by Caro LaFever
For such a big man, he moved fast and quietly. Again, his grip on her arm wasn’t hard, yet the steel still embodied the touch. “It’s not a good neighborhood, is it, Miss Nina?”
A thread of a tease wound around his question, startling her. “Don’t call me that.”
He smelled of grease and sweat, of spice and grub. The scent of him should have made her curl her nose. Instead, it curled her toes.
“I’m leaving.” She tried to tug herself out of his hold, but he didn’t let go.
“Tell me.”
Her temper sparked. A temper she never had with anyone other than this man. Not even her papa ever made her so angry. “Listen.”
She stepped right into his space with a firm stomp.
“I’m listening.” And he was. The way he zeroed in on her face, the way he held her just a touch closer, the way his mouth firmed, all of it told her he was fully engaged. Some of her anger dissipated, because it was rare when a male took her so seriously.
Not all of the anger, though.
“It doesn’t matter where I live,” she launched at him. “To you.”
“Yes, it does.” His words came slow once more, but this time with a wealth of reluctance, as if he didn’t want to look at what he’d confessed.
The words and the reluctance stoked her temper. “I’m going to bed.”
A lightning bolt of awareness crackled between them, like a charge of fire boomeranging between their bodies.
Nina took in a swift breath and tried to step back.
His hand tightened.
For the first time, she got a good look at his eyes. Both her sisters had brown eyes, and so did her papa. Only her mama and she inherited the blue eyes of her French ancestors. Except none of her relatives’ eyes were the brown of this man’s.
His eyes reminded her of the hickory-wood floors at her Paw-Paw’s house. Warm variations of honey and bark, of earth with a touch of hot red pepper.
Speaking of hot…
His gaze blazed with heat. The heat of the desire he tried hard to conceal, but couldn’t.
Fate curled its fingers around her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Something fierce and elemental swept through her like a hurricane. Even though she’d decided this man wouldn’t be getting her goodies, the heat of him and the recognition of his desire stole her determination.
“Oh, no,” she whispered her own desire and distress.
Those hickory eyes of his widened, before he dropped her arm like it burned him. “Mierda.”
Mais, that was nice. Being called shit. Nina wrapped her arms around her and glared. “By the time you get up tomorrow, I’ll be packed.”
Turning, she stomped off toward the stairs.
“Miss Nina.” His tease slid toward her, a swirl of amusement. “Tomorrow, I’ll inspect this new apartment of yours.”
“There’s no need for you to inspect anything of mine,” she threw over her shoulder.
“You don’t say,” he drawled. “Well, that’s too bad, because I plan on doing it anyway.”
Somehow, the simple words were more than just a statement, or even a threat. Somehow, she got the shivering feeling they were a promise.
Chapter 11
Oh, hell, no. Miss Nina was not living here.
“It’s fine.” She tapped her bare foot on the dashboard in clear impatience, because he hadn’t unlocked the truck’s doors with his automatic control. Tugging on the handle and pushing a couple of buttons hadn’t worked for her. Apparently, she wasn’t that into cars and locks.
A good thing.
Because Luc intended not to unlock them ever. Not in this neighborhood. And if he didn’t drive off in short order, all her boxes in the back would likely be stolen.
Her toes, painted aqua with tiny silver sparkles, rapped again. Her sneakers had come off as soon as she’d gotten into the vehicle. “Don’t say anything. I can see what you think on your face.”
Irritation at her bare feet on his truck mixed with astonished amusement. She knew him well enough to read his unspoken thoughts? “There’s not a chance—”
“It’s not so bad on the inside.” She pinned on an encouraging smile. “Come and see.”
“I’m not entering that building if you paid me a thousand dollars.”
Her cheerful expression fell off her face, to be replaced with truculence. “Open the doors.”
“God forbid.” He glanced at the crowd of young men standing at the corner, smoking and eyeing his big, bold vehicle. If he had to guess, he’d say they had five minutes to skip out of here before the truck was surrounded.
“It’s none of your business where I live,” she stated. “None at all.”
“I’m making it my business.” He peered at the monstrosity that called itself a building. The brick-and-cement complex looked like it was about to crumble into the dirt surrounding it. He’d venture to say the roof hadn’t been repaired since Katrina roared through. And the final nail in this coffin of a place was all the windows had bars.
With one last scowl, he jerked his truck into gear and peeled out of the pothole-filled parking lot.
“Wait!” she cried, her hand grabbing his arm. “I’m staying here.”
“No, you are not.” He gritted his teeth at her, and at the way her touch made him feel. A zing of sweltering fever ran from his arm straight to his cock.
Dios joder al infierno. He’d barely escaped her temptation last night. What was he thinking, bringing this woman back to his house? But he had no choice. He’d never live with himself, if he left her in this place and she got hurt.
“I signed a lease,” she grouched, finally releasing him, to his everlasting relief. “I put a deposit down.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of it how?” It was her turn to bare her teeth at him. “Go yell at the landlord until he coughs up my money?”
“That would take too much effort.” He flicked off the thought, although a stir of interest crackled through his veins. It would be nice to release some of this tension on another person, instead of dealing with the alluring creature beside him. “How much? I’ll pay you back.”
Her teeth clenched and her smoky eyes smoldered. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”
The tone of her voice shocked him. In the little time he’d known her, he’d come to think of her as sunshine and light, happiness tinged with a naïveté he found enchanting.
Enchanting?
Mierda.
“Did you hear me?” She came at him again, with that harsh voice.
“I heard you,” he snapped, his tone just as hard.
Slumping in her seat, she swung her head away from him to stare out the window.
Silence hung between them, a rough, heavy one that wouldn’t allow him back into her good graces.
Why the hell would he want that?
But he did. Dammit.
“Look at it this way,” he offered. “You’ll get to spend more time decorating my house.”
A sniff was her only response.
“And you’ll get a nice café au lait every morning.”
“If I beg.”
“No begging needed. I’ll do it without complaint.”
Another sniff.
They drove past the first corner of his street, and Luc was stunned to see Cyrus sitting on the front porch of his restaurant, talking to Lali. He hadn’t seen the old man since he closed down the club five years ago.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Instead of being curious and jumping into his business, the woman next to him didn’t even swing her head around.
First things first. He needed to smooth this over so she didn’t bolt when he went to his restaurant. “Promise me you won’t go back there.”
“I’m not promising you anything,” she grumbled. “In fact, I plan on hiring a moving van.”
“Miss Nina.” Luc swung the wheel around, turning onto the street where he lived. “You’re not going back there
.”
“Stop me.” She looked at him, the gray-blue of her eyes steely with determination.
“Okay, I will.” Easing the truck into the carriage house, he flicked off the engine.
“How?”
Folding his arms in front of him, he leaned on the truck’s door and stared at her. “I know about the permit you applied for.”
She straightened from her slouch. “For my festival?”
“Your festival?” A tingle of amusement at her claim of ownership whispered through him.
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “The festival.”
“I know about the permit, and I know the guy at the parish offices who says yes or no.”
This woman might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. Her eyes narrowed at his inherent threat. “You wouldn’t.”
“I won’t, if you agree not to try and move into that excuse for an apartment we just left.”
“Mon Dieu,” she snarled. “You are an evil man.”
The accusation would have once upset him. Now, he rather relished it. “Maybe, yet I’ve won this point, haven’t I?”
Her mouth went from tight to a pout in one instant. The change was so sudden and swift, it hit his funny bone.
Luc almost chuckled.
Her pout deepened.
“You look like a five-year-old when you do that,” he said.
“But I’m not.” In another swift change, the pout turned sultry.
She took his breath. With her changes and her ways and her enchantments.
Before he could scramble out the door, she came right at him. Clambering on his lap, her hands grabbed his ears and her smoke-filled eyes came so near, they nearly choked him. “Are you sure you want me around?”
No. He was sure he didn’t.
The words didn’t come, though, because his breath was clogged with the sweet scent of her. His muscles couldn’t move, they lay taut beneath the warm weight of her body. His cock went as hard as stone, poking at his jeans, prodding its way into her awareness.
She made that low sound in the depths of her throat. It rattled through him like a snake.
“Get off,” he croaked.
“I don’t think so.” Nestling closer, her lips curved in a womanly tease. “I don’t think you want me to, either.”
Her hips wiggled on his, letting him know—she knew.
“We need to move your stuff back inside.” His arms were still pressed against his chest so he couldn’t grab her with his hands, allowing her to get even closer. His brain fumbled around, trying to figure out how to extricate himself without looking like a gangly fool.
“Do we?” Her hands didn’t seem to be stuck at all. She smoothed her fingers through his hair, lighting a fire from the top of his spine down. “I think I just told you I was going to hire a moving van.”
He glared at her. “You’re staying here—”
“Are you sure?”
“For now.”
A flicker of hurt went across her face at his grim addition. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”
That hurt cut through him like a Spanish rapier. “I do.”
“No, you don’t.” She eased off him, to his delight and despair. “I’ll leave. Soon.”
Luc sucked in a breath and realized sweat lined his spine. The air around him seemed to sizzle with heat as well. New Orleans steamed every day, but he’d never understood how much a man could steam all on his own.
Or with one other person.
The realization zinged inside. He’d only ever been with Genia before. Keeping his vows—although his wife hadn’t—meant something to him, and even after the disaster occurred, he hadn’t regretted that part. He knew his honor was more important to him than settling a score. Assuming he’d find another woman eventually, he’d gone through the last five years in a wait mode. In a it’ll probably happen at some point state. Now, he realized, he’d stalled into a complete standstill.
Until Nina.
Until this ripe plum of a woman got into his personal space and lit a heat of passion in him he’d never experienced before. Not with Genia, and not with any other woman he’d stupidly thought would saunter into his existence at some time in the future.
Nina might move like a slow, summer breeze, but he now realized when she wanted something, she came at it with blazing determination. Came at him with all her weapons on fire. And he didn’t have the defenses built to combat her.
He needed her gone. Soon. “I’ll find you an apartment.”
At his words, she sighed. “Can you open this door, please?”
“I will find one and I promise you, it will be a much better place than the one we left today.”
She glanced at him, her mouth tense. “I won’t be able to afford what you choose.”
The admission sunk into him, along with the look of fragility in her eyes. “I’ll find you something.”
“Luc.”
This was the first time she’d ever said his name. And she said it like no one else ever had. With a slow slide into a soft click. A gentle, gliding journey straight to the center of his soul.
“I appreciate your concern, I really do.” Reaching out, she lay her hand on his, her palm grazing the skin of his fingers. “But I’m old enough to take care of myself.”
It came again, the impression of naïve hope, of a creature of light and life who dreamed dreams he’d lost years ago. “How old are you?”
Her eyes lit with humor. “How old do you think I am?”
“A baby.” He wished that were true. Then she wouldn’t tempt him.
Her finger came up to wag in his face. “Twenty-five, Creole Man. Twenty-five.”
Jesucristo. She was a baby. Ten years younger than him. And no matter what his cock told him, that was far too young for him to touch. “As I said, a baby.”
Before she could respond or his cock could howl disagreement, he clicked the locks on the truck’s doors. “Time to unpack.”
Her silence followed him out of the vehicle.
Female doodads, books, dolls, and shoes were stuffed haphazardly in cardboard boxes and various suitcases. He imagined the cool peace in his home being disturbed by her wild paintings and green beads.
Yet, he couldn’t let her go.
A hard kick to his gut made him pause.
Scratch that. He couldn’t allow her to live in the dangerous dump she’d found. He’d have to figure out how to get around her pride and find her a place acceptable to him. For now, he wasn’t going to get any peace.
Girding himself, Luc yanked the tailgate down and pulled the first box out.
“Why don’t you leave it all in there,” she said from behind him. “I’ll find another place within a day or two.”
No, she wouldn’t. He knew the city’s real estate landscape because his popa kept him abreast of the family holdings, although he could care less. But Mitch Miró insisted and Luc knew his father was correct. Whether or not he cared about his properties, they were his and he had a responsibility.
If he had to guess, Miss Nina didn’t have enough money to put a deposit on any apartment he’d okay.
“I will.” Her stubborn statement made him look at her instead of her mound of possessions.
The gray hoodie she wore did nothing to highlight the inherent sexiness he’d come to be wary of. The color did soften the blue of her eyes, and the hood did frame her heart-shaped face, accenting her cheekbones. Yet, she hid her sexuality well behind the façade of cheerful girlishness.
She’s twenty-five, asshole. Don’t act the fool.
“I’ll just borrow some money from my father.” Her mouth twisted, a wry grimace. “You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” He heaved the first box off the truck’s tailgate. “And you don’t have to borrow money from your father.”
When he’d transitioned from his street-vending van to an actual restaurant, he’d had to go hat in hand to his own popa, because no bank would support him. He’d tried to find
any other way to finance the expansion, going from bank to credit union to venture capitalist. But he’d only been twenty-five, and he couldn’t blame them for turning him down.
Wait a few more years.
Save more money.
Find a mentor and build your reputation.
Luc had heard it over and over. Except he knew himself. He’d served under a string of Paris chefs for four years before coming back home. He’d paid his dues. He’d done his time. He wasn’t the type to take orders, he gave them. There was also the fact that he had the Miró fortune waiting in the wings.
So, he’d swallowed his pride and gone to his father.
It hadn’t been pretty and it hadn’t been fun. He didn’t want this woman to experience the same when it wasn’t needed. There was more money than Fort Knox in his family’s coffers and his own bank account. Getting her into a safe apartment wouldn’t cost him more than pocket change.
“There’s no other way.” She twined her hands together, distress in every line of her body. “The shop can’t fund anything more for me right now.”
Sliding the box onto the first ledge of the garage’s steel shelf, he kept his gaze on her. Every time she got upset about something, his insides went tight and hard. He hated that. “Don’t worry.”
“I have to.” She took off in a pace, a jerky motion so unlike her usual languid poses, it hurt him. “I’m the one whose idea it was to open the shop. It’s all on me.”
“Hey.” Braving a touch, he grabbed her elbow, stopping her agitated steps. “I’ll handle it for you.”
Her brows furrowed, instant rejection crossing her face. “I’m an adult. I don’t need you handling things for me.”
“You’ve heard of Porras-Miró Realty and Financial Services, right?”
Her gaze narrowed. “I know you’re rich. That doesn’t mean I’m going to—”
“My family has property everywhere around here.” He dropped her elbow because, again, the zip of heat had gone to his cock with inevitable results. “I just have to find an apartment that will fit your requirements.”
Her arms folded in a tight clasp in front of her, her expression turning fierce. “I don’t want you to do me any favors.”
“No?” A sudden shot of amusement flared inside. She was such a funny mix of firm stoicism and delightful optimism. “Weren’t you the one coming to me about some festival or another?”
