Knight in Tattooed Armor: International Billionaires XII: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  But how?

  “Versace,” she whispered into the empty, still vibrating room. “He couldn’t be wearing this.”

  She knew lots of things, and one of the things she knew most about was shoes. Gucci, Saint Laurent, Oscar de la Renta. Lanvin, Valentino. She knew every single style, every designer label.

  This was a Versace flip-flop.

  A janitor wearing this?

  A construction worker wearing this?

  A crude caveman wearing this work of art?

  Standing, she glared at the sandal. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have been the one leaving this behind him. Except, it couldn’t be anyone else. This shoe had kept her from leaving, and no other person could possibly have wedged this into the crack of the door other than him.

  “Maurisa?” Her mother’s worried voice strummed through the door. “Where are you?”

  She clutched the flip-flop to her chest. What she should do is throw it in the trash can in the corner. But this was a Versace shoe. Every atom of her female sensitivities rejected the impulse.

  “Risa?”

  Whipping her head around, she spotted her clutch on the floor where she must have dropped it when he grabbed her.

  Kissed her.

  She pushed the memory away, leaning down to grab her purse. With a bit of effort, she managed to stuff the flip-flop in, along with her lipstick and powder. The man had big feet. Like the rest of him. Pushing that thought away, too, she yanked the door open.

  Her mom stood right in front of her.

  “Hi, Mom.” She placed a sweet smile on her face. “I’m here.”

  Twisting around, her mother’s expression filled with puzzlement. “My, goodness. What are you doing in the janitor’s closet?”

  Losing her temper. Kissing a caveman. Saving his flip-flop.

  “Just taking a breather.” She stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  “What is wrong with your mouth, darling? Your lipstick is smudged.”

  Her hand shot up to cover the incriminating evidence and she ruthlessly suppressed the rising blush. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter if we’re leaving. Are we going home?”

  “Yes.” Her mom’s face fell. “We’re done here.”

  Worry splintered the turbulence inside, bringing another set of concerns to the forefront. “Mom? Is something going on?”

  “There’s always something going on, isn’t there?” Her mother’s smile flashed on again, but Risa knew it was as fake as her own. Before she could object, she got bustled down the corridor and into the fast-emptying ballroom.

  Her daddy stood by himself, looking forlorn. The thugs had disappeared.

  Apparently, whatever her parents had been discussing with them hadn’t gone well. Although the worry still flickered inside, she couldn’t help being relieved. She hadn’t liked those men, and she relied on her intuition. It had never steered her wrong. Not when she picked what to wear to a party. Not when she decided what college to go to. Not when she decided to date Spencer.

  Her mind stuttered to a stop.

  Perhaps that one time, she’d been wrong. But not any other time. And she knew deep inside, those thugs weren’t good people and shouldn’t be anyone her parents dealt with.

  “Ah, there you are, Princess.” Her father smiled his own fake smile. “There you are.”

  Another voice echoed in her mind, princesa.

  Slamming away thoughts of the caveman, she smiled, too. “Hi, Daddy.”

  He walked to their side and pulled each of them into one of his arms. “Now, we can go home and relax.”

  Relaxation wasn’t the emotion on her mom’s face, and it wasn’t on her daddy’s face, either. Except it wasn’t Maurisa Margot Migneault’s role to worry or fret. Ask hard questions or make tough choices.

  Her role was to make people happy.

  “Why don’t I make hot chocolate when we get home?” She smiled her best smile at both of her parents. “With whipped cream?”

  Since it was the only thing she made in the kitchen, the only thing she could competently cook, it had become a family joke.

  Her mom chuckled. Her daddy laughed. And all was right with her world.

  She hoped.

  You say goodbye, Away you fly,

  But on your lips you keep a kiss,

  All your life you dream of this.

  Princess Charming

  Chapter 4

  “You’re late, Enrique.” His grandmother gave him the evil eye from her favorite rocker. “Explain yourself.”

  “Buenos días, Yaya.” Leaning over, Riq kissed both of her weathered cheeks. “How are you?”

  “Answering a question with a question.” She humphed her usual disapproval. “Where are the manners I tried to teach you?”

  The garish red dress she wore was her favorite. Alternating stripes of silk and velvet made her look like she wore a ring of ribbons. She’d paired it with the silver-and-pink shoes he’d brought her, when he’d come back from his mission in Africa. Kneeling in front of her, he tapped one of her feet. “You forget all the things I’ve done for you?”

  “Another question.” The light in her dark eyes belied her continued disgruntlement. “What am I to do with you, mi nieto?”

  This light of love had been the only thing that had kept him somewhat civil as a teenager. His two older brothers were paragons of virtue and achievement. His parents loved him, but didn’t understand why he couldn’t be the same. Why he rebelled at doing homework and hated school. It wasn’t until he was thirteen, when they’d realized he was dyslexic, had there been more understanding. Yet by then, for him, it had been too late. Too late to stay out of trouble. Too late to keep from becoming a sullen, angry boy.

  If not for his yaya and her love, he wouldn’t have made it through high school. He wouldn’t have had the chance to join the Marines and save him from himself.

  “Enrique.” His mother, Ada, bustled in from the kitchen, her face wreathed in a welcoming smile. She wore her Sunday best, a flowery dress and matching heels, which told him they’d gone to church. “Just in time for dinner.”

  “The boy shows up in time for food with no time for conversation,” his grandmother grumbled from her chair. “And he didn’t attend mass, either.”

  “We can talk at the table, Mamá.” His mother gave him a tight hug. “And mi hijo is a grown man. He can come to mass or not.”

  “Mimi.” He hugged her back, taking in the familiar scent of orchids he’d lived with since he’d been a baby. His mother wore the same perfume every Sunday, another ritual a good woman didn’t break.

  “So strong, your hug.” She eased back and patted him on his cotton-covered chest, a look of disappointment crossing her face. He’d chosen to wear a short-sleeved polo shirt paired with jeans instead of the suit his parents would have preferred. At least he hadn’t arrived in his usual outfit of T-shirt and gym shorts. “It still surprises me.”

  He supposed it did. For his first eighteen years, he’d been the runt. While Jorge and Drew were both more than ten years older than him and were as tall as their popi by the time they entered high school, he’d barely managed to hit the height requirements at Disney World’s Space Mountain when he’d been seven. Things hadn’t gotten much better for more than eleven long years.

  “Come on, Mamá, time to get up.” His mother made a move to pull the old woman to her feet.

  “Let me.” He waved her away and reached for his grandmother. “After all, I’m the big lug around here now.”

  Chuckling, his mimi headed for the kitchen. “Sì, you are, aren’t you?”

  Yaya Tibby gave him a look as she tucked her hand into his. “Did you find a job?”

  Amusement mixed with wary affection. The question was asked every week, and every week he evaded. At first, when he’d been injured on a mission to Iraq and arrived home to a loving mother, a worried father, and an irate grandmother, he’d thought it wouldn’t be long before he could return to his othe
r family—his SEALs. When it became clear the damage to his knee had effectively ended his only career, he’d been more than lost.

  He’d been bereft.

  But that was more than seven years ago, and he’d found another way to pass his time. One he’d kept from his family. It was childish, he knew that. Yet there was something of the rebel inside him still. Mostly because—

  “Riq.” His oldest brother, Jorge stood by the dining table, his sleek suit coat on, though the humidity of the day was at its peak. His typical supercilious lawyer expression on his face, his condescending attitude in full display, he exuded arrogant confidence.

  Sì, here was the reason he kept his success from his family.

  “Tell me some good news,” his oldest brother stated. “Did you get a job?”

  His wife, Doris, who’d heartily despised him since the moment they’d met when he’d been a surly teenager, simpered. As if she already knew the answer.

  So, he gave them what they wanted. “Nope. ’Fraid not.”

  His grandmother humphed by his side, before sliding into her regular chair. Jorge’s expression grew mournful, like he’d expected another response. Which wasn’t true—his brother had labeled him a failure since grade school. Why he’d continue to think that after the whole SEAL deal, Riq couldn’t figure out, but since he and his brothers hadn’t ever figured each other out, it no longer mattered to him.

  “Tío Riq!” A shot of pure energy zipped into the room from the outside terrace, followed by another streak of lightning.

  “Who is this?” He lifted his six-year-old nephew into one arm, before swinging another one into his other. “And who are you?”

  Elon giggled, pressing his two hands on Riq’s cheeks. “I’m me.”

  His younger brother, Rio, grinned. “And I’m me, too.”

  “You can’t both be me.” He waggled his brows at them. “I’m confused.”

  The boys giggled.

  “Did you bring Jiggs?” Elon glanced around, his expression hopeful. “We can play ball with him.”

  Riq hadn’t brought his dog, because his buddy couldn’t be bothered to wake from his afternoon nap. “Not this time.”

  Rio’s face sank.

  “Next time,” he promised.

  “Yeah,” Elon shrieked his happiness.

  “Super.” His brother clapped his hands, a miniature version of his grandfather.

  They both wiggled, asking to be let down from his sturdy grasp so they could run around the table a time or two.

  “Boys.” Doris looked pained. “Sit down and behave.”

  Much to his sister-in-law’s irritation, her sons loved their uncle Enrique.

  He shrugged off the tingle of hurt.

  His father appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen, his hands clapping together in delight. At seventy, Luis de Molina had settled into a comfortable retirement, after spending forty years as a car dealership owner. Yet, he continued to dress in his salesman uniform of crisp, white shirt matched with dark slacks, red power tie, and polished shoes. “Enrique. Welcome.”

  “Hi, Popi.” Walking over to the older man, he gave him a hearty hug. Though his parents fretted about him, unlike his brothers, he knew it came from love instead of competition. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Always the food.” His grandmother’s sharp voice cut in. “The boy isn’t still growing, is he?”

  Riq turned to grin at her. “I stopped growing a couple of years ago, Yaya.”

  She snorted. “You could have fooled me. You look bigger than last week.”

  This was a game they played with each other. One of many. She’d started when he’d been very young and couldn’t conquer the art of reading, no matter how many hours he tried. His yaya started playing word games with him, teaching him to value verbal dexterity and not spend all his time worrying about why he couldn’t understand his teachers and homework. Along with word games had come teasing, a constant reaching out to him to tell him he mattered.

  Another way she’d saved him.

  His other brother stepped into the room, a plate of steaming black beans in his hands. “Enrique.”

  “Drew.” He eased into his chair next to his grandmother, ignoring the disapproval on his other brother’s face.

  “Tell me you went to the VA and had your knee checked, as I suggested last week.” His brother was a doctor. Something his parents were incredibly proud of.

  Riq didn’t mind that his brothers were college graduates. He didn’t mind that they had advanced degrees. Hell, he was proud of them, too. He’d attended both ceremonies, when Jorge had received his degree in law and Drew had gotten his medical license. Both times, he’d clapped, smiled, and congratulated. Even though his young teenage heart had dropped to the bottom of his shoes, knowing he’d never be able to accomplish what his brothers had.

  He just wished they’d be proud of him.

  Sì, he didn’t have a degree, except he’d made it into the SEAL program—no small feat. But neither of them had traveled to California to attend his graduation.

  “Nope, didn’t make it there.” He leaned back, slipping his idiot smile on. A smile he used only with his brothers. “Maybe this week.”

  “You’re not going to get off disability pay without a doctor’s approval.” Drew threw him an exasperated look, before placing the beans in the center of the table. “Aren’t you tired of just laying around?”

  This is what his family thought of him. That he did nothing, laid about, lived off his military injury. The old anger slipped into his gut, though he tried to ignore it.

  He glanced at his yaya.

  Her dark eyes twinkled.

  Perhaps not his entire family. Did she know more than the rest? How could she? He’d never let on about what he’d built after leaving his SEAL family behind.

  His mother glided into the room, holding the traditional mojo-marinaded pork loin. The scents of sour orange and garlic wafted from the dish.

  “Luis,” she called to his father, “go get the rice.”

  Drew’s wife appeared from the hallway leading to the bathroom and it struck Riq. She looked like the princesa. Blonde and beautiful and thinking the world was created for her enjoyment. She slung her long curls over her shoulder and posed in the doorway. To show off her new dress, he’d bet.

  “Hey, honey,” his brother said, a dreamy look on his face, like he’d fallen under a spell. The exact expression he had on since the moment he’d met this woman a year ago. “Come and sit.”

  Angelica smiled back, a smile she likely practiced in front of a mirror.

  “Now, now.” Yaya Tibby patted Riq’s hand. “Don’t scowl so, mi nieto. You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Which was true. He’d learned the hard way that what he presented to the world wasn’t who he was at heart. Without his grandmother and Chief Galtero, however, he probably would never have figured it out.

  Except, sometimes…sometimes the presentation was all there was. He’d learned that, as well.

  Like Angelica.

  Like the princesa.

  For two days, he’d pushed her from his head. Pushed the kiss from his head, too. Yet, he found it nearly impossible to blank her from his mind. The silky slickness of her inner mouth. The way she moved her body on his. The funny little kitten purr she’d hummed as she licked his lips.

  Coño!

  “What are you thinking about, Enrique?” His grandmother’s wise eyes narrowed. “Has something happened?”

  No. Nothing of significance had happened. Nothing more than kissing a spoiled girl and then getting flustered like he rarely did anymore. The last time he’d been flustered around a woman was when he’d lost his virginity right before leaving for boot camp. The thought of arriving to be a Marine without knowing how to be a man in bed hadn’t sat well. So he’d doggedly hung on to a girl at a bar, and she finally decided he was good enough.

  That had been the last time he’d ever been with a woman who only thought he
was good enough.

  But something about the pretty princesa and her surprising participation in the kiss had brought back the old memories of not being a good enough man to take on a woman. He’d lost his damn expensive flip-flop because of it as well, when he’d staggered out of the closet, stunned and disorientated.

  “Enrique?” Yaya tapped him on his chin. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Hell, no. Now that his two brothers were married, if he even mentioned a female name, his mimi started to glow and chatter. He had zero interest in following Drew and Jorge down Gesu Church’s aisle toward a waiting woman. “Nothing, Yaya. Nothing at all as usual.”

  Those dark eyes twinkled once more.

  “Luis.” His mother stepped into the beginnings of a sure interrogation. “You can cut the meat, now.”

  Since his family met every Sunday for the obligatory dinner, the conversation around the table was perfunctory and a bit boring. But Riq valued his family, more now that he’d effectively lost his SEAL one. Unlike when he’d been a surly boy, he knew how precious the connections were. Although his brothers frustrated the hell out of him on a weekly basis.

  “If you went to the VA, then I could get you a job.” Drew glanced at him, before passing the bowl of rice to his wife. “Having a job will mean you have some self-respect.”

  Amusement, something he enjoyed hiding from his brothers, rumbled through him. “Mmm.”

  He stuffed his mimi’s excellent food into his mouth before he laughed.

  “And self-respect is important for a man,” Jorge inserted, his entire presence reeking of pompous belief in his superiority over his little brother. “Women like that.”

  “Yes,” his wife piped in, giving her husband a flutter of eyelashes. “They do.”

  “Pero ¡Me resbala.” Shrugging, he took another bite of succulent pork.

  He didn’t care. Didn’t care about Jorge’s arrogance or Drew’s exasperation or whether a woman wanted him or not. He loved his brothers because he had to. They were family. But he didn’t have to care about their opinions, and he didn’t. It all slid off him like water did on a Marine.