Rush (Hector & Millie) (Seaside Valleria #1)

by Marianne Knightly

  Delivered food meant paying for delivered food, which meant she’d have to pay for it. She could maybe manage her portion, but not both of theirs. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You’re not paying.” He flopped down on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and sighed.

  “I should—”

  “—take it easy for once in your life? I agree.”

  She shifted her body towards his. “Hector, I—”

  “Relax, baby, yeah?”

  She opened her mouth to argue again when she caught his hand massaging his thigh.

  Oh. Maybe his legs were hurting. She wasn’t sure what to do for him.

  “Are you okay?”

  His head swiveled to hers, another amused expression on his face. “You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  “Does that mean you’re fine?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Your leg doesn’t hurt?”

  His hand paused, and his eyes flitted down to the leg in question. He shifted in his seat. “It’s fine.”

  “It hurts.”

  He shrugged. “It usually does at the end of a long day.”

  “Do you need ice? Or heat? I have a heating pad.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “But—”

  “It’s. Fine.”

  She shrunk back and muttered. “Sorry.”

  He sighed and lifted his legs from the table, setting them with an unexpected soft step on the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  They’d both had a long day. She could accept his apology if he accepted hers. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, either. I guess that means we’re even.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah. I guess we’re even.”

  She held out her hand. “Shake on it? All forgiven?”

  “Yeah. All forgiven.” He took her hand. He shook it twice, then brought it to his lips and kissed it.

  Her breath caught. For some reason, this simple kiss was almost as exciting as the one and only kiss he’d given her a few weeks ago.

  Okay. Maybe, after checking a clock nearby, that kiss was exactly three weeks, six days, eleven hours, seventeen minutes, and an indeterminate number of seconds ago.

  But she wasn’t counting.

  Not. At. All.

  If she’d let him come by or met up with him since then, maybe she would have gotten another kiss, but she’d evaded meeting him.

  When a knock came at the newly-replaced door, she jumped up and back, the memory of another knock earlier that day still too fresh.

  A muffled voice called from beyond her new door. “Delivery!”

  She sagged in relief. Logically, she knew Piers couldn’t be there, since he was in jail again, but that didn’t mean she was logical right now.

  “I got it.” Hector stood, a hand going to her chin. “I’ll get it.”

  She blinked. “You should rest. I can get it.”

  “I’ll—”

  “I need to get it.”

  He watched her, waiting for her to continue.

  “I can’t be afraid of doors for the rest of my life, or people knocking on them. I’ll get it.”

  His thumb brushed over her chin once, twice. “Okay, baby.”

  She nodded, and his fingers fell away.

  She stood and slowly made her way towards the door. She was just a few steps away when she heard him following her.

  She turned, frowning. “I thought I was getting the door.”

  “You are. But I’m still paying for dinner.”

  “Hector!”

  Even if he was annoying, she had to admit that it was nice to have someone helping her, even if it was just buying soup for dinner.

  Chapter Five

  Eight weeks later…

  * * *

  Finally, it was here.

  Opening day of the Seashell.

  Hector was nervous, energized, amped up. The last time he’d felt this terrified yet excited had been before a mission.

  Today had to work and go well. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if it didn’t.

  The pub was almost done. The only thing left was a few finishing touches in his office and it would be set. His apartment over the bar was another problem entirely and would take significantly more time to complete. He wasn’t going to worry about that right then.

  He walked from his office down the pub’s hall, past the refurbed restrooms and updated kitchen. The small hitch in his step reminded him he needed to see his prosthetist again. It always took so fucking long to get a new leg made. He’d been waiting months for his new ones. Still, at least the army was still covering the costs of it. Until the national health system was fully activated, everyone had to rely on insurance or pay out-of-pocket for it, neither of which was cheap. One leg alone could cost twenty grand. If not for the army’s insurance, he’d have to pay forty grand each time he needed a new set. Since he’d always need new sets—a new pair every few years, as his body changed—that could have bankrupted him.

  He heard his new chef, Francine—Frannie—in the kitchen, the seductive scents of dinner just starting to mingle in the air. He’d kept on one of the previous kitchen staff, but the other had decided not to come back. Frannie was a little nutty, but her food was damn good, and she knew it.

  He walked into the main part of the pub, where nearly every surface was gleaming. There were a few booths near him at the front of the pub, ending at the vestibule. The bar ran along the back the pub, curving around where it gave way to the largest section of tables and the majority of the seating. There were new tables, floor, booths, and a refinished bar. New stools, lights, and a vestibule. New staff, too—more waitresses and a better distribution of bartenders. Beth had stayed on and brought her twin sister, Liz, onboard. They were nutty, too, but worked hard. He’d only kept on one original bartender, Daley, and hired a couple new. Hector planned to work behind the bar, too.

  And, of course, there was Amelia.

  He paused and leaned against the bar, watching her arrange and rearrange and re-rearrange the napkins, menu, and condiments on each table. She’d worked so hard the last few weeks alongside the rest of the staff, helping him as they rushed to get everything ready.

  He needed a couple of assistant managers and knew she had the experience for the job but, if he gave it to her, then she could be on different shifts than him. That he didn’t like. He’d promised her, though, that he’d be fair where her job was concerned. He was just now realizing how hard that might be.

  The biggest challenge with her was that she was just so damn alluring, and she never realized it. The way her hips would sway when she walked. The way she’d adjust the sleeves on her baggy sweater a hundred times, but never take it off. The way she’d absently push her glasses up every few minutes it seemed, sometimes by just wiggling her nose, which was really fucking cute.

  He knew the curves under that sweater. She still held back emotionally from him, but he never gave up. He stayed steady in her life, calling her every morning if they weren’t working together. He dropped by on the days they didn’t see each other, and they’d sit in her apartment and watch television or a movie. He always kissed her before he left her. They were soft, lazy kisses that still made his blood heat and his cock stand at attention, but he’d give her the time she needed. She deserved it.

  That didn’t mean he didn’t brush his hands over those curves every time he had a chance to get close to her.

  One thing he hadn’t yet touched was her hair, which was up again in that annoying bun. A week ago, he’d realized he’d never seen it down in anything but a braid, and now dirty thoughts ransacked his brain whenever he saw it. How long was it? How curly? Would his fingers get tangled in it? Could he fist it in his hands while he maneuvered her mouth how he wanted it, wherever he wanted it? How soft would it feel against his legs if she went down on him?


  Shit.

  He adjusted his belt and shifted his body to face the bar until he calmed down.

  Of course, she picked that moment to approach him. She kept a bar stool between them, but it may as well have been a mile.

  “Should we open? It looks like some people are waiting outside.”

  She was wearing another set of her earrings, dark purple in a spiral shell shape. The logo for the Seashell, a Vallerian purple and white scallop shell, was etched onto the half apron tied around her waist.

  She tensed as he lifted a hand and gently rubbed a thumb over the dangling jewelry at her earlobe.

  “Did you wear these for me?”

  “No.”

  He stopped looking at her earring—or, really, stopped looking at the earlobe it was attached to, which he wanted to nibble—and caught her gaze. “No?”

  She shook her head and his hand fell free.

  “They look kind of like our logo.”

  “Your logo is a different kind of shell.”

  He leaned towards her, his arm sliding down the bar, his body arching slightly over the stool between them. “It’s our bar, Amelia.”

  Her eyes went a little hazy. “Okay.”

  He grinned. Whenever he locked eyes and leaned close, she was more likely to agree with him. He didn’t use that knowledge often, only when he needed to make a point.

  They might still be a ‘you’ and ‘me’, but they were also an ‘our’. She needed to get that through her thick head.

  “Open the door, baby.”

  She blinked and nodded, then hustled to the front door.

  “Doors are opening,” he called out loudly enough for everyone, even Frannie in the kitchen, to hear. Everyone paused, then nervous energy filled the air as they fixed aprons, rolled shoulders, and wiped down furniture that was already spotless.

  He gave the place one last look, took a deep breath, and smiled wide as his first customers came in the door: Low, his fiancée, and their little girl.

  “Low, man, wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it.” They did a bro-hug, shaking hands, then pulling each other in for a quick embrace.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

  “Miss Brionne.”

  She waved away his formality and leaned in for a cheek kiss. “You know better than that, Hector. Call me Cecilia.”

  “How about I just start calling you ‘Your Highness’?”

  Liliana, who was holding Low’s hand, piped up. “I’m a ‘highness’!”

  He kneeled; it was awkward with his legs but manageable. “You are? I thought you were a princess.”

  Liliana—who was a replica of Low in little girl form—nodded with wide eyes. “I am a princess! But you hafta to call me ‘highness’ or ‘princess’ or ‘miss’ or, or, or…I can’t remember, but Papa will know.”

  Cecilia brushed Liliana’s head. “She’s having ‘princess’ classes with her Auntie Carolina.”

  Low kneeled, too. “Honey, people only call you ‘highness’ in formal settings. This isn’t a formal setting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s how it works.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a rule.”

  “Why, Papa?”

  Low ran a hand over his face. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

  Liliana shrugged, apparently fine with that answer. “Okay. Can I have some juice?”

  Cecilia tugged on her hand. “Of course. Daddy usually sits over there—why don’t you go save our seat?”

  She ran off screaming ‘Daddy’s seat!’ with Cecilia following soon after.

  He and Low rose to standing. Low watched them for a few moments, then gave the pub a keen look. “Pub’s looking sharp. You did it.”

  “We did it.”

  Low grinned. “Okay. You did all the hard work, and my money paid for most of it. That better?”

  He clapped a hand on Low’s shoulder. “That’s not what I mean. We did it, man.”

  A heavy silence fell around them. The noise of the filling pub, the whispers and gazes at him and the prince—none of that registered. It was only them, remembering a moment years ago that had shaped both of their destinies. A mission that had gone horribly wrong and had changed their lives forever.

  Fuck, yeah, they’d done it. They’d never move past it. Something that traumatic, they’d never forget it. They could only learn to live with it, and that was something they’d both done. Low was better at it—or had done it longer—and Hector was now catching up. It would take some time yet, but he’d get there. Hell, yeah, he would.

  Low squeezed Hector’s shoulder in return. “Yeah, man. We did it.”

  After another few moments, they let go.

  Hector turned and blinked at the sight of a half-filled pub. “I guess our marketing efforts worked better than I thought they would.”

  Low nodded his head at the booth where Cecilia and Liliana sat. “I think Lily had something to do with it. She contacted a lot of the guidebooks and tourist sites, let them know how much I was looking forward to coming here on a regular basis.”

  That shocked the shit out of him. “She told them you’re an owner?”

  Low shook his head. “No, man. Just that I love the place. She’s got contacts everywhere. She’s been accumulating them since she first started as an event planner years ago.”

  Low frowned and Hector knew why. After Low and Cecilia initially separated, working as an event planner was the first job she’d found. She was pregnant with Liliana at the time, though Low never knew about Liliana, not until several months ago.

  That missed time…it was something Low would never get back. Hector knew all about that. He hadn’t seen his family in years—not by his choice or theirs—and had pretty much given up hope of it now. He didn’t even know where they were at this point.

  Amelia walked up to them and curtsied to Low.

  Low’s frown faded into a smile. “Don’t worry about that, all right? And no need to do it to Liliana, either. She’ll just get a big head if people start curtsying to her all the time.”

  Amelia nodded, her purple earrings shaking with the movement. Hector’s eyes drifted down to her throat. He vaguely wondered if he could trick her into going to his office for a quick kiss.

  He really wanted to kiss that throat. Immediately.

  Amelia walked away and towards Low’s table. Hector blinked, realizing he’d missed the rest of their conversation.

  Low murmured next to him, his eyes on Amelia as she greeted his family. “Still gonna give me that bullshit about how you two won’t work out?”

  Hector’s jaw clenched, then he forced it to relax. “It might not work out, Low, but I’m trying.”

  “Good.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’s trying, though.”

  “She turned you down?”

  Hector suddenly felt very irritated. “Not exactly.”

  Low chuckled. “She turned you down.”

  “We’re taking things…slow. That’s all.”

  “Right.”

  “Look, if she really wasn’t interested in me, she wouldn’t answer my phone calls or open the door when I came by to see her. Right?”

  “She does that?”

  “Every time. If she can’t pick up when I call, she calls me back later that day. She’s skittish, though. I think there’s something more than just her asshole brother in her past, and it takes time to work through shit like that.”

  Low’s brows furrowed, his gaze considering on Amelia. “Yeah, it does. She’s good for you, though.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s almost like she calms you. I can’t really say, but you seem more peaceful. All the craziness with the pub renno, and you kept your shit. You didn’t lose your cool once.”

  “That’s probably the therapy, man.”

  Low shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe her calming influence also plays a part.”

  He wasn’t sure about that. Around Amelia, he had an almost constan
t semi-hard cock, and that was not what he’d call peaceful. However, maybe he could see Low’s point. “Something to think about.”

  Low gave him a cocky grin. “I’m right. I’m always right.”

  Just as Hector was about to respond with a smartass remark, a crash came through a front window and a brick followed a split second later.

  It was instinct.

  He pushed Low to the ground, covering Low’s body with his own as a sharp pain sliced through his leg.

  Hector’s gaze flipped up to see Amelia doing her best to protect Cecilia and Liliana.

  The vestibule door shut barely a second after the crash, and he caught a glimpse of one of Low’s protection agents running by the windows.

  He hoped they caught the son of a bitch who did it.

  After a few moments, he tried to stand but winced instead and rolled off Low to the side. “Son of a goddamn bitch.”

  Low leaned over him. “Your leg?”

  His jaw was tight, as if he could hold in the pain if he kept his mouth shut, so he just nodded.

  “Let me check on my girls and I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Amelia,” he ground out.

  “I’ll check on her.”

  He nodded and tried to focus on anything but the sharp stab of pain in his leg. His customers and staff seemed shaken but all right, and nothing was broken but the one window.

  Well, and him. He was broken again, or his prosthetic may be.

  The windows in the pub were opaque, so the giant hole in one of them sent the late-afternoon summer sun streaming into the pub. The smashed window sat over a booth that was, thankfully, empty. He and Low—and Low’s family with Amelia a couple booths away—had been the closest to it.

  Goddamn, motherfucking shit. Someone tried to sabotage their opening day.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  How was he going to make this place a success? Who’d want to come here now, after it was attacked on the first day of business?

  Low appeared back at his side and kneeled beside him. “The girls are good. So’s Amelia. Put your arm around my shoulder.”

  Thank Christ Low understood he didn’t want to be carried. The last time Low had carried him, both his real legs had been shot to shit and there hadn’t been another choice but to carry him.