by Caro LaFever
Confusion went straight to irritation. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“No?” Another chuckle came as the man circled past him and started down the brick sidewalk. “See you soon.”
He stared at him, watching his familiar, slow glide across the street and around the corner.
It suddenly hit him—all the memories swarming inside him were good ones.
None of Genia. None of Ames.
None of betrayal.
Shaking away the realization and the memories and the old man, Luc kept his scowl on his face as he paced to the shop’s door. Better to get this over with and return to his cooking where he belonged.
A tinkle of bells overhead heralded his arrival. Unlike the first and only other point he’d entered this place, this time, he took stock, instead of barreling forward in anger. The shop had filled. Before, it had barely seemed to offer much of anything. Now, though, the shelves along the walls brimmed with exotic glass and gold, brass and bounty.
He breathed in.
The incense wafted into his chef’s nose, bringing with it the hint of India, the spice of the Orient.
“Mais.” A female head popped up from behind one of the counters. “Look who’s come to visit us.”
The head was covered with dark, almost-black hair. Not the woman he’d come to see. But he needed to make amends in more than one way, he understood with an abrupt knowing. He’d not only hurt Nina, he’d hurt her shop by being an asshole when they first opened, and then continuing his sins by badmouthing the shop to the other neighborhood vendors.
He suddenly knew what he could do to pay for his sins beyond another apology. He could insure this shop was a success.
Which means it and she will be here forever on your street.
The realization socked him in his gut, leaving him breathless. How was he going to retreat to his old life with Nina always around, always smiling from her shop’s door? How was he going to control himself when she bounced across his street with her perky nipples and bouncing breasts?
Mierda.
“Are you looking for Nina?” The black-haired woman smirked while she twirled her pearl necklace in her fingers. It was the second sister, the one who dressed like his aunt. “She left a few minutes ago, I’m afraid.”
Dammit. He wanted to get this over with. “I’ll come back.”
Before he could retreat out the door, the woman shot around the cabinet and planted herself between him and escape. “I can help you, though. What are you looking for?”
There was a suggestive streak in her question that bothered him. He’d be the first to admit he didn’t have a lot of experience with women, but his instincts told him this was a mine full of trouble. “Not looking for anything except Nina,” he blurted.
“Are you sure?” The woman smirked again. Her brown eyes went sultry. “I’m Heni.”
Luc took a step back.
The woman followed.
He felt hunted, like he had for a short time with Genia. At eighteen, he hadn’t known what to do with a woman ten years older. He hadn’t understood her true aim—his wealth and prestige. All he’d understood was what his cock had yelled at him. By the time Genia had a ring on her finger and a ring in his nose, he’d been too far gone to figure anything out.
Not until years later, had he understood.
This woman reminded him of Genia.
“Um.” Folding his arms in front of him for protection, he gritted his teeth in a smile. “I’ll just talk to Nina when she comes home.”
“Your home.” The woman hummed.
There was a slight familiarity to that sound, but it didn’t do to him what happened whenever Nina gave him her low, sweet call. The sweat springing up along his spine wasn’t lust. It was anxiety.
“Uh. Yeah.” He took another step away, and wondered if he could remember where the back door was in this shop. Hadn’t he run around in here when he’d been a small boy? “So I’ll just get going.”
She twirled in front of him again, when he swiveled toward the rear of the shop. “I’m older than my sister.”
“Are you?” Sidestepping the floating hands and eager smile, Luc went for the front door.
It flew open before he could get to it. Lilith Beaugard stood in silhouette, the sun blurring her figure, yet not her presence. “Mais, oui. It is good I listened to the spirits and came.”
“What are you doing here?” The woman behind him whined. “It’s not your day to be here.”
“Clearly, it is.” The older woman swept into the store, her gaze latching onto him. “Luc. She is trying to put a cunja on you, but I am here.”
He had no idea what a cunja was, still, he did know a rescuer when he saw one. “Thanks, Lilith. I owe you one.”
“Ah.” The woman smiled like a cat with a mouse. “That is just what I wanted to hear.”
Chapter 23
Luc stood in the middle of his courtyard. Waiting.
The air around him still held the lingering heat of the late-summer sun. Yet, there was no comparison to the lingering heat of embarrassment and shock coursing through his body. He’d left Nina’s sister and Lilith behind, basically running across the street to his restaurant. That had been bad enough. What was worse was what he’d done once he’d walked into the kitchen.
“I’m taking tonight off,” he’d announced to his stunned crew.
“What?” Lali’s face had scrunched into a look of pure disbelief. “You never take—”
“It’s Tuesday,” he choked out. “You can handle it.”
Her expression turned to sly amusement. “Got something important to do?”
“Yeah.” Walking to back door, he stopped and stared at the doorknob, unable to think about anything other than Nina. Somewhere in between meeting with Cyrus, dealing with happy memories instead of sad, and fending off what he was pretty sure was a come-on from her sister, he’d lost the last clinging grip on his past life.
He needed to find Nina. Why, he didn’t know. He just did.
Right now.
So here he was, standing like a fool in the middle of his home’s courtyard. Waiting.
For a couple of hours, he’d lurked in Mrs. Faulkner’s coffeehouse, staring across at Trois Sœurs, thinking he’d intercept Nina before she went in. However, she never appeared. He supposed she could have used the back door, except he had a good enough line of sight into the shop itself, and he wouldn’t have missed her bouncy ponytail and quick smile.
She hadn’t worked today.
That worried him.
For all her flighty ways, she loved her shop and wanted it to be a success. Not a day went by, that he could tell, where she didn’t work there for at least awhile.
Was something wrong? He’d worried.
Was she sick?
Why the hell hadn’t he asked for her cell phone number when he had a chance?
Arriving here a few minutes ago, to realize she wasn’t at his house, either, turned his anxiety into full-blown fear. For the first time, it hit him how quiet his place was without her. How cold and still it felt, even the air. The courtyard was better. He could stare at her stupid glass tree, trying to calm himself, until she got here.
Where was she?
The thought ran through his head—perhaps she’d gone off in a huff to rent another apartment. Alarm instantly sparked inside him, making his hands fist at his side.
Shock followed.
Why the hell was he alarmed by the thought of Nina moving out?
Mierda.
But her familiar hoodie hung on the hook by his kitchen door and when he’d checked the bathroom, her bottles and gewgaws littered the shower and counter as usual. It struck him in that moment, when he’d given a token glare at her potions, struck him hard how much she’d become part of his life in her easy, languid way.
How he automatically made her a café au lait along with his espresso each morning.
How he grabbed the shampoo she’d recommended because it had s
ome weird ingredient called rice bran oil. Apparently, the stuff helped guys with frizzy curls.
His emotions buzzed inside, like a swarm of southern bees ready to prick him with more realizations. Luc felt dizzy, bewildered, confused.
“Mais, saleau.” Her husky voice came from behind him. “What are you doing standing out here, in the last of the day’s heat?”
“Nina.” Twisting around, he couldn’t help the deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t left him. She wasn’t hurt. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” A mix of irritation and worry slid across her face. “But why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the restaurant, getting ready for the supper rush?”
The mention of his restaurant, his beloved, all-important restaurant, barely registered. “I’m sorry.”
She wore another set of simple T-shirt matched with jean shorts. Her hair was clumped in a knot at the top of her head, strands whispering along her neck. No makeup, no seductive lace or satin. No come-hither in her eyes. Still, he felt the fever of inevitable lust rise in him, like the flow of a river coming over the banks.
Her lips curled in amusement. “You’re standing out here in the heat, away from your restaurant, so you can say I’m sorry—”
“I was an ass—”
“Again.” Her smoky eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t define. An emotion that made him uncomfortable and heated at the same time.
“Luc.” In a rush, she came to stand in front of him, laying a hand in the center of his chest, right over his heart.
The gesture had become as familiar to him as her café au lait and gewgaws. Another shudder of realization shook through him, making him even dizzier. “What?”
“I forgive you.” She gave him her wistful smile, the smile that turned his heart inside out. “Again.”
“Okay.” He stood there, like a stupid animal, unable to think what he should do next. “Um. I guess—”
Her hand crept up to his neck, under his curly hair, cutting off his words by taking his breath from his lungs. “Do you have the night off?”
Incredulity filled her voice, turning his dizziness into a curious mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and lust. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Her eyes crinkled. “Has the world come to an end and I missed it?”
Luc knew, with a deep certainty he could no longer ignore—his world, the world he’d constructed after his wife’s death, had ended. He didn’t think he liked the new reality. He didn’t know how it had happened exactly, but he knew this to be true.
Because of this woman.
Because of Nina.
The inevitable anger billowed and yet, a reluctant amusement washed into him as well. “The world is still turning, and Lali can run my restaurant just fine.”
“Mais,” she murmured close to his mouth. “What are we going to do with all this free time you have?”
He knew what she suggested. He also knew he shouldn’t take her invitation. Not because he thought of her as a baby any longer. Nina Blanchard was all woman. No, what held him back was himself again. It wasn’t lust he was dealing with, he now knew. It was more.
The thought pinched his lips together.
She sighed, her coffee-tinged breath drifting around him. “Don’t look like that.”
Dropping back on her heels, she let her hand fall off him.
“I went to your shop,” he blurted, trying to find something to give her that didn’t involve his heart.
“Did you? That’s a surprise.”
“I wanted to—”
“Did you find a lot of crappy, fetid items you could sneer at?” A spark of remembered resentment flared in her smoky eyes.
“No.” Before she could twirl away and march off, something he could see she was about to do by the cant of her body, he grabbed her arm. “Quite the opposite.”
She gaped at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’d like you to show me around some time. I’d like to understand what you’re trying to do with your shop.”
Wariness slid into her gaze. “Really?”
“Yeah, I know it’s special to you.” Another offering, this one grudging, yet sincere. “So it’s special to me.”
A delighted grin lit her face into a dazzling display of feminine charm. “Luc,” she gushed, reaching for him.
Jerking back, he headed for the kitchen door. “I should start dinner.”
A short silence fell behind him.
His brain buzzed to life, reminding him he never had food of any consequence in his fridge. And two weeks living with Nina had told him she wasn’t the type to stock away good food, either. “Or we can order in.”
“Eating together,” she drawled, elongating the words in a clear expression of disbelief. “After days and days of ignoring me. I have to say again—the world must have fallen into a big, black hole while I wasn’t noticing.”
Now that he was at a safe distance, he swung back to look at her.
There was something about the way Nina moved—whether she stood or sashayed or strolled. Something in the way she held her head and moved her arms. Something that spoke of sex mixed with southern sorcery. A winsome, wholesome ease with her essential self.
She stood so simply. One hip jutting, one long leg placed in front of the other. Her perky breasts weren’t especially impressive under the cotton T-shirt she wore. Her hair wasn’t unusually attractive, and while her blue-gray eyes were stunning when she used them for effect, right now, they were merely pleasant to gaze into. And yet, everything about her called to him. A call of sex and lust, sure. But something more was mixed in now. Something important.
Cocking her head, she gave him a grin. “If you truly have taken the night off, we’re not wasting it.”
His heart twisted into a knot of fear and enchantment. “What do you have in mind?”
“Don’t look like I’m going to announce a trip to Africa.” She chuckled. “We’ll keep it simple.”
Luc’s instincts went on high alert. Because nothing about this woman was simple.
Nina had loved Uncle Lou’s Diner since her Paw-Paw had brought his granddaughters up to the Big City when she’d been a little girl. Her grandparents had been greeted by the owner himself, and ushered to the best table. From what she remembered, Paw-Paw and Uncle Lou had served in the war together.
“What’s this?” The great Chef Miró peered up at the lighted sign, his expression a cross between curious and mais…cross. “Why don’t I know of this place?”
Amusement and affection rippled through her. “Do you know all the restaurants in New Orleans, saleau?”
“No nicknames.” He shot the words at her, but his attention had switched to the menu posted outside. “BBQ,” he grumbled.
“The best BBQ in the world.” Before he could make anymore growly observations, she grabbed his hand and tugged him through the glass-paneled front door.
Overhead fans slowly circled above, interspersed with brightly lit glass chandeliers. The black-and-white tiled floor and dark-paneled walls of oak contrasted nicely with the straight-backed chairs and cream linen covering the tables. The whole effect was one of elegant nonchalance, a mix that reminded her of her grandfather.
A tall, imposing black woman gestured from behind the hostess stand. “Reservations?”
That stumped her. She hadn’t remembered anything about reservations the last time she’d come here with her Paw-Paw. “Um, I don’t—”
The woman’s eyes narrowed when they lit on Luc. “Chef Lucas Miró?”
“Yes,” he grunted from behind Nina, his hand coming to lay on the small of her back. “That’s me.”
The gentle touch, so tender and light, went through her like lightning. The restaurant dimmed, the lights and sounds of the laughing diners slid away, the smell of spicy sauces was replaced with the scent of the male standing behind her.
A beaming smile erupted on the hostess’s mouth. “Then no reservations are needed. It’s an honor to have you here, Chef
.”
With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a waiter, dressed in the diner’s signature black vest and pants, matched with a crisp, white shirt. In seconds, they were guided to one of the restaurant’s best tables—a secluded booth in the rounded corner of the old room.
Luc glanced at her once they were settled, his lips twisted in wry humor.
“What?” She arched a brow at him.
“You didn’t think to make a reservation?” Humor turned into a grin.
The look was good on him. She’d so rarely seen this man laugh or smile, it came as a shock every time he did it. Except, she could see the crinkles around his eyes and the creases in his cheeks that told her he’d once laughed and smiled often.
Determination swept through her. He’d laugh and smile again, all the time. She’d make sure of it. “I didn’t have much notice, you know.”
“True.” He glanced at the menu letting her take him in one more time.
When she’d announced they were going out, he’d given her a grim look but dutifully hiked up the circular stairs to his bedroom. For several minutes, as she’d slipped on her pale-pink dress and bright-pink heels, a dress and heels her sisters had managed to rejuvenate, she’d wondered if he’d bar the door and growl at her for the rest of the night.
Much to her delight, she’d been wrong.
“I supposed you’ll want BBQ,” he muttered from across the table. There was a hint of levity in his voice, though, and the way his big body relaxed on the cushioned seat told her he was, for once, in a good mood.
He gave her another glance from beneath his long lashes.
“You shaved,” she said.
“Yeah.” A shrug was the only other answer.
The shrug drew her dreamy gaze. The man hadn’t left it at shaving, giving her a taut line of jaw and a perfectly squared chin. He’d compounded the effect by adding in a pair of neatly creased cream linen pants paired with a white silk shirt and a dark-navy suit coat. The clothes and shave turned him from a saleau into a man who took her breath away.
“You brushed your hair,” she added.