Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  But after his father's death, the fragile world he had somehow cobbled together had shattered.

  The loss of his father had devastated the family not only emotionally, but economically. The landlord had refused to allow him to continue as the superintendent since he was only sixteen. It didn't seem to matter to him that Rey had been doing the job all along. But the man had had a heart and given them a smaller place in the apartment building. One which wasn't all that expensive and in reality, not fit for renting to anyone except someone who was desperate.

  As Rey lay in bed, memories assaulted him. He remembered the rain that had leaked in through the roof and the walls that were close to crumbling in the one bedroom apartment.

  Daisy and his mother had slept in the tiny bedroom while he camped out on the couch in the living room. His mother had taken a job as a maid, but it wasn't enough. Especially since his very bright and gifted sister Daisy went to a private school and they had wanted to keep it that way, knowing she was destined for greater things.

  He assumed the mantle of responsibility for his family, taking on whatever jobs he could to help pay all the bills, but it was never enough.

  Until one day when a local gang member, someone he had once gone to school with as a young kid, had passed by the Korean grocery store where Rey was working. He had been unpacking produce in the front of the store when Luis had offered him a little something extra to watch for the beat cop while he went into the barber shop next door to finish "a little business.”

  The hundred dollars was more than Rey made after a few days of work and would help out with the household expenses. It might even make the difference in allowing Daisy to continue going to the school that he hoped would help her get out of the hood one day.

  The hundred dollar bill had seemed to burn his fist as he took it, but Rey told himself it was for a good cause.

  Luis had gone inside while Rey had continued to pack out the fruits and vegetables. Nothing else happened. No cop had passed by and Luis had come and gone without a problem.

  Rey hadn't told his mother where the extra money came from and his mother couldn't have imagined it anyway. His parents had always stressed the importance of honesty and obeying the law, for all the good that it had done his father.

  As an adult, Rey could see that part of his decision in taking that first hundred had been the desperation of a young man wanting to help his family. He could also admit that part of his decision had been made with anger at the fates that had taken a happy family and shattered it.

  If being good counted for nothing, he had thought, then screw it.

  It made taking the second hundred easier, he recalled as he closed his eyes and fought to fall asleep.

  It had also helped that whatever "business" Luis seemed to transact on a regular basis in the barber shop seemed to have no real impact on his life or that of the stream of people who came and went to the store every day.

  Neighbors would stop and talk to him as he worked. They'd tell him what a good boy he was and how his mother should be proud. He had seen the looks they shot Luis on more than one occasion and realized Luis wasn't a "good boy" in their eyes.

  It had shamed him even more since in his heart he knew he was doing something that neither his parents nor neighbors would approve of.

  He told himself that their lack of approval was balanced by the money that made it possible for his very intelligent younger sister to keep on going to school and after that, to college.

  All he did was just keep a look out. Nothing bad, he told himself to justify what he was doing.

  And then one day Luis had asked him to keep an eye out for a friend who he needed to talk to. He had asked Rey to call if he saw him and slipped Rey the usual payment.

  The Korean grocery had been busy that afternoon. People seemed to have a sudden need for fruits, vegetables, milk, and the cigarettes that were the cheapest in the neighborhood. Most of the neighborhood had come and gone as he unpacked the produce that day. It was how he noticed the young man Luis wanted to see. He was two blocks away and heading toward the store.

  Rey stepped to the pay phone at the curb, one of the few functional phones in the neighborhood, dialed Luis, and gave him the information.

  Afterward, he returned to work, and was busy packing out a carton of tomatoes when a mother and her young daughter stopped to check some bananas at roughly the same time the young man approached the store.

  Even now, years later, the events of that day, the sights, sounds, even smells of those few minutes, were as vivid as if they had happened just moments earlier.

  He'd heard the screech of tires on dry pavement as a car careened around the corner. The first pop exploded next to him, sending up a spray of fragrant tomato pulp. He had acted on instinct, throwing himself in front of the mother, child, and the young man.

  Rey rubbed at his side as the burning pain of that day came back to life. He hadn't realized he'd been shot after the first loud explosion and all the others that followed.

  Even in the silence after the drive-by, when the air had been perfumed with the acrid scent of gun powder and the sweet aromas of the various fruits and vegetables that had been destroyed in the barrage of bullets, he hadn't thought it possible. He couldn't have been shot. It was just tomato guts staining his hands and the side of his shirt with that dark crimson streak that grew larger with each passing second.

  When he had tried to rise, his knees had buckled, and he had fallen back against the cardboard and wooden vegetable crates, the wood splintering and biting into him as his weight crushed the boxes. Sitting on the hard concrete, clutching at the pain in his side and trying not to vomit from the sickening, metallic smell of the blood, he had listened to the wail of the frightened young girl. Her mother was checking her out and trying to comfort her.

  When she turned her attention to Rey a moment later, he knew they were both fine and mumbled a prayer of thanks.

  As the young woman had helped lay him on the ground and talked to him softly, he had tried to look for the young man that had been Luis's target, but he had apparently run off, uninjured as well.

  The wail of the girl had morphed into the glaring screams of a police car and ambulance. He had been in a daze and all that had happened still seemed surreal. From being whisked away to the hospital, to the interrogation by the police as he was being attended to by the ER staff, it had all been a blur. A whirl of pain and then anger as he realized that one poor decision might deprive him of his freedom.

  That it would forever change what his family and others thought about him.

  The District Attorney was thinking of running for a higher office in the next election, and Rey seemed the perfect choice to kick off his campaign against the gangs ruining the neighborhood for the decent people. The D.A. had pressed for a tough sentence, but a reasonable judge and the comments from the young mother about how Rey had saved her life and that of her daughter, had helped him during the sentencing phase.

  The judge had given him the minimum time possible. Eighteen months with eligibility for parole in six.

  Those six months away from his family and in the company of criminals had been one of the hardest times in his life. He had missed his family and had hated seeing their fear and pain when they came to visit.

  He had hated failing his father and the disgrace he had brought to his family name. In the many years since then, living with the shame of the conviction had become tolerable.

  Until Bianca.

  Bianca, his sexy and regal Princess, he thought. A middle class girl raised in the relatively safe ethnic enclave of Little Havana. He doubted she had ever been anything other than the good little girl her parents had expected. Like her brother, Alex, she had gone to college and earned the degrees necessary for her career.

  Rey had never been able to go back to high school, although he had obtained his GED and whatever licenses were necessary for his business. But he was still light years away from Bianca, educationally and sociall
y. If she knew what he really was. . .

  He shook off that thought and glanced at his wristwatch. Although it was barely four in the morning, he knew all hope of getting back to sleep was gone.

  He rose, slipped into his work clothes, and headed for the restaurant.

  In the early calm of a Sunday morning, he'd be able to inspect the work they'd done yesterday, review his schedule for the rest of the week, as well as get in some hard manual labor.

  He hoped the latter would help drive away any lingering remnants of the dream about Bianca and his worries about her finding out the kind of man he really was.

  Chapter Nine

  Bianca was surprised by the banging that greeted her as she opened the door to the restaurant. She had expected to spend a quiet Sunday morning with the paper and some coffee before tackling some more of the cleaning the kitchen required. Diana and Eduardo would be by later that afternoon to join her.

  Her knapsack slung over her shoulder, and cradling a bag from the local deli against her chest, she walked past the bar area and into the main portion of the restaurant.

  Rey was there, swinging the sledgehammer at one of the walls. It was clear from the pile of rubble littering the floor and the sheen of sweat on his body that he had been at work for quite a while.

  "I didn't expect you here," she called out to him and he jumped, as if in surprise, before turning toward her.

  There was no smile on his face and no hint of invitation as he said, "I wasn't expecting you either, Princess."

  It was clear from the tone in his voice that he wasn't happy to see her. His attitude stung a little since she had thought something more was developing between them.

  Since she wasn't going to stay where she wasn't wanted, Bianca said, "Well, I guess I'll leave you to your smashing and destruction."

  Rey hated seeing the way she got her guard up, but knew he was responsible with his unfriendly behavior.

  "I'm sorry," he replied, laid down the sledgehammer, and grabbed a shirt to cover himself. He walked toward her and stopped when he was about a foot away. "I didn't sleep well. I'm just cranky and I'm sorry."

  She stood there, eyeballing him, and then she relaxed a little, smile and shook her head. "Poor baby needs a nap, is that it?"

  Rey laughed, took a half step closer and smelled the delicious aroma of coffee and fresh bread. He leaned toward her, grinning. "Baby is real hungry as well. Do you have anything in there you might be willing to share?" he asked expectantly.

  Bianca glanced down in the bag, then up at him, and smiled. "I guess I don't really need two coffees or all of that Cuban toast. Why don't you follow me into the kitchen, get washed up, and join me for a quick bite?"

  He knew her invitation was for food, but he was hard pressed not to think of other things he'd like to bite. The dream from the night before was still too firmly lodged in his brain.

  Driving those thoughts from his mind, he tagged along behind her into the kitchen, where he stripped off his shirt and washed away some of the grit and sweat of his labors. When he turned, she was watching him intently, and the look in her eyes was just too hard for him to resist.

  He walked toward her, bare-chested. If the princess was interested, he was going to go for it. He'd worry about telling her the truth about himself if things got more serious.

  Bianca had known she was in trouble from the moment he had faced her, his upper body bare, and a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with food. He looked better every time she saw him and now that they were alone, she could better appreciate just how spectacular he was. Every inch of him was lean and well-muscled. The half-sleeve of tattoos stood out boldly against his bronzed skin, reminding her that this bad boy was much more man than she could ever have imagined. Maybe even much more man than she could handle.

  But boy, did she want to handle him.

  She met him halfway and stopped him from getting any closer by laying a hand on his impressive chest. The chest she had fantasized about at night since seeing him the day before.

  His skin was cool from the water he had sluiced over his body to wash away the dirt from his labors. The wet made his skin slick beneath her palm.

  She skimmed her palm against his well-defined pectoral muscles and ran her thumb along the gap between them, above his heart. With a half-glance at his face, her heart tumbled in her chest at the desire there.

  He reached up, placed his large hard hand over hers and bent, brought his lips to within a hair's breadth of her mouth. His breath was sweet and hot against her, but he made no move to get any closer.

  "Rey?" she whispered, and at her soft utterance of his name, he closed that final distance and took her lips in a kiss that seared her nerve endings.

  She locked her gaze with his as he gently explored the contours of her mouth and the inside edge of her lip as she opened to him. Her breath mixed with his as over and over he tasted her. He bit her lower lip, tugged on it, and a muted groan escaped her.

  Rey had never relished anything as sweet and sustaining as Bianca's mouth. Those lips he had imagined in his dreams, fuller and like honey against his tongue. Tender and satiny, he thought as he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth again, and a little whimper escaped her, drove him on.

  He grabbed her waist and dragged her against him, deepening the kiss.

  The lingering drops of water dampened her t-shirt as he plastered her to him, and Bianca reached beneath the edges of his shirt, ran her hands across his ribs, pausing at the scar along his one side and caressing it. Awakening guilt that what he was doing was so so wrong.

  He pulled away abruptly, his breathing hard, and yanked roughly at his shirt to button it closed.

  "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" she asked, totally confused by his withdrawal.

  Rey cursed under his breath, stepped closer, and ran his hands up and down her arms. "No, it's just that it's too soon."

  Bianca sensed that there was more to it than what his words were saying, but didn't want to press. Trying to lighten the mood, she smoothed away a damp lock of his dark hair that had fallen forward as he stared down at her from his greater height.

  "Some things just shouldn't be rushed," she teased him, tossing back the words he had uttered to her the day of their first meeting.

  It had the desired effect. He chuckled and shook his head. "You are a dangerous woman to be around. Do you know that?"

  She smiled before stepping away to grab the bag with the coffees and bread. Laying the food out on the pastry chef's table, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm hoping that's a compliment, Rey. Otherwise I might not share this wonderful meal with you."

  Rey wasn't about to give in and admit that the danger he had meant was the one to his heart. Especially not when there was so much they still had to learn about one another. "Be kind, Bianca. I'm weak from hunger and without something to keep me going. . ."

  Her head popped up then and she shot him a look which spoke volumes with its heat and desire.

  "A man cannot live on love alone," he kidded.

  A lovely blush spread over her face. She dropped her gaze and fumbled with arranging the food on the table. He stepped over and calmed her nervous hands as she played with shuffling the coffee cups for the third or fourth time. She met his gaze and he couldn't resist one last taste. He gave her one final gentle kiss before murmuring, "Feed me, Bianca. Otherwise I don't think I'll have the strength to finish taking down those walls."

  Bianca smiled at him and stepped away to pull up two metal folding chairs so that they could sit for breakfast. When he had settled himself in one of the chairs, she made herself comfortable in the other and handed him one of the cafe con leches. She took the other one and pulled off the cap, took a sip. It was sweet and creamy, a perfect combo of strong Cuban coffee, sugar, and hot scalded milk.

  They both reached for the warm toast at the same time.

  Rey smiled and separated the two halves of the long, thin lard bread which had been buttered, toasted, and flat
tened on a grill. Bianca took the half he offered, dunked it in her coffee, and brought the dripping mass of bread to her mouth.

  "Mmm. I'd forgotten how good this could taste," she admitted, having gone too long without a breakfast like this one. In Manhattan she usually grabbed a bagel and coffee from the local deli. Sometimes she'd indulge in a fancy brunch if she was out with friends, but this simple meal brought back memories of mornings in Miami with her family.

  "Pretty tasty, isn’t it? I guess you don’t get this often in the big city,” he teased, following her example and dunking the bread before eating it.

  "Not enough at all. Sometimes I miss all the things from home. How about you? Did you always grow up in this area?"

  Rey shrugged and ate the last bite of his bread. Took a sip of the coffee before he said, "I was born here and so were my parents, but my grandparents are Puerto Rican. We’re part of that big melting pot of immigrants in New York."

  “I always thought it was more like a big stew than a melting pot. With a whole bunch of chunks floating around in it. Each chunk is a different nationality and they give some of their flavor to the stew and get some new flavor in return," she said and noticed him eyeing her last bit of bread like a young kid staring in through the window of a candy shop.

  She relented and handed him the last piece. He gobbled it down and grinned, that dimple making him look years younger and way more boyish.

  "Which is why there's pizza on Fridays, salsa and chips, and the good ol' American burger?" he said.

  "Well, if you want to reduce it to that level, yes. We're flavoring that pot with all those differences and making a whole new stew."

  He eyed her over the rim of his paper coffee cup. "I think I like your explanation. A nice big chunky stew is way better than melted goo."