Truth About Tequila (Surviving Absolution #3)

by Nikki Belaire

  Holding her with no other intentions than the feeling of closeness, he tucks his head into her neck. For a passing second, she actually softens, accepting his embrace. Giving into his affection.

  Far too brief before she twists out of his arms. The stillness broken. Her quiet assent already a memory.

  “I’m starving.”

  She brushes past him, striding into the bedroom and grabbing her t-shirt off the rocking chair. Never looking his way as she digs in the dresser drawer. No explanation for the sudden shift. And, he's too fucking scared to ask. Because that will only lead to his ass being kicked out the door.

  While she dresses, he returns to the kitchen and swipes his abandoned clothes from the floor. The acridity of their ruined dinner burns his nose as he yanks open the oven door. Stifling a bitter cough, he shoves open the window and tosses the blackened box onto the landing below. Hopefully preventing the smoke detector from screaming its alert.

  "I ordered another one." She stands in the doorway, fanning the air with her phone-filled hand. "It should be here in about fifteen minutes."

  A good sign that she matches his smile, her pink cheeks lifting in response to his wink. He grabs two bottles and follows her into the living room. Handing her the water, he slumps down on the sofa, sprawling across the stiff cushions. "So how did you get into doing massages?"

  She picks at the label with her blue fingertips. "It's a long story."

  He shrugs and taps on his non-existent watch. "You've got fourteen minutes."

  Her eyes roll but she gives him a small grin. So fucking adorable when she smarts him off.

  "My parents hated that I was earning my degree in Fine Arts, especially my dad. He wanted me to do something more practical. Actually tried to talk me into being an accountant."

  Yeah, her being happy sitting behind a desk creating spreadsheets and crunching numbers seems unlikely. But he's smart enough to keep that comment to himself. No reason to piss off her father. Who also happens to be his boss' business partner.

  “I graduated and of course no job offers came rolling for an art major without any professional experience. My friend Kayla is a massage therapist and talked me into getting certified too. Then I could make some money and set my own schedule while I tried to build my career.”

  “Sounds like a good plan."

  "Yeah, and I actually enjoy it for the most part." She smiles as she looks down at her petite fingers. "I've even built up the muscles in my hands which helps with some of my projects."

  "I’d like to meet your friend sometime.”

  Lines cross her forehead and she shakes her head as if realizing something. A mistake but only she understands why. She jumps up from the couch, cleaning up their empty drinks. “We’re leaving early tomorrow so maybe you should just…”

  Fuck. The barrier between them up and rock solid again. She’s shutting him out. Not if he can help it. “What about our food? I thought you were starving?"

  Yeah, he’s fucking lame. Almost begging when she doesn’t want him here. But, he’ll shut the fuck up if she just gives him one more chance.

  A curt nod before she sits next to him again. Her body stiff and taut, ready to jump off the sofa from the slightest provocation. Entwining her hand with his, he gives her fingers a slight squeeze. A small sigh accompanies her shoulders softening and she relaxes against him, her cheek on his bicep. She taps the button on the remote, a classic black-and-white flickering onto the screen.

  He won't say another fucking word, ask another question, if she'll just stay with him like this.

  Chapter 6

  “Andy, I’d like you to meet Gina Ortiz, Enrique’s daughter.”

  The bald man bows slightly at Max’s introduction. He lifts his head and winks, brushing the back of her hand with his lips. “An absolute pleasure, I assure you.”

  She can’t help but laugh, his British accent making him even more charming than his exaggerated manners. Funny, that he’s a ruthless mercenary, able to kill a man with a swift twist of his neck. Of course, the actual technique is more complicated than that, but she kind of zoned out for a minute when Max was telling her about Andy on the plane. A slow burn searing her body from his hand gliding across her thigh in front of techno-nerd RJ and Cord, the security guy, sitting behind them. Who probably didn’t get his name from being born in Texas.

  An intimate touch in front of other people, yet now he introduces her as the second in command’s daughter. Rather than what? His girlfriend? She ignores the disappointment rolling through her stomach. He can’t call her that. Even after last night, she isn’t that. Is she?

  What the fuck? They aren’t in fucking middle school. Why is she even thinking this? They fuck. That’s it. No matter how much more she wants them to be. She shakes her throbbing head and forces herself to listen to the conversation, which has moved on without her participation.

  “The entire house has retina imaging technology. The exterior doors won’t unlock until the scan blah blah blah…”

  At least that’s what it sounds like. Poor RJ must have a huge hard-on talking about the gadgets he had them install. Without regard for expense or effort. To keep Shae and baby Shank safe. She’s got to quit calling him that, or it’s going to stick. Damn Carrie for starting it.

  “The panic room works a little differently. The system is set--”

  She can’t take anymore. “Excuse me. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  Andy and Max both stand, polite in their manners yet lethal in their actions, while poor, oblivious RJ just keeps talking, his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. Dude needs to get laid.

  She wanders through the house, almost as big as Nick’s in L.A. Well, actually Shae’s. He gave her the beachfront mansion as a wedding present. Now she gets this one for her honeymoon surprise. Plus, the home she already owns. Yes, makes perfect sense for a tiny woman, who never seems to care about money or status, to own three huge houses.

  Her heels echo on the tile, no furniture or rugs yet to absorb the sound. Fresh paint lingers in the air mingled with the scent of sawdust from the carpenters hanging white cabinets in the kitchen. Floor to ceiling windows substitute for walls, just thin panes of glass separating her from miles of beach visible in each direction.

  Farther down the hall, she pushes open the door to the master suite, bigger than the entire penthouse in Las Vegas. Her mouth drops open at the breath-taking view in front of an infinity bath tub. Who knew they even made such things?

  Thick drop cloths protect the carpet in the alcove adjacent to the room, the only area unpainted. She steps closer. A hand-drawn teddy bear sitting on a bench covers the lower half of one wall. Sketches litter the floor, old fashioned toys – a spinning top, building blocks, and tri-colored ball – line the drawing paper. The nursery.

  A familiar twinge stabs her heart. She never let herself decorate one. No matter how crazy Richard told her she was. Regardless of how irritated her friends became. No showers. Or tiny clothes. Or soft blankets. Because she knew. She just knew there wouldn’t be the need for any. Because horrible, selfish monsters don’t deserve babies.

  She swipes at the tears burning her eyes. No. She will not cry. She refuses to start because she knows they will never stop.

  Voices float from the hallway. Her pulse races. She can’t be in here. Not like this. She flies to the doorway and pauses, while her heart tumbles in her chest. Max and RJ follow Andy through the living room into the kitchen as he says words that probably mean things but right now she has no idea what.

  With their backs to her, she tiptoes in the other direction and climbs a spiral staircase. She pushes against the door at the top and her breath catches.

  An open room spans the entire rooftop of the house. Four foot walls, made of thin iron railing and textured glass, surround the perimeter for an almost unobstructed view of Shae’s island. Another wedding surprise from Nick. Damn. What would this dude do to prove his love if he was poor?

  A soft breeze da
nces across her bare arms cooling her hot skin, calming her racing heart. The aqua waters relentlessly roll into the sand. No force strong enough to stop the motion. The push and pull of gravity more powerful than any man or his money.

  Three gray birds land on the white crystals, their beaks dipping in and out of the waves, which erase their pronged footprints as they scamper toward the greenery before racing back to the water. A mindless pattern yet they don’t know any different. Have no reason to be happy or sad or confused.

  Peppermint wafts over her before hands slide around her waist. She leans back against Max’s chest, pretending for a minute he’s not confused and she’s not sad. His lips brush her neck sending chills down her back. Okay, maybe she’s a little happy. “It’s a beautiful home. Shae will love her surprise.”

  “Yeah, I think so too. It’s all coming together except the mural in the baby’s room. The artist's mother had a heart attack, and he’s never come back to finish. I told the guys to paint over it for now.”

  For all the extravagance and massiveness of the house, the nursery is probably the only room Shae will care about. A special place for her to love and care for her baby.

  He kisses her again. “I’m sorry you’re bored. You can go down to the beach for a while or I can have the guys fly you to the hotel if you want.”

  “Actually, I’d like to go to the art store, if there is one.” She takes a deep breath and turns to face him, her stomach quivering. “I can finish the mural, if you think they won’t mind. I don’t want Shae to--”

  His gaze bores into hers, eliminating her hesitation. “I think she’ll love it.”

  “Okay.”

  She returns his smile as he pulls out his phone and swipes the screen.

  “This is Alan.”

  “Gina needs to go into Nassau to pick up a few things. How long until you’d be ready to take her?”

  “Give me an hour, and we’ll be ready.”

  He taps the phone again and winks at her. “Done.”

  Heat warms her cheeks at his nod and eyes searching hers, his expression almost proud, maybe a little impressed. For some dumb reason, she wants him to think those things about her. That she’s more than just an easy lay and a good time. Yet, if he knew the truth of who she really is, of what she’s done, he would never think any of it. “You’re sexy when you’re smug, you know that?”

  His eyes darken, and he brushes his thumb across her lips, stirring the longing for more. “I thought I was sexy all the time.”

  “No, that’s me.”

  “Agreed.” He strokes her cheek, his mischievousness replaced with a gentle approval making her heart soar. “You’re also very generous. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know. I just want to.”

  For some inexplicable reason she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know why. But, she has to.

  #####

  She sits cross-legged on the ivory tile, the sketch pad propped up in her lap. Luckily the abundant windows help diminish the suffocating smell of fresh paint. She’s started with a clean slate, a hint of guilt spinning in her stomach at covering the original artist’s work. But, it just didn’t seem right, not the feeling she wants to convey.

  The trip took longer than she planned, losing herself in the colors and brushes and papers. Her church, the one place she always feels welcome. Talking with her kind, focused on their craft and nothing else.

  Although she won’t finish before they have to leave, she has the outline started and maybe she can convince Max to bring her back.

  Her stomach growls, a reminder of her skipped lunch to spend as much time as possible gathering her supplies. Easy to do with the butterflies dancing in her stomach, flapping harder at the thought of meeting Max’s sister and parents. She agreed to come with him before she knew about his side trip. The awkward introduction – again not the girlfriend. How do you explain fuck buddies to a retired general, his attorney wife, and hippie sister? She laughs to herself, not having met Millie yet, but she knows she’s going to like her. The wildest member of the family got almost all of them to live in the Bahamas and ended up the hero after all.

  Max said they would leave in a few minutes. She jots down how the sun hits the wall at seven pm, what the room will feel like when Shae gets the baby ready for bed. The lyrics play in her mind as she draws. It’s perfect.

  She stands up and stretches. Her back and neck ache, her arms throb from gripping the extension roller, her head buzzes a bit from the latex. And, it feels wonderful. The best she’s felt in a long time.

  “Ready?”

  She grins at Max standing in the doorway. “Yeah.”

  #####

  Max smiles at Gina’s head on his shoulder, her soft hair brushing his cheek when he leans toward her. Forcing himself not to breathe in her lavender scent infused with paint until the other guys deplane. No need to stir more gossip than they already have. He fucked up. Should have talked to her dad before they left. Let him know he cares about her before he hears rumors. Now that Nick and Shae know, there’s no reason to hide it. But, he should have been a gentleman and spoken to Enrique.

  Not that they need permission – she’s twenty-seven, not a child, yet maybe always will be one in the eyes of her parents. Two consenting adults, yet one of them unwilling, maybe unable with her stubborn independence, to listen to what anyone else says. Even her father. He kisses the top of her head. “Gina?”

  She’s out. Not a grumble or a flinch. Just her gentle breath blowing on his shirt sleeve, her small hand resting on his thigh. He caresses her cheek. “Hey, Picasso, it’s time to wake up.”

  Her body jerks and her head flies up. She gives him a sleepy, beautiful smile, making his body pulse at her happiness to see him. She stretches her arms out in front of her before shaking her head. “He’s a cubist. This is a mural, more like impressionism, Monet or Degas.”

  She speaks a different language, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t need to understand. All he knows is he loves the fire in her eyes, the passion sparked from her project. Letting in a little bit of the softness underneath the wall she builds around herself. “How about gorgeous?”

  She rolls her eyes but her face flushes, pink brightening her cheeks as her smile grows. “Come on. We’d better get going.”

  Her fingers run through her hair while they walk to the SUV. “Can we please go back to the hotel so I can freshen up? I don’t want to meet your family like this.”

  “You’re gorgeous, believe me.” He gives her an exaggerated shudder, feigning fear. “Besides, we don’t want to be late. I don’t want to cross Millie.”

  “Let me get this straight. You kill for a living, but you’re scared of your little sister? I can’t wait to meet this woman.”

  The smile doesn’t leave his face, yet the knot in his stomach grows. It’s not his sister he disappoints. He doesn’t want to add tardiness to the list of offenses his father likes to keep track of. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

  “I’m sure she learned it from you.”

  Her hand tucks into his as he drives, unexpected affection she doesn’t normally give outside the bedroom. Maybe the crack in her shell widens a bit. As they turn into the subdivision, she pulls away, curling her fingers around her earlobe, and tugs. A nervous tell she isn’t aware of. He squeezes her thigh. “They’re just people, and it’s just dinner.”

  “Yeah.”

  The door opens as they walk up the white stone driveway, and Gabby jumps up and down, her little hands clapping. “He’s here! He’s here!”

  Poor Henry loses his grip on her as she bolts forward. He wobbles, before falling on his butt, the thick diaper cushioning his landing. The toddler scrambles to his knees and crawls toward them, trying to keep up with his big sister. Max laughs as he scoops her up, his biggest fan in the tiniest body. “Hey, jelly bean, I’ve missed you.”

  Her small arms slide around his neck, enveloping him with her pure, sweet joy. “I’m in kindergarten now, and I have a
fish named Pepper, and Mom said we have to at least try the asparagus to see if we like it, and I’m not supposed to ask you about…”

  Her dancing eyes shift from him to Gina and widen even more, if that’s possible. She reaches out to Gina’s diamond drop earring, rubbing a reverent finger over the oval. “You’re sparkly. I love glitter. Do you want to come and see my tiara? You can even wear it if you want. But only for a second then I have to take a turn because Mom said you have to share even if you don’t really want to because when you’re...”

  The torrent continues as she slides down his body and tucks her small hand into Gina’s, who raises her eyebrows at him, begging to be rescued. He shrugs and shakes his head, unable to save her from the little chatterbox. Gabby leads Gina into the house, past Henry, who sits and sucks on his fingers. An eyelash-thin stream of saliva dangles from his mouth to his hand as he reaches for his sister when she walks past. Gabby nods at him, her lips curling down in disgust. “That’s Henry. He’s cute, but he poops A LOT.”

  Gina laughs at her warning. “Good to know.”

  “Gabby?” Max's sister calls out from somewhere deeper in the house. “Did you clean your crayons and coloring books off the sofa like I told you to?”

  His niece shakes her head and drops Gina’s hand, running into the living room. Gina turns to him, her arms crossed, ready to launch into a lecture, but he lifts up Henry holding him against his chest. “No swearing in front of the children.”

  Millie and his mother come through the doorway. Henry reaches for Millie, digging for the raisins in her cupped hand.

  “This is my mom, Diana, and my sister, Millie.” He tugs the back of her shirt before sliding his hand underneath to give her a reassuring caress. “This is Gina Ortiz, my girlfriend.”

  Gina flashes him a shy smile before extending her hand to his mom. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Come here.” Millie wraps her arms around Gina, her gentle touch meant to welcome the nervous woman to their group. One of the many reasons he likes her as well as loves her. “I feel like I already know you.”