Prince of Fools (House of Terriot Book 3)

by Nancy Gideon

  He waited his turn as the couple was surrounded by well-wishers ranging from the heads of their rival clans to Colin's happily sobbing sisters, who’d been allowed to sneak in for the occasion. Until just he and their king stood on the outskirts. Their gazes met, Cale silently applauding Rico’s heroic effort of good will and Rico realizing something he wasn't sure his king would appreciate him seeing.

  With his smile thin and fixed and his steely eyes narrowed, the new king of the Terriot clan had to be considering the weight of his younger brother's claim. Not only Colin’s first born, his heir, but also the firstborn male in the next generation. And since Cale’s queen was carrying a female, the next ruler of their people.

  Rico's smile took a wry twist watching Colin beam beneath the same shower of affection he'd always received from his step-father and brothers. Colin, surrounded by respect, embraced by a love Rico never known. Rico's many drinks stirred up imagined crimes toward the perfect son, brother, warrior, mate. Soon to be the perfect father.

  When they faced each other, Colin's eyes narrowed cautiously, but he easily took the offered hand for a congratulatory shake. The stiffness fell from his wide shoulders as Rico embraced him and offered, "Congratulations, brother. You have everything now, including a child on the way."

  "Thanks, Red," Colin murmured with gruff emotion.

  "Are you sure it's yours?"

  Rico stepped back to watch the impact of his whispered insinuation strike with unexpected malevolence. At first, his brother's expression blanked. A confused blink as the words sank deep. Then Colin’s earth-rending roar worked its way up and out as Rico smiled, taking a quick step out of reach as Turow and Kip caught their brother’s arms to prevent his lunge. Mia was instantly between them, her arms circling her mate.

  "What did you say to him?"

  Rico smirked at her demand. "Ask him."

  Ignoring the surprised and resentful stares from his family and their guests, Rico headed for the bar, turning his back on all of them. When Amber appeared to freshen his drink, he didn't look up. He didn't dare. She paused for a moment but moved on when he didn't speak.

  Rico sensed another at his side. He'd expected Cale or maybe Mia there to punch his lights out. A black Stetson settled on the bar at his elbow. Rueben Guedry he hadn’t planned on.

  "Sorry, I don't recall your name," the tall, lean ruler of the Memphis clan drawled.

  "No reason you should." When there was no flicker in the coal-black eyes, he volunteered, "Rico."

  Amber slipped over with top-shelf whiskey, pouring without asking Rueben's preference, remembering it from his last visit. He tipped his head in appreciation.

  "Here on your cousin's behalf?" Rico hadn’t thought Mia and Reuben’s relationship to be close, but family pride was a ferocious motivator.

  A deep, throaty chuckle. "Mia doesn't need my help. If she feels the insult warrants it, you'll know about it right soon."

  Rico made an assenting noise and turned back to his drink.

  "So, you and my new in-law don't get along."

  "You might say that."

  "You and me need to talk. Tomorrow morning. Not too early from the looks of you. Say eleven o'clock. I'm at the Ritz-Carlton. I’ll put in a reservation at the M Bistro."

  Rico glanced up at him, scowling. "What do we have to talk about?"

  "Show up on time and find out." He picked up his hat and nodded to Amber. "Thank you, ma'am." He laid down a big bill. “For the drink and the service.”

  * * * * *

  Distracted by the brooding figure at the bar sinking deeper and deeper into bourbon-fueled despair, Amber was surprised when Jacques tugged the ties of her apron loose.

  He answered her questioning look with a curt, “Go on. Get him outta here before he does something else even dumber. He’s got that look about him—that he won’t be satisfied until they’re all drawing each other’s blood.”

  Though her pulse jumped to obey, practicality weighed heavily. “I’ve already been paid for tonight. I can’t afford to give up the overtime. You know that.”

  “Consider it compensation for saving my bar from the two of them tangling.” He glanced between the sullen figure crouched over his drink to the glowering prince still simmering at his table. “That’s where this is gonna end if he sticks around. You’re doing me a favor. I already called in a replacement for you.” He gave her a wry smile. “Go on. You’re the only one he’ll listen to. If I have to ask him, he’ll be leaving horizontal.”

  * * * * *

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Cloudy eyes lifted, growing disoriented when he found Amber on his side of the bar.

  “Walk me home. I can call you a cab from there. Come on.” Amber gripped Rico’s elbow, giving him a motivating tug. “The fresh air will do you good.”

  Meeting with no protest from him, Amber directed him off his stool and out the back door as the mated couple exchanged another in a seemingly endless parade of explicit kisses. Amber should have felt guilty taking advantage of his pained confusion. Part of her, that mothering part, worried about him being alone. Another part hoped for an entirely different thing, to be there when he went for a rebound.

  Pathetic, right? She promised herself to feel suitably ashamed in the morning, preferably after he left her with all the memories needed to sustain an all-too-chaste life.

  Rico fell in step, his remarkably stable after what he’d tossed back pretending to be part of the celebration. They didn’t speak. What would they talk about? The weather? The woman he loved in the sanctioned bed of the man of her dreams, that man who wasn’t him?

  To put a finer point on his misery, a cold, biting rain began to fall. Always the regrettable gentleman where she was concerned, Rico shed his coat and tented it over her head as they ran the last two blocks to her tidy little shotgun house. By the time she fished out her keys, they were both drenched.

  Amber stepped inside, immediately turning on the welcoming glow of the kitchen’s overhead. Illuminating an image that burned from widened eyes to the pit of her belly. And below.

  Frederick Terriot stood on her doorstep, hair plastered to his skull, raindrops hanging from his obscenely long lashes. The rain turned his white dress shirt all but transparent as it clung in graphic definition to broad shoulders and a long, divinely sculpted torso. Her mouth went dry, probably from hanging open like a gawking teen-age girl, but another part of her came awake from a long hibernation.

  Rico Terriot was the stuff of dreams. Lately, all of hers.

  A cautious reluctance narrowed his golden eyes as she took his arm to coax him inside. Inside more than just her lonely home if she was very, very lucky.

  “I shouldn’t,” he began, wary now and worried.

  About her. About taking advantage of the situation. One she’d been trying to push on him like a front-end loader since the first day she’d seen his lovelorn features on the other side of her bar.

  “Don’t be silly,” she coaxed. “You’re drenched and more than a little drunk. Come in, dry off and get some coffee before the cab gets here.”

  “Evie—”

  “Is at the sitter’s until morning. I figured this would be a late night.” She didn’t confess she’d hoped it would be one she didn’t spend alone.

  Because of the friendship she used to artfully disguise a rather desperate seduction, Rico shrugged and stepped in from the cold.

  His size dwarfed her. His presence filled her tiny living area, the sound of his breathing inordinately loud, the scent of his body an aphrodisiac spiking straight to her loins. Until a strange sound distracted her. His teeth were chattering.

  Having spent more of her life as a caregiver than a lover, Amber’s maternal instincts kicked in.

  “You’re freezing.” Her fingers started in a practical hurry down the buttons of his nearly nonexistent shirt. “I’ll get you something to wrap up in while I toss this in the dryer. It’ll only take a minute or two.”

  “You don�
��t have to do that,” he protested.

  The backs of her fingers brushed bare skin. Heat sparked, quickening a brush fire through all those long dried and dead parts of her.

  His big hands gripped hers, perhaps with the intention of stopping her. At first. His thumbs stroked her palms, the gesture so unexpectedly sensual, Amber shivered all the way to her soggy work shoes. Taking a shaky breath, she forced her gaze up to see what moved in his, need or regret.

  Those golden eyes flamed with desire.

  She didn’t care for who. Not then. Not as, without hesitation, he bent down from that towering height to kiss her.

  His mouth . . . so full and soft, so urgently seeking. Whatever he looked for, she’d supply without question, opening to him, raising up on tiptoes to encircle his neck, to bury her fingers in the sleek cap of short hair. He tasted of every dream she’d ever secretly harbored, of love and rescue and safety. Of her dreams, not his. Tonight, it didn’t matter as his palms cupped her rear, lifting her up so her legs could wind around those lean, sexy hips as he carried her to her bedroom.

  Chapter 2

  Rico opened aching eyes to find himself staring into the lively bright blue gaze of a child. With a gasp, he jolted awake.

  A picture on an unfamiliar nightstand. The girl he recognized, but not the room. Not the bed where covers tangled about his naked form.

  Oh, holy hell! He’d gotten drunk and been pity-fucked by Amber James!

  Covering his face with his hands, he repressed a groan of horror. He peeked between his fingers, spotting his clothes on the foot of the bed, cleaned and neatly folded. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she’d simply let him crash and sleep off his misery. Hope began to rise until he inhaled. No mistaking the rich aroma of well-enjoyed sex lingering on every inch of him.

  Dammit! He ground the heels of his hands against his temples. What he done? He’d ruined the only friendship he had in this godforsaken city, the one good thing he’d come to depend upon in his sloppy, selfish world, and now had nowhere to go.

  Amber . . .

  She’d hate him. Or worse, she’d expect something from him that he couldn’t give. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted. The last thing she deserved after all she’d done for him and his family.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to go out of his way to so effortlessly screw everything up?

  The Prince of Fools. Colin had aptly named him. If there was a right way, a wrong way, and a stupid way, he went for stupid every time.

  Sneaking out the window to spare everyone the embarrassment was his first choice but probably the stupid thing rather than the noble one. Could the situation get any worse? He tried getting out of bed without making a sound. A loud creak betrayed him.

  “There are towels in the bathroom,” Amber called from another, hopefully far-removed place in the little house. “Aspirin’s in the cabinet.”

  Clothing clutched at crotch level, he peered out into the hall. No sign of a startled, scarred for life little girl or her mother. He ducked into the bathroom and locked the door, breathing heavily enough to fog the mirror hanging over the sink.

  Did he have the word “Bastard” tattooed on his forehead? He should have. He washed down a fistful of pain relievers and turned on the water. There was nothing but girly stuff in the standing, coffin-sized shower. Sniffing until he found the least offensive body wash, he vigorously scrubbed away the evidence of that despicable good time he couldn’t remember. Bad enough was knowing the deed was done. Worse would be thinking of the details every time he looked at mother and child.

  He screwed someone’s mom! A kid who would probably now do one of two things—hate him for being a Mom-banging creep or cling to him as daddy material. The first he admittedly, albeit reluctantly, was. The second, oh dear god no. Far from it!

  Once dried and dressed and suffering from a one-two hangover/guilt trip punch, Rico slipped out into the hall to face the music.

  What could he say? Was she expecting a good-morning kiss with all the hearts and flowers? They’d been intimate. The idea tortured . . . and subtly teased.

  Had it been good between them?

  As Rico took a deep breath, determined to see if there was anything he could salvage from the drunken disaster he’d forced upon her, a sliver of memory intruded. Of a clever little tongue licking around his ear . . . Okay, at least he knew she’d been a willing participant.

  He stepped into the tiny kitchen. To wonderful smells.

  “Morning. Grab a seat. I figured eggs and bacon might sit a little queasy, so I opted for steak and potatoes. Coffee?”

  “Sure,” he muttered.

  “Coming right up. You look like the cream and sugar type.”

  “How’d you know?” he asked, pulling out a chair at the two-seat table.

  “A good bartender can always read her guest.”

  Amber stood at the stove, her back to him. She’d freshly showered, dressed in jeans and a Saints sweatshirt, her hair up in the casual ponytail that bobbed youthfully with every turn of her head. She wore fuzzy slippers with cat faces.

  Not the seductress. Not the weepy wronged woman. He held his breath when she turned to bring him coffee. She smiled at him, the gesture friendly, nothing more, nothing less.

  “Thanks,” he managed, taking the mug from her. His gaze flashed about. “Where’s Evie?”

  “I had the sitter keep her for a while. No sense confusing her with things that aren’t an issue. We should keep them that way, don’t you think?”

  Her back was to him once again so she couldn’t have seen the shameful relief on his face. He pulled himself together to offer a neutral, “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do. How do you like your steak?”

  Just like that, she let him off the hook.

  They ate together, talking sparingly about the weather, Evie, anything that wasn’t the fact that they’d been naked in her bed. He’d just begun to think he’d dodged a bullet when she delivered it right between the eyes.

  “I’d rather you didn’t stop by for a while. Here, I mean. Of course, you can come to the club.”

  She was buttering her toast with steady hands, her attention on that task so Rico couldn’t see her expression.

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “I think it would be best, don’t you?” She looked up then, her stare direct but not unkind. “So, things don’t get confused.”

  He nodded with a bovine witlessness.

  Amber pushed back from the table, gathering up the empty dishes and taking them to the sink. “No need to rush with your coffee. I need to get dressed. I promised Jacques I’d come in early to clean up after last night.” She paused at that, and Rico realized things weren’t as okay as he’d hoped. Collateral damage. His fault. He vowed not to make it worse by acknowledging it.

  “I’d better get going then.”

  He stood and lingered awkwardly. He should thank her for breakfast. What about the rest?

  She saved him again by heading down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “Lock up, would you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  As he stepped out onto the puddled porch, Rico wondered if he was closing the door on all the good things he’d found with Amber James.

  * * * * *

  Hearing him leave, Amber released her suspended breath and got busy. Evie would be home soon, and she wanted nothing left that was out of the usual.

  She ripped the sheets off the bed, refusing to picture him in them, refusing to hold them to her nose to lose herself in his scent as she carried them to the stacked washer and dryer in the hall closet. She stuffed them in and added the bathroom towels. While they were tumbling like her emotions, she quickly did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen so there’d be nothing to remind her of their very civil breakfast-after.

  She’d given him an out and he’d taken it at a run. That said pretty much all there was to say.

  Except good-bye.

  * * * * *

  Nursing a mas
sive headache, Rico gave the name Guedry at the M Bistro and was led through the elegant restaurant with its impressive glass tray ceiling and kind of creepy-but-cool Blue Dog paintings. The Tennessean waited in exclusive V.I.P. comfort in one of the private Cheater’s Booths. The aroma of strong coffee made Rico’s eyes open past groggy slits as Rueben gestured opposite him.

  “Let’s order first then we can get to business.”

  Rico waved an acknowledging hand, the other busy ladling in sugar he cut with rich cream. He tried to focus on the high-end menu, picking the BBQ Shrimp Grits from the first section as something he could keep down, with Poblano peppers to kick him up a notch. As his host went all out with the Signature Grilled Pork Chop, black-eyed peas and braised cabbage, Rico sincerely hoped the cabbage was odorless lest he disgrace himself even further.

  He sipped the sweet, strong coffee and got to it. “What kind of business could we possibly have, Guedry? If it has something to do with my brother and your cousin, I’m not interested in their drama.”

  “Not with them directly, no.”

  Rico waited, brows lifted expectantly. Other than the night prior, the one he regretted with every miserable fiber of his being, he’d only met the sleek Memphis leader who ran his clan like a Fortune 500 business, once before, at Cale’s going away party where they hadn’t been introduced except by proximity. So why this cozy little meeting? Curiosity got the better of his hangover.

  “Then what else could we possibly have in common?”

  Rueben leaned back, pose casual, stare anything but. “What are you doing here in New Orleans, Mr. Terriot?”

  Supposing it was no secret, he said, “My brothers and I escorted our queen here to meet with our king, and we stayed on to protect him.”

  “So, with them heading back to Tahoe, why are you still here? Are you serving some purpose for your clan or just flashing around those rather tasteless earrings to get laid?”

  Rico blinked. “Excuse me?”