A Carpino Series Collection, Books 1-3

by Brynne Asher

  I hear the dog again and a moment later I see Gabby peek out the window. I have to say, I’m relieved she’s capable of following directions. I lift my head to greet her and she disappears out of the window before she throws the lock and swings the door open.

  “Hey,” she says softly.

  Shit, she’s beautiful. She’s wearing makeup but not too much, and her dark blonde hair has been smoothed into long waves down her shoulders to the middle of her back. The front of her hair, hitting below her cheekbone, has fallen slightly over her forehead and I see her hand come up to tuck it behind her ear. She’s wearing a black New Orleans Saints faded but definitely girlie t-shirt because it hugs her tits and torso perfectly. She’s got on a tight faded jean skirt, not too short, but hits her above the knees. She’s even barefoot again. As my eyes make the slow trek back up to her face, I notice her attention is on the dog who’s again circling my feet wanting my attention.

  “Mia,” she calls for the dog who now has two ridiculous fucking bows on its head, one over each ear. “Come on, baby.” The dog goes to her immediately. “You want to come in for a sec? I need to grab the food.”

  “Yeah.” I follow her into the house.

  When she turns to the left, my eyes immediately go to her ass where there’s sparkly shit on the back pockets of her jean skirt. Thinking that I haven’t had a “type” in a long time, but Gabby just might be it, my eyes go from her ass to look around her house.

  It’s pretty damn big and I wonder if she lives by herself. We move through a huge room filled with a shitload of furniture with windows along the back of the house. The backyard is deep and wide, surrounded by a rod iron fence with lots of landscaping that looks out onto a lake. I’m an outdoors kind of guy and have never been big on subdivisions, but there’s enough nature through those windows to almost make you forget you have neighbors.

  Gabby cuts into my thoughts. “I’ve been thinking—you don’t have to take me to the draft. I’ll drive and you can follow me. I’ve no idea why it takes so long to pick football players, but those guys really get into it. It can go late.”

  When I look over, she’s moving around the enormous kitchen with her back to me as she’s trying to get out of coming with me to the draft. I simply decide to change the subject on her to find out what I want to know. “You live here alone? You’ve got a sweet house, but it’s big for one person.”

  She comes to a halt where she’s standing with the refrigerator open, in the middle of reaching for something.

  I call to her. “Gabby?”

  She moves again, grabbing a bottle with red stuff in it and an enormous silver bowl. She turns, puts it all on the counter without looking at me and answers quietly. “Yes. I live alone.”

  Something isn’t right, she doesn’t offer anything else and continues to move around the kitchen at a faster pace than before. The investigator in me can’t help it, I move to the island and press on. “It’s a lot of house for just you. How long have you been here?”

  She stops again with her back to me just on the other side of the island. Turning slowly with a blank face, she puts her hands on the counter and leans in. During the few times I’ve been around Gabby, she’s either asking me questions out of surprise or ranting about something while tossing her cute as shit attitude around. When she starts talking with zero emotion, it surprises the hell out of me.

  “I’ve lived here since I was three when my parents built this house. I’m an only child so when my parents were killed in a car accident about three and a half years ago, they left everything to me and now it’s mine. I know it’s a lot of house for me, I’m updating it slowly, though my hot water heater seemed to have different ideas. Now the basement is on the top of my to-do list and will be done quicker than I’d planned. When I finish, I’ll put it on the market and hope for the best, as houses in this neighborhood tend to do well when they’ve been fully renovated.” She lets out a breath and finishes on a sigh. “So yes, I live here by myself. Well sort of, I have Mia.”

  Well, shit. That didn’t go like I thought it would. I feel like a dick. She continues to stand there staring up at me emotionless. I don’t like the blank look on her beautiful face and I’m pissed at myself for putting it there. Wanting to do something—anything—to change that look, I make a quick decision and turn to move around the island.

  Once I close in, I know I’ve chosen well because she turns slightly to face me and once again she treats me to her shocked as shit look I’m beginning to not only find cute, but down right sexy. Relieved her blank look is history, I move in as close as I dare—as close as I can without touching her body with mine like I want. I put one hand down to the side to lean on the counter and move my other to her face. She jerks slightly, surprised by my touch, then stills. I feel her silky skin, move my hand back, over her ear and into her heavy hair, which is softer than I imagined. I barely tighten my grip and she responds by tilting her head for me.

  I look straight into her blue eyes soften my voice. “I’m sorry you lost your parents, sugar, and I’m sorry you’re here by yourself.” I hear her take in a breath and then she closes her eyes. I give the back of her head a squeeze and I get her clear blues at my silent command. “I’m an ass, I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

  She barely shakes her head, whispering, “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  Then, shocking me in a whole new way, her eyes drop to my mouth and quickly back to my eyes. Fucking hell, I want to kiss her but don’t want our first kiss to be right after I prove to her I can be a jackass.

  Not wanting to let her go but knowing I should, I opt for something in the middle.

  I let my hand slide through her hair, lightly down her back, finally letting it rest low on her hip. “We should go. And I’m not following you. You’re comin with me.”

  She pulls in a deep breath again and this time I can feel her exhale softly on my neck. “Okay.”

  I tighten my hold on her hip. “Get your stuff. Do you need help?”

  She finally steps away, forcing my arm to drop. I let her go, even though I don’t want to, and she forces herself back to reality.

  “I need to get my shoes, grab my salad and dessert then I should be ready. If you could carry that bowl, I’d appreciate it,” she mutters, before turning to disappear into a side hallway which I can only assume leads to her bedroom.

  I move to pick up the bowl and turn to look around her house again, seeing it differently this time. This time it’s massive, too big, too much for Gabrielle Carpino to be shouldering on her own. Knowing what she just shared about her life, she seems more vulnerable than she did fifteen minutes ago. Although she was overwhelmed, she handled her flooded basement this morning without too much drama, adjusting to what life has handed her. But now she seems more alone than ever and I realize I’m no longer just curious about this woman.

  Making a decision I haven’t made in a long time, I decide I want to know everything there is to know about Gabrielle Carpino. As I stand in her big-ass house knowing what little I do, that want turns into a need. A need I intend to start filling immediately.

  Hearing her come back through the room, having taken too long to get a pair of shoes, she apologizes, “Sorry to make you wait.”

  “It’s okay, Gabby.” I watch her grab the bottle and a platter covered in foil.

  “We can go out the garage if you don’t mind. I need to set the alarm.” She moves toward a back hallway and I follow, into a room leading to the garage.

  I look around and immediately start to take in all I can about her. There are lots of cabinets and counter tops on one side with a built-in desk. On the wall behind the desk is a bulletin board with a mass of pictures of what looks to be Gabby with friends and little kids who must be important to her. On the other side of the wide room is a bench with baskets and shit underneath with hooks above. Another door leads to a darkened room, but I see there’s a washer, dryer and sink.

  Gabby grabs her purse off a hook, hesitates w
hile looking up at me with a new look, a nervous look, and she scrunches her nose. “Mia likes to go, too. Do you mind?”

  I look down at her ridiculous dog with the stupid bows in its hair, obviously excited because she thinks she’s gonna get to go somewhere. I look back up at Gabby, slowly shaking my head no, but find myself giving her what she wants. “Sure, why not?”

  But this time I’m gifted with yet another new look from Gabby as she smiles huge, genuinely lighting up her face like I just handed her the world in the palm of my hand, exclaiming, “Thanks.” Looking back down at the dog, she keeps on, “C’mon baby, let’s go to Aunt Lizzie’s house.”

  My chest warms and I find myself immobile with the look she gifted me just for telling her the damn dog can come with us. I find myself thinking I need to get my shit together at the same time wondering what else I can do to make her that happy again.

  The dog, receiving affirmation she gets to go, starts attacking the door. Gabby arms the security system, which I hope is a fucking good one, and the beeps snap me out of my reverie. We both head out the door and into the garage. But I’m stopped in my tracks, once again, before heading down the steps as she pushes the button to lift one of the garage doors.

  What the hell?

  Her Tahoe is parked in the middle of mass chaos. Unlike her house, which seems organized and decorated to the hilt, her garage is a fucking disaster filled with shit. Old shit and a lot of it.

  “What the hell?” I’m not able to tear my eyes off of the tragedy in front of me. This is a serious disgrace to garages everywhere.

  Gabby’s already down the stairs, her long sexy legs making their way through the mountain of crap that is her garage, she looks over her shoulder with a scowl. “What the hell, what?”

  “Are you a hoarder?” I’m still not able to move off the top step.

  “Do I look like a hoarder?” She keeps moving while explaining the calamity in in front of me. “I like to shop, hitting garage and estate sales as much as I can. I find great stuff and even though I might not have a plan for it, I buy it. Someday I’ll have the perfect place for all this, either for me or a client. I got great deals on most all of these pieces. They’re treasures.”

  I have to make myself move down the steps to wade through the shit Gabby considers treasures. “I don’t think you got the great deal here. I’m pretty sure you’ve been taken to the cleaners,” I mutter, as I beep the locks on my truck following Gabby to the passenger side.

  “You’ve not seen what I can do with an old piece of furniture. Trust me, they’re treasures.”

  I look down at her and smirk. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it, but I’m not seeing your vision.” I open the back-passenger door of my quad cab, putting the bowl and platter on the floor before opening the passenger door for her. I watch her bend to pick up her dog, her skirt stretching tight across her ass and thighs. I have to tear my eyes away from her ass as she climbs into my truck, settling her dog on her lap. Shaking my head, I slam her door, I round the front of the truck to climb in and start it up. Jacking up the A/C for her and wanting to keep the mood light, I turn to her, resting my forearm on the steering wheel.

  She looks up at me as she finishes buckling and I say, “I didn’t take you for a Saints fan.”

  Waving her hand in between us, she explains. “Well, it is a Fantasy Football Draft, and even though I only go to eat and hang out with my family, I like to dress for the occasion.” I keep staring at her as her explanation gets crazier. “I really don’t watch much football. I like the colors and the fleur-de-lis is pretty. I wore a Raiders shirt one year and thought I was going to be disowned. My family is full of Chiefs fans, which translates into Raider-Haters, so I switched to the Saints because the Chiefs mascot does nothing for me. Are you a Chiefs fan?”

  Now I’m the one shocked as shit by her crazy-ass reasoning for wearing a Saints shirt. All I can manage is, “Broncos.”

  She gives her head a little shake and frowns, explaining why she won’t cheer on my team. “I can’t wear orange.”

  “Ouch, that stings.” With this, she rewards me with another huge smile. “I don’t know where I’m going. Lead the way, Gabby.”

  What I did not do is talk to her about Trevor Harper.

  My younger cousin Paige is dragging me by the hand and my very pregnant cousin Sophia is waddling behind us, pulling up the rear.

  “Paige, what are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep up with her.

  She pulls me into the room that used to be Tony’s, which is now just a shrine to my favorite cousin. Medals, trophies, pictures, and Tony memorabilia litter the room that used to be his in his parent’s house. Tony is the only boy of four kids and although he’s never been a mama’s boy, he’s my aunt’s only boy, which makes him her golden boy. So, although my female cousins’ rooms have been remade into exercise rooms, craft rooms, junk rooms, and the like, Tony’s room will always be a shrine. His sisters give my poor aunt shit about this all the time, but I honestly don’t think she cares and will never change a stitch.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? I want to know who that man is that brought you here and why he can’t take his eyes off of you no matter where you are in the room. It doesn’t matter if he’s drinking beer, eating dinner or shootin’ the shit with the men, he’s always got an eye on you. And those eyes are hot, just like the rest of him. Now spill,” she demands.

  My rollercoaster of a day didn’t stop when Jude showed back up at my house this evening, demanding to know why I lived alone and I had to tell him what I hate telling anyone—that my parents are dead. I should be used to it by now. It has been three years and eight months, but it’s always emotionally draining as much as I try and get used to it.

  And if that wasn’t enough, big, badass Jude Ortiz who wears a bullet proof vest, rounds up bad guys for a living and is uber bossy—went sweet on me. First getting really close, apologizing, and then he touched my face. I swear, when he slid his hand into my hair I thought I was going to melt into a puddle right onto my kitchen floor. My whole plan for driving separately then leaving early was thwarted when he informed me I was coming with him to the draft and like an idiot, without thinking, I said, “Okay.” And this is what I get. I knew this would happen, my crazy family is all up in my business about it and I don’t even know what it is.

  Two hours earlier when we pulled into my Uncle Tony and Aunt Lizzie’s driveway, I took a minute to warn Jude what he was walking into. Here is how that went:

  Me: Um, Jude, I need to talk to you about my family. They’re all going to be here.

  Him: Yeah, Tony said this is a family thing.

  Me: No, you don’t understand. I have a pretty big family. Even the little kids will be here. And since I’ll be walking in the door with you, they’re going to freak out.

  Him: No, they won’t.

  Me: Yes, they will.

  Him: Sugar, they won’t. It’s not a big deal.

  Me: Yes, they will and it is a big deal.

  Him: Then they can have their freak out, they’ll get over it.

  Me: What?

  Him: Not a big deal.

  Apparently finished with our tennis match conversation, he gets out of the car, gathers all the food, opens my door, and waits for me to get out. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I jump down from his truck, put Mia on the ground and she runs to the door she knows well since she has been here about two million times in her short little three-year-old life. I start walking up to the front door, but when I look up, I’m stopped in my flip flops.

  Jude almost bumps into me from behind carrying both my salad and dessert. “Gabby, let’s get on with it.”

  “Ohmygoodness,” I breathe, looking up to the dining room window where three-quarters of my family is plastered, watching us walk up to the house.

  “That’s what you get for sitting in the truck so long warning me about your family,” he simply states, not at all bothered by our audienc
e.

  “They’re going think we came together,” I think out loud.

  “We did come together,” Jude points out.

  “But not together-together.”

  “Gabby, get a move on.”

  “You carry a gun for a living, please, just shoot me now.”

  Jude, tired of waiting, rounds me and heads to the front door. When the door opens, all hell breaks loose.

  I hear the kids running around screaming. I hear greetings and a couple of my aunts start questioning Jude and he answers them all. I hear the deep voices of my uncles and adult cousins offering drinks.

  Then I hear Jude bite, “Gabby.”

  “Coming.” I finally snap out of it and head toward my latest trauma.

  As I get to the door I hear my cousin’s daughter, Emily, who’s twelve-years-old say, “He’s way hotter than James.”

  “Em, watch it,” her dad, Joe, semi-yells at her.

  “What? I’m just sayin’,” Emily returns, full of tween attitude.

  “Gabby!” Little Chloe comes clickety-clack, throwing herself at me in her little tap shoes and tutu pulled on over her normal clothes.

  I drop my bag to the floor, reach down to pick her up and give her snuggles. “Hi love, I missed you. I like your outfit.”

  “Your boyfriend is big,” she responds.

  Feeling myself turn pink, I look around the very crammed-with-nosy-family entry way. Jude is standing beside me and everyone is staring at us.

  Not liking my family’s attention, I decide to start damage control immediately. “He’s not my boyfriend, Chlo.” I look back to the rest of my crazy family. “Are we going to stand here all night? I’m hungry and need a beer.”

  “Gabby, don’t be rude.” My Aunt Emma scolds me like a child. “Introduce us to your guest.”

  “He’s not my guest,” I insist. “Tony invited him.”