by Caro LaFever
Behind her a hiss came, low and sinister. The hair on her neck rose. She knew before she looked who it was.
The saleau.
Whose heavenly delicacies had just been judged deficient. This was not the way she wanted this next meeting to go. She wanted to charm him by gushing over his talent and his food.
“You’re wrong, Javier,” she scolded. “It’s perfect.”
Her boyfriend didn’t notice her objection. His entire focus centered on the looming threat behind her. She could tell by the widening of his eyes and the way he shifted straight on his seat. Nina thought about turning and smiling, but instinct told her to hold still.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Chef Miró.” Jeanie jumped into the growing tension, the ultimate soother of tempers. She was also excellent at labeling disastrous previous meetings as something they clearly had not been.
Nice. Nina nearly snorted. When he’d stormed into their shop on opening day, it had not a nice moment in the entire five minutes he’d spent there.
“This is a lovely restaurant, and your food is excellent,” Heni chimed in, a game smile on her face.
“Your table is acceptable?” His growl rolled across their party like a fog of dissatisfaction.
What was with this man?
Swiveling on her chair, she suppressed the urge to whack him when she got a good take on his attitude. His scowl was a classic signal of get out of here. His eyes sparked with hostility, and his body radiated aggression. If he acted like this to all his guests, she was astonished he had any.
Then, the rest of him stopped her.
He might be a grouchy, messy man, but wow. The white of his jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and the black slacks did nothing to hide the power of his thighs. Instead of a traditional chef’s hat, he wore a black bandana head wrap he’d tucked his dark curls into. It made him look like a pirate.
A surly, sexy pirate.
With a start, she pulled back that last thought. She was with Javier. There should be no thoughts of other men running through her head. Banishing the scent of the saleau had been as easy as leaning into Javier and giving him a kiss. She hadn’t expected a repeat. Dammit.
“Well?” The pirate before her arched his brows and sneered. “Are you satisfied or not?”
In a snap, the last time she’d had sex with her boyfriend shot into her brain.
No, she hadn’t been satisfied.
Jeanie, who always sensed when her siblings were in trouble, jumped in. “The table is marvelous. The food is even better.”
He gave them a grunt, as if the compliment wasn’t good enough to acknowledge. And just like that, Nina’s non-existent temper came to life once more. “I’m amazed a man like you can cook like this.”
A dense silence fell around their table, and the tables near them as well. With an inner groan, she realized she’d made a strategic error. The whole point of this outrageously expensive dinner was to cajole this man, not condemn him. “I don’t know—”
“Obviously, you don’t.” His presence seemed to expand, filling the air around her. “Enjoy your meal.”
With that, he was gone, his long legs strolling through his restaurant like he didn’t have a care in the world. The tense line of his shoulders, though, told a different story.
“What were you thinking, Boo?” Heni whispered, glancing around at the other interested patrons. “You humiliated him.”
“He’s an egotistical asshole, so he deserved it.” Javier looked smug. “Bravo, Ninette.”
He’d always called her by her full name from the moment they’d met. At first, she’d thought it was a sign of respect. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Plus, he was wrong about this whole debacle. Luc Miró might be a saleau, but he hadn’t deserved what she’d said. Guilt, an emotion she seldom danced with, swamped her. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Oh, hell,” her boyfriend groaned. “Don’t make this night worse by going into a fit of remorse.”
Rarely did she do remorse or regret. Yet now, she had to confront the emotion because she deserved to feel it. “What I said to him was wrong.”
Standing with a jerk, Javier gave the whole table a glare. “I’m done with this place.”
She tried to grab his hand. “Don’t leave—”
“I’m done sitting here in this stuffy restaurant, moaning over some small-time chef who wouldn’t last a day in New York City.”
The only thing that had bothered Nina when she’d first meet him was this smug attitude about his hometown. She was sure his city was lovely, but really. This was New Orleans. No place compared to this place. “Javier—”
“I’m out of here, Ninette.” He held out his hand, his eyes hard. “Are you coming with me, or not?”
She could tell he’d jumped into a full-blown temper. One of many. Usually, she could distract him, or just capitulate in order to keep the peace. Except if she abruptly left now, then she’d add to the disaster she’d already created. Who walked out on a Chef Miró feast? And how could she let Alphonse’s generous tip about the opening turn into an affront?
“Why are you being like this?” She attempted a soothing smile. “Can’t we finish our meal and then go to your party?”
“No, I can’t.” With one last glare at her, he stalked out.
“Good riddance,” Jacques muttered.
“Not a nice guy, huh?” Sam said. “You could do a lot better, Nina.”
“Which we’ve told her over and over.” Heni shook her head.
“I’ve ruined this entire night.” Brushing away the words about Javier because she’d heard them all before, she sunk into her chair, distress rippling inside her gut. “I had such big plans, too.”
“No, you haven’t ruined anything. Your nasty boyfriend is gone, and that’s a win,” her sister said. “You did say that stupid thing to Luc Miró, but that’s easy to fix.”
“Yes, it is.” Jeanie patted her hand, her expression sympathetic. “You merely have to apologize to him.”
Nina glanced at the door leading to the kitchen. Every time a waiter walked into the dining room, she could see the steam coming off the pots and the swirl of people busily putting together the fancy dishes. “Now’s not the time.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Heni announced. “We can’t let our progress with the other shop owners go to waste.”
The thought of groveling in front of the saleau didn’t sit well. She likely wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. But she wasn’t one to shirk her duties, and in this case, she was at fault.
Straightening her shoulders, she nodded her agreement. “Right. First thing tomorrow.”
Luc never let anyone else close down El Porras for the night. Not anymore. After Ames’ betrayal, he didn’t trust anyone with the essential pieces of his business. Things like keys and money and recipes. Things like dreams for the future. Things he held tight to his heart.
Not even Lali.
He gave the doorknob a last shake, before turning and looking up the street. It had started to rain halfway through the second sitting, first a fine mist, then a hard tattoo on the bricks of the outside terrace. Now, in true New Orleans style, the rain had turned into sheets of steamy water pouring on the roofs and down the gutters.
Shrugging, he pulled the hood of his leather jacket up and took a step into the storm.
The clatter of high heels on cobblestones arrested him.
Slowly, he drew back into the darkness of the restaurant’s front porch. The Quarter tended to be lively during any part of the day, but this part, his street, was mostly quiet after midnight. The shops closed, the tenants living above slept, his restaurant empty and silent. Especially in a driving rainstorm.
The clatter escalated as if the woman, and it was clearly a woman, had started to run.
Reluctantly curious and warily concerned, Luc leaned on the doorsill and waited.
It was that woman.
Mierda.
The last person he wanted to bump into was he
r. After her sharp retort earlier tonight, he’d stomped back into his kitchen and ruined most of what he’d touched. His staff had circled around him like he was a bear with a sore head.
More like a sore pride.
Because her words had pricked him where he least expected. It hadn’t been the mention of his cooking—in a way, that had been a backhanded compliment. Instead, it had been…
A man like you.
What the hell had that meant?
And why the hell should he care?
Rushing along the sidewalk, her hair hanging in strands on her shoulders and her clothes clinging like wet weeds to her body, she looked pathetic.
What the hell?
When he’d arrived at the three sisters’ table to be immediately insulted, he’d noticed she wore the same dress she’d worn before, when she’d accosted him in his kitchen. Along with his anger at the insult to his food, had come surprise that she would do so. His mami and aunts weren’t caught dead in the same dress within at least a year.
But she’d shone just as brightly as before. The little puffed sleeves had highlighted the elegance of her shoulders. The draped fabric around her waist drew his gaze to the slimness of her form. The fancy frills on the edge of the dress called attention to the beauty of her knees.
Beauty of her knees?
He snorted at himself.
She stumbled, clutching at the wall, teetering on those pink heels. An instinct to help, one he’d lost five years ago, rushed through him, pushing him out of his hiding place.
The roar of a motorcycle cut through the beat of the rain on the street. Gasping, the woman looked behind her before turning toward her fetid shop and running faster.
Luc sunk back into darkness because he recognized the hum of the engine.
It was the idiot boyfriend.
The idiot who insulted his food. Luc had long ago given up trying to impress those food critics who promoted the big and splashy, the new and hot. His food was meant to be savored, not celebrated. His dream for his restaurant wasn’t to be big, but to be permanent.
The idiot gunned his engines as he rounded the corner. The woman reached the door of her shop at the same time.
A fight. They must have fought.
Even through the gloom and rain, Luc detected the grim look on the idiot’s face, and by the way the woman was scrambling to open her door—yeah, they’d fought.
A wry sort of amusement bubbled inside.
This should be interesting.
“It’s not what you think,” the man yelled at her as he cut the engine and kicked the stand down. “You didn’t see what you thought you saw.”
Her spine stiffened and then she turned and threw her pink purse right at him. Her aim was spot-on. The missile hit the idiot square in the face.
“Ouch. Shit.”
Oh, yeah. Really interesting.
“Don’t tell me what I saw,” she snarled. “Don’t tell me anything anymore.”
“Ninette.” The man was stupid enough to get off his motorcycle and draw closer. “Listen to me.”
Luc shook his head. After living with Genia for a dozen or so years, he’d learned well. When a woman was this mad, a smart man retreated. Wait to fight another day, or something like that. In Genia’s case, he’d learned there never was another day, but he still remembered the lesson.
A pink high heel sailed through the air to land on the man’s shoulder like a spike driving into a rail.
Idiot.
“Goddammit.” With a grab at her swinging arm, the man stopped her from pulling off her other shoe. “Would you listen?”
She might run a lewd shop, yet the woman had spirit. He’d give her that.
“Get your hands off me.”
“Not until you listen.”
“I know what I saw.”
This was better than going back to his apartment, getting a beer, and watching late-night ESPN. He utterly despised both of these people and couldn’t imagine who he wanted to win. If pressed, he supposed he’d pick the woman. At least she’d understood and appreciated his food.
“You saw nothing.” The idiot loomed over her, a clear threat. “Do you understand?”
Like every woman throughout history, she did. Luc could see it in the way her body curled into itself and the sudden fragility of her expression.
He straightened.
“Now you’re going to get on my bike and we’re going to forget about tonight.”
“No.” Her voice wavered, but it still held strength.
For all her crazy ways and wacky ideas, the woman had guts. Luc was now solidly on her side.
With a rough grasp, the man proved he wasn’t just an idiot, he was also an animal. Pinning the woman to the wall of her shop, he tried to kiss her.
Luc snarled, low and long.
The slap of her hand on the animal’s cheek ripped through the beat of the rain.
Bueno. Good for her.
Her stupid boyfriend didn’t get the message, though. Instead, he upped the ante and backhanded her.
With a roar, Luc barreled across his street. Both the woman and the man jumped at the sound, the idiot stepping back.
But the action wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. The animal deserved to die. Yet before he could administer justice, the woman rushed toward him and straight into his grasp. Her wet head fit perfectly under his chin, and surprisingly strong arms twined around his back to hold him still.
“No, no,” she cried. “Don’t.”
Don’t? Don’t kill the bastard, or at least deliver some much needed wisdom to the jut of his ugly jaw or that squishy male stomach that had consumed his food without understanding its brilliance? Growling, he tried to tug her away so he could get at his prize. “Let me—”
Another roar interrupted them, this time the motorcycle’s engine.
Leaving Luc deprived of his satisfaction.
By this woman.
He glared at the flickering red light of the departing vehicle. Then, he transferred the glare to the top of her head. “You.”
If it were possible, she wormed her way closer. It struck him that she was entirely wet and shaking.
Bondje.
The tension of battle slid away to be replaced by reluctant concern. “We need to get you inside.”
Sniffing, she lifted her head. And even in the gloom of the night, he saw what he never wanted to see in a woman’s eyes again because it was never the entire truth.
Hero-worship. Adoration.
He took a giant step backward, though for some reason, he couldn’t let go of her. Perhaps it was because she still clung to him, still stood within his embrace. Another realization shot through him. Dripping wet, her clothes did nothing to hide her essential femaleness. The bud of her breasts on his chest. The brush of her hips on his. The feel of soft firmness in his arms.
A forgotten sensation.
His cock remembered with a lightning reaction.
Mierda.
A blush of embarrassment blasted through his body. All because of this woman.
Chapter 5
Nina didn’t focus on anything but being held. Held in a firm, warm grasp, a grasp that made her feel safe. Not that she didn’t usually feel safe. It was just that she felt safer.
With the saleau.
How ironic.
He’d come out of nowhere, emerging from the misty rain like a gallant defender, her knight in black leather. She’d known immediately who it was by the low growl, a noise that was becoming as familiar to her as her own voice.
“You need to get inside.”
His rough words reminded her of what had happened and where she stood. Outside of her shop in a rainstorm. One foot bare and cold on the cobblestone. Her one good silk dress likely ruined by the rain. Her hair plastered to her neck and face, her eyes red, her cheek hurting from Javier’s slap.
A mess.
Pulling herself away from the safety, she didn’t meet the saleau’s eyes. She knew what he thought of
her, and while she was grateful he’d come to her rescue, she couldn’t keep him here, standing in the storm. “I’m fine.”
He grunted, a clear signal of disbelief. Striding past her, he grabbed her forlorn-looking shoe and purse. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She balanced on one foot and slid the soggy high heel on.
“Let me see your face.”
“What?”
“Your face.” With an impatient move, his fingers seized her chin. “I want to see what he did to you.”
His touch shocked her. Instead of rough and hard, it was soft and tender. The touch and his obvious concern were so contrary to his usual behavior toward her, she felt unsettled. “I’m fine,” she said again, trying to break this odd connection.
Apparently, he didn’t think she was fine, because another growl erupted when he zeroed in on her right cheek. “Damn him. Where does he live?”
“Where I used to live.” She gave him a wry grimace and realized once more, how much her face did hurt. “But don’t go after him. He doesn’t matter anymore.”
His fingers tapped on his leg. He stared past her into the misty steam as if he were intent on finding his prey.
“Don’t,” she repeated.
Swinging back to her, his eyes narrowed under the leather hood. “Are you saying you live with that bastard?”
“As of an hour ago, yes. But not anymore.” She clutched her purse, and tried to remember where her keys were. The adrenaline racing through her body receded, replaced with a growing chagrin. How was she going to convince this man she could handle running a festival if she looked like a fool? “You can go. I’m okay.”
“He might come back, and you can’t stay in the shop.”
“I can for one night.” Now that she was out of his grasp, she wanted him to leave. This was all terribly embarrassing, and the last person she wanted around to witness her humiliation was this man. “There’s a sofa where readings are done.”
“Readings.” He snorted once more, his expression turning sour.
Lewd. Crappy. Shop. She gritted her teeth in a fake smile. “You can leave.”
He sighed, like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. “I suppose it’s too late to call one of your sisters. You’ll have to come with me for tonight.”