by Day Leclaire
“Yup, that’s it. Listen, I’m with a customer and I don’t want to keep him any longer. So stop calling me.”
“I’m out at Brody Oil and Gas. I’ll call Alex. And then Lance and I are on our way.”
“Whatever. Goodbye, Alex.” For some reason, just saying his name out loud helped steady her. Unfortunately, it had the exact opposite effect on the man flicking through the rack of nightgowns. She took a deep breath and asked brightly, “I’m so sorry. Where were we?”
“Ah, yes. This.” He held up a sheer baby-doll nightie in blazing red. “This will look beautiful against your skin.”
“Your fiancée’s skin,” she corrected with a smile. “And if she has hair similar to mine, that particular shade of red will clash.”
He returned the bit of silk and lace to the spiral rack. “A shame. I am quite fond of this particular shade. Perhaps something in green.” He plucked an emerald-green costume at random and slowly approached. “To match my soon-to-be fiancée’s eyes.”
Rebecca froze. She edged backward, but the man moved with lightning speed, putting himself between her and the exit. He flicked the lock on the door and then casually picked up the welcome sign and reversed it. Then he smiled in a way that sent a wave of terror pouring through her veins.
“Paulo Rodriquez, I assume,” she managed to say.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Señorita Huntington.” His cold smile flashed. “But considering how close we’re about to become, why don’t I call you Becca?”
“Because only my friends call me that. And you’re not one of my friends.”
“I could be.” He glided toward her, trapping her against the counter. “I will be.”
“What do you want?”
“Your father owes me a great deal of money. I think it’s time I was paid a small down payment.” He closed in. “Let’s call it…an interest charge.”
Alex hit the sidewalk outside his office building at a dead run. It was faster to walk—or run—to Sweet Nothings than to drive there, Alex decided. Plus, he didn’t want to alert Paulo to his presence until he walked through the door. He didn’t know how Lance Brody had become embroiled in whatever was going on at the lingerie shop, but he owed the other man for calling with the warning. It was a debt that wouldn’t easily be repaid.
The small placard in Sweet Nothing’s window read, “Please visit later” and drove a shaft of fear straight through the core of him. From what he could see of the interior through the tinted glass, the inside stood dark and silent. Gathering his self-control, Alex tried the door. It was locked, but he made short work of that. Even after all these years, some of his less-reputable skills came back with amazing swiftness. Opening the door, carefully so the bell wouldn’t give his presence away, he walked in. For an instant, he didn’t see or hear anything. Then a muffled cry came to him from the small divan in the sitting area of the store.
He didn’t recall moving. One minute he was in the front of the shop, the next he was in the rear with Rodriquez on the floor, bleeding. He glared at Alex through a rapidly swelling eye and ran his tongue across his split lip.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Paulo said.
He’d switched to Spanish, no doubt to keep Rebecca from understanding what he said. Alex decided to accommodate him. “I warned you not to touch what belongs to me. You should have listened.”
Paulo shifted and Alex stepped closer, shaking his head. With a groan, the other man settled back on to the floor. “And you should have listened to me, Montoya. I will do whatever I must to have the woman. To have her home. To have the status that once was hers.” He smiled, despite the pain it must have caused him. “To have her in my bed, heavy with my child.”
The image burned like fire in Alex’s mind, no doubt as intended. He forced himself to ignore it, not to allow it to distract him. Just as he forced himself to ignore Rebecca. If he looked at her, he’d lose it. Big-time. “She’s in my home now. In my bed. And that’s where she’s staying. If you want payment for Huntington’s debts, I’m the man to see.”
“You would really pay off his debts, after all he’s done to your family?”
“Yes.” Alex smiled coldly. “Like I said, Paulo. You can’t win. Now get out before the lady presses charges.”
“She won’t do that.” He tossed Rebecca a knowing look. “There’s been enough gossip. If anyone hears about this…Why, they might just wonder whether the lovely Becca is helping her father pay off all his debts. And in a tradition as old as time. Eh, Alejandro?”
“Basta!” Alex ended the conversation by hauling Paulo to his feet and swiftly disarming him. “Where are your men?”
“I’m alone.”
Alex dismissed that with all the contempt it deserved. “You haven’t been without bodyguards since you were twelve. I repeat. Where are your men?”
“Out back.” He fingered his lip and winced. “Next time I will post them at the front door, as well.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time, Paulo. Now get out and take your men with you before I call the cops.”
Paulo shot a lingering glance in Rebecca’s direction before exiting the shop. The instant Alex deemed it safe, he crouched down in front of her and gathered her ice-cold hands in his, rubbing her fingers to warm them. “Are you okay?”
It took her a nerve-racking moment to respond. “Shaken, rattled and rolled. But I’ll survive.”
Her stab at humor would have been more reassuring if her face wasn’t bleached white and her eyes weren’t so frantic. They’d turned a green so dark they reminded him of an impenetrable jungle wall, closed off from light and easy ingress. In fact, now that he looked carefully, he realized she had closed down.
He continued to rub her hands and talk to her in a low, calm voice. All the while, he examined her. The attack had been brief, if terrifying. The first two buttons of her blouse were ripped, exposing the plum lace of her bra. Her skirt was hiked up to her thighs, but he knew that had occurred when she’d kicked Paulo while Alex was dragging him off the divan. He noticed a few bruises marring her pale skin, one on her neck and one on her knee. The rest of the damage was psychological, rather than physical.
He had no idea how long he crouched there. Behind them, the bells above the door tinkled in alarm and she jumped, panic stricken. Lance and Kate slammed into the shop.
“Is she okay?” Kate demanded. “Bec?”
She flew to her friend’s side and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. Alex slowly rose, feeling impotent and angry. He spared Lance a quick look, surprised to catch an expression of sympathetic understanding in his dark eyes.
“She was attacked?” Brody asked in a low voice.
Alex nodded. “Rodriquez,” he answered quietly. Leaving her in Kate’s capable hands, he shifted toward the front of the store where Rebecca couldn’t overhear their conversation.
“Were you in time?” Lance asked.
“Yes. Though he left plenty of damage in his wake.”
“This doesn’t sound like a problem that’s going away anytime soon.” Brody frowned. “How are you going to handle it?”
“I haven’t quite decided,” he admitted. “But I won’t have Rebecca put at risk.”
Lance planted his fists on his hips and studied the floor. “Are the rumors true?” he asked bluntly. “About you and Becca? Is she living with you now?”
“She’s my housekeeper, nothing more.”
Lance swore beneath his breath. “That’s low, Montoya. Even for you.”
“Do you think I had any choice?” he shot back. “She showed up on my doorstep, bags in hand.”
“You could have—and should have—sent her packing.”
“As it turns out, El Diablo might be the safest place for her.”
“Not likely. She’s fast becoming a laughingstock. Her reputation is in shreds. And the fine, upstanding ‘ladies’ of our fair town are talking about boycotting Sweet Nothings.”
It was Alex’s turn to swear. �
�She’s just trying to pay off her father’s debt.”
“It’s how she’s paying it off that has people talking.”
Alex glared at Lance. “You’ve wanted a piece of me for a long time now, Brody. Keep poking and you’ll get your wish.”
He waved aside the offer. “Calm down. I’m not saying anything that isn’t flying all over town. Becca doesn’t deserve this. And I’m telling—asking that you fix it before any serious damage is done.”
“I’ll handle it, Brody.” But right now he had something else to handle. He crossed to where Kate and Rebecca were huddled. “I’m taking you home, dulzura. We can either close the shop or call your assistant. Which would you prefer?”
“That bastard isn’t going to win. I refuse to shut my store down,” she stated in no uncertain terms. Her ferocity relieved him as nothing else could have. “I’ll call Emma and ask her to cover for me.”
“Why don’t you come and stay with me and Lance?” Kate offered. “Just for a day or two.”
It took every ounce of willpower for Alex to keep his mouth shut when he wanted to simply step in, sweep Rebecca into his arms and carry her back to El Diablo. It wasn’t his choice to make. If staying with her friends would make her feel better, then he’d pack a bag for her himself and send her on her way.
“Thanks, anyway,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be fine at Alex’s.”
“She’ll be more than fine,” Alex stated. “I’ll see to it, personally.”
“Besides,” she continued. “I’m behind on my housekeeping. This will give me a chance to catch up.”
Two sets of accusing eyes ripped into him. Alex simply shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. You need time to recover from your shock.”
“No,” she corrected firmly. “I need something to keep my mind occupied so I’m not sitting around dwelling on it.”
“We’ll argue about it later.” He urged her to her feet. “My car is back at Montoya Imports. Do you think you can walk that far?”
“I wish you’d all stop treating me like an invalid. Of course I can walk that far,” she snapped.
By the time they arrived at the ranch, she’d recovered both her color and, along with it, more of her fight. “I really do need to get some housework done, Alex.”
“As your employer, I forbid it.”
“Forbid.” She blinked as she absorbed the word. “Did you really just use the word ‘forbid’ with me?”
He shot her a quick grin. “Only as your employer.”
“Seriously, Alex. What do you expect me to do?”
He pulled into the sweeping circle and parked by the steps leading to the front door. If he could have driven right up onto the porch, he would have. “I expect you to relax. You’ve worked very hard this past week. You’ve earned a day off.”
Alex exited the car and circled around to open the passenger door. Rebecca climbed out. To his concern, she appeared pale again. Shadows smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes like faint violet bruises. In the unrelenting glare of the late fall sunshine, he could see the exhaustion that shrouded her. His mouth compressed. He should have stepped in long before this. She couldn’t keep playing at being his housekeeper and manage Sweet Nothings. It was too much for any one person.
“Come inside.” If the words sounded more like an order than a request, he didn’t give a damn. Whether Rebecca liked it or not, she needed rest and he’d see to it that she got it. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee.”
Her eyes brightened at the suggestion. “That sounds perfect. I’ll make some.”
“You brew excellent coffee, but I plan to add something you don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Wait and see.”
Together, they headed for the kitchen. He pointed to one of the chairs and waited for her to reluctantly take a seat. Once she’d complied, he slipped off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started the coffee. While it brewed, he poured a hefty dose of whiskey into a pan and gently warmed it until it was piping hot. Then he carried mugs, brown sugar, the heated whiskey, and the coffee to the table where she sat.
“Okay, I’m intrigued.”
“Forget intrigued. Prepare to be impressed.”
He poured coffee into each of the mugs, added the sugar and stirred the mixture. Inverting the spoon so it faced downward, he slowly poured the hot whiskey over the curved back. When he finished, he crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out whipped cream, topping each drink with a healthy dollop.
“Irish coffee,” he informed her, nudging one of the mugs in her direction. “Sláinte.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s Gaelic for ‘to your health.’”
Her eyes glittered with laughter, chasing the shadows away. “Okay, I’m officially impressed.”
“You’ll be even more impressed when you taste it. Give it a second to cool and then see what you think.”
He’d sparked her curiosity. “That good?”
“Better.”
With a laugh, she buried her nose in the mug and took a cautious sip. “Oh,” she murmured. She lifted her head and gazed at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, my.”
He chuckled at the sight. Reaching out, he swiped a smear of whipped cream from the tip of her nose. How was it possible that she could look so beautiful? The lingering traces of fear and panic had left her pale and drawn. The whipped cream added a bizarre element of silliness to the contours of her face. And yet, she still took his breath away. She appeared almost ethereal in her aspect, especially with the blaze of red hair that tumbled to her shoulders and the impossibly green eyes glittering in delight. If she hadn’t been so strong-willed and passionate, he’d have thought her a delightful pixie who’d decided to drop in for a dram of the whiskey he’d slipped into the coffee.
“How in the world did you learn to make this?” she asked.
“My previous housekeeper was Irish. She taught me.”
Rebecca grimaced. “You must miss her, especially considering that her replacement doesn’t come close to matching her high standards.”
“I’ll survive,” he said with lazy assurance. He sipped his own coffee. “But you’re right. I do miss her. Mrs. O’Hurlihy was a gem.”
Rebecca released her breath in a gusty sigh and put a serious dent in her coffee before responding. “I know there’s a lot of room for improvement, but I am trying.”
“I’m aware of that. And to be honest, I can’t think of anyone better suited to organize the party I’m planning to celebrate Darius and Summer’s marriage. As I recall, you used to put together some rather spectacular events for your father.”
For some reason, she withdrew ever so slightly. The smile she offered appeared strained and tight. “I’d be happy to take care of it,” she said. “Though I would like to suggest you hire caterers, if you don’t object. I’m not sure my cooking is quite up to par for what you have in mind.”
“I would have hired caterers even if Mrs. O’Hurlihy were still with me. I just need you to decorate and oversee everything.”
“Of course.” Her nose disappeared into the mug again. “Who…who do you plan to invite?”
“The usual crowd. The Brodys, Alicia and Justin Dupree. Mitch and Lexi. Kevin and Cara Novak. Maybe a few others, too.”
“Will this be a formal dinner?”
“No. Let’s keep it casual. I’ll arrange for you to have some strong backs to help with the Christmas decorations and the tree. I’m thinking we should serve dinner buffet style.” Collecting her empty mug, he crossed to the stove and put together another round of drinks, making sure he gave Rebecca a generous helping of whiskey in the hopes it would further relax her. He set the drink in front of her, pleased when she immediately picked it up and took a sip. “This place actually has a big fancy ballroom. I think I’ve set foot in it once. But see if it won’t work for the party.”
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”
Something in
her voice sounded off and he studied her in concern. “Okay, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She tossed off the question with a shrug. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Guilt flooded through him. He was a selfish bastard. Here he was dropping a huge party on her after she’d just been attacked. What the hell was he thinking? He took her mug from her hands, surprised to find she’d already emptied the contents.
“Bed,” he stated emphatically.
Not giving her time to argue, he swung her into his arms and carried her through to her living quarters. She rested against his chest and for the first time he realized just how fine-boned and downright fragile she felt against him. Easing her onto the mattress, he started to pull back when her arms tightened around his neck. Then she lifted her face to his and feathered a kiss across his mouth.
“Stay,” she whispered. “Please, Alex. I don’t want to be alone.”
Eight
R ebecca clung to Alex, tightening her hold when he started to pull away again.
“Please, Alex,” she said again. “Don’t go.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice sounded rough.
“I know precisely what I’m asking.”
“It’s the whiskey talking. And the reaction to what happened with Rodriquez.”
She shook her head and held on, soothing the tension rippling across his back and neck with a gentle kneading motion. “Don’t bring him into this. Not here. Not now. This is just for the two of us to share.”
“There is no ‘us.’”
“Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?” She laughed softly and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. Ever so gently she tugged. “There’s always been an us, from the first time you walked into Huntington Manor.” Old, sweet memories flooded through her. “You came swaggering in, this tough, angry teen from the barrio, and I knew my life would never be the same.”
He sank against her, the smallest of surrenders. “You were just a kid.”
“I’m only two years younger than you. I was…” She searched for the appropriate word. “Teetering.”