Knight in Black Leather: International Billionaires XI: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “That’s different.” Her frown turned to a scowl worthy of himself.

  “How so?” Ambling back to his truck, his amusement grew.

  There was a pause from behind him. “It just is.”

  He almost laughed.

  Something he hadn’t done in years. Something he hadn’t missed in years, either. Something he’d thought to never do again.

  He almost laughed.

  Chapter 12

  Luc did not feel like laughing when he arrived at his restaurant the next afternoon.

  Mondays El Porras was closed, so he’d spent yesterday avoiding Nina Blanchard. His entire day had been focused on that cause, and he’d been damn successful. He spent the morning going from market to market, inspecting new deliveries, changing some of his standing orders. The afternoon and evening had been spent hanging out at various restaurants and bars, checking out the competition. He’d been relieved when he’d gotten home to a dark house and no Nina. He’d also been amused when he’d found a note from her stating she hadn’t given up on finding an apartment as well as convincing him about her festival.

  He wasn’t amused at the moment, however.

  “You heard what?” he barked, shock and embarrassment spiking his temperature.

  Lali gave him a lazy shrug. “It’s no big deal. People move in with each other all the time.”

  “It’s not… That’s not…”

  His sous-chef ignored his sputtering, appearing to focus only on tallying the sauces and herbs near the grill.

  But he knew Lali. Her appearances were never what was reality.

  She proved it with her next words. “I’m glad for you, Luc. You need some sex.”

  The slap of his Japanese knife clattered onto the steel counter. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what I said.” Floating past him, she headed for the cold station. Not for the first time, he noticed the rest of his crew was late.

  “Where is everybody?” he muttered.

  A nonchalant wave was his answer.

  “Where?” he growled.

  “Animal noises,” she responded, her head shaking. “If you must know—”

  “I’m the chef. Of course I must know.”

  “They are attending a meeting across the street.”

  A fiery dart of suspicion lodged in his brain. “Where across the street?”

  “At Trois Sœurs, naturally.”

  There was nothing natural about that. Suspicion turned to rage. “What are they meeting about?”

  “Now don’t get your tail in a knot.” Lali gave him a cool glance. “They’ll be here in a few moments, and this is Tuesday, so we don’t have many reservations.”

  “I don’t have a tail,” he thundered, “and we open in five hours.”

  “Plenty of time.”

  He tried to bury his rage at the blatant betrayal beneath the focus he needed to carve the slab of veal loin in front of him, but it was no use. “What is the meeting about, as if I don’t know.”

  “You’re saying you know,” she shrugged again. “So I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “The damn festival.”

  “Oui.”

  Stabbing his butcher knife into the meat, he steamed with instant realization. “I suppose it was her sisters who spread the word about my living arrangements.”

  “Oui.”

  “It’s none of their business.”

  “Nina is their younger sister.” Lali eyed him, while her hands kept busy distributing peppers, lettuce, and onion into refrigerated drawers of the waist-high prep table. “I would think that would make it their business.”

  Younger sister. Twenty-five-years-old.

  Another hard whack at the beef didn’t diminish his tension. “Then they should know she’s living with me temporarily and I’m not fucking her.”

  His sous-chef tutted. “Such language, Luc. Be a gentleman.”

  He was trying, dammit. For the first time in forever, he’d stepped in to save the day. And all he got for it was this lust streaming through his veins like a swamp fever he couldn’t find the cure for.

  The sound of the front door of the restaurant opening was followed by a buzz of chatter and laughter.

  “We’re not participating in her festival,” he snapped to Lali.

  “We meaning El Porras.” Her spiral curls bounced as she shook her head as if she were disappointed in him. “But that doesn’t mean your staff can’t participate on their own. They’ll need help with crowd control and at other vendors.”

  The unmistakable truth settled over him like a gloomy cloud.

  “I don’t know why you are fighting her so hard.” Lali came around the counter to stand right by him. Her brown eyes were dark with stern belief, her expression filled with sincerity. “She’s good for you.”

  “She’s good for me like a sore tooth.”

  Finishing the veal cutlets, he pulled out the plastic sheets to wrap the meat in. He noticed he hadn’t done the best job, and his sous-chef noticed, too. She tutted again. “What is wrong—?”

  “Leave it.”

  The kitchen door flew open. “Boss.”

  He looked up into the sea of his staff’s faces all piled behind Ines. “What?”

  “The festival is going to be amazing.” His head waitress nodded her head with authority. “We need to be a part of it. I can count my big tips right now.”

  “No.” Swiveling, he stored the veal in the lower fridge.

  “Why not?” Alphonse jumped in, his voice strident. “We can re-open the terrace, after all these years.”

  “Maybe even the club, eh, Luc?” Lali’s soft suggestion drifted around him like a fog of the past.

  “Not a chance,” he snarled at all of them. “And you’re late. Get to work.”

  A welter of grumbles and grouches followed Carmelita, his chef garde manger, to the cold station, and Vinny, his pastry chef, to the pastry station, and Juan, his prep cook, to the back of the kitchen. Luc ignored them by focusing on cutting the fish. Usually, this was one of the best times in his day. Unlike some chefs, who left this job to their assistants, he made sure that each piece of meat served in his restaurant was not only grilled or cooked by him, but cut by him as well.

  His staff finally settled into their work, and his temper finally settled, as well. It wasn’t the woman’s fault, not really. She’d have to tell her sisters where she was staying, and she couldn’t control who they told. It’s not as if he’d told her to keep it a secret.

  He should have done that, except he hadn’t.

  So Miss Nina couldn’t be held accountable for this rumor floating around.

  And it was floating around.

  Luc didn’t pay attention to anything other than his food, especially when he was carving. Yet, he’d have to be blind and deaf not to pick up on the whispers and twitters encircling him. Apparently, his staff could work and gossip at the same time.

  Dammit.

  After five years of relative peace and quiet about his private life, he didn’t know how to handle the sudden interest. Frustration and fear curled in his gut.

  “Do you think Nina likes his…?” The rest of Carmelita’s question was cut off when the freezer door banged shut behind her and Lali.

  Likes his what? He glared at the monkfish’s spine and sliced along the crease, his hand steady, his temper bubbling once more.

  “After years without a woman, I can guess what he…” Juan’s jocular grin flashed at Vinny before the delivery door slammed closed.

  Leaving Luc to stew some more.

  He’d find her a place. Tomorrow. There had to be some damn apartment in all of his family’s holdings that would suit his sense of security and her sense of pride. In fact, why the hell hadn’t he begun the search yesterday, when he had all day to look? Still, he could start the process right now.

  Finishing the fish, he pulled off the plastic gloves and headed for his office. His cell lay on the battered desk he used to d
o the accounts. “Popa.”

  “Mon fils, I hear you have news.”

  That stopped him. He never had news. Not for his parents. And really, not at all. His only news for years was the restaurant continued to be a success and he was alive. Up until now, these two things had been enough. “News?”

  “Your mother tells me you’re living with a girl.” Instead of censure, his father’s voice was filled with astonished happiness.

  That stopped him, as well. His parents were old-school, good Catholics, firm in their belief of what was right and what was wrong. When he’d moved in with Genia at the age of eighteen and before he had the money to buy her a wedding ring, his parents had been ferocious in their condemnation.

  Then it hit him. Jesucristo. Had Nina’s sisters sent out some voodoo magic signal that permeated every nook and cranny of New Orleans? “I’m not.”

  “No?” his father’s tone went sour. “Why not?”

  “What?” Shock lanced through his body. “You want me to live in sin, Popa? This is a change.”

  “There is that.” A shuffle of papers echoed through the lines.

  This wasn’t unusual. Although his popa had handed over ownership to Luc years ago, he still handled most of the business transactions because his son couldn’t care less. So whenever they talked, the ping of a computer or the sound of papers being re-arranged was a constant experience. This time, though, the noise made him think the wealthy Mitch Miró was rifling through his conscience and putting it aside.

  There was no need for him to do so.

  “Popa, there’s nothing—”

  “However, both your mother and I decided there are more important things.”

  “More important than not living in sin?” Luc barked out a short cough. “Where have my parents gone?”

  “You’re getting older. We want grandchildren.”

  Jesucristo a second time. The thought of Nina walking around with his child in her belly made his blood freeze. She was only twenty-five and basically a baby herself. The thought clamored down from his brain into his gut to lodge like knife blade of heat in his disagreeing cock.

  He needed to cut this off immediately. Not his cock. This string of absurd conjecture. “I have a guest staying with me for a day or two.”

  “A female guest.”

  “Yes. But she’s not in my bed, she’s staying in the spare bedroom.”

  A dark silence came from the other end of the line.

  “And the reason I called was to ask you to find her a place to live.”

  “It appears she’s already found one,” his popa said. “In your house.”

  “She’s way too young for me.”

  His father grunted, a clear signal of disapproval. “Your mother met her. She’s got to be in her twenties.”

  “Like I said, way too young.” He shrugged aside the memory of her kisses, the way she moved her limbs in languid ease, the feel of the silky skin of her arm.

  Another grunt was his popa’s only response.

  “So I need you to find her an apartment,” Luc plowed on. “Somewhere in the city that’s affordable and completely secure.”

  “Nothing in the city is affordable, not if you want secure. You know that.”

  “There’s got to be something.”

  “I’ll look.” The slap of a book closing emphasized the bite of the words. “But it might take some time.”

  Puto infierno. He knew his father’s voice. When he talked like this, it meant he wasn’t in the mood to oblige. Which meant there wasn’t going to be an apartment for Miss Nina in the near future. “Come on, Popa.”

  “I said I’ll look. I also will be talking to your mother.”

  Who fancied herself a modern-day matchmaker. For a year after his Genia’s death, his mami had left him alone. Left him to grieve for his loss, she’d said. Much to his relief, she hadn’t picked up on the rumors he knew circulated on his street. Instead, she’d accepted his explanation for why his wife and best friend were driving together in his prized Citroën DS when it crashed.

  “She got sick at the restaurant, Mami, and I couldn’t leave,” he’d said, a boulder of rage and fear choking his throat. “It’s my fault. Ames was never a good driver.”

  It had been his fault. His fault to believe in love. His fault to trust in the bond of friendship. His fault he’d lost his temper, punched his betrayer-best friend, yelled at his cheating wife.

  His mami had patted his hand, attended the funerals, and stayed out of his hair for a full year.

  But the last four years, she had not.

  Talking to your mother meant his papa was going to sic her on his son. Luc had every expectation of seeing his mother at his El Porras shortly. “You wouldn’t. She’ll come to the restaurant.”

  He hated the pleading in his words.

  His popa sighed. “Do you truly think I can stop her, mon fils?”

  No, he couldn’t. When Blanche Miró began a campaign to help her son, there was no stopping her.

  No one.

  Including himself.

  Chapter 13

  The meeting about her festival had gone well. Exceedingly well.

  Nina closed the last of the folding chairs they’d borrowed from Mrs. Williams’ art gallery down the street. Their shop had been filled to the brim, standing-room only, even with the extra seating. Satisfaction swelled.

  “If only Chef Grouchy had come by,” Jeanie sighed. “Then everything would have been perfect.”

  “Most of his staff came.” Her other sister sagged on the cashier counter, her pose one of complete indifference, even though Heni had just as much to lose as all of them. “That’s progress, I suppose.”

  “And Nina is living with him.” Lilith sat on her satin-covered chair, like a goddess come down from heaven to give the keys to the kingdom to a deserving servant. “That will be key, mes amis.”

  No, it would not.

  If it was the last thing she was going to do, it was getting out of Luc Miró’s house. The man was never going to respect her if she didn’t. And respect was vital. If he didn’t respect her, he’d never listen to her about the festival.

  But she knew how to earn respect.

  She’d learned how important it was when she’d arrived at Tulane and been taken for an airhead. Dressing down and digging in, she’d learned to demand respect from every boyfriend and all her professors.

  Respect had become her cornerstone.

  It had taken her years to earn her sisters’ respect and she still hadn’t managed to earn her parents’. If she ever would. Thankfully, her Paw-Paw had given her respect from the moment she’d been born, because it had taught her to respect herself. Except in every other area of her life, it seemed she spent quite a bit of time trying to make everyone see her for what she was.

  Worthy of respect.

  “Boo intends to get a new apartment,” Jeanie said.

  “Not a wise move,” Lil intoned, as if delivering a commandment from on high.

  She gave the old woman a tight smile. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You are where you—”

  “He won’t listen to me if I stay with him,” she tried to explain. “He thinks of me as a child.”

  That realization still swam in her brain, like a poisonous spider had bitten her. She knew he was attracted to her—his erection told the story. And yet, the way he’d looked at her, sneered at her, told her he had no intention of following up on his lust.

  As I said, a baby.

  A baby.

  She’d been the baby of her family, and no one ever let her forget it. It didn’t matter that she’d been the only one of the girls to finish her college education. It didn’t matter that she’d been the one with the idea for this shop. And it certainly didn’t matter that she was the one who’d ferreted out her parents’ precarious financial situation and reported it to Paw-Paw.

  So the saleau would have to take his place in a long line of people who underestimated her.

>   Him and his stupid rejection of his lust for her.

  Not that she planned on following her lustful impulses, either. She had her pride.

  “He is older than you,” Heni pointed out. “More my age than yours.”

  Nina glanced up to catch her sister’s smirk. She’d known Heni thought Luc Miró was attractive. The knowledge hadn’t bothered her because she herself hadn’t been interested.

  Before.

  She shook herself. Not that she was interested now.

  “Heni.” Lilith’s voice was stern. “He is not for you.”

  “Who says?” Her sister’s smirk grew and the glance she gave Nina held something new, something dangerous.

  Jealousy?

  There was nothing to be jealous about. “You’re welcome to have the saleau.”

  “That makes no sense,” Jeanie said, her expression turning glum. “Nina’s in his house, and we have so little time to get this festival going.”

  “Agreed.” The old woman nodded, her head wrap bobbing. “Time is of the essence. Your sister must convince him immediately.”

  The weight of the demand fell on her shoulders like a heavy wool blanket. Both her sisters looked at her expectantly, Jeanie with an encouraging smile, Heni’s smirk turning to a short nod of agreement.

  The shop needed the festival.

  The family needed the shop.

  It was as simple and complex as that.

  “Nina.” Lilith crossed her hands in her lap, a typical pose when she was about to pronounce the fate of someone. “You must give the man a gift.”

  A totally inappropriate thought popped into her head. One of bodies and sex and lust. She shoved it back. “I have. I gave him one of our best bottle trees. He hated it.”

  The old woman hummed, her eyes growing enigmatic.

  “Mais, most men don’t understand the logic behind bottle trees.” Jeanie frowned in exasperation. “Even Jacques thinks they’re odd.”

  “The right gift will soften his heart.” Lil’s mouth firmed. “I know it.”

  When this woman stated she knew something, all three sisters had learned to respect the announcement.