by Caro LaFever
“What?” Irritation welled, feeding the urge to fight.
“He’s too much for you to handle, girl. Too mature and successful.” Louis Blanchard’s expression went from sour to concerned. “I don’t want you to get hurt when he walks away.”
“He’s not going to walk away from me.” The truth of her statement curled inside, making her feel secure for once in front of her father.
“He will. Because you’re not enough for him.”
The hit, like every one of her father’s hits, wasn’t physical. Yet it still stung like a slap. “I’m more than enough for him.”
Her father tutted. Another sound she’d grown up with. A fierce instinct billowed inside, a sense she needed to once and for all prove her worth in front of her parents. The instinct wound around the fighting spirit like a brand of heated anger. She could almost feel the rattle of the sword inside her gut.
“He’s only playing with you, using you,” her papa predicted, his tone assured. “He doesn’t respect you.”
An accusation that was more accurately pointed at himself. Her dear papa didn’t respect her. He never had. At some point, Nina had figured he would. When she turned twenty-one, or graduated from college, or opened this shop. However, she realized suddenly, he never would give her this gift. She’d never earn something she should have been given as a birthright.
Sorrow and pain and ugly rage flashed through her like lightning.
Her father threw her a glance of dismissal. “You’re just a baby.”
The words she’d heard a thousand times. Words she’d flicked off her so many times, she’d become adapt at ignoring them. Right now, though, they burned through her, leaving a fiery streak of pain because of one thing.
They were the same words she’d heard from the love of her life.
The realization smacked inside, making the fierce turn to ferocious, making the fighting spirit lose all restraint and charge into this damned war that had raged between her father and her from the moment of her birth. “Luc wants me to have his baby.”
Her parents stilled. Her sisters’ eyes widened. Nina felt as if she’d jumped into a fast-rolling river, overflowing its banks. “He lost a child when his wife died and it devastated him. And he’s chosen me, Papa, to be the mother of his children.”
So there.
The words weren’t said by her, but they flew above her family anyway. A childish taunt, a last gasp of the youngest wanting to prove she was as good as everyone else. Prove she could be more than a baby girl who wore dresses and played with dolls. More than just a woman who would never amount to much at all.
The wretched insecurity she’d fought from the moment she could remember being alive, tightened in her gut like a Gordian knot.
“Oh, my goodness,” her mama exclaimed. “The poor man lost his wife? How?”
Luc didn’t lose anything. Nothing worth holding onto. And he had Nina Blanchard to hold onto now. A woman who wouldn’t betray him.
Aren’t you doing that now?
Her conscience rumbled to life, pushing the facts at her. She’d blurted his secret out. Without intending to, she’d done something stupid. “Let’s forget—”
“I remember reading about that car crash.” Her father succeeded in looking mournful as well as condescending. “The man couldn’t even take care of his own wife. Wasn’t there another man in the car with her?”
“When did this happen?” Her mama perked up on Lil’s chair, sensing some good gossip. “Who was the other man?”
She tried to rein in the chaos she’d created. “It was his best friend, but it doesn’t matter.”
“He told you what happened?” Heni leaned across the counter, her gaze filled with curiosity. “Everyone chatters about what occurred that night, but no one really knows.”
“He’s in love with me,” she cried. “That’s all that matters.”
“What a typically illogical remark from you.” Her papa snorted. “Love rarely matters in—”
“Well, Louis, of course love matters—”
“—great scheme of things.” He ended with another snort.
Scheme. Scheming.
She could practically feel Luc beside her, his self-confidence crumbling, his pain returning.
A shudder of anxiety swarmed inside her. Mixing with the building river of rage, it took her into its grasp like a yawning maw of destruction, intent on pushing her farther and farther away from her Paw-Paw’s wisdom and her Fate.
“In any event,” her papa kept applying the pressure, “the last thing the man needs is you, Nina. If he couldn’t handle a mature woman, he certainly—”
“He didn’t do anything wrong. He told me everything and it was all her fault.”
“Boo, you might want—”
She rushed past Jeanie’s warning voice. “She cheated on him with his best friend.”
“The poor man.” Her mama’s interested look turned fretful. “How awful.”
“He’s not the man I thought he was by his publicity, then.”
“What do you mean, Papa?” Jeanie’s anxious look flashed from her father’s stiff figure to Nina’s rigid one.
“If he’s got a wife who cheats on him, he’s not a man.”
“Oh, Louis, really—”
“Shut up, Papa.” The rage engulfed her, crushing any last sense of reason. “And get out of my shop.”
Chapter 28
By the time he’d directed the porta potties into the right areas and dealt with a last-minute hitch in the electrical feed to the music stage, Luc was ready for a beer. Still, this was Nina’s day, and he was damn determined to make it the best day she’d ever experienced.
“Mon lami,” Lali’s voice caught him as he strode down his street, weaving in and out of the gathering crowd of vendors. “Come and decide.”
“This is your show.” But he dutifully headed toward where she stood to the left of El Porras. “I gave you complete authority.”
He had, and he’d also been thinking about the structure of his staff. As of tonight, the terrace would be open for lunch, and Club Del Oso would be open four nights a week. Unless he planned on spending his entire life at the restaurant and club, he needed to delegate. And since Nina had come into his life, he no longer wanted to spend all his time as a chef.
The realization had seeped into him like a swamp took over a bank. His initial reluctance fought with his need to build a life with the woman he’d fallen in love with. That had been another realization he’d come to during these last few weeks.
Both the delegation and his love had been hard to acknowledge.
Yet he had.
Finally.
“Complete authority.” Lali grinned. “I like that word.”
Coming to a stop at her side, he eyed the trays of BBQ ribs, smoking under their covering of foil. After quite a bit of teasing from Nina, and a whole lot of urging from his sous-chef, he’d agreed to add baby back ribs onto the restaurant menu. Now that he’d decided to keep the club open after today, he’d shift BBQ to that menu, instead. He sniffed. “You found my recipe.”
“Oui, you aren’t the best at getting rid of things, thank goodness,” she said. “It was still in the middle of your recipe notebook.”
He frowned. That notebook had been with him since before he left for France. Other than El Porras itself, it was his most prized possession, and no one dared touch it when he placed it in his office desk’s right drawer. “You went through my recipes?”
“No, no, Luc.” Lali laughed, her corkscrew curls shifting on her shoulders. “Don’t look at me. You know who went through it.”
“Nina.” A rumble of reluctant amusement rippled through him.
“As you’d expect. She’s nosy in a good sort of way.”
“Let’s get back to authority.” He shifted his gaze from the ribs to his friend. “Starting today, you’re the head chef for the lunch shift.”
Lali’s eyes widened.
“You decide the menu, though
I’d appreciate it if you ran the list by me.” The decision settled in him, a rightness he found astonishing.
“Are you sure?” Her brown eyes stayed wide and her mocha skin flushed with mounting excitement. “I know that trusting—”
“I’m sure.” He was. Another astonishment. “You’ve earned it. I also don’t want to live here.”
“Not anymore, do you?” Tears welled in those brown eyes, making him take a step back. “I have Nina to thank for so many things.”
Before he could collect himself well enough to respond or rebut, the woman herself bopped into the middle of their conversation. “Are we ready? The festival’s about to begin.”
Looking at her, every doubt or rebut fell away. Her smoky gaze sparkled with glee, her languid air replaced with childish animation. She wore her jean shorts, but this time had dressed them up with a filmy cream halter top that highlighted her perky breasts.
Distracted, he couldn’t help staring.
“Creole Man,” she drawled. “What are you looking at?”
Lali laughed. “He’s looking hungry, isn’t he? Maybe I should dish him up some ribs.”
Distracted herself, Nina jumped over to the table and lifted a foil covering. “Hmmm. The smells are great.”
“It tastes even better,” his new executive chef assured.
“You stole my recipe.”
Both women turned to stare at him. His gruff accusation could have been taken as a rebuke, but in her typical way, Nina didn’t get offended. She chuckled instead. “Because it’s the best BBQ recipe in New Orleans, saleau. You wouldn’t want anything except the best to represent El Porras, would you?”
“No nicknames,” he grumbled. Still, when she walked to his side and put her hand in his, he let her.
“I just noticed.”
“What?” He watched as Lali bustled into the restaurant, calling to his other staff that she needed the corn and baked beans immediately.
“Your hair.” The smoke in her blue eyes swirled with interest. “You had it cut.”
“So?” Uneasy to admit what had prompted the change, he shifted on his feet.
“You shaved again.” Her hand came up to smooth across his cheek. Then, she stepped back to eye him once more. “And you aren’t wearing an old T-shirt and jeans.”
No, he wasn’t. He’d dug around in his closet this morning, after realizing he needed to wear something with a little more pizzazz for Nina’s festival. He’d chosen cargo shorts in a sand color, and matched them with a white, short-sleeved shirt he hadn’t worn in years.
“I can’t use the word saleau for you anymore.” She pouted in pretend dismay. “The word doesn’t fit this gorgeous man standing in front of me.”
“You’ve said that before but it hasn’t stopped you from using it.” The look in her eye almost made him blush. “So shut up.”
The teasing look of avarice in her expression was replaced by the sincerity that always stumped him. “Luc.”
“Yeah?” His hand tightened on hers.
“I want you to know how much this means to me. This festival is so much better and bigger since you’ve gotten involved.”
“Hey.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he tugged her into him. The strands of her shiny hair tickled his chin, slipping from the topknot in scattered glory. Her plummy scent filled his nose and the feel of her tucked into his body made his heart swell. “I wanted the best for you.”
Her head lifted. The look she gave him made his swelling heart shake. “You’re the best for me, Luc Miró.”
“Am I?” A last, lingering doubt butted inside him. Reminding him of the age difference, the contrast between their personalities, the goals and dreams they hadn’t discussed yet.
“I just hope,” she whispered, “ that I can be the best for you.”
Before he could refute that blasphemy—because he wasn’t worried about her lack, he was worried about his—a call from her shop broke in. “Ninette!”
Luc swung around. Her father and mother stood in the center of the shop’s door, his expression sour, her expression pinched. Apparently, some things didn’t change in Nina’s life.
“Yes, Papa?” Her hand fisted in his, a tight knot communicating all the feelings swimming inside her. However, none of it showed on her cheerful face.
“We’re leaving as you demanded,” the older man huffed. “So rude. But we’ve seen enough, and we don’t want to get caught in the hordes.”
Glancing up and down his street, Luc realized the festival had begun as he’d talked to Lali and held Nina. The first of the crowds were pouring in at the end of his street, and since it was almost noon, there’d be a lot more soon.
“Have a good day then.” His love kept her cheerful smile, though her hand in his told a different story. “I’m sure Jeanie will call you tonight with an update.”
The couple grumbled something at each other before trudging off toward Fremont Street.
“You okay?” He turned and tugged her close again. “Did something happen with your parents?”
Her body went stiff in his grasp. “Nothing worth talking about.”
Needing to see her expression, he poked a finger under her pointed chin. “I want this day to be great for you.”
A troubled look floated across her face before being replaced by a determined grin. “It will be.”
“Promise?” His finger slid along her jawline until it tangled in her hair. “Whatever your parents said to you, don’t let it ruin this day.”
The trouble landed in her eyes turning the smoke to soot. “I’m more worried about what I said.”
“Hey, boy.”
Disgruntled and worried himself, now, he turned to stare at Cyrus. Behind him, stood Shakey and Miles, grins on their faces. Even though his woman was bothered by something he needed to understand, Luc couldn’t help the grin sliding onto his mouth. “Damn. It’s good to see you guys together. Even if you do call me boy.”
“I have to go.” Pulling her hand from his, Nina gave him a brave smile. “I need to be at my shop.”
Frustrated, and yet knowing this wasn’t the time, he pinned her with concerned concentration. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay.” She scrambled off, and he couldn’t help the glance at her tasty ass.
Tonight and every other night, he was going to have that tasty ass in his hands.
“Lucas Miró.” A voice, one he hadn’t heard in years, butted into his lusty thoughts. “What the hell are you doing at a festival?”
Swiveling around, he gaped. He hadn’t seen this group of male warriors since they’d descended on the Paris restaurant he’d interned at a dozen years ago. But no one who once met a bunch of Navy SEALs intent on making the most of their short leave ever forgot them. Eight guys who drank more than they should, ate more than a man could, and settled into a quick, solid friendship with a lonely American from the moment he’d stepped out of the restaurant’s kitchen to their cheers.
They were all larger than life.
Especially, Enrique de Molina.
The giant of a man wore a grin as he wove through the crowds, heading Luc’s way. “Don’t I remember some damn snotty Creole sniffing at coming with us to the world-famous Paris Jazz Festival?”
Behind him strode the other seven, grins on their faces, their hair still chopped short in a strict military cut, their taut muscles gleaming in the sun, and their cheeks clean of whiskers. A bunch of American heroes ready to party once more.
“Who invited you guys?” He sniffed in disapproval. “I don’t allow rabble into my festivities.”
They hooted in raucous response, their grins widening, their strides growing in surety at their welcome.
And that’s when Luc noticed.
“Riq?” He straightened, his gaze picking up on the details his surprise at seeing these boys delayed. “What’s happened—”
“Come here, you ugly mug.” A hefty arm, rolling with muscle, cut him off with a tight hug. “Good to
see you. I was hoping I’d find you somewhere in this city of yours.”
The tenseness in the arm told Luc he’d accidently wandered into a minefield de Molina didn’t want to go into. But it was hard for him to stop questioning. Unlike the other SEALs, Riq’s black hair was long and shaggy. His whiskers were un-trimmed, rather like his had been just weeks ago.
The man stepped back, and for a moment, he wavered on one leg.
One of his buddies reached out, steadying him with a strong grip and a tight smile. “Watch it, de Molina. We haven’t even started drinking yet.”
An expression of rage mixed with chagrín crossed the man’s face before his grin returned. “Where’s the beer, Luc? Gotta get these guys some suds before they raz me for losing my touch. Even though I might not be serving with them anymore, I still have my duties.”
“You’re not…” He halted the words when he saw the look in the man’s eyes.
A punch of recognition hit his gut. Because he understood when a man had lost what he thought was the center of his universe and didn’t know where to go from here. He’d found his way back with Nina’s help. Apparently, Riq hadn’t found his muse or his way. At least for right now.
A mutter came from the rear of the pack. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, Enrique.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The giant shifted on his feet, drawing Luc’s gaze down.
He sucked in a deep breath of shock when he spotted the scars on the man’s knee. “Mierda.”
“Yep, sure as all hell, it’s shit.” De Molina smirked, as if it didn’t matter. “But that’s life.”
“Beer, beer, beer.” The chant went up from the rest of the heroes, as if they couldn’t handle any subject other than fun and frolic.
Luc waved at the appropriate vendor, not knowing what to say to soothe this man’s obvious pain. Perhaps alcohol was the only thing he could offer. “Over there, you barbarians.”
“We’ll get a reservation at your fancy restaurant before we leave, sound good?” Riq smirked again, as if everything was right with his world. When clearly, it was not. “Pull some strings for us, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He frowned as he watched the gang turn and head for the refreshments, de Molina surging forward to the front of the pack, although his limp was a clear impediment.