The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series)

by Pamela Browning

  Cara's heart warmed with appreciation for his offer of help, but she shook her head. "I—I can't," she stammered, eluding his grasp, and she bolted directly into the path of a Mercedes sedan, which squealed to a halt not two feet from her. She paid no attention to the driver's indignation but broke into a run past the fountain and headed for the nearest shelter, the orange grove.

  When she reached the rows of trees, she paused to catch her breath. It was a relief to be alone, although she heard a peacock calling his sad cry. Its pitiful "help, help" certainly mirrored her own feelings at the moment.

  After digging in her evening bag for the safety pins, she managed, with some difficulty, to secure the sari. She didn't want to go back into the mansion, and there was no hope of climbing the staircase to her room unnoticed. She stood, unsure of what she wanted to do, until she became aware of the steady cadence of waves washing upon sand. On the beach, she could be alone, and solitude was what she needed.

  Slowly she made her way across the road and headed down the beach. The hurt of the Princess's words seemed to have settled somewhere in the vicinity of her ribs, and she crossed her arms over her stomach to assuage it. It would take a while to recover her bruised self-esteem.

  She didn't know how far she had walked or even how long before she turned and headed back toward Xanadu. When she was about halfway there, her eyes picked out a figure seated on a large log of driftwood above the high-tide line. As she drew closer she recognized Alec.

  "Cara," he said in greeting. He didn't rise from the log. His coat was unbuttoned, his tie hung loose, and he was barefoot.

  "Oh, Alec, it's you," she said, feeling foolish. He must think she was really rude for leaving without a word.

  "I saw you running from the ball, and Bernard Sherman said you were upset," he told her. "He told me the princess said some mean things."

  "Bernard Sherman? Was he the elderly man with all that white hair?"

  "Yes," replied Alec. "He's a friend of mine, and of Xanadu's. Hey, like I said, don't let the Princess get to you."

  "So, um, I'm supposed to take insults in stride? Just because she's the Princess?"

  "Of course not. Do you want me to speak to her? I'll gladly tell her off."

  "And make a scene? Please don't."

  "So do you want to go back to the ball? The band's pretty good, and we dance well together."

  Cara shook her head emphatically. "I'd rather stick my head in a meat grinder," she said, and Alec laughed. He edged over on the log, making space for Cara beside him.

  "I'm sorry for leaving you without a word," Cara apologized. "I had to get out of there as fast as I could."

  "It's okay. I understand." His gesture took in the ocean, the stars, and the lighted towers of Xanadu behind them. "It's nicer out here at the moment, don't you think?"

  "The beach isn't a bad consolation prize," Cara agreed. She paused. "It wasn't fair, the things the Princess said."

  "Life is never fair, Cara," Alec said. His eyes turned hard in the moonlight. "The Princess has been saying things she shouldn't say ever since I've known her. It's a pity, but she gets away with it." Alec shook his head philosophically. "I decided a long time ago not to let her hurt me. She's not worth it."

  Cara was silent, absorbing what Alec had said. She managed a small smile.

  "That's better," said Alec approvingly. He curved a consoling arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Cara took comfort from the gesture, and they sat in silent companionship, watching the moon's gleaming path shimmering on the waves.

  Cara was almost sorry when Alec broke the silence.

  "There's no reason for us to sit out here in the damp air. You don't want to go back to Xanadu, so let's go to the cabana."

  "You'll miss the ball."

  Alec laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, that's a plus. I didn't want to go in the first place."

  He helped her up and they walked hand in hand toward the cabana. A cool breeze had sprung up, winding Cara's sari even more closely around her and blowing her hair toward her face. As they walked she sensed Alec looking at her, but she ignored it. She didn't want to look straight into his eyes for fear of what she might read there.

  "Cara?" Involuntarily she turned, regretting it even as she did so. Alec was staring at her in wonder. She started to make a light remark to distract him but words caught in her throat when she saw the seriousness of his expression.

  "That's it!" Alec said, his voice heavy with excitement. "Wait here," he urged. "I'll be right back."

  "Alec—"

  "Don't move," he warned as he walked briskly toward the cabana.

  Mystified, Cara stood where she was until Alec returned. He was carrying a large sketch pad.

  He began to draw, his hand moving rapidly over the paper, using only the bright moonlight for illumination.

  "What are you doing?" Cara asked him. She knew he didn't think he had any talent for portraying people.

  "The way you were standing—the moonlight on your hair—the hurt showing through your eyes—" He spoke rapidly, intent on his task. Then he pulled her toward the door. Inside, he insisted that she sit high up on a bar stool while he continued to sketch. When he had finished, the floor was littered with page after page of rough drawings.

  When at last he put aside his sketch pad, Cara slid from her stool and began to gather the papers. "Why, Alec," she exclaimed. "These are good. Very good."

  Watching her response to the sketches, Alec nodded. "It's as though something clicked inside me when I saw you like that. I have enough preliminary sketches here to start a painting."

  "But I don't think they look like me," she said doubtfully.

  "They look like you were at that moment, and if I can only capture that essence of vulnerability when I paint your portrait..." Alec left the sentence unfinished, and Cara realized that they were standing very close.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to flow into his arms, to allow his exuberance over the sketches to wash away the pain left by the harsh words of the Princess. Before she knew what was happening, his lips found hers and a warm tide of emotion swept over her. She felt her arms slipping around him, her hands resting on the back of his head as he ferociously pulled her closer. His lips were soft and tender and seeking, and the lean muscles of his thighs pressed against the filmy fabric of her sari.

  But she knew that he still doubted her, still thought that she might be in league with Blake. His suspicions were a wedge between them, and as long as he suspected her motives for being at Xanadu she could never accept his lovemaking.

  She gently loosened his arms about her and pulled away. He released her gradually at her insistence, holding her lips with his until the last possible moment. She walked carefully to the door, not wanting to betray her longing.

  He held his head to one side in that charming way of his and smiled at her, puzzled. "What's the matter, Cara?" he said. "I thought we called a truce for tonight."

  Cara pulled herself up to her full height, and when she spoke her voice did not waver. "It was only a truce, Alec," she said firmly. "Not a surrender."

  And then she slipped away toward the soft apricot glow of Xanadu's lights, lit for one last public display of the great mansion's glory before it was plunged into darkness forever.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Cara went downstairs to breakfast and encountered a cleanup crew hard at work. In the grand ballroom, gilt tables and chairs were in transit. A troop of workers mopped the grand hall and stairs, a truck was hauling away trash, and in the kitchen Ingrid was putting away crockery stacked as high as her head.

  Cara surveyed the confusion with hands on her hips. "Any chance of getting breakfast? Or is that an impossibility?" She grinned.

  Ingrid stepped down from a stool and wiped her hands on an apron. "Breakfast is orange juice. We're still recovering from the ball." Ingrid handed her a glass of juice, then she beamed. "I have an idea. You'll go on a picnic. That will get you out of the
house until we're straightened out around here." Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses.

  "That sounds like fun. In fact, I really haven't seen much of Palm Beach yet, only the hotel and Xanadu and Worth Avenue."

  "Otto keeps a bicycle for Alec to use when he wants one. Why don't you go out to the garage and check on it while I pack your picnic breakfast?"

  The bike was a lightweight ten-speed and much to Cara's liking, though the tires were flat. Two baskets straddling the rear fender would hold the food.

  She returned to find Ingrid closing a small wicker hamper. "Go get Otto," Ingrid directed when Cara told her about the bike's flat tires. Cara went looking and discovered Otto in the pool shed where he was hiding out from the cleaning crew. With the aid of a handy tire pump, he soon had the bike ready to ride and produced a helmet and a map. Cara honked the bike's horn as she rode away, and Ingrid waved from the kitchen window.

  Traffic was light this morning. On South Ocean Boulevard, she passed a row of tall condominiums with huge plate-glass windows facing the ocean. Morning joggers ran along the sidewalk, sidestepping dog walkers who were conscientious about reining in their clusters of poodles and Yorkies. From the beach, it wasn't far to the paved bike trail edging Lake Worth.

  The trail ran past some of the biggest estates on the island. Most were owned by wealthy families who maintained them as winter hideaways, and they were well-designed for privacy. Lush plantings shielded patios, pools, and tennis courts from curious eyes.

  It was the perfect morning for a bike ride. Cara passed no other riders on the trail and heard no sound but the hiss of tires on the pavement and the steady slap-slap of the water against the barnacles on the seawall. The air smelled of brine, and the sun felt warm on her back.

  Before long she braked and stopped at a bench facing the lake. Cara could think of no better place to eat her breakfast. There was no table, but she decided to sit on the seawall and use the seat of the bench for the food.

  She delved into the basket and found a red-checkered cloth to spread over the bench. Ingrid had provided a satisfying meal of brioches, fruit, and hot coffee. After she ate, Cara closed her eyes and leaned back against the leg of the bench, basking in the warmth of the sun.

  "Ah, feeling better, I see," said a voice. Her eyes flew open. It was Bernard Sherman, the man who had tried to help her last night at the ball—a friend of Xanadu, Alec had said.

  Cara smiled up at him uncertainly, shading her eyes against the too-bright sun.

  "Do you mind if I join you? I'm out for my morning stroll, but occasionally I stop for a rest."

  Cara moved to the bench to sit beside him and shot him a sideways glance. She was embarrassed about the night before. "I hope you can forgive me for last night. I probably looked like Cinderella fleeing the ball."

  Bernard laughed. "I sent the handsome prince to find you. Did Alec catch up?"

  "Yes, but the glass slipper didn't fit," Cara said lightly, and he smiled.

  "You're not only pretty but clever as well. Alec had better find a more workable glass slipper. By the way, since we haven't met formally, I'm Bernard Sherman. I believe you are Cara Demorest."

  "Yes, and I'm glad to have the opportunity to show you that I'm not as flighty as I seemed last night," Cara told him.

  "You had every right to feel as you did," said Bernard seriously. He cleared his throat. "The Princess often goes too far."

  Cara made no comment. She'd decided to adopt Alec's policy of ignoring the Princess's barbs.

  "I hope you won't judge all of us in Palm Beach by the way the Princess has treated you. Most of us are pleasant people." Bernard noticed Cara's involuntary glance toward the opulent villa across the path. He smiled. "Wealthy, yes, but predominantly polite. Tell me, Cara, do you have time to spare this morning? I'd like you to come to my house."

  "Well, I..." she began reluctantly. Her first inclination was to beg off, but Bernard reminded her of her dad, and adopting him as a father figure, if only for a short time, appealed to her.

  "Humor an old man, Cara," he said winningly. "I want to show you my cabbages." His eyes twinkled.

  "Cabbages," she repeated.

  "You'll like them. I promise."

  Cara had no idea what he was talking about, but she decided to go along with it. She could use the diversion.

  "All right, Bernard. Let's go."

  He grinned, clearly taking delight in keeping her in the dark.

  Cara wheeled her bicycle alongside Bernard, accommodating her steps to his slow and halting pace. A short distance down the path they reached a towering hedge that almost concealed a gate set with a small carved sign. Casa Del Sol, it said. House of the Sun, translated Cara, remembering her high-school Spanish.

  Bernard motioned for her to wheel her bike through the gate and told her she could prop it against a tree.

  "Come with me," he said.

  Bernard led the way along a pebbled pathway. Cara heard the mellifluous splash of water over rocks and glimpsed a pond through the shrubbery, and soon she spotted a greenhouse roof above the greenery. Bernard paused at the door and turned to her before opening it.

  "These are my cabbages," he said before swinging the door wide.

  The sight inside took Cara's breath away. The greenhouse was filled with thousands of orchids in every color and size.

  Pots of orchids stood on tables, their fragile blooms cascading toward the floor. They hung from the walls and center posts of the building and were suspended from the ceiling. The frilled petals, ranging from dainty pastels to vibrant hues of copper and purple, were massed together to create a scene of unbelievable beauty.

  "How lovely!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it."

  "I retired to Palm Beach twenty-five years ago," Bernard explained. "I bought a single orchid plant one day, more out of curiosity than anything else. I liked it and bought another. Then I built a small greenhouse, which meant I could have more plants. Now I have four greenhouses and five thousand varieties of orchids. I've even developed many original hybrid varieties, and I like to think I'm one of the world's foremost authorities on cross-pollination. It's a fascinating second career, and far different from my first one, which involved manufacturing."

  They walked through the breathtaking beauty of the greenhouse to another as beautiful as the first. The air inside was humid and fragrant with the green smell of growing things.

  "The only orchids I've ever seen are the big pink or white variety," Cara marveled, looking around. "These are all colors and shapes."

  Bernard nodded. "The kind you're thinking of are cattleyas, but orchids come in all shapes and colors. And they grow all over the world, adapting to almost any climatic condition."

  Cara indicated a flat orchid with softly rounded white petals. "This one is beautiful," she said. "Does it have a name?"

  "That's a phalaenopsis," Bernard told her. "Brides often choose them for their wedding bouquets."

  "Growing orchids is a painstaking process," Bernard continued as he led her into a laboratory connected to the greenhouses by a short passageway. Inside the lab, shelves were lined with test tubes and bottles. "I fertilize the orchid seedpods under a magnifying glass and then wait about nine months to transplant the seeds into a sterile jar, where it takes eighteen months for the seeds to sprout. After they're transplanted into community pots, it's another year or so before each plant is moved to its own pot."

  "How long until the orchid blooms?"

  "Five to seven years. The end result may be an entirely new orchid, never before seen on earth." He ushered her toward a corner of the greenhouse. "This orchid is my creation. I call it Xanadu Gold to honor the loveliest estate in the world."

  Xanadu Gold was a cascade of tiny orchids in a glowing shade that was neither yellow nor orange. The blossoms flowed over the side of the container, shining brilliant in the light from above.

  "I get a lot of satisfaction out of creating something completely new." Bernard's gesture took
in a number of pots laden with blooms of all sizes, colors, and shapes. "I'll name that delicate orchid, the one with small pinkish flowers, after you. The Cara Demorest. It's fresh and beautiful, like you."

  Cara laughed in delight. "You mean it? You'd really do that?" The orchids were a pale dusky peach color.

  "Does Bernard Sherman joke about something as important as naming an orchid? Never." Bernard ceremoniously tagged the pot with her name, and whipping out her phone, she snapped a picture of him standing beside them. Then he snapped one of her.

  "I've never been so honored," she said.

  "All I ask is that you come back to visit me soon."

  Outside, Cara thanked Bernard for the tour.

  "I enjoy showing off my 'cabbage patch,'" Bernard said, his manner courtly. "It's something the average visitor to Palm Beach doesn't get to see. But please don't go yet. Stay and have a glass of iced tea with me in my garden."

  They entered a secluded circle of trees and came upon the pond that Cara had seen from the path. White ducks swam serenely on the surface, one of them followed by a trio of ducklings. Here and there a goldfish's bright scales flashed in the sun.

  A rustic table fashioned from a cypress stump stood at the edge of the pond. Bernard withdrew several broken crusts from his pocket and passed some to Cara. They threw the bread into the water, where it was immediately eaten with much snapping and shoving by the ducks. A dark-eyed girl appeared and left a tray of iced tea and little cakes on the table, disappearing as quietly as she had come.

  When the bread was gone, Cara and Bernard ignored the forlorn quacks of the ducks and settled back to watch the small man-made waterfall splashing into the pond below.

  "This has been fun," Cara observed wistfully. "I needed to get away from Xanadu for a while."

  Bernard shot her a keen look. "It sounds as though you're getting too wrapped up in things there."

  Cara thought for a moment and reflected that Bernard was right. "I can't help loving Xanadu and wanting to save it," she said, a plaintive note creeping into her voice.