Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  Veronique dashed toward the kitchen, ignoring his calls to come back. Stumbling down the dark hall, she wished she’d thought of bringing a flashlight. Too late to turn back now. She slowed down and made her way to the kitchen, telling herself all was not lost. They had a whole night together. Nothing could ruin it. She’d somehow get him to relax and then things would resume. One small step at a time, she’d get him to open up.

  Bolstered by her plan, she returned and sat beside him, bottle in hand.

  “Want some?” she asked, extending the bottle before she took a sip.

  He tensed. “Damn it! Don’t ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. You could have fallen with the wine bottle and cut yourself.” His harsh tone startled her.

  “Oh please, nothing happened,” she said lightly. “Chill. Finding my way to the kitchen was no big deal. Maneuvering a dark hall is nothing. You forget I’ve been to Afghanistan.”

  Nick drew a forceful breath. “I don’t give a damn where you’ve been. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t put you over my knee before the night is over,” he growled, taking the bottle from her hands. “I’d relish it too.”

  “Brute.”

  “Brat.”

  She hated that he was back to treating her like a brat. Veronique wrestled the bottle out of his grip and took a sip straight from the bottleneck. Try all he might, there was no denying that he had kissed her. Hungry, driving kisses of a man ready to mate. Her body still tingled in intimate places and her heart lifted when she remembered how he’d struggled to stop. He’d looked almost savage when he thrust her away from him.

  “No sense in wasting good wine. Have some,” she said, extending the bottle.

  “Not now.” His tone was clipped as he pushed it away.

  “Suit yourself,” she replied and took another sip.

  They lapsed into taut silence, awed by the roiling wrath of Hurricane Abby. The racket of howling winds and loud thunder was magnified by what sounded like a train ricocheting back and forth across railroad tracks on the roof of the house. She inched close to Nick until their thighs touched, but he moved and put distance between them.

  A loud rumble followed by falling debris made Veronique grab the flashlight on the floor and turn it on. Astounded, she saw some ceiling plaster had landed directly on top of Nick, covering his hair, face and shoulders in lumpy white powder. His black eyebrows and lashes were comically dusted white as he blinked and sputtered against the plaster covering his lips.

  Veronique lost it when she saw the shock on his outraged face. Her laughter agitated Baxter and he jumped around Nick, barking loudly.

  “What’s so funny?” Nick asked, brushing the snowy particles off his hair and shoulders.

  “You should see yourself,” she said, waving the flashlight in his face. “You look like the abominable snowman and you’ve scared the daylights out of poor Baxter.”

  Nick’s scowl softened as he stroked Baxter. “Shh, settle down, Bax.”

  The pup’s barking subsided until another loud rumble sent another coating of plaster in Nick’s direction, landing on top of the two of them.

  “Shit!” Nick roared, causing Veronique to giggle again.

  She took her camera out of her purse and aimed it at him. “Smile,” she said and clicked the picture before Nick could object.

  He pulled the camera out of her hands and put it up on the top shelf, out of reach.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. You look hilarious covered in white dust,” she said, fighting chuckles. “I’ll give you a copy.” She kissed his jaw, noting how it clenched under her lips. “Come on, Nick. Give me back my camera. I got some great shots of the cove yesterday.”

  She didn’t dare tell him she’d also videotaped his house and the surroundings. When she finally managed to convince him to do an interview, it would make for great visuals to add to his story.

  “I won’t take any more pictures.”

  “Damn right you won’t. I’ll take the wine too,” he said, grabbing it from her hand. He set Baxter down and headed toward the door.

  Veronique’s ringing cell phone caught her attention. She dug inside her purse to locate it.

  “Hello?” Bits of static and garbled words met her greeting. “Hello,” she repeated.

  “Ronnie, it’s Natasha.” As a favor, Natasha had agreed to stay at her New York studio apartment and cat sit while Veronique was in Florida covering the hurricane.

  “Hey, Tash. How’s my little Slinky?” Veronique asked, missing her fur baby.

  “I’m sorry to call this late, but something horrible has happened,” Natasha said, sounding terribly distressed.

  An ominous tremor wracked Veronique’s suddenly chilled body. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Static broke up and muffled Natasha’s response.

  “What did you say?” Veronique asked frantically. The receiver went dead in her hand. She jumped to her feet and started pounding Natasha’s number on her cell phone, but couldn’t get reception.

  “There’s no signal! Why won’t it connect?” She tried again, cursing under her breath.

  “Who was that?” Nick asked.

  “Natasha White. You remember her from camp, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, the actress. You still keep in touch?”

  “Of course,” she said automatically. “We’re Heart Sisters.”

  Nick closed the space between them. He cupped Veronique’s chin with his hand and peered into her eyes. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

  “She said something terrible has happened, but I don’t know what it is. We got disconnected and—”

  A high pitched shriek ripped through the night, silencing her next words.

  Chapter Six

  “What was that?” Veronique’s heart hammered against her chest as she clutched Nick’s arm in a death grip.

  Flashlight in hand, he stepped out of the closet. “Stay here while I check.”

  Grabbing her flashlight, she promptly followed him with Baxter at her heels.

  He turned to her. “Hey, I told you to—”

  His words were interrupted by a young woman who appeared out of nowhere and flung herself at him. If he hadn’t been so large, the impact would have knocked them to the floor. Nick grunted as he steadied her before him.

  Baxter’s tail wagged vigorously at her arrival. He barked and circled the girl until she acknowledged him.

  “Baxie! I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, kissing his furry head. That girl was no stranger to him.

  Veronique pointed her flashlight at them.

  “Thank God, I found you. Where were you?” the girl asked Nick between gasping breaths. When she got a closer look at him, she made the sign of the cross. “Dios mío, what happened to you, Señor Nicky? Why are you covered in white powder?”

  Señor Nicky? Veronique stared at them open-mouthed. The startled, irate look on Nick’s face was priceless. His eyes sparked blue fire and his lips pressed into a grim, thin line. Tension sharpened the chiseled planes of his face.

  “Daisy, what the hell are you doing here?” he gritted out. “Why were you screaming like that?”

  “A tree crashed through my window and barely missed my head,” she said, her black eyes blinking rapidly. “I could have died.”

  “Does Felipe know you’re here?” Nick asked, not offering sympathy. He looked fit to be tied.

  “Sí, Papi knows.” Daisy looked away from Nick’s severe gaze and drew in a shaky breath.

  “When did you get here?” he demanded.

  “Um…this afternoon.” She twirled a long lock of hair as she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “I stayed in the guesthouse to help you clean up after the hurricane.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his jaw set.

  “Why not? I wanted to help.” When he didn’t respond, Daisy turned her attention to Veronique and pointed. “Who’s that?”

  Veronique noted the disdain in her voice. She moved the flashl
ight up and down to get a better look at Daisy. The girl had long dark hair and big doe eyes that gazed at Nick adoringly. She wore a gauzy baby doll nightie that grazed the top of her thighs. Exuding earthy sexuality and a heap of self-confidence, she stood with her hands on her round hips, her back arched and breasts thrust forward.

  “I’m Veronique, a childhood friend of Nick’s. Who are you?”

  “Daisy Martínez. I’m—”

  “Daisy is my housekeeper,” Nick cut in.

  His housekeeper and what else? Veronique lowered her flashlight. She didn’t feel like looking at Daisy anymore, especially when it was obvious the girl was enamored with him. The venomous look she had aimed at Veronique proved it. There was no time to dwell on what Daisy felt for “Señor Nicky.” Veronique was still reeling from Natasha’s phone call and needed to contact her ASAP.

  Daisy visibly puffed up with pride. “I cook his meals, wash his clothes and clean his house,” she said with a smug smile.

  In other words, she was his self-appointed surrogate wife. What other comforts did she provide? The girl looked like a teenager, but acted like an experienced woman. There was too much familiarity in Daisy’s manner. Veronique didn’t like it, not one bit.

  “How industrious. That’s a lot of work for such a young girl,” Veronique murmured.

  Daisy’s chin went up. “I’m not that young.”

  Nick grabbed each of their arms. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” Veronique asked, noting his firm grip.

  “To the kitchen storage room. It’s big enough for three,” he said in a taut voice.

  “Hold on. Be right back.” Veronique dashed into the closet and grabbed her confiscated camera from the shelf. She stuffed it into her shoulder bag before Nick realized she had it.

  When she returned to his side, Nick led the way. His body rigid, he moved forward, illuminating the hall with his flashlight. Veronique followed, and Daisy sashayed behind them, with Baxter at her heels.

  When they settled inside the pantry storage room, Veronique tried calling Natasha again. After several unsuccessful attempts, she gave up and reached for the battery radio in her purse. They listened to a weatherwoman announce the eye of the storm was approaching. Good, it was halfway over. Unfortunately, the last half of the hurricane would be worse than the first with possible tornadoes predicted.

  When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Veronique noticed they were surrounded by rows of food and provisions. Nick had enough reserves to last for weeks. No wonder he’d been annoyed when she’d shown up with her stash of groceries. She had felt like his savior, but the man never needed saving.

  Nobody spoke until Nick unexpectedly asked Daisy, “How is your son?”

  Daisy had a son? Was she married too?

  “Manolito has a cold, but Mami knows how to take care of him better than I do,” Daisy said with a chuckle. “She’s been watching him all week.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for asking.”

  All week? What kind of a mom was she? Veronique couldn’t figure out Daisy’s situation, whether she was married or a single parent, but it was clear her mom helped her out a lot.

  They grew silent again and Veronique felt Nick’s tension escalating along with Hurricane Abby’s wrath. It was rotten timing that Daisy had ruined their intimate moment in the closet. They sat in stiff silence while the girl made a production of praying with her hands clasped and her eyes tightly shut. Daisy jumped and moaned whenever lightning hit and put her hands over her ears at the booming thunder that followed. The girl was so agitated by the hurricane, it was getting on Veronique’s nerves…and Nick’s. She could tell he was furious at not one, but two women encroaching on his privacy.

  When the eye of the storm arrived, everything grew calm. Veronique dialed Natasha’s number again, but to no avail. Exasperated, she got up and headed toward the door.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Nick called out.

  “I need to stretch for a bit. I’m going back to bed,” Veronique said.

  “I’d rather you stayed here until it’s over.”

  She remained standing. “I have enough time to get to my room. I’m going to keep calling Tash until I can get through. Maybe I’ll have better reception there.”

  “You probably will,” Daisy piped in.

  What did she know? Veronique could be staying in any of the five bedrooms. No doubt she’d love to get rid of her and sit beside Nick, sheltered by his broad shoulders.

  Veronique wanted to strangle her.

  “Stay.” One word, but Nick’s brisk command didn’t go unnoticed. He was clearly out of patience. He turned to Daisy. “You too.”

  “I am not moving until you say so, Señor Nicky,” Daisy simpered in a solicitous voice that didn’t fool Veronique one bit. “Oops, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me to call you that. I won’t do it again.”

  Earlier, Daisy had acted like a nervous Nellie, shuddering and wringing her hands whenever a crack of lightning slashed through the house. Now she was acting submissive and remorseful to gain points with Nick. Her playacting was enough for Veronique to grit her teeth and sit back down.

  She could barely make out Nick’s profile in the tension-filled, dark room, but his bridled energy was that of a stallion chomping at the bit to burst from a pen. She couldn’t blame him. Being confined in the room with Daisy’s jumpy nerves was stifling, not to mention irksome. The only good thing about Daisy being there was that her presence kept Nick from asking Veronique questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

  Something horrible has happened. Natasha’s anguished words haunted Veronique. Was Tash injured? Could there be any connection with the random gunshot in the Miami parking lot?

  Maybe that shot hadn’t been random after all…

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Hurricane Abby finished wreaking havoc on Nick’s property, it left a mess behind. Veronique circled the outside of the house with Nick, checking for damage. Avocados, key limes, carambola and bunches of dwarf bananas lay heaped on the ground. Masses of wet, torn leaves, broken branches and uprooted, downed trees created hurdles as they made their way through the mud. She was glad when Nick told her that Daisy was in the kitchen making breakfast.

  “You’re lucky it was only a category one hurricane,” Veronique said.

  “Yeah. Good thing the roof is metal. It held up pretty well,” Nick said, glancing at the roof.

  Veronique shaded her eyes from the sun as she peered up at it.

  At the front porch, they found substantial damage where an old oak tree had fallen against the wooden balustrade. Remnants of railing stuck out like spikes in the beaten down croton bushes several feet away.

  Veronique cast a look at Nick’s face. He’d been quiet for most of their walk.

  “Did you get a hold of Natasha?” he asked, meeting her gaze. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark aviator shades, but from the tone of his voice, she was certain they were somber.

  “Not yet. Every time I try to dial out, I get a message that all circuits are busy.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “My phone’s not working either. I haven’t been able to reach Fred.”

  “Why do you have to reach Fred?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Why do you think? Has it occurred to you that he and your mom might be worried?”

  She stiffened. He didn’t know that she was estranged from both of them. Well, not exactly estranged, but she preferred to keep her distance, especially from Fred.

  “I’ll take care of contacting Maman. Don’t call Fred on my behalf,” she said emphatically. She’d never accepted Fred as her stepfather and didn’t call him that. To her, he was just Fred the intruder. As a child she’d deeply resented him for selling their home and moving her mom to New York.

  He had shipped Veronique off to an exclusive girl’s boarding school in Virginia and had paid for her education, including a BA at Georgetown University and an MA at Northwestern in Journalism. When
she found out Fred had funded her education, she vowed never to accept another penny from him. She probably should have been thankful for his assistance, but she blamed the dominant man for tearing her away from her mother’s side and banishing her to boarding school. During that time, Fred took over caring for Helene full-time by marrying her.

  “Why do you still resent your stepfather after all this time? He did you a big favor by sending you to boarding school.”

  Nick didn’t understand where she was coming from. Naturally, he’d side with Fred, Helene’s savior. “Not quite. Why do you say that?” she asked, not hiding her resentment.

  “Your mom had a nervous breakdown. That’s not a good environment for a thirteen-year-old.”

  “I would have been fine,” Veronique stubbornly replied. Her heart ached at the memory of being sent away so soon after Daddy’s death. She had felt gutted over the loss and very out of place in the prissy all-girl boarding school. “Fred just wanted to get rid of me.”

  “That’s not fair, Ronnie. He loves you.”

  She looked heavenward and waved a dismissive hand.

  Nick’s hands wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed lightly. “He’s a good man. I respect the hell out of him. You should too.” He dropped his hands to his sides as he waited for her answer.

  Veronique didn’t want to argue with Nick about her stepdad. Her relationship with Fred was formal and cordial at best. No matter how much Maman tried to bring them together, he’d always be the one who had separated them. They might not be similar in personality and style, but Veronique loved Maman, and she couldn’t help blaming Fred for all the time she’d spent away from home in the stifling boarding school run by an oppressively strict staff. Most of the girls had spent their time obsessing about boyfriends and getting married. Not her, she’d spent her time plotting how soon she could leave and spread her wings.

  A trickle of sweat slid between Veronique’s breasts and also down her spine. It felt hot already, yet it was only eight o’clock in the morning. By noon, sweltering, humid heat would engulf them and unfortunately, the power hadn’t been restored. She’d changed from Nick’s T-shirt to the sundress she’d arrived in. Light as it was, the fabric felt sticky against her warm skin. She wished she could dive in the pool and cool off, but it was filled with the storm’s debris.