take home for Mr. Curry.

  To save time, she ordered it to go at the bakery counter near the entrance. She was checking her phone when she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw Stella’s fiancé.

  “Oh,” she said, placing her hand on her throat.

  Aaron’s gaze dropped there, then lower, before slowly moving it back up to her face. “We didn’t get a chance to meet before.”

  Because you didn’t give Stella a moment to say goodbye, let alone make introductions, Emmaline thought, but she held out her hand. “Emmaline Rossi.”

  The man might have let the shake linger a little too long. “Aaron Owens.”

  “A pleasure,” she said, removing herself from his hold and resisting the urge to wipe her palm on her skirt.

  “Stella tells me you work for Lucas.”

  “I do,” she answered, inclining her head.

  “You’re his…what?”

  Oh, he knew very well, she could tell. But somehow he thought it gave him power to make her say it.

  “Butler,” she said, putting on her haughtiest expression. Her profession wasn’t a source of shame. Not at all.

  “Stella said that means you take care of her brother’s every…need.”

  Oh, the slimy bastard was titillated by the idea. Emmaline usually had a hold on her temper, but this guy was pushing her buttons.

  “Household needs,” she said icily.

  He smirked, then drew closer and lowered his voice. “So, sweet thing, where can I find live-in help who looks just like you?”

  She told herself he meant it as a compliment. Men said stupid stuff all the time. But instead of answering, she reached into her purse and dug out one of the butler academy contact cards she carried. Then she slapped it against his chest and turned away.

  Instead of being chastised, the jerk let out a low chuckle like it was foreplay. Even worse, he started whistling a jaunty tune that receded as he returned to his table.

  And to Stella, his bride-to-be.

  Emmaline wanted to cry for her. At home, in the shower, as she washed away the ugly memories that meeting the man had triggered.

  So much for her great day.

  Lucas squinted against the glare coming through his windshield as he battled the late afternoon traffic toward home. The people in the cars surrounding him were sunburned and windblown, a testament to their pleasure-filled day under the Malibu sun.

  He was disheveled as well, but from running frustrated fingers through his hair as he raced around putting out fires caused by the upcoming merger. He’d assured clients and soothed the concerns of his employees until he felt like one big knot of bristling tension.

  Home, he thought, would ease every tight muscle and would calm every jangled nerve.

  Emmaline.

  As the cars in front of his braked, he did too, and closed his eyes, imagining her, dressed in something flowing and summery, moving about his house. When he arrived there, he’d find lemonade and just-brewed iced tea in the refrigerator. His bedroom would smell like clean laundry accompanied by an enticing trace of her perfume. When he came downstairs after changing from his suit and tie, he’d head for the patio and stretch out on a chaise overlooking the ocean. In a few moments she’d set a plate of snacks at his elbow.

  Maybe today he’d persuade her to take the chair beside him and sit a while. Then he could enjoy the most beautiful views he knew of—the sun starting to set over the Pacific and Emmaline’s remarkable, unforgettable face.

  Since the night of the charity fundraiser, she’d been ducking him as much as possible, including keeping to her rooms at night.

  But she didn’t shirk her butler duties—from her daily dusting and vacuuming to keeping the household accounts up-to-date. The landscaper had texted him the day before with boisterous praise for the oatmeal cookies she’d offered his crew mid-morning. Lucas might have been disgruntled about that if she hadn’t slipped a packet of those exact treats onto the passenger seat of his car that same morning.

  She had an eye for little things, like those cookies, a slice of dessert she’d brought home from his favorite Malibu restaurant, an article clipped from the local business journal about his company’s merger. One night he’d come home after back-to-back business trips to discover she’d recorded a documentary he’d mentioned wanting to watch. A show he’d been forced to miss while out of town hosting the kind of business dinners that made him long for quiet nights in his home overlooking the ocean.

  With Emmaline.

  Yeah. This evening he would pour her a glass of wine and fetch his own beer, then convince her to enjoy some relaxing time on the patio. Mere conversation would satisfy him tonight—even if he had to initiate it employer to employee. Surely he could fake something to discuss in order to spend an hour or two in her company. It would settle him, he thought, giving him just enough contact to keep his unflagging craving for her under control.

  Finally, he pulled into his garage, his mind on some sort of bullshit agenda he could trot out that would compel her to join him on the patio. Maybe he’d get stern with her over the sheet-ironing again. Or talk to her about stacking the glassware in a different order. Tell her he wanted more of her needle-and-thread handiwork.

  Turned out he fucking loved the discreet monograms now gracing the pockets of his dress shirts. There were snowy handkerchiefs bearing his initials in his bureau, too, and he’d taken to carrying them, occasionally pulling them from his pocket to run his thumb over the letters she’d stitched. Th
at little symbol of her time, care, and talent…warmed him.

  Yes. He’d tell her he wanted his monogram on other articles of clothing.

  Maybe what you really want is your mark on her, a little voice said.

  But Lucas didn’t allow himself to get hung up on the uncomfortable thought as he moved through the doorway going from garage to house. He heard voices from the direction of the kitchen and started that way. Was she watching TV?

  She had a thing for what she called “property porn” which he’d discovered wasn’t nearly as interesting as he’d first imagined when she’d used the term. It was programming about buying or renovating homes or about buying and renovating homes.

  Just another piece of evidence suggesting his butler was so not a free spirit. Where she’d come up with that idea he didn’t know, but every one of her actions broadcasted she was all about building a nest and feathering it well.

  The trill of her laugh floated toward him, and he wondered if she was on a call. Until the rumble of a man’s voice responded.

  A man. Should Lucas change direction? Leave her to her…assignation without interruption?

  To hell with that. It was his house after all.

  His butler.

  He strode forward, then stopped short. Emmaline balanced on a stepladder, her arms reaching toward a vase on a cabinet’s upper shelf. But she was half-twisted to look down at a man that even Lucas could see was movie-star handsome, and she was laughing.

  The stranger’s grin was wide, white, and amused.

  “Emmaline?” Lucas said.

  Her head jerked his way, and her whole body twitched. The abrupt movement rocked the legs of the stepladder, and Emmaline wobbled.

  Shit. She was going to fall. He leaped forward to steady her—only to watch her tumble into the arms of the good-looking stranger.

  With Emmaline cradled against him, the man swung toward Lucas.

  “Hey,” he said, unperturbed, like a beautiful female landed in his arms every day.

  Emmaline scrambled to get her feet on the floor. The stranger released her gently, his gaze still on Lucas, a half-smile on his face.

  The butler smoothed her hair and then did the same with the skirt of her flowered dress. “Mr. Curry,” she said, sounding flustered. “You’re home early.”

  He cocked a brow. “Should I have called first?”

  She blushed. “Of course not.” Her hand waved toward the other man, who looked as if he was enjoying the proceedings immensely. “Lucas Curry, may I introduce you to Joaquin Weatherford? He happens to be a newish near-neighbor of yours.”

  “I walked along the beach to get here,” this Joaquin said, stepping forward and holding out his hand.

  “I see. Nice to meet you.” Lucas managed a polite shake. Then, stymied, he ordered himself to head upstairs. “I’ll leave you to your friend, Emmaline,” he said, glancing at his butler.

  She bit her lip. “Mr. Curry—”

  “We talked about this on the day you moved in. You’re welcome to have a social life, Emmaline. I should have added that includes using the premises to entertain your…friends.” Did he sound like he had a stick up his ass? He felt like there was a poker lodged there, and the expression on Joaquin Weatherford’s face said he thought it was funny as hell.

  Emmaline frowned. “Joaquin’s not a friend—well, of course he’s a friend,” she cast the other man an apologetic look, “but he’s not here to be entertained.”

  Joaquin threw a casual arm across her shoulders. “I came to beg a lasagna from her for a dinner party we’re having tomorrow night. My fiancée’s dad is coming to visit, and he loves Italian food. We’re having a group over, Emmaline included.” He smiled. “You could come too.”

  “Fiancée?” Lucas repeated the operative word.

  “Joaquin is engaged to my good friend Sara Smythe,” Emmaline said, then looked up at the other man. “And you don’t need to beg me to bring a lasagna. As a matter of fact, I’ll bring two, so you have leftovers as well.”

  “A jewel,” Joaquin said, and kissed her on the cheek. Then he sent a sly glance at Lucas. “Don’t you think she’s a jewel?”

  “Oh, stop,” Emmaline said with another blush, and pushed Joaquin away. “Now go home, so I can make out my grocery list.”

  He saluted her, then turned to Lucas and held out his hand again. “Good to meet you. And the invitation to dinner was sincere.”

  Emmaline frowned. “Oh, Mr. Curry doesn’t have time to—”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, speaking over her. “I’ll make sure Emmaline gives me the time and place.”

  “Bet she lets you tag along,” Joaquin said with a wink. “If only to carry the casseroles.”

  They watched him stride through the opening to the patio, and then he disappeared down the steps to the beach.

  Emmaline shot a quick glance at Lucas, then turned away to remount the ladder. “I’m sorry if that was awkward. You don’t have to go to the dinner party.”

  She was stretching again for that vase, and Lucas didn’t hesitate to put his hands at her waist and lift her off the steps.

  “Let me get that,” he said, placing her on her feet. “You almost hurt yourself last time.”

  “Because you startled me.”

  Ignoring that, he drew the item off the shelf and set it in her hands. “And I’m definitely going to the event. I’ve never had your lasagna, which now appears to be a serious lack on my part.”

  “I’ll make you your very own pan of it,” Emmaline offered.

  “I’m going to the dinner party,” he said, staring into her eyes. And…snap, that link between them clicked into place, and then that settling he’d been looking for happened too. He wanted her, yeah, but merely being around her smoothed the rough edges left by his day.

  “Come sit down with me, Emmaline,” he said. “We’ll go out on the patio, have a drink, watch the sun set.”

  She swallowed. “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll tell you about my conversation with the wedding planner.” She’d informed him about Stella’s difficulties with the assistant. “I finally got a hold of her today. You can give me your opinion on whether or not she’ll step up and do what she was hired for now.”

  “Well…”

  It was good bait, as he’d suspected. She had a warm heart, and she cared about Lucas’s little sister.

  “I suppose that would be all right,” Emmaline said.

  He smiled. “Do you have any more of those cheese puff thingies around?”

  “I do.” She put aside the vase she’d been clutching. “And your favorite beer is well-stocked in the beverage cooler.”

  “As if I’d ever think otherwise. Sauvignon blanc for you?”

  “Please.”

  Her smile made him desperate to touch her. But he’d promised himself that companionship would do. Employer to employee.

  She’d be too wary of anything else.

  And he damn well knew he shouldn’t be angling for anything else, either. His plate was quite full just as it was.

  A loud buzz from the vicinity of the laundry room made them both jump.

  “I have a load of wash that needs transferring,” she said, turning away. “It will be just a few minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you on the patio.” He watched her walk away, the hem of her silky dress swishing around her bare, slender legs, just as he’d imagined it would. Thank God he’d gotten her out of pinstripes.

  The doorbell at the front entrance rang out.

  “I’ll get it,” he called toward Emmaline, not sure if she’d heard either the sound or him.

  He should have looked before opening the door. But he didn’t, and before he could block the entrance, Valerie Hicks, his sister’s fiancé’s relative, walked around him into his home, wearing a tiny black dress and a shark’s smile.

  “Darling,” she said by way of greeting, smart enough to keep moving away from the open door so he couldn’t immediately shove her out
it. “I have champagne,” she said, raising her arm overhead to brandish the bottle. “I thought we might celebrate our new relationship.”

  Trailing her, Lucas grimaced. “What new relationship?”

  She glanced back and fluttered her heavily made-up eyes. “We’re practically cousins, right? Maybe even kissing cousins.”

  For fuck’s sake. “Look Valerie…”

  But she’d made it to the kitchen and was prowling about, peeking in cupboards. “Where do you keep your champagne glasses? Surely a man like you has some.”

  Meaning a man like him who had money. He’d read her avariciousness the night they’d met when she’d lavished attention on him, thrusting her fake tits in his face and hanging on his arm like she’d fall off her sky-high heels without the support.

  According to his sister, she’d only just moved to Southern California to “start over” after a divorce—read find another husband to bankroll her lifestyle.

  Call him cynical. He had reason to be.

  She turned now, as if a sudden thought had just occurred to her. “Oh, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I? You don’t have plans for the evening?”

  Christ. “As a matter of fact…” Lucas trailed off as Emmaline entered the kitchen from the direction of the laundry room. In her flower-strewn dress she looked summery and fresh and totally surprised to see the other woman.

  “Um…” In one hand she carried several of his shirts on hangars. In the other, a stack of folded dish towels.

  It all looked very cozy and casual, and once again he was damn glad he’d ordered her out of that butler’s uniform. Because now she was about to provide him with a different kind of service.

  “Who are you?” Valerie asked.

  Emmaline glanced at him. “I’m—”

  “My domestic partner, Emmaline Rossi,” Lucas said, crossing to pull her close to him. “Isn’t she a jewel? And she makes me so damn happy.”

  Chapter 4

  “It was all true,” Mr. Curry insisted, as he strode beside Emmaline down the beach the next night. The sun was low in the sky, casting the air a warm pink. “We have a domestic partnership—” At her sharp look, he raised his brows. “Of sorts. A domestic partnership of sorts. And you’re definitely a jewel. Your friend Joaquin said so. I’m happy too.”