Prince of Fools (House of Terriot Book 3)

by Nancy Gideon

  She scowled, as if he was making fun of her, then shrugged. “No time. No money,” she told him in an echo of her mother’s voice, turning back to her layers as Rico marveled at those in the twelve-year old.

  “Where would you go if you could?” he posed gently.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Her shoulders stiffened at his quiet laugh. He was quick to assure that he wasn’t making fun of her.

  “You sound like me. I grew up never seeing past the trees on our mountain. This is the first place I’ve ever been that my family didn’t own.”

  She turned to him, blue eyes wide with questions. “Is it fun? Being someplace new?”

  “Fun. Exciting. Lonely and kinda scary sometimes. Until you and your mom made me your friend. That’s kinda like being home again.” He brightened the soppy tug of that claim with a quick smile.

  “Would I like it? Where you live?”

  He thought of Colin’s sisters playing by the water, innocent fun interrupted by unexpected danger. Of his father’s fear-inducing roar. “It’s a lot like here.”

  She snorted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Part of him hoped it never would.

  * * * * *

  While increasingly tempting smells filled his apartment, Rico and Evangeline took to the couch and her choice of an after-school type movie filled with teenaged angst. Almost to the minute, sappy music started playing over the cast credits, the oven timer buzzed, and a knock at his door woke Rico from his pleasant snooze. Surprised by how quickly the time had passed, he went to let Amber in while Evie tended their meal.

  Large, slightly anxious eyes rose to his in question.

  “Nothing’s on fire,” he assured the worried mama, stepping aside to let her see for herself.

  Tension dropped from her shoulders as she took in the sight of her daughter deftly setting the table.

  “Hi, Mom. Just in time.”

  “Good. I’m starving. Nica’s covering me, but I’ve got to get back soon.”

  Amber stood in the luxurious palace of an apartment, feeling out of place in work clothes smelling of cleaning solution and booze. She glanced up at Rico for a good-conduct report and almost lost herself in looking at him.

  “How’s work, dear?”

  Her heart stumbled before she realized he was teasing. To come home to such a sight, her daughter scurrying happily about the kitchen, this tall, gorgeous male greeting her at the door to ask about her day . . . Just a fairytale, the kind that came with a harsh twist of consequence and lesson learned. Her tone crisp, she answered, “The usual.”

  “My personal chef has dinner ready for the table. We’ve been watching some puberty flick that has me worried my face will be breaking out.”

  Laughing, now firmly back in reality, she studied that face and pronounced, “No sign of it yet.” Noticing the beginnings of an artfully trimmed Vandyke shadowing his upper lip, trailing down on both sides of his mouth to encircle his chin, she rubbed the short bristle of red hair with her knuckle. “This is nice. When did you decide to grow it?”

  “You don’t decide to grow facial hair, woman. It does that on its own.” His teeth flashed wide and white. “I needed a change.”

  Maybe they both did. A change to something risky, exciting and rewarding all in one.

  * * * * *

  Rico dropped onto the sofa like a bag of RediMix. He groaned mightily and patted his flat belly, declaring, "I may explode, but I'm going to go happy. That was absolutely the best thing I've ever eaten."

  Evie blushed. "I make it all the time. It’s nothing special."

  "Yes, it is." He got the warm puppy, sincere look on his face that always reduced Amber to mush and apparently had the same effect on her daughter, as he vowed, "I've never had anyone cook for me before."

  "People cook for you all the time in those fancy places you must go to," Evie scoffed, frowning slightly at the thought he might be teasing her.

  "Sure. All the time, as a paying customer. But I've never had anyone in my own kitchen cooking something homemade for me, personally."

  "Well," the girl corrected, "you were kinda paying for it since I was working off a debt."

  He made a comical face. "Don't go spoiling it for me now!"

  Then he smiled, a surface gesture Amber saw through easily. Because unthinkingly Evie had spoiled it by making the gesture a duty rather than from heartfelt intention.

  Before Amber could subtly make amends, Evie saved the moment by crossing over to slip her arms around him for a quick hug, vowing, "Any time you want me to whip something up in that awesome kitchen, call me. I'm your girl."

  His eyes squeezed shut, but not before Amber caught a glimpse of the emotion brimming up in them. When they opened, he was all playful again.

  "I'll be calling so often you'll be sick of me . . . as long as you do the dishes."

  "Like it's hard to stick 'em in the dishwasher."

  "Then you won't mind doing that, will you?"

  She jumped up. "Anything's better than standing at the sink, like at our house." She shot her mother a sassy look and quickly got out of the reach of Amber’s intended swat.

  Smile lingering, Rico patted the cushion next to him. "If she enjoys it so much, let's take advantage of being waited on." As Amber sat, he mused, "You don't get that much, I take it. It's always you serving everyone else."

  "It pays the bills."

  Again, that tone of melancholy. "I know I'm just a spoiled rich guy who's had everything given to him his whole life, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate someone who does it just because they want to. Like that breakfast you made me. That was nice. You're both nice. I'm not used to that. People are usually after something when they do something for me."

  "Not all of them." Her hand touched his thigh. And stayed. “There are good people out there."

  "Name some."

  Before she could respond to that cynical challenge, Evie called out, "Mom, are you watching the time? We'd better get going."

  Instantly attentive, he protested, "So soon? Can't you stay a while, both of you?"

  She pressed his thigh. Good lord, he was firm. "I have to get back to work, and I need to pick up Evie's things first so we can get her over to the sitter's."

  "The sitter," the girl groaned. "Like I'm five-years old!"

  "She could hang out here with me."

  Both females stared at him.

  "Why not? I've got a big screen, tons of unhealthy snacks, a couch she can crash on."

  Amber knew it was all over the instant her daughter turned those huge, pleading eyes on her.

  "I won't let her order anything off QVC or watch Skin-a-Max. I'll hide the beer!"

  Two sets of big eyes. It was too much.

  "I can't be back for her until around three."

  "That's not past my bedtime." Rico grinned. Seeing her weaken, he went to his coat and took out an electronic key, providing it to her. "There. If we're both zoned out, you can let yourself in."

  "Well . . ."

  The pair exchanged a high five. What could she do but take the key with a caution to her daughter not to be a nuisance and reluctantly leave her child to enjoy the same company she desired.

  The minute the door closed, Evangeline had Rico in her cross hairs.

  "So, you and my mom."

  "What?" he yelped. "What do you mean me and your mom?"

  "What's the deal? Are you into each other?"

  He read something totally different in that question. "We're friends," he flung up as a shield to defend against his guilt.

  "Hmmmm." The girl eyed him suspiciously. "So, you like like each other."

  Was the kid asking if they were having sex? Was that something a guy even discussed with someone's pre-teenager? Rico didn't think so. "We're friends. Not boyfriend and girlfriend, if that's what you're asking."

  "Why not? Isn't she good enough for you?"

  "If anything, she's too good."

  Placated, she smiled a
nd nodded.

  "Okay. Interrogation over. What do you want to do?"

  Dishwasher humming busily, Evie plopped down on the sofa beside him and grabbed up the remote. "What have you got?"

  "Everything! You pick. You've done your penance, now you're my guest."

  She grinned. "How 'bout some soda? We never have any at home."

  "Right for the good stuff. Woman after my own heart. Coming right up."

  As he foraged in his refrigerator, Rico glanced over at the fair head topping the back of his couch. The funny crunch of protective emotion in his gut had been previously reserved for Colin's sisters, but he was okay sharing it with this little girl. He might not be daddy material, but he sure as hell could be a big brother to a kid just as hungry for attention as he was.

  "What's this?" he asked setting the drinks on the coffee table as ballerinas swirled across his big screen. "A chick flick?"

  "You said anything." Evie grinned and grabbed for her glass, staring as if fascinated by the uniform crescents of ice.

  Rico was about to weasel out of it when hip-hop music kicked in. He sat, head starting to bob. "What's it about?"

  "Rich girl arts student, hot poor guy from wrong side of the tracks.” At his noncommittal noise, she added, “There's dancing. Mom said you're something on the dance floor."

  A brow lifted. "She did?"

  "And I think she made some kind of growly noise."

  He grinned wide. "Yeah?" Cozying into the cushions, he put his feet up on the table. "This here rapper-wannabe white boy with his drawers hanging off his butt and the big ears, he got moves, does he?"

  "Duh, Magic Mike!"

  Rico shrugged, pretending to be clueless.

  She studied him. "You kinda look like him."

  "I don't have big ears!"

  "Yeah, you do. They're cute. And . . ." She tugged at his baggy pants.

  "What? They're comfortable, and my butt is always respectably covered."

  He winked and settled back to watch in companionable silence until Evangeline asked, “Could you teach me how to dance?”

  “If you’re talking those tippy toe moves, no. Or are you planning to go out clubbing?”

  She blushed, and that funny feeling was back in his chest.

  “No. But Mom’s boss is having a birthday party for his daughter. With families, boys and stuff and . . . and . . .”

  “Boys and stuff?” He beamed. “You got some boy you’re crushing on?” At her look of horror, he softened his tone. “I can teach you some steps that’ll blow his hair back. But you’ll owe me another dinner.”

  “Deal!”

  * * * * *

  Three-thirty. Amber inserted the key, fearing to make too much noise as she let herself in. She hadn’t meant to be so late, but a rowdy group had left a considerable mess to tend to before she could cash out and escape. The thought of stealing into the Terriot prince’s apartment quickened her breath, as if she’d run up six flights of stairs instead of stepping out of an elevator.

  The rooms lay silent, the only light from a low gas flame in the sleek ornamental fireplace. As she crossed the room, movements muffled in the cloud-like carpet, a shadowed head and unmistakable shoulders rose above the back of the couch. Rico rubbed at his eyes and checked his digital watch face.

  “Hey,” he called softly. “I must have dozed off.”

  “I know I’m late. I’m sorry. Where’s Evie?”

  “She tucked herself in hours ago.”

  “I’d better get her.”

  “Let her sleep.”

  He gestured for her to join him, and her conscience didn’t put up much of a fight. Dropping her purse and coat on one of the dining area chairs, she circled the couch and saw danger in the unopened bottle of Pinot Gris and two glasses. She arched a brow.

  “Thought you might like to unwind a bit and stay the night.” Before she could protest, he added, “Relax for once. I’ll take the couch, and you can bunk in with Evie and get a good night’s sleep. Why disturb her?”

  Waking her daughter didn’t disturb her. The wine and the company stirred up warning signals, but she decided, for once, to ignore them.

  “That sounds great. Thanks.”

  He poured while she eased out of her crepe-soled work shoes and took a seat beside him. She sipped and sighed, “Oh, this is good,” as she melted back into the embrace of buttery leather cushions in the corner of the sectional, eyes closing.

  For a long moment, she simply allowed herself to wind down, a luxury she never afforded herself.

  Her host remained quiet, refilling her glass. Finally, he asked, “Did your brother ever come back?”

  Tension squared her shoulders. “No. Haven’t heard a word. But then that’s not unusual. I didn’t have anything in the house worth taking.” When Rico said nothing, she added, “It’s complicated.”

  “What family isn’t?”

  “I don’t want mine to be. I don’t want Evie’s world to be filled with . . . things no little girl’s should be.”

  Instead of commenting or asking uncomfortable questions, he leaned down to cup her heels and turn her sideways to lift them onto his lap. Her sharp inhale of protest eased into a blissful moan as strong thumbs kneaded tired insteps through thick black tights. She finished her second glass, reservations drifting away as her eyelids lowered. Another refill. She didn’t protest. If his plan was to get her drunk and seduce her, he wouldn’t have to work too hard.

  “You worry too much,” he said at last.

  “I have to, Frederick. There are bad things out there I need to protect my daughter from.”

  “She’s a smart girl, a good kid.”

  “She’s my kid, and I won’t let her carry my burdens. I want her to have the things I dreamed of.”

  His hands moved up to her taut calves, continuing his liquefying massage. “What things does she need that she doesn’t already have? Money? Fancy clothes? I had those, and I had nothing. She has a place she’s happy to come home to, a school she likes, a mom she thinks of as her hero.”

  Misty eyes opened to regard him. “That’s how she thinks of me?” Her words trembled.

  “You’re surprised? Look at everything you do to protect and provide for her without taking a damned thing for yourself. You are the bravest, most admirable female I know.”

  Amber emptied her glass in a gulp, barely able to swallow through the lump in her throat. “That’s what you think of me?”

  “Hell, yes. You take everyone’s problems on your shoulders and share none of your own. You let strangers into your house without caring what kind of trouble comes in with them.”

  She chuckled, a wry sound. “Admirable? I think that makes me sound rather foolish.”

  “No, that makes you special. To me, you are. If that matters.”

  Did it matter? Did she matter to him beyond just the friend on the other side of the bar who listened to his troubles? Did she matter beyond becoming a substitute for the family he was estranged from, the mother he never had, and the lover he’d lost? Did he really see her as more than just convenient confessor and companion? Perhaps this wasn’t the time to wonder when her body was weary, her will malleable.

  Flickering light from the fireplace stirred a slow burn of intensity in his unblinking stare, quickening a like heat within her. Oh, how she wanted him, even if just for this night, this moment. Maybe it was the wine curling warm in her belly, moving through her system in an encouraging tide of need. Or just impatience with their shared lonely state. No matter. His next words, spoken low and tempting, pushed through her levee of restraint.

  “And how do you think of me, if you think of me?” His hands stilled on her legs, the fire in his eyes rivaling the artificial gas flame.

  “I see you at my door, carrying your injured brother, filled with purpose and strength.” Her eyes closed, languidly, conjuring the images behind her lids. “I see you at the bar, tearing through that pack of angry brawlers, protecting him against greater numbers w
ithout hesitation. That was . . .” She ended on a gusty sigh. The tip of her tongue slicked her lips. His grip tightened on her calves as her voice dropped an octave. “I see you standing under my porch light, wet, lost, so hot and irresistible.”

  She broke off, panting lightly.

  His gruff words insisted, “And then?”

  “I think of your kiss, of your mouth on mine.”

  Trembling fingers circled parted lips, her tongue laving over and around them, her mouth sucking them inside as if tasting him. The scent of his arousal burned when she inhaled.

  “I think of your hands on me, so strong and urgent.”

  Hers stroked down the taut curve of her throat to linger over the front of the snug tee shirt, her back arching into them in the remembered ecstasy.

  “And then?” he prompted with a growl.

  “I think of watching you take off your clothes, your body so unbelievably hard and beautiful in the shadows.” A quick gulping breath before she could continue. “Every time I see you, I think of that. Think of the things we did together, of how you felt inside me.”

  “Show me.”

  Still in the thrall of the private pleasures quivering through her body, her eyes closed, Amber let the moment carry her beyond anything she’d ever dared except when alone with her unmet passions.

  She reached under her short skirt, hand slipping beneath her tights to where the fire he’d kindled the first time he smiled at her across the bar burned fierce and unrequited. Dipping into that lava-hot center of need.

  Rico drew a harsh breath. “Can I help you finish that thought?”

  Her eyes opened, fixing on his. “Yes. Please.”

  He twisted on the couch, bringing one knee up on the cushions as he tightened his grip on her legs, jerking her toward him so her knees rode his hips. The abrupt movement dropped her onto her back with free arm flailing, the much abused wine glass tumbling to the carpet as he covered her other hand with only the stretch of fabric between them, encouraging and quickening the plunging motion. Ankles locking behind his back, Amber rocked with the cresting waves carrying her wildly toward release.

  And then the bathroom light clicked on.

  Chapter 7

  Amber’s sudden shove nearly toppled Rico to floor as she scooched away, frantically righting her clothing. Before he could say anything, she leapt up and slid into her shoes. Circling the couch without looking his way, grabbing up her coat and purse, she called in a remarkably steady voice, “Baby, come on. Get ready. We need to get home.”