Shaken: An Interracial Second Chance Romance (L.A. Nights Book 3)

by Sylvie Fox

  Toward the end, holiday dinners were…if not pleasant…then bearable. Everyone acted predictably, and she kept quiet. But two new faces–and rich ones at that–was more than she could take, along with the worry about her own family and her tenuous relationship with Cam at the forefront of her thoughts.

  Maddie tugged at her hand as they got closer to the manicured desert gardens.

  “Cactus!” The girl reached out her hand toward a sprig of red erupting from a plant.

  “I see the plants.” Yesenia squatted like Sophie had, grabbing hold of the girl’s arm. “You have to be careful. These plants can sting you.”

  “What?”

  Yesenia cursed her accent. “They can poke, hurt you.”

  “I want to walk through them,” Maddie said, shaking off her loose hold. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  Yesenia let her go. How much damage could a small girl do?

  “Which one is your mother?” A woman Cam’s mother’s age clutched at onyx beads around her neck with one hand and practically dragged an unhappy Maddie along in the other.

  He looked at Sophie’s sister’s little girl. Her face was tear-streaked. Where was Jessie? His head whipped around. Had his wife been injured? Worse? There she was, lingering a couple of steps behind the indignant woman, shaking in her straw and cotton sandals.

  Maddie pointed toward Selena. Seeing her upset daughter, Sophie’s sister was out of her chair in an instant. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “I fell–”

  The bead clutching woman cut the child off. “I’m sorry to say your nanny is doing a terrible job.” The woman pointed an accusatory finger at Jessie. “She let this girl jump into a cactus patch. The child could have lost an eye, permanently scarred her face.”

  Selena leaned down toward the child. “Honey,” she murmured and smoothed the damp hair from the girl’s face. “Tell Momma what happened.”

  “I didn’t hurt myself.”

  Selena raised an eyebrow.

  “I jumped off the bench.”

  “What did I say about jumping from high places?”

  Maddie’s lip poked out in mutinous preschooler defiance. “You said benches were for sitting, not for jumping. It was dangerous. But I was careful,” she said, her pronunciation of the words a clear imitation of her mother’s warning.

  Cameron moved between the family and the woman. “It’s all under control,” he said, dismissing her. “Thanks.”

  “But isn’t she going to be reprimanded?” He looked down at a woman whose opinion was probably rarely questioned. He was supremely glad he wasn’t in the midst of an investigation. Witnesses like this always thought they knew best, though they’d never done a lick of police work. Most officers deferred, taking the easy path. He’d never done that.

  “Why?” he asked point blank.

  “Because–”

  Cam didn’t let her finish. There was no point. “The child defied her mother, and she’ll be dealt with,” he said with finality, ready to turn his back.

  “What about her?” The woman pointed toward Jessie.

  “What about her?” Cameron pushed up his sunglasses, and crossed his arms. It worked like it always had. He’d learned long ago at the academy that the appearance of authority was nearly as important as having a gun.

  “She–”

  He held out his hand. Jessie linked her hand with his. Good girl. “She’s my wife.”

  The woman’s lips pursed into a maroon lipstick O.

  Everyone in Sophie’s booth and the surrounding areas had quieted, watching the confrontation unfold. “But–” The woman’s voice was a loud, protesting shriek in the near silence.

  “There are no buts, here. Just my wife and family. I’d ask that you leave us, not spoil our day more than you already have.”

  There were nods of assent from others at the park who went back to looking at art. Defeated, the woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, a strong imitation of the koi in the nearby pond. Cam continued to give her the hard stare. Dissatisfied, she finally stalked off.

  “Sorry about that,” Selena said into the awkward silence. “Maddie is a little daredevil in pink shoes.” She smoothed the hair of the girl in her lap. Maddie looked as docile as a kitten at the moment. “One minute she’s like this. The next minute, I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  Sophie spoke next. “I’m not sure what to say. I hope she didn’t hurt your feelings. I hate it when things like that happen. Just when I think L.A. is so liberal, I get slapped in the–”

  “It’s okay,” Jessie said. Her voice was calm, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows, and the tight lips said anything but to Cam.

  Ryan came back, this time with coffee. Observing what must have looked like an awkward silence, he spoke. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing, bro. We gotta shove off,” Cam said.

  “Good luck with your show,” Jessie said to Sophie. “I hope you sell a lot.”

  “Thanks. I’m so sorry. I wish–”

  Jessie shook her head, cutting the woman off. Then Ryan, Selena and Sophie turned to a well-heeled group that came to admire the paintings.

  Their walk from the fair to the car was silent. Jessie leaned against the car, making no attempt to get in. “You stood up for me.”

  Those five words hurt like a punch in the gut. He wanted to say that he’d stood up for her before, be he hadn’t always. He’d let her fend for herself with Reina, and Dolores; when Bridget had pointed her accusatory finger, and when Ryan had shaken his head.

  “I’ve let you down too many times.”

  His ego wanted her fervent denial. But he got the honesty he deserved in the chin that lowered to her chest.

  He stopped fiddling with the keys in his pocket, and came face to face with his wife. “Lo siento,” he pushed through his lips. The foreign words tasted right on his tongue. The awkwardness he sometimes felt in Spanish wasn’t there because he was saying what he needed to say.

  “It wasn’t your fault, that woman–”

  “That’s not what I’m sorry for,” he said. The words he needed to say stuck in his throat for a long moment. He swallowed. “I’ll never let you down again. I will always be by your side, on your team, in your corner. Whatever you need.”

  He watched her face transform from worry and embarrassment to something he wanted to think was admiration, if not love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maybe it would have been best to let Jessie have time to take in all the changes in her life. But he couldn’t stay away. Now that his wife was back in his life, he wanted to make the change permanent. Extracting a blue sweater from his small closet, he pulled it over his undershirt.

  Ryan had said he should wear blue, so he’d gotten a bunch of blue things and stashed them in his closet. Something about bringing out his eyes. Plugging his ears and singing “la, la, la” had made it difficult to hear everything his brother had said. But he thought dressing better out of respect for Jessie was the gist of it.

  “Come to brunch,” Cam said as soon as Jessie opened the door to her apartment. Her squint said she was surprised to see him. The small slight pricked him like a doctor’s booster shot. But he shrugged it off. Jessie’s state of undress helped him a whole lot with forgetting the pain.

  If her routine was anything like it had been when they’d been together, the short robe meant she’d just come out of the shower. He stepped closer than propriety allowed into a common vestibule. Took a deep breath. Yep, he’d guessed right. She smelled like the lemon verbena cream he’d helped her smooth on a time or ten. Damned lotion brought back a bunch of memories of what had happed after her showers. And the two of them needing another when they were done. He took another step forward. They needed to move this party back through her door into the apartment.

  “Let’s skip brunch,” he said, pushing the door closed with the sole of his shoe. Starting at the back of her neck, he smoothed his way down the satin lapels.

  “Was it only
us?”

  That halted his movements. “I invited my mom. I mentioned it when I dropped you off.”

  “Bridget will eat me alive if we’re late,” she said, brushing his hands away and pulling the robe a little tighter. Sighing, he stepped back.

  “Let’s go then.” He’d come here to take her out, keep her busy. Without her mom cooking and her sister sulking in that now empty house, he knew she’d be at loose ends. Cam broke eye contact and his mind went from honorable to not in the second it took to take her in again. As he’d silently hoped, he could see her nipple poking against the silky smooth fabric. Suddenly he didn’t give a damn about food or family, his or hers.

  “Can I eat you instead?” Cam said. His thoughts about why he was here and where they needed to go got muddled as the blood rushed from his brain, downward. She turned on her heel and strode to her kitchen sink. He watched her as she lazily turned on the tap, running the sponge under the water. Seconds later, she was wiping at the already spotless counter when he put his hands on her. This was one of those times he wished he were better with words. He wanted to tell her that he loved the feel of the silky fabric over her shoulders. That she shivered with want for him while she feigned reserve.

  Cam knew a mixed message when he saw one. He pressed his advantage. In a second, he put his lips on her neck, slipped a hand under robe cupping the cheek of her sweet little ass. Something between a sigh and moan escaped her and she pushed him away. Jessie wrapped her arms around her body protectively, squeezing her thighs closed.

  To him it looked like she was turned on. But the clued in part of his brain could see the signs of her internal battle. Her inner censor was winning. “Cameron Owen Becker. Would you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

  “No. But I want to lick you with it, suck you with it.”

  “Cam–”

  “I’m giving you a choice,” he said, holding her face, meeting her eyes with his. Hoping against hope she’d pick him over his mother.

  She looked wary. “Between what and what?”

  “I already told you,” he said. Ah, damn. She turned his insides to mush. All that tawny skin. Those straight black brows above her expressive brown eyes. Her lids closed, sweeping eyelashes over high cheekbones. He didn’t want her to make a choice.

  When her full lips pursed as if to speak, he plucked the sponge from her, tossing it blindly. He pushed her up against the counter and kissed her, hard. Boldly, Cam inserted his leg between her thighs. It took everything he had to keep his hands above her waist. Then she squeezed her thighs in a vice grip around his leg. With that squeeze, all bets were off.

  He’d been ready for food until she opened for him. Leaning in, he stroked her tongue with his. Used to taking command, he nearly came when she nipped his lower lip, then soothed it with her tongue. Her hands gripped at his butt, then moved–first toying with his belt, then cupping his erection through the fabric of his pants. She found the tip, and pushed her thumb against the ridge.

  He pulled back, leaving a half inch between them. “Jesus, Jessie. What in the hell are you doing?”

  “What you asked.” His mind went blank. What in the hell had he asked? To taste her? To make love to her with his mouth. “For me to be more aggressive.”

  Shit. That. She’d gone from school girl to siren in the blink of an eye. And damned if it wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.

  Cam didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d pushed her up against the counter, but this wasn’t it.

  “What’s wrong?” Jessie said. How long had he been standing there?

  “Nothing.”

  Jessie pulled at the tie to her robe, but Cam grabbed the ties she would have spread open. He’d need more than ten minutes to delve into this side of Jessie. He liked the give and take. He was figuring out how he was going to reach his Luddite of a mother who didn’t have a cell, when there was a hitch in her breath.

  “We can’t do this,” she said in direct contradiction to the breath that panted the words against his ear.

  “Why?” He really wanted to know. Because he’d already undressed her in his mind. Images of hard brown nipples straining toward him, breasts bouncing, the curve of her hips and belly as they ground against his body, came together in one gorgeous montage in his head. His only hang up was logistics.

  “It’s not right that we do this, keep doing this if we don’t have a future together.”

  “You could fix that,” he proposed, sliding a hand under the robe, catching a nipple with his thumb. Unless she did something to stop this, he wouldn’t–couldn’t. To hell with being on time. The feel of her flesh, hard against soft, made the blood leave his brain in a whoosh. A zipper rubbing against his flesh let him know exactly where the blood had gone.

  Jessie did what he couldn’t. She pulled away. “Let’s go eat with your mother.”

  Oh, hell. Brunch it was.

  Ten minutes later, Jessie came down the stairs dressed like a good Catholic school girl in her Sunday best. The blue, white, and yellow striped dress covered her from collar bone to knees. Every one of her dark brown hairs was smoothed back into a conservative ponytail. Despite the wrapping, he still wanted to abandon brunch for what was underneath.

  Damned separation. Why had he ever agreed to it? Some time for them both to lick their wounds. He’d never thought it would last more than a few months. As those months stretched into years, it got harder and harder to think of a way to bridge the gap that had grown between them. Their careers, their families seemed like two of the worst reasons to have abandoned their marriage. But hindsight was twenty-twenty.

  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her from the apartment before he ended up using all the tools in his arsenal to change her mind. Breath calm, thoughts in check, Cam drove over to the restaurant on Third Street.

  Jessie laughed. A deep and genuine belly laugh filled the car when she glanced through the window at the one word restaurant name, Toast. “Bridget hasn’t changed?”

  His mother was infamous for eating dry, inexpensive toast during regular Sunday brunches with her sons. Didn’t want to put them out or strain their wallets, she claimed. “I thought this restaurant would suit,” he said.

  Thanks to Jessie’s restraint, they were early enough to avoid the long line of hipsters that usually clogged the sidewalk outside the café. Once at their table, he watched Jessie down her third mug of coffee in as many minutes. She was about to flag the busboy for a refill, when he grabbed her hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m thirsty,” she said. His wife didn’t look parched, but irritable from all the caffeine rushing to her head.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said. Rebuilding the mess they’d made of their marriage was a painstaking process. It started with winning back her trust in the bedroom and out. Then, showing he would bend over backwards to make it work this time. His family was the next hurdle. Ryan was a piece of cake compared to his mother. He wanted to set the tone that reconnecting his ex with his mother was a bridge to cross, not a hurdle to jump, or a mountain to climb.

  “Gee, really. Last time I checked, your mother hated me.”

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “I’m not your biggest fan, dear,” Bridget said before she plopped into a chair. He’d been so focused on Jessie that he hadn’t seen his mother or that comment coming. Cam flagged down the waiter, for himself this time. After that, he was going to need something to get through this.

  Despite that red-eye, a shot of espresso in regular coffee, Yesenia felt incredibly tired, downright bone weary, in fact. For short glimpses of time in the last weeks, especially after his confrontation with that woman in Beverly Hills, she could see a future with Cameron in a starring role. But sitting here next to Bridget, his sharp-tongued mother, reconciliation seemed far, far away.

  “You planning to take my son for another walk down the aisle?” Bridget asked, while Cameron ordered a double espresso.

  Sitting back,
Yesenia crossed one leg over the other, deliberately taking her time with the answer. She wasn’t the shrinking violet she’d been all those years ago. She met her mother-in-law’s snark with sarcasm. “I don’t see why it would be a good idea,” she retorted. “Since we met up again, I got stuck on an elevator, my sister got arrested, and my family moved back to Mexico.” She remembered that Mrs. Becker had been a sports nut. “I’m not batting a thousand. Maybe I’d be better without Cam in my life.”

  Yesenia didn’t dare look at Cam. She kept her eyes squarely trained on his mother. Bridget’s mouth was the very definition of backtracking. “He does need to settle down,” Bridget said. “I’d like to see both my boys happy.”

  Was that a hedge? Yesenia decided to prod her a little. She already had Bridget as a mother-in-law. There was nothing to lose. “What kind of woman do you think would be perfect for him?” she asked because it obviously wasn’t her.

  Bridget looked from Yesenia to Cameron and back again. It was going to be a boxing match. She wished Cam had warned her this morning. She would have made sure to wear protective gear, bring her gloves. Damn. She’d just have to bare knuckle it.

  “Someone young enough to give me two or three grandkids,” Bridget finally answered.

  One punch in the gut for being old. She’d always wanted Cam’s children, but never saw how she could stop working to care for a new family when she’d always had the old one to support. But Yesenia wasn’t on the ropes yet, she pushed a little harder. “And?”

  “Someone who can stay home and nurture those kids. I couldn’t do it after my husband died. But I worked for families that could. It made for better kids.”

  Bridget’s one-two punch was precise. His mom had jabbed at Yesenia’s ambition all the while painting herself as a martyr with her woe-as-me story of having to clean houses when her own boys were kids. Muhammad Ali had nothing on this woman.