Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love)

by Ayala, Rachelle

  His eyes glittered with amusement while he opened the door. “That’s for the baby girl we’re going to have.”

  Arrogant son of a…

  Jen glanced out the window. Sherry was coming through the courtyard with Max.

  “Let’s go before my roommate gets back.” She grabbed her keys from the hook and looked for her purse before remembering she had lost it the day before. “You better drive. I haven’t replaced my license yet.”

  How could she be so stupid to leave her purse at Starbucks? Of course no one claimed to have seen it when she returned later. Jen tucked the laptop under the sofa and grabbed her iPad in case her boss needed to reach her. After locking the door, she dragged Rey down the back stairway.

  Rey stepped over an overturned tricycle and opened the car door. Jen huffed, not surprised he parked on someone’s excuse for a lawn. She slid quickly into the vinyl passenger seat of his too-low muscle car, a nauseous yellow 4-door Dodge Charger Super Bee reeking of stale weed. The fake piney scent from the hanging air freshener added to the cheesiness.

  “Il Forno okay with you?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She sank into the seat and arranged her hair like a curtain over her face. Rey turned the ignition and fiddled with his GPS system. Jen lowered the window, tempted to bail. The car jerked backwards and jumped the curb. Had he even looked in the rear-view mirror?

  An Asian girl in too-tight running shorts jogged by. Ray whistled at her and gunned the motor. A block later, he leaned toward Jen at a stoplight with his lips puckered.

  She dodged his advance. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “Friends?”

  “If you really want to be my friend, you’ll be nice to me.” She poked his bicep, eliciting an almost sweet smile from him.

  “If you’re nice to me,” he said in a surprisingly low voice. For a moment, he reminded her of his brother, the man who was briefly her fiancé before dropping her like a hot tamale. No explanation, no communication, just a sad look and a door quietly shutting.

  “I’ll try.” She swallowed at the memory. Rey’s brother, Rodrigo, had died a few months ago in a tragic accident. He must have told Rey about her. Pressure swelled her throat. Did Rey also know about the baby?

  Rey boomed rap music all the way up Highway 101 and exited at University Avenue. After circling the block twice, he hooked a sharp U-turn and snagged a parking space from a minivan that had been waiting with its signal on.

  The minivan rolled away, the driver no doubt glaring at them. They walked the few short blocks past the valet parking to the restaurant’s stone façade entrance.

  A glamorous couple entered ahead of them. Jen looked at her jeans. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly dressed…”

  “Like a million bucks.” He held out his arm.

  * * *

  Dave Jewell, CEO of Shopahol, pressed the key fob and locked his Camry. Stately mansions spread in the cul-de-sac behind him. He walked toward Atherton Avenue.

  “Hey, handsome.” A woman driving a black Mercedes S550 pulled onto a driveway in front of him. “What’cha doing here?”

  He peered into the open window. “Waiting for you, beautiful.”

  Claire Tyler popped the locks. Dave crossed to the passenger side and pushed a button to bring the seat all the way back. Claire leaned over, and he graced her with an air kiss. No sense messing up her finely traced lipstick. He had plenty of time to do that after dinner.

  She turned the Benz onto Highway 101. “Practice the pitch with me again?”

  He swept dark-brown hair from his forehead. “Social shopping combines the power of group buying in a competitive bidding environment. Grow your flock’s influence and be rewarded with lower prices. But bid too low and run the risk of losing the deal and your flock members. Our system allows merchants to optimize the capture of consumer demand by spurring sales at higher price points than a flat-out lowball price.”

  Claire fondled his knee while merging to the fast lane. “Cutie, you sound like a schoolboy reciting his lines. So how’s the code scaling? I heard you had glitches with reordering the price queues.”

  Gee, had she been talking to his Director of Engineering? Dave rubbed the back of his neck. He was close. If the Black Friday field trial went well, he’d receive contracts and a loan extension with a chance to go public the following year. But if not, he would have to lay off staff right before the holidays.

  Claire pinched his thigh. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.”

  “It’s timing, that’s all.”

  “Yevita or Adventurine?” She named two high-class restaurants and took the exit to University Avenue.

  “How about Italian? Il Forno. My treat.” He tugged at his tie. The management and wait staff there were known for their discretion.

  Claire took a wide turn and pulled in front of valet parking. Minutes later, Dave escorted her through the front door. She nodded to the maître d’, and they were seated immediately.

  While she went to freshen up, Dave scrolled through the disturbing flood of messages on his Blackberry. He pressed the speed dial to Greta, the Director of Engineering. She answered on the first ring.

  “Why’s the build broken?” He gestured to the waiter. “Drink menu?”

  “We had some last minute fixes,” Greta said.

  “I want a good build by midnight. I can’t emphasize how important it is.” He hung up before hearing her reply.

  Claire swept into the booth and flashed him a million dollar smile. Three million to be exact. To make payroll, he’d first have to make her pant and scream. He rummaged in his pocket and found a breath mint.

  “This place has gotten a bit shabby.” She brushed the lapel of her linen jacket and glanced at the young couple across from them.

  Dave followed her gaze. A young woman stared into her iPad while her gangbanger boyfriend picked at his tribal tattoo. His muscle shirt stretched too tightly, he snapped his fingers trying to get her attention.

  Her face was furrowed in concentration. Warmth spread over Dave’s chest, and he swallowed. The woman had the bone structure of a model. She looked vaguely familiar—long milk-chocolate hair, elegant eyebrows, and lush lips. Dressed in a rumpled, oversized sweater and faded jeans, she was possibly an engineer. Silicon Valley was full of them: never tiring, endlessly working, all for a shot at the elusive stock offering. Her jaw was set tightly, but her eyes held a sad story, blinking a little too fast. What was she doing with the brute whose fists were clenched below the table?

  Claire kicked his shin, reminding him of his price tag. The rest of the evening, he spent engrossed in complimenting her taste, her beauty, and her impeccable style. Married to one of the wealthiest men in the Valley, she was not averse to providing a little angel investing on the side. He took her hand across the table and caressed it, fixing her with eyes he hoped were full of desire.

  “Damn!” A sharp voice emitted from the next table. “The fuckin’ build’s broken.”

  Claire glared over her tiramisu. “This is the last time I’m slumming here with you.”

  Dave winced and looked over. The young woman closed the cover on her iPad. “I have to go. The servers need rebooting.”

  “You can’t do it remotely?” The boyfriend pushed his chair back and shoved something into his pocket.

  “Security disabled it. Idiots.” The woman threw a wad of bills on the table and hurried out. Her boyfriend followed in a slow gait, but not before plucking a bill off the table.

  Claire shuddered. “Such a foul mouth.”

  Dave pulled out his wallet and signaled the waiter. He rolled a slow kiss across Claire’s palm. “Let’s take a bottle of Brunello back to my place.”

  * * *

  Jen rushed toward Rey’s car while instant messaging with Greta, her boss. The engineers had another fix, but the build servers were unresponsive. Yes, yes, on my way. No, can’t find my cell phone. Sorry.

  Rey set the course on his GPS. A nerve rattled at the base of Jen’s n
eck. Shopahol was saved to his ‘Favorite Places’ list.

  The muscle car roared onto the freeway. Rey tapped her. “Is this what it’d be like married to you?”

  Jen stared at her iPad. His earlier attempt at proposing was insulting, ‘After all, no one would turn in his own wife,’ followed by a smooching sound. He hadn’t even bothered with a ring. Not that she wanted one. The blackmail and constant innuendo was enough of a bother. How would she ever get rid of him?

  He jerked the steering wheel. “Bitch in the black Mercedes cut us off.”

  Shaking his fist, he gunned his motor, passed them, and tapped the brakes.

  “Can you stop playing games?” Jen typed on the virtual keyboard. “Greta’s going ballistic. Automation can’t run until the build is done.”

  Rey lightened his foot from the gas pedal. “I asked you to marry me. You haven’t answered me.”

  “You can’t be serious. You barely know me. Drive faster.”

  “Don’t order me around.” He cut across three lanes of the freeway and exited on Shoreline Drive.

  “This isn’t the way.” Jen pointed to the sign. The road grew darker, the GPS recalculating at every corner.

  Rey meandered past deserted parking lots. Jen’s chest tightened. She searched for another car, anyone, her heart pounding furiously. Keep calm. He’s traumatized from the war, going into extreme mode; let him drive it off.

  He pulled the car off the pavement near a soccer field, leaving the lights on and the engine idling. Jen unbelted herself and cracked the door open. Rey twisted her wrist.

  Pain shot up her arm. “Ow, ow. Let go.”

  He turned her toward him. His breath hissed through clenched teeth. Rey’s face, so much like Rodrigo’s, loomed over her. But where Rodrigo’s eyes had been soft, Rey’s were hardened pinpoints of steel. Rey had been to Iraq and discharged for psychiatric stress.

  Jen craned her neck, darting her gaze toward the open door. A single set of headlights lit the dark road and approached the field.

  “Shit.” Rey reached to his left for the headlamp switch while cutting the ignition. Jen swung her right leg out the door, but Rey yanked her hair and clamped her neck in a rear chokehold.

  The other car’s tires crunched on the gravel behind them. Jen thrashed and kicked the door wide open. But the moving car turned around, and the engine sounds faded into the night air. Her pulse crashing in her head, Jen dug her fingernails into his forearms.

  Oh, God, help me.

  Rey pinned his hardened face against hers. “You didn’t deny my brother. Answer me.”

  Jen whimpered, begging for the tiniest sliver of air. A taste like burnt leaves gagged the back of her throat and jagged flashes doused her vision.

  Buy Broken Build

  Click here if you are reading this on a Kindle.

  Click here if you are reading this via a Kindle app on another device.

  Get to know Maryanne and Lucas in Hidden Under Her Heart, Chance for Love Series #2—a heartfelt love story mixed with controversy over difficult decisions.

  Chance for Love Series #2

  Excerpt Copyright © 2013 Rachelle Ayala

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter 1

  Maryanne Torres pointed the needle up and tapped the syringe.

  “What are you doing?” The patient blinked, his once cocky grin tightening into a grimace.

  “Making sure there are no air bubbles. Wouldn’t want one in your vein, would you?”

  He jerked his arm back. “Wait, what happens if I get an air bubble?”

  “You’d get an embolism, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, pass out and die. Nothing to worry about.” Let’s see Mr. Big Flirt lob that one back. “Hold still.”

  Snickers came from the other nurses beyond the privacy curtain.

  The man leaned forward, and the right side of his cheek dimpled. He flexed his bicep. “Bet I can break that tiny needle of yours.”

  “And get it embedded in those precious muscles? I don’t think so. Chance of infection, septic shock—” She shook her head slowly. “Possible amputation.”

  He closed his heartbreaker eyes and turned toward the curtain. “You win, little nurse.”

  Arrogant wuss. She might be a petite allergy nurse, but she held the advantage and the needle. It pierced his skin right below his shapely deltoid. He winced, and the dark freckles on his face danced over warm brown skin. A straight nose with a slight flair over full fleshy lips and a chiseled jaw blended into short cropped frizzy hair.

  She rubbed his arm with alcohol—his body heat and a hint of cologne inviting her to linger. Probably a player. Bet he flirts with all the nurses. She picked up the second vial, cat and dog antigen.

  “How many am I getting?” the man asked.

  “Four. And since you’re new, it’ll be every week for six weeks until you’re at maintenance dose.”

  He trained clear emerald eyes on her. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”

  Maryanne steadied her breathing and stuck the second needle deeper. “Luck of the draw. You might get Vera or Priya.”

  “Ow! I have a swim meet coming up. Is my arm gonna be sore?”

  She dabbed the tiny spots of blood with a tissue. “No, but you might experience massive swelling, itching, and an anaphylactic reaction.”

  “Ana what?” He sucked in his breath.

  Maryanne kept a straight face and gestured for his other arm. “Two more.”

  She administered the dust mite shot. “Don’t worry. We observe you for forty-five minutes before letting you leave.”

  “I hate needles. Did you have to poke so hard?”

  Maryanne waved the last syringe, teasing. “I like poking you.”

  He caught her wrist. His long fingers stroked the back of her hand while his thumb slowly circled her palm. “Not fair when I can’t poke back.”

  Her hand warmed under his grip, and her willpower wavered. Ever since she swore off sex, she’d been tempted by a slew of hot guys. And Lucas Knight, by the stats on his chart, was an inferno—6’ 1”, 179 lbs, a triathlete, blood pressure 110/65, resting heart rate in the fifties. Her gaze raked his bare chest dotted with sprinkles of tight curls. Would they feel soft or coarse?

  “Last shot, then forty-five minutes in the waiting room to make sure you don’t have a seizure.” She tamped down her hormones and drilled the needle into his firm upper arm.

  “Yeow! You hit a nerve. What’cha do that for?” His deep voice vibrated close to her ear.

  Because I’m not gonna let you play me. Maryanne handed him a tissue. “I’ll call you in forty-five.”

  She couldn’t fall off the wagon this quickly, not with the bet she had with Vera. Whoever held out the longest and received a marriage proposal would win a spa weekend and a chance at happily ever after. At twenty-seven, Maryanne was tired of being burned, and the man in front of her was volcanic hot. She suppressed a sigh as Lucas pulled on a tight long-sleeved jersey.

  “What?” His gaze detoured to her chest before resting on her eyes. “Hasn’t the pleasure of pain and torture been enough? My arm’s tingling and buzzing. I might pass out any minute, drop my blood pressure and die, and you don’t even care?”

  She disposed the used needles in the red Sharps container and closed his chart. “I’m on break now.”

  “Cool. Let’s grab a cup of coffee.” He pulled aside the privacy curtain and swept his hand in an after-you gesture.

  Her pride would have been hurt had he not hit on her, but she’d show him she was not to be trifled with. She took her purse from under the table and opened the door to the waiting room. “You. In the waiting room, in case you have to be resuscitated.”

  He followed her. “It’s a free country.”

  “Mr. Knight.” Maryanne put on her most professional tone. “The waiver you signed says K-care is not responsible for you if you don’t follow the policies. Someone has to watch you in case you have a reaction to the shots.”

  He
opened the door for her. “I’ll be okay since I’m with you. Come on, let’s grab a bite.”

  The swell of his full lower lip spread, triggering fantasies of more than a mere bite.

  She flicked her shoulder-length hair at him. “Follow me if you want, but I’m not giving mouth-to-mouth.”

  He was definitely a looker, possibly mixed race, with a smooth baritone voice guaranteed to melt cold steel. He caught her eye and winked. Her face heating, she quickened her pace through the automatic doors. He stumbled after her and collapsed, grabbing his throat and coughing.

  “Mr. Knight. Oh, my gosh!” Maryanne poured out the contents of her purse. “My EpiPen, where is it?”

  She fumbled for a pulse while bystanders formed a circle, peppering the air with excited exclamations. Lucas’ body jerked with spasms. She had to do something, so she took a deep breath and plastered her mouth over his. His chest tightened and thrashed under her. He was having a seizure, going into shock, choking from lack of oxygen.

  “Over there, over there,” someone shouted.

  Beads of sweat prickled her forehead, and she blew again. A hand caressed the back of her neck, and the lips underneath hers puckered. A light breath fanned from his nostrils and… What the? A velvety tongue swept her upper palate with tantalizing grace, and the air was sucked from her lungs. Her head swirled, and her lips responded hungrily, unable to pull away from his minty, refreshing taste.

  Cheers and applause rang from the crowd.

  “She saved his life.”

  “Woo hoo! Hot! I got it on video.”

  “Mommy, that man’s faking,” a child’s voice piped in.

  Maryanne covered her mouth and gaped at the audience while Lucas rolled on the ground holding his stomach. A gale of laughter erupted from his chest. Asswipe. Even worse, she’d kissed him back and liked it.

  A security guard helped her up. “Everything okay? Man having a seizure or what?”

  “No, he’s fine.” But I’m not. Head down, Maryanne gathered her belongings and wove through the dispersing crowd.