by Kristi Lea
***
The young man in the black trousers and fluorescent green restaurant t-shirt, with his short waiter's apron still tied around his waist, slammed his foot into the side of the metal dumpster and let loose with a long diatribe of insults and accusations.
Marquez Castillo, Marq to his friends, crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the litany to end. "Call my mother whatever you like, you little shit. But get off my property or I'm calling the cops."
"I thought you were some kind of bad-ass boss. Mister ex-con with your prison tattoos. You're nothing but a pussy. A spineless little pussy-man, hiding behind the police," sneered the waiter.
Marq felt the rage rising in him, stiffening his spine and forming a quaking knot in his gut. Part of him begged to plant a fist in the twenty-two year old kid's jaw. Back when Marq himself was twenty-two, that is exactly what he would have done. But he had learned. There were better ways to deal with hotheads like the one in front of him.
He lowered his voice to a soft purr, almost smiling as he spoke. "Look, Jose, the rules of the job are simple. Show up on time. Follow directions. No stealing. No drugs. You're zero for four. This is your last warning. Leave now or explain to the cops about the weed in your pocket and extra sixty bucks you skimmed from my register just now when you thought I wasn't looking. Consider it your severance. You have thirty seconds."
With one final kick at the dumpster, Jose turned and stalked off toward the end of the alley. Mark let out a pent-up breath and followed at a slow pace to make sure the guy really left. He rounded the corner onto the sidewalk that ran in front of his restaurant and scanned up and down the Boulevard. He spotted the bright green t-shirt half a block away, its wearer still visibly seething as he shoved past pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Damn. He should have made the kid take off the t-shirt first. Nothing like advertising your business on the back of a pissed-off, high-flying, violent troublemaker.
He was about to turn back inside, when he heard an unmistakably feminine howl of rage. His heart skipped a beat, and Marq took off at a jog.
He found the lady sprawled on her butt on the sidewalk, cradling one foot on her lap. She had obviously just come from the beach, with a bright-colored biking peeking out from under one of those itty-bitty dresses that passed for cover ups. Sprawled the way she was on the ground, it didn't cover much. Her legs were long and toned and tanned, and the top of her dress had slipped down to reveal a round breast barely contained in its skimpy triangle of fabric.
"Do you need a hand?"
A low growl of feminine outrage was his response.
"What happened?" He spotted a tote bag a few feet away, with odds and ends of the kind of junk women carried in their bags spilling onto the concrete.
"What does it look like happened. Some jackass just shoved me down."
Marq stuffed what he could see back in the bag and then turned back to the woman on the ground. She looked red in the face, her long brown hair clung to her sweaty temples. She met his gaze with a pair of brown eyes the color of roasted cacao nibs, and furious expression that promised doom and dismemberment to anyone nearby.
Shit. Jose hadn't just taken off with his cash, but also assaulted a customer while still wearing the restaurant uniform. Just what he needed, a lawsuit. He could feel the flush of anger and shame crawling up the back of his neck as he tried to gather every ounce of wit and charm he could muster to fix the situation.
Her eyes finally focused on his for what must have been the first time, and they flew wide. "Marquez Castillo de Flores."
He blinked at the use of his full name, and he stiffened instinctively like a naughty kid called out by his mother. He searched her face again, trying to place her.
"It is you, isn't it? It's me, Kelsie." She gave him a half-smile, and tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her eyes with the back of one arm.
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Marq felt like an idiot for not recognizing her. She was Kelsie Forrester, the baby sister of his best friend from high school. He had known her since she was about three years old. "Kelsie. Jesus. Let me help you up."
He gave her the bag and then held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. She shifted her weight to one leg. Before he could ask about her obviously injured foot, she flung her arms around his neck.
Tentatively, Marq set his arms on the backs of her shoulders. On somewhere safe. The Kelsie Forrester in his arms was no longer the chubby-cheeked, bright-eyed little girl of twelve that he had last seen well over a dozen years ago. She had grown taller, slimmer, womanly. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and his hands touched smooth, warm skin. She smelled of citrus and sunscreen, and his body reacted instinctively to the shape and scent of her.
…Coming 2016
About the Author
A voracious reader since before she can remember, Kristi has always been drawn to romance, science fiction, and fantasy, or, preferably all three at once. Now, when she isn’t reading her favorite books to herself or to her kids, she is writing her own stories. Kristi, her husband, and their two children live with a pair of cats rescued from the streets of suburban St. Louis.
Visit her online at www.KristiLea.com
Also by Kristi Lea
Affairs of the Heart
The Christmas Affair, Volume 1.5
The Vegas Affair, Volume 2 Coming 2016
Accomplice
Call the Rain
