The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) by Christie Ridgway Page B

that number of mustard varieties.”
    “They’re kind of a weakness,” she admitted with another flush.
    How easy he seemed to ferret out her secrets!
    When he continued to look at her, she found herself speaking again. “You can take a basic—say a sauce—and make it something special with the right combination, you see.”
    With a small smile, he swung the cupboard door shut again and then clapped his hands together as he turned her way. “Well? How about TV? You up for watching some screen in the living area by a fire?”
    Sara froze. Earlier fraternization that day had ended in disaster—the kiss—and awkwardness—his fake pretext for leaving early from the school. “I, um, uh…”
    How best to handle this? If she needed to prove to him that the lip-to-lip thing hadn’t wobbled her, should she agree to an innocent evening on the nearby couch?
    Unsure, she bit her lower lip. “I have a TV in my room.”
    “But is it 3000 inches on the diagonal?”
    For some reason the hyperbole made her smile. “No.”
    “Then hurry up, Butler Sara, we have some high-res moving pictures ready to assault our eyeballs.”
    The use of her position had her sliding off her stool and gave her more to do. He agreed that coffee would be nice, and she plated up some cookies to go along with a couple of steaming mugs. They met at one of the large leather couches, and he fiddled with the remote as she slid the tray onto the table pulled up to it.
    “What’s your favorite sport?” he asked as she put a mug on a coaster in front of him.
    Sara didn’t have one. Between her dual lives in the States and England, she had never established a preference over football or the other football, and she didn’t understand baseball. Bowling made no sense at all.
    Unwilling to confess her ignorance, she sought inspiration from the view out the sliding glass doors.
    “Volleyball,” she said, thinking of the games she’d glimpsed on the wide public beaches nearby.
    “Hmm…” He frowned down at the remote.
    “Or anything,” she hastened to say. “Or really, I should return to my room—”
    “You underestimate the cable package of 10,017 channels I’ve previously had the opportunity to explore.”
    And suddenly, the massive screen bloomed to life with sand and sunshine. Sweaty—oiled?—male bodies wearing bright-colored shorts leaped and stretched and dove, looking Hollywood-cool in their lean muscles and dark shades.
    Sara couldn’t drag her gaze away.
    “It’s the beach kind you wanted to see, right? This is a pro tournament.”
    Swallowing hard, Sara realized she hadn’t had the opportunity to view the sport quite this close. Before, while tooling down the highway, in the distance she’d spied groups of people jumping about the sand. Now, with the camera eye’s view, she could appreciate the athleticism—
    Oh, who was she kidding? She was appreciating the hot sexiness of the male physique. Sliding her gaze toward her companion, she watched his hand grip his mug, the simple gesture flexing the corded muscles of his forearm. He settled deeper into the cushions, and she watching his thigh muscles bunch beneath the dark denim covering them as he stretched his long legs. Her eyes drifted northward, to the thick bulge of his sex.
    The very thick bulge of his sex.
    Her womb clenched, and another set of prickles washed over her. Leaning forward, she grabbed for her own coffee as an excuse to move her restless limbs. When had she become so squirmy?
    “What do you think, Sara?” Joaquin asked.
    Her head jerked in his direction. “About what?”
    “Beach volleyball.” Was that amusement in his voice? “The players.”
    “They…” She had to swallow to lubricate her throat, gone dry during her study of that place between his legs. Glancing at the screen, she saw the teams continued their battle, one man leaping to spike the ball. “They’re certainly strapping figures.”
    Oh, now he was definitely amused, because a grin