Prince of Fools

by Nancy Gideon

  Book 3 in the 5-Star “House of Terriot” series

  PRINCE OF FOOLS

  One night of stolen pleasure he didn’t remember and she couldn’t forget . . .

  Amber stepped inside, turning on the welcoming glow of the kitchen’s overhead. Illuminating an image that burned from widened eyes to the pit of her belly. And below.

  Frederick Terriot stood on her doorstep, hair plastered to his skull, raindrops hanging from his obscenely long lashes. The rain turned his white dress shirt all but transparent as it clung in graphic definition to broad shoulders and a long, divinely sculpted torso. Her mouth went dry, probably from hanging open like a gawking teen-age girl, but another part of her came awake from a long hibernation.

  Rico Terriot was the stuff of dreams. Lately, all of hers.

  Reluctance narrowed his golden eyes as she took his arm to coax him inside. Inside more than just her lonely home if she was very lucky.

  “I shouldn’t,” he began, wary now and worried. About her. About taking advantage of the situation. One she’d been trying to push on him like a front-end loader since the first day she’d seen his lovelorn features on the other side of her bar.

  “Don’t be silly,” she coaxed. “You’re drenched and more than a little drunk. Come in, dry off and get some coffee before the cab gets here.”

  “Evie—”

  “Is at the sitter’s until morning. I figured this would be a late night.” She didn’t confess she’d hoped it would be one she didn’t spend alone.

  Because of the friendship she used to artfully disguise a rather desperate seduction, Rico shrugged and stepped in from the cold.

  “You’re freezing.” Her fingers started in a practical hurry down the buttons of his nearly nonexistent shirt. “I’ll get you something to wrap up in while I toss this in the dryer. It’ll only take a minute or two.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he protested.

  The backs of her fingers brushed bare skin. Heat sparked, quickening a brush fire through all those long dried and dead parts of her.

  His big hands gripped hers, perhaps with the intention of stopping her. At first. His thumbs stroked her palms, the gesture so unexpectedly sensual, Amber shivered all the way to her soggy work shoes. Taking a shaky breath, she forced her gaze up to see what moved in his, need or regret.

  Those golden eyes flamed with desire.

  She didn’t care for who. Not then. Not as, without hesitation, he bent down from that towering height to kiss her . . .

  “Every delicious word Nancy Gideon puts on the page exhilarates with a sensuous ferocity.”

  Darynda Jones, New York Times bestselling author

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Gideon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book or portions thereof may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Design: Patricia Lazarus

  Interior Design: Florence Price & The Novel Difference

  ASIN: B074QYWHQ7

  Dedication

  For my family, for putting up with my hours, my crankiness, and my obsession with putting words on the page, when they’d rather I be making dinner.

  BY

  Nancy Gideon

  Deadly, Damaged, Delicious

  Brothers too H.o.T. to handle!

  Book 3

  Table of Content

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A Sneak Peek from Prince of Dreams

  About the Author

  Other Books by Nancy Gideon

  Prologue

  Innocent laughter teased Rico Terriot back from the doorstep of hell. He'd balanced there all night, still, stoic and barely breathing.

  For three grueling days, the young princes in the shapeshifter House of Terriot had been pitted against one another, this their last, tortuous challenge. Schooled to ignore pain, to push beyond exhaustion, they’d perched on evenly spaced posts the previous afternoon, barefoot, wearing only camo fatigues and tee shirts, to balance there without rest, without water or sustenance, holding a sand-filled jug in each hand with arms outstretched in front of them. Easy peasy . . . for a while. By dark, their number had halved, and over that brutal evening, was halved again. And now just two of the twelve remained. Just Colin and him.

  How that must have irritated Colin as the pinks of dawn became the hot glare of near noon. Imagining his brother's humiliation, not just before their siblings but also their trainer, Abel Conroy, Colin's revered step-father, kept Rico going even after the other favorite, Turow, had succumbed to a leg cramp several hours before.

  No one expected Frederick, the screw up, the goof off, to shine equal to Abel's golden boy.

  Rico slid a look at his brother. Colin stood steady and strong, more chiseled monument than thirteen-year-old male. There'd be no shame in losing to him, but no satisfaction, either. Though his arms trembled, his back ached, and his legs had gone numb, he determined to stick it out just a little bit longer.

  To distract himself from his misery, Rico’s attention followed playful sounds to the rocky edge of Lake Tahoe. Colin's two young half-sisters played along the shoreline under the supervision of his step-father's oldest son, Anson, who held the baby of the family in his arms. Anson had attracted the interest of several flirtatious females who cooed at the child and made eyes at the young man. None paid any attention to the brutal trial going on . . . or to the two little girls hopping from stone to stone along the choppy water before racing down their family's dock. Rico and Colin were the only ones facing the lake. Alert to the potential danger, they exchanged quick glances.

  Colin cleared his throat roughly. "Sir, permission to speak.”

  Conroy's attention slashed to his step-son in surprise, brows lowering in ill-concealed disappointment. "Denied. You know better. Hold your position or forfeit."

  Colin hesitated, torn as he looked again toward the dock. His balance wavered. "Sir-"

  "Hold or forfeit!"

  Colin firmed up his posture, staring straight ahead. Stunned by his brother’s decision, Rico held his position, too, but his focus remained divided.

  Still grinning over what one of the young ladies had said, Anson glanced toward his sisters, yelling, "Lu, Katy, slow down before you break your necks! Get back up here so I can keep an eye on you." Then he turned away before his orders were obeyed.

  That second of inattentiveness was all it took. A misstep on a slick board, and Lucy Conroy disappeared.

  Colin had to have heard Rico grab a startled breath, but he didn't react. He remained eyes fron
t, position locked. He wasn't going to do anything!

  Stare riveted to the glassy surface where five-year old Lucy had gone under, Rico leapt from his post, knees buckling, barely supporting him as he scrambled toward the shore. Too long without fluids, he couldn't force an alarm from tight vocal cords as he raced past a surprised Anson, down the dock to where little Kate stood motionless, studying the water curiously. And he went in.

  It was deep and cold, momentarily shocking Rico’s already abused body. Then he dove, outstretched hands searching wildly until they brushed against the smooth nylon of the little girl's coat. For an instant, he couldn't force his cramped fingers to close. Then arms were about his neck. He pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface, struggling to lift the girl up so a very pale Colin, who now knelt on the dock, could grab her. She clung to her brother, coughing and crying his name frantically.

  Abel flung a blanket about both step-son and hysterical daughter, his arm around Colin in support. A shamefaced Anson scurried behind them on their way up from the water’s edge to their family compound high above, stuttering apologies as he carried both the baby and his other whimpering sister.

  Pulse still banging furiously, Rico stumbled up onto the rocky shore where he stood shivering, alone. He'd won nothing, no prize, no praise. He had no one to worry over him or applaud his accomplishments and quick thinking. No one would remember that he’d gone into the water, only that Colin was there to lift his sister out. All his efforts, forgotten. The man he worshipped, the brother he admired, the girls he adored wouldn't give him another thought.

  He had no family, no one to go home to. Only the name Terriot. And today, as in all those that came before it, he would trade one for the other in a solitary heartbeat.

  Chapter 1

  No one knew how to party like a Terriot.

  Obscenely rich, harshly gorgeous with a dangerous, take no prisoners arrogance, they’d roared into New Orleans on their big bikes to rally behind their new king, as welcomed as a plague of soldier ants bent on stripping the landscape of all resources. Their Tahoe-based warrior clan feared nothing, bent before no rules but their own, yet somehow managed to strike a tentative truce with the cast-off shape-shifter band who’d made the Crescent City their home.

  A month before, no one would have imagined a Terriot, let alone a Guedry, sitting down to talk truce with Max Savoie’s representative. Yet here they were in Cheveux du Chien, the Quarter’s clandestine Shifter-Only bar, celebrating the intimate union of a Terriot prince and the Guedry heir, drinking and dancing and, Amber James feared, about to explode with the violence they were known for.

  Working the floor and now behind the bar she called her Church of Broken Hearts, Amber had seen and heard it all. She’d listened to the tragic Shakespearean romance as it poured into her sympathetic ear, a dangerous triangle of love and lust, of two volatile brothers vying for the same forbidden fruit. One claimed his dream come true. The other, unbidden and unexpectedly, had managed to snag Amber’s own reluctant heart.

  Tonight, that drama continued.

  "Oh, shit."

  Startled by her boss's dark oath, Amber looked to him then followed his furrowed glare toward the floor. Rico, the bitter, lovelorn brother, was dancing with their new clan princess. The song was suggestive, so were his moves, a little too much so considering the occasion. But his behavior wasn't what caught Jacques LaRoche’s attention. He scowled at the newly mated prince as Colin Terriot's stare followed his brother like a gun sight.

  "I just got this place put back together,” the bar owner growled, “and I'll drop that guy, bond-groom or not, before I let him tear it apart again. I don’t care how much their king paid me for the trouble of letting them use it tonight." His fingers stroked the well-worn baseball bat he kept behind the bar, willing to set it swinging.

  Amber touched his beefy arm. "I got this."

  "Ammy, you don't have to-"

  She cut him off with a smile. "Sure, I do. What are friends for? Right?"

  A brow rose toward the shiny dome of his head. "Carrying that just friends torch a little far, aren't you?"

  His observation, though gentle, was a sound right hook to the pride. She took it without a blink. "That's what I do. Who'd know better than you?"

  He made a huffing noise but didn't disagree since she'd babied his sorry ass more than once until bliss in the form of a family had found its way back into his life.

  "Don't get between them,” he grumbled. “I can't replace you . . . that easily."

  "Gee, thanks." She grinned, dropping her rag and apron on the bar.

  Though Cale, the Terriot clan’s new king, hadn’t closed the bar to their usual customers, he’d reserved a large portion of it back by the office and rear exit. Bold and loud and aggressive on the dance floor, the small group had behaved themselves as they toasted the unexpected mating of middle prince, Colin, to Mia Guedry, cousin to her clan’s new leader. Under the watchful eye of a half dozen motionless guards from Memphis, Rueben Guedry sat chatting easily with Max Savoie, joined by Charlotte Caissie, Max’s police detective wife who’d proven to be more than the human they’d all believed; Savoie’s right hand Silas MacCreedy and his former assassin wife, Nica, who’d once worked the bar beside Amber; and Cale, the rowdy Terriot king with his not yet noticeably pregnant queen, Kendra, cousin to MacCreedy. As they laughed together, no one would guess that short months back, they’d been scheming for ways to kill each other. Romance had a way of making strange bonds all the way around.

  The mood had definitely darkened where the guest of honor was concerned. Touching Colin Terriot's shoulder was like placing her fingers on a hot stove, knowing she'd get burned but doing it anyway. For a moment he didn't respond, his frame so tight, he quivered. Then his gaze lifted. Amber sucked an involuntary breath. His usually beautiful green eyes were a churning sea of hot gold lava. She knew what kind of powerful, deadly beast lurked behind that fiery glare. She’d seen him rip through a room full of their patrons in a maddened fury, and was wise enough to remain wary.

  She offered a smile. "I haven't had a chance to congratulate you yet." Boldly, she leaned down to touch a kiss to his taut cheek. "Don't you owe me a dance?"

  He blinked, the dangerous heat cooling slightly.

  "Something sexy this time,” she added with a wink, “since it’s my last chance to squeeze your butt with a clear conscience."

  His mouth stretched, revealing his teeth, a nice even row instead of the deadly fangs he’d flashed during his last visit. His voice rumbled, deep and disturbingly masculine. "I think maybe you're right." He stood, dwarfing her with his sheer mass, taking her hands and placing them on his hips as he grinned wider. "Hang on tight."

  * * * * *

  Rico Terriot clutched everything he’d ever desired tightly to his chest, but this everything, like all else he’d ever dreamed of, belonged to his brother. Tonight, he was just drunk enough, reckless enough and angry enough not to care. His last excuse to feel Mia Guedry moving against him and he planned to enjoy it, damn the cost.

  He pressed her small, curvy body into his, pretending not to notice how she stiffened in his arms as he did below. Nuzzling her thick dark hair, he sucked in her intoxicating scent, letting it go to his head like all those many drinks. Mia . . . Longing sighed through him, chased by a possessive rumble vibrating through his suddenly dark soul. One that didn’t weigh consequence against conquest.

  No fragile female, when Mia Guedry pushed against his chest, there was determined muscle behind it.

  “Rico, stop. I belong to your brother, and he will kill you where you stand if you don’t back off.” Her tone threaded with steel and a kindness more killing than the inevitability of Colin’s fury. “That’s not how I want this celebration to end.”

  “I don’t care.” His arms cinched tighter in defiance.

  Instead of struggling, she relaxed against him, palms rubbing the wide span of tense shoulders.

  “Yes, you do. You do or you woul
dn’t have gone through so much trouble to save him for this moment. Can’t we enjoy it as family?”

  Family. Right. The two of them as a couple and him, alone. That definition of family scored more cruelly than a knife blade to the gut. But she’d made her point, the only one that could reach through the roar of his lust to wound. He stepped away, hand on her elbow, to steer her back to the table she and Colin shared with their brothers Kip and Turow. A friendly group that he excluded himself from by choice.

  Without a glance or word, he left her there to head for the bar, where he found the owner’s unfriendly glower instead of the kind smile he’d hoped for. He tapped the edge of his glass and waited stoically until it, unlike all his hopes, was filled.

  "I want to propose a toast!"

  Colin's loud announcement dragged Rico's attention from his glass to the group circled about Colin and his mate. Another in the endless tributes to his perfect future? Rico didn't think he could stomach it, let alone lift his drink.

  "To Abel Daniel Terriot." A puzzled silence met his proud claim. "The best gift a man could ever receive from the woman he loves. My heir.” Colin’s deep voice broke an octave lower. “My son."

  As an incredulous understanding dawned in those around him, Colin bent and, clasping Mia's tear-dampened cheeks in his palms, claimed her lips for a long, tender exchange.

  In that moment, Rico realized all his hopes were forever out of reach. A small, choking sound escaped him as he grabbed for his coat. He jumped when Amber caught his wrist.

  "Don't run."

  He stared at her as if he didn't understand the words.

  "Frederick, if you don't accept this now, you'll lose them both forever. He's your brother, your friend. They’re your family."

  Rico drew a strangled breath then blinked and steadied. He pulled out from under her grasp, the movement slow, his hand turning so his fingertips could catch hers in a brief squeeze before he straightened his shoulders and joined the others.