by Nancy Gideon
"Mama, he's not a stranger. He's our friend."
Amber rounded on her daughter, seething with more upset than the moment warranted, but she couldn't hold back the rush of fear and fury. "How many times have I told you? Men don't give gifts, Evangeline, not without strings attached, and we will not get tied up in them. If I can't provide it, you don't need it. You'll take them back as soon as you get home tomorrow."
Tears wobbled as lips pressed tight in unspoken defiance. Because there was no place the girl could go to privately vent her embarrassment, she grabbed up the offensive bags and disappeared behind the slam of her mother's bedroom door.
"It's my fault," Rico began.
Amber whirled to him. "Yes, it is! This is my family, not yours. You can't come here flashing that big smile and your credit cards to get everything you want from us."
He reared back from her unjustified attack, stunned and uncertain, trying to defend himself and the child. "That's not what I was doing. We were just getting to know each other. I never let her out of my sight except when she was trying things on. She didn't ask for anything. I didn't expect anything back, except seeing her happy."
"And it's all about you, isn't it? What pleases you. What do you know about how hard it is to be a single parent? To raise a child in a world full of predators, to worry every time they're out of your sight that someone will take advantage of them?"
"I don't know anything about it," he said with a quiet honesty. "I've never had anyone but me to worry about. I'm sorry you were scared. I'd never do anything to hurt your little girl."
"Is that why she'll be up all night, crying?"
"I'm sorry. I just wanted her to like me. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm really sorry."
He took an awkward step back and another, and then he was out the door.
Amber took a big breath and let it out on a sob. She knew—knew!-Rico would never allow any harm to come to her daughter. But finding Evangeline gone still had her trembling.
She’d worked so hard for them to feel safe, for Evie to have the chance to live like a normal young girl. A chance she’d never had. Her daughter was a good kid—smart, kind, hard-working—but still just a twelve-year-old presented with a Prince Charming opportunity. One she herself would have refused with difficulty. But she would have, because owing a man always came with a bigger price than she could pay.
It wasn’t Rico, it was Auguste who had her temper flaring and her instincts on high alert. Augie with his easy affection and careless good intentions. She’d wanted more from Frederick Terriot, more stability, more trustworthiness when it came to her daughter’s care. And to her own fragile hopes.
As she approached the closed bedroom door, the sounds of muffled sobs twisted the knife of guilt. Evangeline, her angel, sat in the middle of the bed, bright packages strewn about her. Quick snuffles sucked up her tears. The rebellious fire had extinguished in the gaze rising to meet hers.
“It wasn’t his fault, Mama,” she said quietly. “I told him it was okay with you. I was mad because Uncle Augie wasn’t here. He was just being nice, and I got him in trouble. I didn’t mean to, but we were having so much fun. I didn’t mean to make you w-worry.”
Amber pushed the bags out of the way so she could sit beside the girl, opening an arm to coax Evangeline to burrow in close. All the anguish in her heart settled.
“I’m not mad, baby. I wish we didn’t have a reason for rules. But we do, Evie, and you can’t break them, even a little. It’s not that I don’t trust you, or Frederick. I do. But he doesn’t understand the rules, and we can’t afford to ignore them, not even the little ones.”
Her blonde head nodded. Amber placed a kiss atop the soft strands, gaze straying to the brightly-wrapped contraband, tightness binding within her breast.
“Want to show me what’s in those bags?”
* * * * *
A quick smile and wave from Evangeline as she ran out the next morning to catch a ride to school with Susanna LaRoche and her seven-year-old daughter, Pearl, settled only part of Amber’s miseries. She’d heard nothing from her brother, but that wasn’t unusual enough to cause worry. In fact, his absence was a relief when another problem was paramount.
She tried to hold tight to her anxiety as the dock shift rolled in at work on a wave of boisterous voices. She smiled at T-Ray and his two friends, all sporting suspicious bruises on their faces. But Rico wasn’t with them. Nor did he arrive at his usual time to take his place at her section of the bar. Because of her and what she’d said?
She needed to let it go, to let him go before she broke the same rules she’d set for her daughter. It wasn’t as if there could be a future between her and a prince in the House of Terriot. The very idea was ridiculous. They shared a comfortable friendship and one night of stolen pleasure. A night he didn’t remember and she couldn’t forget. And it would never be more than that. She couldn’t afford to let it be more.
But she’d hurt him. And that was no way to repay a kindness. So, she swallowed her pride and made a call.
* * * * *
She slipped into the big renovated building as a gentleman tenant held open the door. Seven floors later, after matching the number to the one she’d gotten from Mia, Amber pulled in a fortifying gust of air and knocked.
By the time he answered, she'd convinced herself she'd made a terrible mistake and had started to turn away. Then there he was, filling up the door frame, eyes wide with surprise, offering a cautious smile. His hair, short as it was, managed to still look a mess, and only part of his shirt was tucked in.
Oh, no. She'd interrupted something.
"Hi." He sounded breathless.
"I'm sorry to bother you. I'll be quick so you can get back to what you were doing."
He glanced over his shoulder rather uncomfortably but returned with a more genuine smile. "That's okay." He blinked. "Wow. I really didn't expect to see you here."
She couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing, so she rushed ahead. "I came to apologize for yesterday. I acted like a lunatic. I didn't mean to come down on you like I thought you were a child molester. You must think--"
"I think Evie has the best mom in the world."
His words deflated her. "What?"
"I get it," he added, eyes warming to a butterscotch-hot-toddy gold. "I should have asked before doing something like that. No teenage girl is about to say no to some dumb guy offering her the moon. You were right to come down hard on both of us. We weren't thinking. I'll know better next time." A pause. "If there is one."
Amber just stared at him until he lowered his gaze, his smile twisting slightly.
"Oh. I get it. No next time." His head bobbed in acceptance of that. "Okay." His voice quieted. "Okay. That's cool."
"That's not what I meant. I'm trying to apologize."
The smile returned, broad and white.
"Really?" He fidgeted a moment, glancing over his shoulder, then offered, "Want to come in for a sec?"
"I don't want to bother you if you're in the middle of something."
"No bother. I was putting my laundry together for pickup." When he moved back and opened his arm wide, she stepped inside.
Amber tried not to gawk, but she'd never seen such a gorgeous apartment except in celebrity magazines. In soothing shades of taupe and ivory with bronze and wood accents, everything from the granite counter tops and leather furniture to top-shelf wet bar and big screen screamed tasteful affluence. Her shoes almost disappeared into the rug. He probably paid more in rent per night than she did for her monthly mortgage! To think he'd once slept on her ratty sofa and eaten breakfast on her old kitchen chairs.
The gulf widened between them as she crossed the ocean of plush carpeting.
"I wasn't expecting company . . . like, ever. You’re my first," he called over his shoulder. "Excuse the mess."
Mess? She glanced about, noting signs of a bachelor in residence. Unlaced boots in front of the couch where they'd been kicked off, with socks lolling
out of them. Half a beer on the counter, surrounded by empties. Crumpled fast-food bags cluttering the stove's cook surface, and coat hanging from the closet doorknob. If he thought this was a mess, he'd obviously never peeked into a teenage girl's room. Or what it might look like if her daughter had one.
"Sit down. I just put on fresh coffee. You take yours black, right?"
He'd remembered. That surprised her. She looked between the glass-topped table and gleaming wood chairs to luscious leather and went for comfort, sinking down into the embrace of luxury.
He set the coffee cups on the table in front of the couch and plopped down next to her, angling his obscenely delicious body her way with his arm across the back and his knee on the cushion so it nearly touched her thigh. His heat leapt across the distance.
"So, has the home drama died down?"
Amber smiled at his concern. "It took a while, but a compromise was reached. But you don't want to hear all this."
He shifted, leaning closer. "Sure, I do."
Looking at him, all attentive and eager, she began with an awkward blush. "I let her pick two of the outfits to keep. The rest go back without any fuss. The keepers she has to work off."
"Which did she pick? The turquoise, I hope. That looked really hot on—" He caught himself. "Oh, hell. Did that sound pervy? I didn't mean it in a pervy way. It looked real nice for. . .a kid, in my big brotherly and not at all creepy opinion."
Amber couldn't help laughing. "Please don't tell her that. You'd break her heart. Me, I find it good to know, not that I was worried."
Her hand went to his knee for a reassuring squeeze. She could make herself let go.
Rico leaned back, relieved. "She's a great kid, the kind any man would be proud to claim."
Silence fell between them. So why hadn't a man claimed her? That's what his eyes asked.
"I was young, and the situation was impossible. I decided we'd be better off on our own."
"That couldn't have been an easy decision to make," he said softly, without judgment.
"I really didn't have much of a choice. If I'd said something, I would've lost her. She was the only thing that made my life worth living."
She blinked away the sudden burn of tears and tried to laugh off her emotional response. But then his hand fit to her cheek, all warm and gentle, and they threatened to spin out of control.
"I can't imagine her being in better hands than yours."
He leaned forward again, this time closing the space between them to press a light kiss to her brow. Amber took a shaky breath and lifted her chin, making her lips available. An offer he didn't refuse.
His mouth layered softly over hers, fitting to every contour. Very slowly, he drew on her lower lip with a tease of suction before sitting back, returning too soon to his separate space.
Amber wasn't sure what she wanted to happen next.
That was a lie. She wanted him to throw her down onto that lush carpet so they could mate like minks, not that she'd ever seen minks going at it, but it sounded primal and silky. She wanted anything except his warm, totally asexual smile.
She gulped down coffee still hot enough for her to regret it and distanced herself from acting even more the fool.
"I'd better go. I’ve only got a few minutes of break time left. I'm glad we got things settled so there are no bad feelings."
"Are you kidding? You two are like family to me."
Great! Just what any woman wanted to hear from the male she wanted to make baby minks with.
As she rose rather unsteadily from the clutch of self-indulgence, Amber found herself nose to chest with him. She couldn't help it. She inhaled him like pure oxygen.
"Does your kid know how to cook?"
Amber blinked up at him, taken off guard by that odd question. "She can whip up a better meal than I can."
"How 'bout if Evie works off her penance in my kitchen. It's got everything but someone who knows what they're doing. If she can put a home-cooked meal on that table, I'll consider the debt paid in full."
Amber considered it, too, knowing her daughter would swoon over the chance to make a meal for a prince in this dream setting. "Are you sure it wouldn't be a bother?"
"Bother? It'd be a pleasure! Have her text me a list of whatever she needs. It's a date."
He had her hand in his, squeezing it happily. She wished she could feel the same things he was. Just friendship. Just fondness. She pulled away carefully and, with a forced smile, told him good-bye. And shut the door on her dream of a prince to come home to.
* * * * *
Rico stood staring absently at that closed door, savoring the sweetness she’d left on his lips. Again, a startling rumble quickened low in his belly, tightening like hunger but not quite lust, as if his body remembered the taste his mind had forgotten.
You’re going to ruin everything, you fool!
What was he thinking, kissing her? That’s not what she wanted or needed from him. He didn’t want her believing he was just another randy guy sniffing around for a quick roll that meant less than nothing. Because that’s not what she was to him.
She was his only friend, the only true connection he’d made here in New Orleans . . . hell, maybe anywhere, ever.
He had strike one against him already after that drunken disaster. And had dodged strike two with Evie. What a dope he was. The kid had played him like a pro. A grin slipped out. And he’d loved every minute of it, until he’d found the consequences waiting at the door to kick him out of it. The thought of losing the two of them had made for a miserable morning for the dozen who’d suffered for his foolishness. He’d been harsh with his lesson. Abel Conroy would have been impressed. Except he wasn’t getting through to the twelve under his command any more than he’d made progress with woman and child. He remained at arm’s length from the acceptance he craved, and he didn’t know how to close that separating distance.
He’d never gotten a second chance when it mattered. Amber James and her daughter mattered. They were something real in the deceptive role he was playing. Something he’d protect with every instinct.
Like family.
* * * * *
He got the text the next morning. A list that had him bubbling with expectation and willing to soften his approach to his band of rebellious followers. Instead of physical punishment, he sent them out in teams for a sensory exercise of sound and scent, one blindfolded, the other providing instructions to build something none of them had in an adequate supply—trust. While they were stumbling about the docks on a scavenger hunt, he was making calls to local grocers to stock the pantry for his guest chef. And while he waited for his band of not-so-merry men to return, he stretched out on one of the shipping containers with eyes closed to draw on his own stash of favorite daydreams. That crisp bite of first snow, the sound of it crunching beneath his boots as he ran a trail. The song of playful laughter from Colin’s sisters romping about without a care in their protected world, the siblings he’d pretend he had. The perfume of sex and sweat on warm female skin. He drew in deep and exhaled on a tortured sigh. Mia . . .
Rico’s eyes snapped open on a sharp gasp of surprise. The scent teasing about his memory didn’t belong to his brother’s new mate. Hers wasn’t the husky moan brushing against his ear, inciting a riot of urgent stirrings. The remembered hands clasping his hip and shoulder in a kneading frenzy weren’t smooth and strong, they were roughened by hard work.
They belonged to Amber James.
Chapter 6
“Lasagna has layers, just like people have layers.”
Rico chuckled at the quoted philosophy from his junior chef as she started building his dinner with all the care of a professional.
“I don’t,” he countered. “I’m a pizza, rolled out thin with a bunch of unhealthy crap dumped on it.”
Evangeline giggled. Was there a more beautiful sound in the world? Even as he thought that, a memory nudged him, of the girl’s mother moaning as she moved beneath him in a sensual tidal wave.
Shaking off the reflection as totally inappropriate content while hosting an underage guest, Rico grabbed some of the carefully measured white cheese and had his knuckles rapped with a spoon, admonished with a stern, “Out of the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and retreated to the living room to sprawl out on the couch, more entertained by watching the mini-cook than by the movie playing on his big screen.
Dropped off by the bar owner’s mate after the private Shifter school housed in Savoie’s big riverfront complex was out for the day, she’d brushed by him with scarcely a word, eager to get to the kitchen to survey her supplies, nodding when he asked if she had everything she needed. Hands washed, she got right to it with the same no nonsense as her mom within her territory. Hard workers, both of them, focused and efficient.
Born to a nameless mother from an encounter his roving father couldn’t recall, sold to the Terriots by greedy strangers for the price of his genetics, unlike his other brothers, Rico had been raised by an endless parade of paid caregivers who were impatient, cruel or just indifferent. He’d lived out his curiosity and longing for affection by watching Colin’s family from a distance. He’d never had an outlet for the vast, untapped well of emotions his combative siblings discouraged, but they surfaced now, all quietly intense in his fascination with the industrious little person Amber had reared all alone. What would it be like, being responsible for such a unique and fragile creature? His admiration for Amber soared and so did his interest in the two of them.
“What do you and your mom do for fun?”
Evie faced him with a frown.
“Fun?” She blinked as if he’d spoken a foreign language. “Like a vacation?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. We’ve never gone on one.”
His turn to be surprised. “Never, ever? I thought families did those kinds of things.”
She scowled, as if he was making fun of her, then shrugged. “No time. No money,” she told him in an echo of her mother’s voice, turning back to her layers as Rico marveled at those in the twelve-year old.