House of Scarlett

by Meghan March

  “Amy, why don’t you take off and get to that party early? They’ll be so shocked, they won’t know what to think for once.”

  Her brows shoot up, and a rueful smile follows with a concerned expression. “Are you sure? I can be a little late.”

  Gabriel picks up on what’s going on. “I’ve got her covered. I promise she’s in good hands, whatever you might think.”

  Amy bites her lip. Knowing her, she has plenty to say and ask, but she doesn’t want to be rude.

  I smile and wave her off. “Go. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for being such a rock star. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I hold out my hand, and Amy comes forward to squeeze it and give me a hug.

  “Call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time. I’ll have my phone on, and I can be over in twenty minutes.” She glances at Gabriel. “Scarlett will give you my number. If you have any questions at all or there’s something you can’t figure out, I’m always available.”

  “Thanks. Enjoy your party,” Gabriel replies before stepping back and disappearing behind the SUV, presumably to climb in the other side.

  Amy sees a window for privacy and goes for it. “Are you sure this is okay? I can skip the party. I don’t want you doing anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, no matter what Flynn’s trying to mastermind.”

  “I’m fine. I promise. Go have fun. Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” I reach out to hug her again, and she leans in against my hair.

  “You know I’d do anything for you. Call me if he takes one step out of line. I’ll come back with my brother-in-law. He’s NYPD.”

  The other door opens and Gabriel slides in slowly, as if he knows Amy and I needed a minute to talk.

  “Tell your family I said hi, Ames. Now go.”

  I wave at her through the tinted glass as the SUV pulls away from the curb with the driver, Gabriel, and me inside, and one thought slams into my brain.

  Oh fuck. Did anyone clean my bathroom after the other day?

  Nineteen

  Legend

  I never expected in all my life to be riding in the back of a chauffeur-driven SUV with the daughter of one of America’s most recognizable fashion icons.

  I watch the buildings as we drive away from the hospital, and everything that is New York City washes over me as we make our way through traffic. The horns. The bustling pedestrians. The dog walkers and food carts. The don’t-give-a-fuck pigeons who have more balls than most men I know. It’s the city I’ve come to love and respect.

  I remember the first time Q brought me over from Jersey, and we walked the streets of Manhattan. It was night, and there were so many sky-high buildings lit up that the kid who’d never been anywhere but Biloxi was in awe.

  New York was another world. Another universe.

  Men walked the sidewalks in their sleek black suits, carrying briefcases, knowing exactly where they were going and what they were about. I didn’t even own a suitcase, let alone a briefcase, but I promised myself that someday, I’d walk the city and know exactly where I was going. I wouldn’t stare in wonder and awe, like a boy fresh from the trailer park. I would be comfortable and confident in my new home, and everyone would know my name. Someday.

  It’s funny how your dreams change as you grow up. I do walk the city, because I love it even more than that very first day, and I know exactly where I’m going, but I don’t wear suits or carry a briefcase. I don’t care if anyone knows my name either. I stopped worrying about impressing people years ago . . . except I do want to impress her.

  But I don’t know how.

  This woman has never once worried about money in her life, and I can’t breathe easy without knowing where every penny of mine is.

  And two weeks ago, before I fucked up worse than I’ve ever fucked up before, she told me she wanted to try things for real with me.

  With me. She doesn’t even know me yet.

  Will she want me after she does?

  That’s a question I refuse to think much about, because it’ll stop me where I stand. If once she sees everything I bring to the table, she decides it’s not enough, then that’s my penance for how I treated her. I made peace with it after I walked my ass back to the club this morning from the hospital.

  Whatever happens next . . . all I can do is let fate decide.

  I glance over at Scarlett, and her blond hair is pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She’s staring straight ahead at the back of the black leather seat in front of her, her posture stiff as hell. Immediately, I wonder if she’s in pain.

  “You okay?”

  She jerks her head to the side to look at me.

  “Are you in pain? You look uncomfortable.”

  Scarlett presses both lips together and makes an awkward expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I lean forward in my seat, ready to jump into action at her command.

  “I puked all over the toilet in my bathroom, and I don’t know if anyone cleaned it. All I can think about is how embarrassing that’s going to be if you see my bathroom with a pukey toilet.”

  My posture relaxes as the words process in my brain. Laughter builds in my chest. “That’s what you’re worrying about right now? A dirty toilet?”

  She nods, and I can’t help it. A chuckle escapes from my lips, filling the cabin of the SUV.

  “Fuck that. I’ve seen bathrooms and urinals a priest couldn’t save. I was worried you were in excruciating pain, and you’re worried about me seeing some barf you didn’t flush?”

  “Oh God, don’t say it like that. It sounds so gross, and yet petty.” A smile curls her lips, and I’m thankful the awkward expression and tension disappears.

  I reach out and snag her hand, tangling her fingers with mine. “I promise I won’t judge. I’ll even clean it for you. Seems fair to me.”

  Her eyes go wide and her lower lip drops with her jaw. “What? No. Not a chance. I’ll clean up my own vomit, thank you very much.”

  “You can argue with me, ladybug, but you won’t win. I swear, I’m the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet.”

  Her fingers grip mine just tight enough to let me know she doesn’t want me to let her go, and a warm feeling spreads in my chest.

  “I don’t know, cowboy. I’m pretty stubborn too.”

  I jerk my head back. “Cowboy?”

  “I was trying out a nickname. You need one too.” Her cheeks flush red, and it’s cute as fucking hell. “I’ll scratch cowboy off the list then.”

  “Keep trying, ladybug. I have faith you’ll find one.”

  Twenty

  Scarlett

  Cowboy? Really? I called him cowboy?

  It’s official. I’m the biggest dork in the history of the planet. But . . . he’s still holding my hand, and his thumb strokes across the back of it, giving me a thrill every few seconds.

  Let’s not tell him that, okay, Scarlett?

  I keep my thoughts to myself for the rest of the ride, but the tension in the SUV doesn’t return. Maybe it’s because everything feels so . . . right. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I’m going to roll with it.

  When the SUV stops at the curb, Gabriel is out and opening my door before the driver.

  “I got you.” He unbuckles my belt for me and lifts me into his arms before I realize what his plan is.

  “I can walk. I promise.”

  “You can, but you’re not.”

  His blue eyes offer no invitation to argue, so I settle against him, enjoying the novelty.

  “You’re pretty bossy, you know?”

  He glances down at me as we make our way up the walk. “You have no idea. Which door? Front?”

  “Side. I don’t want anyone to see me. Go around to the right.”

  But he doesn’t. He pauses first and calls out to the driver. “Bring the flowers and the duffel inside the front. Someone will get them where they need to go. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Thank you, bossy
,” I whisper as he starts around the side of the building and through the gate, getting me out of sight as quickly as possible.

  “Still not a good nickname,” he says, pausing to glance at the locks on the door. “I don’t suppose you have keys?”

  “In my pocket.”

  I wiggle in his arms, but it hurts a little to fish my keys out of my joggers that Kelsey helped me change into this morning. She’s helped me in and out of enough clothes that it didn’t even seem strange. Which would not be the case at all if it were this man.

  A memory from a few weeks ago flashes through my brain. Gabriel snapping the elastic of my panties and then thrusting into me over and over until I lost my damned mind.

  God, that was amazing. And totally not happening for a minimum of one week—from yesterday. According to my doctor, I need to heal and then let my body tell me when it’s ready to undertake more strenuous “exercise.” The doctor meant like working out, but my mind was in the gutter, and Flynn’s comments made it nearly impossible to keep a straight face.

  “So she should avoid thrusting movements? No riding? Horseback or otherwise?”

  I’m pretty sure the doctor was concerned about my blood pressure after how red my face got, but he bolted from the room as soon as I confirmed I understood the post-op instructions he’d given me.

  And now here I am, being carried up four flights of stairs by Gabriel Legend, who isn’t even breathing hard.

  “I’m going to call you He-Man. How am I not heavy? Or, God, am I heavy but you’re just really good at hiding it?”

  He pauses on the landing outside the door that leads into my kitchen, and stares down at me in his arms. “I used to fight for my life. I ran stairs in a plate-loaded vest. Worked out until I puked every day. This is easy, ladybug. Even for He-Man. Can we get the door, though, so I can put you down where you’ll be more comfortable?”

  “Oh, sorry. Sure.”

  I fumble with the keys for longer than it should take me, because I’m not really ready for him to put me down, especially if it’s no hardship for him. We’ll save that admission for the hopefully not-so-distant future, however.

  As soon as the door to my apartment opens, a fresh lemony-herb scent escapes, telling me my cleaning crew has been here. Thank God. No pukey toilet to scrub.

  “You can set me down here,” I tell Gabriel, pointing to the floor in front of us.

  He shakes his head and looks around my space. “Bedroom?”

  “Through there.” I squeak out the reply, because what almost came out was, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Calm down, Scarlett, before you lose it completely.

  Thankfully, Gabriel doesn’t notice my squeaking. In a few moments, we’re in the middle of my over-the-top-feminine bedroom, where he’s lowering me onto the fluffy duvet and a nest of throw pillows.

  Shockingly, though, he doesn’t run as soon as his arms are empty. He looks around the room, his blue eyes taking note of everything, it seems, before coming back to my face.

  “It fits you.”

  Chadwick hated my bedroom and said it made it impossible for him to get a hard-on, but clearly Gabriel is a different kind of man. My frilly lace and serene colors don’t make him look ridiculous. If anything, they make him seem even more masculine. How is that even possible?

  “Thank you,” I whisper, scooting back into the pillows. I reach forward to grab the edge of the throw blanket lying on the end of the bed, but my incision twinges and I freeze.

  “Hey. Whoa.” Gabriel bolts forward to grab it for me. “No sudden movements. That’s why I’m here. You just lay back and chill. Tell me what you need.”

  When he spreads the nubby chenille throw over my legs and tucks me in, I can barely think straight because it’s so freaking domestic and adorable and comforting.

  Before he can move away, I slip my fingers into his and squeeze them. “Thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” he says, his expression unreadable.

  “Yeah, you have. And I appreciate it more than you know.”

  That’s when he shocks the hell out of me.

  With one hand braced on the bed right beside my hip and his fingers tangled in mine, he leans in until his lips are a breath away from my temple.

  “Real starts now, ladybug. I’ll show you.”

  His lips brush across my skin so lightly, it barely even counts as a kiss, but it’s the same as everything he’s giving me right now—exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

  Gabriel Legend, I hope you know what you’re doing.

  Twenty-One

  Legend

  When a knock sounds at the front door, I leave Scarlett to answer it. I don’t bother to check the peephole, given that I think it’s an interior door that leads to the store. Plus, I just gave orders for our stuff to be brought up.

  Standing in the hallway is a young woman whose mustard-yellow one-piece outfit probably cost more than my truck, but it doesn’t stop it from being ugly as sin.

  “Mr. Legend. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Amy said you’d be Scarlett’s guest this evening.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here a while. Call me Legend or Gabe. No mister.”

  She nods like her head is attached to a spring. “Got it, Legend. Okay. Well, I have Scarlett’s flowers and balloons from the hospital right here.” She grabs the handle on a cart and pulls it into view. My duffel is on the bottom shelf, so I nod.

  “Come on in.”

  “My name is Liz, if you need anything this afternoon. And just in case Scarlett is hungry, I’ve brought menus from all her favorite places. If you just text me at this number,” she whips a card out of her breast pocket and hands it to me, “I’ll have someone bring whatever she wants immediately. Her prescriptions will be coming from the pharmacy shortly too. Amy said Scarlett has everything she needs for tonight, though, so those will be for tomorrow. Am I forgetting anything?”

  From the way she wrings her hands, it’s obvious she’s nervous as hell, and I’m assuming that’s because of me.

  “Thanks. I’ll text if she needs something. She appreciates your help, Liz.”

  The girl lights up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you. We all want to make sure she’s comfortable.”

  “Doing a great job. I’ll get her settled and let you know.”

  “Okay.” She bobs her head and realizes that I’ve maneuvered her back to the door again. “I’ll just go now.”

  “Thank you again, Liz.”

  I shut the door with her on the other side, and the house is silent for a beat. At least, until I hear Scarlett laughing.

  I grab the menus, drift back toward the bedroom, and peek inside. Fuck, she looks incredible. Even fresh from the hospital and probably wanting a shower and a change of clothes, Scarlett is a goddess.

  “She would’ve stayed all night. She might have a minor fascination with you.”

  Although I meant for Scarlett to sleep, I can’t help but lean against the doorjamb and just stare at her. “Is she the only one who might have a minor fascination with me?” I don’t flirt. It hasn’t been part of my DNA for over fifteen years, but somehow, the words come out anyway.

  Scarlett’s face flushes just like I expected, but her secretive grin spears me. Fuck, I love that little devilish smile on her face.

  She drops her gaze to the blanket before she replies. “No, she’s not the only one.”

  Her reply shoots a bolt of adrenaline through me. All it accomplishes is sending my heart pumping faster and my mind running through the exercises of my most punishing workout to keep my dick from becoming way too fucking obvious against the zipper of my jeans. But, still, I won’t leave her hanging.

  “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  The mischievous smile gives way to curiosity. “What did she give you?”

  I hold up the handful of menus. “Liz brought these from all your favorites, if you want to order food.”

  Her gaze drops to the bed. “I don’t know. I
’m not sure I’m feeling it.”

  “No hurry on food. Just take it easy. You need anything else, or do you feel like napping?”

  I glance around her bedroom as she thinks about my question. It’s obviously a hundred percent Scarlett’s domain, and I see no trace of male influence anywhere. I don’t have a problem with that either.

  Even standing in the middle of frilly, fancy lace, I’m still doing mental drop sets to save myself from a raging hard-on to rival all hard-ons. It’s feminine to the max, but in a way that makes a guy well aware that the room belongs to a beautiful woman. Besides, it’s not all hearts and flowers and weird shit that would send a man running. Not if he’s any kind of a real man, that is.

  Her ex is a fucking bitch-boy. On that count, I have no doubt at all.

  That’s when I see it, on the table beside the bed.

  “You kept my note.” I push off the doorjamb and walk toward the piece of white paper only a foot from her left elbow. It sits on a stack of books, and with the worn edges, it looks like she’s handled it a few times.

  As soon as my words are out, Scarlett turns as red as her name. “Oh shit. You weren’t supposed to see that. I mean, I meant to throw it away. But—never mind.” She shakes her head and studies the poof of a blanket draped over her lap like it holds the secrets of the universe.

  I make my way to the end of the bed, and after feeling around to make certain of where her feet are, I take a seat without asking. With one hand on her shins, I study her flushed face.

  “I’ve never met anyone who blushes like you. At least, not since I was a kid.”

  She shakes her head and tries to cover her cheeks with her hands, but I lean forward and tug them away. “You don’t need to hide. I promise I’m not laughing at you.”

  “It’s the Scarlett curse, or at least, that’s what my mother called it.”

  “Your mom did it too?”

  She smiles. “I know, it’s hard to imagine the ultra-refined Lourdes Scarlett Priest turning beet red, but she couldn’t stop it either. It’s not quite a family curse, but it is a little obnoxious.”