Creed (The Marquette Family Book One)

by Lockwood, Tressie

  He appeared embarrassed. “It’s hard on her.”

  “Doesn’t excuse disrespect, Damen.”

  “I should get going. See you later at Marquette’s.”

  “Sure.”

  She let him go but noticed he didn’t buy the doll. Rather, he practically dragged Nita along as she fussed and complained about how unfair it was. Shada wondered if this would be how Creed’s child would end up when he found a mother. Well, it was none of her business. She should focus on her and hers, and nothing else.

  With thoughts of Creed in mind, she finished her shopping and headed back to her apartment. After she had prepared lunch for Marisa and showered and changed clothes, she headed out again for the restaurant. Today, she determined, she would figure out what to tell Creed and let the chips fall where they may—whether it was to share her amazing lover for a little while or cut ties with him completely. The third choice was one she didn’t allow herself to dwell on for more than thirty crazy, scary seconds.

  * * * *

  The restaurant was packed, with every table filled, and Creed had booked a private room as well, so they were busy. In fact, he had arranged to bring on temporary staff to help in the kitchen and with serving. With the restaurant’s success, now they had to take reservations and fewer walk-ins. Shada loved the place jumping the way it was, because she worked fine under pressure. What she didn’t always appreciate were the constant interruptions, having to present herself to whatever self-important person had come in to dine with them.

  “It’s all a part of the chef’s job,” Creed had informed her, and she’d glared at him in response. As she passed ahead of him for the fourth time that evening, he touched her lower back, and chills of delight danced through her system. She craved him, but he hadn’t said anything for several days except when it came to work. Neither had she, though, and she knew he waited for her decision.

  “I need less of this part of my job and more standing over a hot stove, so to speak.”

  She didn’t believe the look of sympathy he gave her when she peered at him over her shoulder.

  “What about Rene?” she demanded.

  Creed nodded toward the opposite side of the room. “He’s been out here twice as much.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  They arrived at the table, and Shada offered her best smile to the man who stood to shake her hand.

  “You’re Shada Howard?” he asked, and pleasure lit up the baby blues trained on her. He wasn’t bad looking, with a thick-set, somewhat hard-looking body. His hair was thinning on top, which she could tell because she was inches taller than him.

  “Yes, is that a problem?” She inserted a bit of teasing in her tone without thinking about it.

  “Not at all. Arturo Benoit.”

  He held her hand a little too long. At her side, Creed cleared his throat, but she ignored it. How many women had simpered over him when he charmed them? Of course, he never crossed the line, and she wasn’t the type to go crazy with jealousy. After all, they weren’t a couple.

  In the middle of this extended justification inside her own head, someone called Creed away, and he hesitated as if he wanted to stay close by. In the end, he had to tend to his duties.

  “So, Shada,” Arturo said. His smile seemed aimed to charm her, but all she thought about was how he kept her from her job. “How does a beautiful woman as young as yourself become head chef at such a prestigious restaurant?”

  She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Two things. I’m not as young as you think, and I’m not head chef.”

  His eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “Oh?” Somehow it rang false. “In that case, I can steal you away. I’m sure you have dreams of being on top.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you. I’m Arturo Benoit. My restaurant has been in business since the eighteen hundreds. We’re looking for a new head chef, and I’ve had my eye on you. I want you, Shada, and I’ll give you whatever you want in order to have you.”

  Her jaw went slack. Was he serious? Right here, in the competition’s dining room? He came to try to lure her away from Marquette’s? Wow, the man had balls. Before she could formulate a reaction to this phenomenon, she was bumped aside and found herself looking at the broad back of one angry Creed Marquette.

  “She’s taken,” he growled, getting into Arturo’s face.

  Shada darted out from behind Creed and grabbed his arm. “Hold on, Creed. You’re making it sound like… Well, hell, so did he, but…”

  Both men ignored her. Creed glanced down at the table where Arturo had finished his meal. “In fact, it looks like you’re done. Good night.”

  Arturo drew himself up to his full height and still didn’t meet Creed’s chin, but the man was stocky. He raised his voice a couple of unnecessary decibels. “Is this how you treat your guests, Marquette?”

  “Guests are invited and welcome,” Creed shot back. “You’re neither.”

  Shada thought she felt a stiff breeze at his words. Arturo’s face grew beet red, and she spun to see where Stefan or Damen were. Then she spotted one of the men Creed had told her early on were there to assist him and his brothers. She had never paid them any mind, because they seemed to fade into the background. One of them, a hulking man as tall and as intimidating as Creed, stepped up to them.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. Marquette?”

  Shada had never heard anyone call Creed by anything other than his first name. Creed didn’t take his eyes off Arturo, but he forced a wintery smile. “Mr. Benoit is leaving. His check is on us. Will you see him out, Pete?”

  “Of course.”

  At last, it dawned on Shada what Pete and his companions were. They were bodyguards, and it made sense. While Creed and his brothers were muscular enough to look like they could handle themselves, they didn’t want to focus on it while they went about their daily lives. Since it had come out that they were billionaires and their pictures had been shown in Forbes magazine, who knew how many people might target them. The thought scared her, and yet they worked almost daily in the restaurant, interacting with regular people.

  Arturo preceded the bodyguard out. She didn’t blame him, because the man looked like he wouldn’t mind breaking a body in half. While she watched them head for the exit, she heard Creed snap his fingers. A busboy appeared and began clearing off the table. Creed pivoted toward her and took her arm.

  “Creed, I have to get back to the kitchen.”

  “We’re going to the kitchen,” he quipped.

  “I can get there under my own steam. Thanks.”

  He kept a firm hold on her elbow, and when they entered the kitchen, he kept them moving down the hall to his office. Once they were inside, he kicked the door shut and faced her.

  Shada folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t get an attitude with me. I didn’t ask him to make me an offer. I didn’t even know he existed before tonight.”

  Creed said nothing. He stood there staring at her.

  “Will you say something or let me get back out there?”

  She found herself thrust against the door, his hand at her throat, a thumb grazing her lips. Not a punishing touch, but a desperate one, as if he hadn’t been able to resist caressing her skin. Creed followed with his body, aligning it with hers. He flicked up her chin to nuzzle her neck, and he moaned as he breathed in her scent.

  “C-Creed.” Her body came to life with a scorching need to be taken right there.

  He slanted his lips over hers and seared her soul while he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Shada moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt his cock, so tight and thick against her belly. If she could just get him inside for a minute, the ache would ease.

  She broke away and pushed at his chest. “We can’t do this now.”

  “I know.” With obvious reluctance, he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back.

  “What that guy said made you mad.” Talk about stating the obvious.

  Creed shrugg
ed. He adjusted his cock to make it less noticeable in his pants. She grew hotter watching but forced her gaze to his face.

  “You know he was offering me a job, right? Not to get into his bed?”

  Creed’s eyes flashed fire. “If he did, I would have ripped his head off, not just thrown him out.”

  A warm and cozy feeling came over her. “You still acted like it.”

  He swore. “What do you want me to say, Shada? I’ve already told you, you belong to me. Until you say otherwise, I’m not going to allow some idiot to make thinly veiled propositions to you. Period.”

  Now she grew angry. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re asking me to let you fuck another woman to get her pregnant!”

  “You’re not volunteering to be my baby’s mother,” he shot back.

  The ridiculousness of the argument came through to her, but she was too pissed to stop. “You know what? I’m made my decision. We’re done. I’m sure you’ll have a nice, greedy candidate or a hundred before you know it.”

  “Shada.”

  She wrenched the door open and strode through it. As she walked back to the kitchen, tension in her shoulders made them ache, and a pain started in her chest. She expected any second he would grab her arm and drag her back to the office. He didn’t follow. I guess we’re really done.

  For the rest of the night, Shada focused on work, keeping her head down. The few times she looked up and spotted Creed, she found him watching her, his expression unreadable. After hours, she was honored for a dessert sensation, and it meant a lot to her. Yet unhappiness kept surfacing to confuse her. She was getting everything she had ever wanted, and even Marisa seemed stronger. Her sister had been able to come to the celebration. Best of all, she and Damen weren’t able to get into each other’s pockets, not with Damen battling his spoiled daughter all evening.

  Shada left the restaurant with Marisa at her side. She’d had much to think through, and she came to a firm understanding that she did what was right for her. Creed Marquette could kiss her ass.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where is Tiffany?” Creed boomed, and Shada swore the glasses rattled.

  She’d seen him angry and irritable plenty of times. Most of it hadn’t been aimed at her. Hell, she might have welcomed an argument the way they tiptoed around each other, Creed’s smile so damn fake and her with a queasy stomach at the thought of seeing him one second and wanting to be in his arms the next. They managed through three weeks this way, and she hated it. The problem was that, despite her decision and his acceptance of it, what lay between them was still white-hot. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that much when she caught Creed watching her, the fake cordiality stripped away. The first time had sent her running for the exit, mumbling about needing spices they already had in stock. Maybe she should call Arturo and take him up on his offer.

  “Tiffany’s out sick, remember?” Damen groused at his brother’s question. “Probably from your temper. “Whatever’s eating you, squash it, because you’re fucking getting on my nerves.”

  Several snorts turned into coughs throughout the kitchen.

  Creed glared at them all. “Really, Damen? Perhaps you called the agency for replacements when I asked you to, then? I think I remember you saying you could play manager for a day while I flew to New York?”

  Damen reddened, then rounded on Creed. “I offered to go instead of you!”

  Creed said something cutting in return, and Shada began to worry the brothers would come to blows. She took a step toward them when Stefan burst through the kitchen door. “Ladies, this is hardly the time. We have guests arriving in seconds.”

  Creed scowled at being called a lady, and Damen didn’t appear to like it any better.

  Served them right, she decided and undid her apron. “How about this? I’ll help serve. I’m not even due in today, so I can be an extra set of hands.”

  “That’s not your place,” Creed said with a little less heat than he had given to his brother.

  She strode by him, headed to the back, where there were a few extra serving uniforms. “I don’t think it’s your place, Creed, to tell me where I belong.”

  Another round of snorts.

  “I’m your boss,” he shouted after her, “or have you forgotten?”

  “When I’m old, I hope my memory doesn’t go like all of you people,” Anita inserted into the void.

  Shada stopped walking and looked back. When had the little girl arrived in the kitchen, and why hadn’t Damen taught her some manners yet?

  Damen rushed over to her. “Come on. You can order ice cream at your own table.”

  The two disappeared out the door, and Shada shook her head, then continued on to get changed. While she stood in the changing room unbuttoning her blouse, the door opened, and Creed stepped in. She clutched her blouse closed to hide her breasts.

  “Creed! How about some privacy?”

  His gazed skittered over her chest and held. Then he seemed to force it to her face. “You don’t have to do this, Shada. I’ll put a call in for help, and I’m sure I can get someone over here shortly.”

  “But they’re not here now, and we have reservations and a private party to handle. Marquette’s reputation is on the line.”

  He moved closer. She retreated a step.

  “You care about the restaurant that much?”

  “I…” She raised her chin. “While I’m here.”

  He frowned. “Are you planning to leave?”

  “I’m not saying that. It’s just that I like to give one hundred percent to whatever job I hold. You gave me a chance when no one else did, especially after my terrible first impression. I owe you.”

  His temper seemed to flame higher. “You don’t have to stay because you feel you owe me something. I would never hold you back.”

  “Are you taunting me to leave?”

  “I’m not. Trust me.”

  The man didn’t understand. Yes, she could trust him, because he had never been anything but forthcoming with his desires and his expectations. What she couldn’t trust was her reaction to him. Keeping Creed at arm’s length was a daily challenge even when he didn’t reach out for her like he started to do now.

  At his movement, she teetered toward him. Her throat closed, her nipples pebbled, and all she had to do was topple into his embrace. He seemed to sense her struggle, and he reached out farther to encircle strong fingers around her wrist. A gentle tug brought her forward. Her hand fell from her blouse because she had no will to hold it, and Creed’s gaze slid to her breasts. The black lacy bra might as well not be there, the way he stared.

  “We don’t have time for this,” she murmured. “We said we were done.”

  “You said it.”

  “We can’t,” she tried again, her body now aligned with his, her head tilted back and lips parted to receive his kiss.

  He lowered his head, and his lips were less than an inch from hers. She swallowed, feeling his warm breath, and her nostrils filled with his delicious manly scent. Beneath her palms, which she’d flattened on his chest, his heart beat. If he kissed her, she was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Dragon.”

  Creed froze.

  She waited for his mouth to descend onto hers, but where she had sensed his overwhelming presence a moment ago, it was now gone. Taking a peek, she found herself alone, and the door tapped the wall as it swung wide. He had respected her use of their safe word. Why did it make her feel like crap?

  Shada changed into a serving uniform and added the half apron the waiters and waitresses used. Then she headed out to the dining room. An hour of rushing to and fro had her feet aching, and she realized she covered much less ground working in the kitchen. True to his word, Creed managed to hire temporary staff, and she was relieved from duty.

  Creed was still a bear, but he bit off the worst of the tirades. He ordered her to go home, and she took him up on it. She had never felt this far from him, as if a wall existed to keep them apart, even when she had first m
et him. Maybe it was just as well. Creed posed a danger to her equilibrium, and she apparently tempted the man night and day.

  Walking home, she chuckled, thinking about her affect on Creed. Let it go, Shada, and move on. He was a great lover, but all good things ended. That was the hard lesson that life had taught her so far, and she would do well to remember it.

  * * * *

  The balmy days had Shada feeling some type of way. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but New Orleans’s atmosphere was seeping into her bones. On the way to work, she paused to take in the sight of one of the voodoo shops, with its storefront window advertising charms, dolls, oils, candles, and brews. Through the glass, she spotted white shrunken heads hanging from wracks and a weird statue that looked like Medusa. A man with midnight-black hair reaching to his ass and matching clothing opened the shop’s door to pass inside. Wasn’t it a bit early for him? she wondered. A local news article she had read said vampires—people who liked to live the lifestyle of one of the undead—stalked this particular place.

  She peered into the sky. For once the humidity gave her a break, but the sun shined bright.

  Shada reached the restaurant and met Stefan on the street in front. “Hey, Stefan,” she called. “What’s up?”

  The man who looked so like Creed, but with a heap less anger, smiled. “Bonsoir, ’tit monde.” She winced at his lame Cajun French and the fact that ’tit monde meant little one, which so did not describe her.

  She patted Stefan’s arm and smiled. “Give it up, Stefan. You can’t get rid of that New York accent that easily.”

  His face fell, and she pressed a fist to her mouth to suppress a laugh.

  “You wound me, Shada.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They walked inside, and Stefan clapped his hands, his face lighting up with excitement.

  “Why are you so happy?” she asked.

  He winked and touched a finger to his lips. “Because our piano player is out tonight, and I didn’t tell Creed.”

  She blinked at him. “Um, dude, you know your brother is going to kill you, right?”

  He just smiled.