Kind of Cursed Page 28

  I just need her to trust me with her heart. God knows she’s called dibs on mine.

  But it’s six forty-five when I come through the kitchen Monday morning. I walk in to find Emmett moaning about going to school and Millie wearing a crease between her brows.

  “Morning, guys,” I say, hoping my presence will help Emmet buck up. He ignores me.

  “Morning,” Millie says weakly, meeting my gaze with an exasperated look. All the affectionate ease we’ve enjoyed this weekend has run for cover.

  “Why did I have to get sick last week?” Emmett grouses over his Pop Tart. “Why couldn’t I have strep this week?”

  Millie’s standing by the head of the dining table, looking sinful in workout tights and a fleece hoodie. She’s bound for the gym after she gets Emmett to school. If she can get him to school. “Do we really have to do this today, Em? You just had a whole week off.”

  I glance at the coffee pot on the makeshift counter we set up weeks ago. The coffee’s brewed, but Millie hasn’t made her to-go cup yet.

  “Yes, because I hate school. I want to be off all the time. Why can’t I be home-schooled?”

  Millie sighs. “We’ve been over this.”

  I grab the top take-away cup from the stack by the pot and fill it with coffee. I’ve watched Millie rush through her morning routine enough to know she takes it with six drops of stevia and a glug of Half-N-Half. I busy myself with this while the two of them argue. Upstairs, the sound of hurried footfalls thump overhead. Millie hears it, too, glances at the microwave clock, and holds up a hand to mark her place in her exchange with Emmett.

  “Guys! Three minutes!” she shouts. The twins catch the bus in the mornings. They also tend to cut it close. Muffled responses that sound promising come from each twin. Millie turns back to Emmett. “Three weeks. You have three weeks until Christmas break. You can do this. I know you can.”

  “What if I stay home with you today and go the rest of the week?” Emmett asks.

  “We’re not negotiating,” Millie says, shaking her head. “You’re going to school.”

  I snap the black plastic lid onto the disposable cup. Footfalls clatter down the stairs, distracting both Millie and Emmett from their battle. I take the opportunity to approach her and press the cup into her hand. Her eyes meet mine, surprised.

  “Bye, Millie! Bye, Emmett!” Mattie calls from the front door. We turn to see her wave. “Bye, Luc!”

  I smile, glad to be included. “Bye!” Millie and I call in unison. The sound of Harry coming down the stairs like a boulder down a mountain almost drowns us out.

  He lands with a great thwack. “Bye!” he shouts, tearing after Mattie. The front door slams as we hear the squeal of bus brakes and see the strobing yellow caution light through the front windows.

  “Two down,” I murmur. We’re both still holding the coffee cup, fingers just touching. Still, it’s the first time I’ve touched her since she kissed me goodnight on the front porch. I’ve missed her all night, so I’m in no hurry to break it.

  “One to go,” she whispers back.

  “I can hear you,” Emmett drones. “And I’m not going.”

  Millie deflates a little, but I speak up before she can reply.

  “How about I drive you today, jefe?”

  Both Delacroixes jolt at this.

  “You don’t have to do th—”

  “You mean it?”

  Emmett’s half out of his chair, eyes wide.

  “Yeah. We’ll go whenever you’re ready.”

  His chair scrapes back as he stands. “I’m ready.”

  Millie’s mouth falls open. “Wha—” She stops herself, looks at me and then back at Emmett. “Go brush your teeth and grab your book sack.”

  “Okay.” Emmett snatches up his paper plate and makes for the trash can, only scattering a few Pop Tart crumbs as he does. “Be right back.”

  And then he’s racing for the stairs.

  Millie’s eyes meet mine. “I don’t deserve you.”

  I huff a laugh because I think she’s kidding, and when I realize she’s not, I grab her. “What do you mean?”

  She shakes her head, her blue eyes wide with what looks like sad recognition. “You’re too good. I should cut you loose for your own sake, but I don’t know if I can.”

  Her words twist my gut like a pipe wrench. She’s still holding the coffee, so I take it from her and set it down before I grab her again and drag her to me.

  “Cut me loose? You think you don’t deserve me? I don’t deserve that.” I’m sure she hears the edge in my voice. I’m not angry. Just afraid of what she could do to me.

  “But it’s too—”

  “It’s fucked up is what it is.”

  She blinks, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “You thinking about dumping me because I want to help you.”

  Millie stares at me for a second. Then she closes her eyes and exhales. “You’re right. I’m just…”

  I’m gripping her upper arms, but now I ease my hold and stroke her. “You’re just what?”

  She opens them again. “Scared.”

  Any tension—and all fear—drains right out of me. She’s scared. More scared than I am. I already know this. I shouldn’t let it rattle me. “I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry.”

  I watch her face. She looks contrite, conflicted, and completely miserable. I give her a wry look, hoping to make her smile. “Was that our first fight?”

  She wrinkles her nose, looking at me like I’m crazy, but at least the corners of her mouth turn up. “We fight all the time. We fought the first day you came over.”

  I laugh. She’s right. “I meant our first fight as a couple.”

  Her brows leap. “Oh. I mean… Are we—Did we—”

  “Yes.” I grip her arms again. “We are. And we did.”

  Color rises to her cheeks because we’re both thinking of Thursday night and the time alone we haven’t yet been able to duplicate. I’d pay the kids again if Millie would let me, but she’s forbidding it. For now, anyway. I know I don’t really need to pay them. At least not fifty dollars each. They’d accept less to follow the rules and keep us updated, but Millie’s hesitant to leave them again so soon.

  I’m sure that’s true. But I also have my suspicions that she’s a little afraid to be alone with me again.

  I, Dios ayúdame, find it hard to think about anything else.

  So, it’s no wonder when I let my hands glide down to her hips. The way her tights cling to her curves is maddening. I grip her ass with both hands. Millie gasps when I tug her against me. By the way her eyes widen, I know she feels it.

  Feels how I want her.

  I brush my lips over hers, and they part. My tongue is seeking hers when she whispers, “Emmett will be down any second.”

  I lick her bottom lip. “We’ll hear him.”

  Acknowledging the logic in this, she relents and opens for me. Our lips meet, tongues reuniting after the too long night. She tastes like heaven. I want to slip a hand down the back of her tights and discover just what kind of bewitching lencería she’s wearing today.

  I keep an ear trained on the stairs. Is there enough time? Enough time to reach down between us, tuck my hand into her panties, and find her eager little pearl? La joya.

  I’m imaging having her scent on my fingers all day when the kitchen door opens behind me. We spring away from each other, and I wheel around to find Sam, slack-jawed and going pale, standing in the doorway.

  “Sorry, boss! Donner said to be here for seven o’clock.” He gulps and drops his gaze to the floor. “The cabinets are being delivered.”

  I spare Millie a quick glance. Her knuckles are pressed to her lips. She’s beet red. But I can tell her fist is hiding an embarrassed smile. She doesn’t look pissed.

  I breathe a sigh of relief just as I hear a door upstairs. Emmett.

  “You’re right,” I say to Sam.
“They should get here first thing. Glad you’re on time. But it never hurts to knock.”

  Sam sniffs and hooks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the driveway. “Sorry. I saw your truck, and I…” He shuffles his feet and chances a peek at Millie. “Sorry, Miss Millie. It won’t happen again.”

  I look back at Millie to see her drop her hand and straighten up, trying to command her smile. The blush is a lost cause. “It’s okay, Sam. No harm done.”

  I raise a brow at her that Sam can’t see. No harm done? I was seconds away from petting the unicorn for fuck’s sake.

  Emmett makes it down the stairs, skipping the last two and landing with his own thwack, though nothing as loud as his brother’s.

  “I’m ready!” he shouts.

  “Coming, jefe.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Millie says, grabbing her coffee. “See ya, Sam.”

  Sam, who’s still standing at the door staring at his feet, nods. “Mmm hmm.” The poor kid looks traumatized. Maybe I should let him know he’s not in trouble, but that can wait until later. Right now, Emmett needs to get to school.

  I’m on my way back from Woodvale when Miguel calls. It’s barely 7:30, so I know immediately something’s off.

  “What’s wrong?” I answer.

  “Injury,” he says, cutting right to the chase. “Nico slipped of a ladder.”

  I wince. “How bad is it?” I ask, rerouting and changing lanes so I can head south and get to the Lambert property.

  “Ankle hurts. Might be a break. Might be just a sprain.”

  I sigh. “I’m on my way. I’ll take him in.” I make a right on Johnston Street. “How’d it happen?”

  This time Miguel sighs. “Ladder was slippery. Condensation from the fog this morning.”

  “Damn,” I curse under my breath. “Did he perform a safety check?” Before any task, my guys are supposed to check their equipment and surroundings for potential hazards.

  “No.”

  My jaw clenches. “And did you?” It’s the site manager’s job to do a sweep of everything to check for safety issues each shift.

  “I did, boss, but I missed it.”

  Either Miguel is telling me the truth, which means he did his sweep, but did it too fast or half-assed, or he’s lying, and he didn’t do it at all.

  “Send me a picture of today’s safety sheet.”

  “Got it right here,” Miguel says, his voice even. If he’s lying about the check, he’s covering his ass pretty well.

  “Be there in ten.”

  I get to the site, tell Miguel to document what I need to complete the report for worker’s comp, and help Nico into my truck. We get to the Orthopedic Urgent Care on Ambassador just as they open, so once Nico fills out the paperwork, they take him right in.

  When my phone rings and I see it’s Papi, I’m not the least bit surprised. He and Miguel have been tight for years. The guy probably called him out of habit. Or guilt.

  “Hey, Papi,” I answer, getting up from my waiting room chair and heading for the exit to take the call outside. “Miguel call you?”

  “Of course he called me,” he says, sounding irritated. “When were you going to call me?”

  I roll my eyes. It’s ten minutes after eight a.m. Most people are just getting to work. “I was going to call after Nico got checked out. But, believe it or not, I’ve got it under control.”

  “Oh, you’ve got it under control?”

  I step outside, frowning at his obvious sarcasm. “Yeah, Padre, I do.” I know I shouldn’t get defensive, but I can’t seem to help it. “I got Nico to the clinic for X-rays and treatment, I followed up with Miguel, and he’s filling out an accident report. What else do you want?”

  “How about you keeping your dick in your pants when you’re on the job?”

  For a moment I turn to stone, and then adrenaline streaks through my veins like venom. “What did you say?” The question comes out a growl, rumbling up from a place inside me both ancient and bloodthirsty.

  “You heard me. And you know what I’m talking about.” Condemnation. Disappointment. Flashbacks of cracking a granite countertop when I was sixteen wash over me, and the fact that he’s talking to me like I’m a kid kindles anger.

  “I know what you think you’re talking about.” A vision of this morning and Millie’s sweet kiss flickers through my mind. Sam blabbed. That’s no surprise. But Papi’s accusation is. “But you shouldn’t be talking at all. I’m seeing Millie Delacroix. That’s my business.”

  A harsh laugh cuts over the line. “Not when you’re staining the name of my business.”

  Too many objections rise in my throat, leaving me speechless. I fill and empty my lungs, fighting for control. “First of all, Papi, it’s our business.” I hear him draw breath, about to object, and I cut him off. “Don’t misunderstand me. I know you built it. Single-handedly. I watched you do it.”

  Saying this aloud makes me soften toward him. Just a little. But he’s pissed me off, and he’s got to deal with it now.

  “But we’ve worked together for years. The name on our business card isn’t just yours. It’s mine too.”

  While he’s still the owner, Papi transferred operations to me when he nearly lost his leg. He was in ICU for two weeks and then in the rehab hospital for six, tending a wound that just wouldn’t heal—that still hasn’t completely healed. Just one of the reasons diabetes sucks so bad.

  “So why you treating it like garbage? Sleeping with your gringo clients and setting a bad example for your brother?”

  I see red.

  “Papi.” His name cracks like bone. I’m squeezing my phone so hard I could crush it. I hear footsteps, and glance up to see a woman wearing a look of alarm steering her young son around me. The boy cradles his arm in a sling, and he looks afraid. Not of the clinic. Of me.

  I turn and stalk toward my truck. “Do not. Talk. About Millie. Do you understand me?”

  He makes a noise in his throat. “So now that you’re the boss, you think what your Papi has to say doesn’t matter?”

  I exhale and try to get a grip on my anger. This is where all this bullshit is coming from. Me running the business. Me taking over when he was in the hospital, fighting to keep his leg—and his life. Me doing exactly what he asked me to do to keep the business afloat. Keep his workers employed, his customers happy.

  He’s never once thanked me. Sometimes it feels like he blames me.

  “Papi, you can say whatever you want to say about the business. Tell me I’m a shitty boss and every fuck-up is my fault. Whatever you want,” I growl. “But you don’t speak about Millie Delacroix unless it’s to say how fucking amazing she is.”

  Then, for the first time in my life, I hang up on my father.

  An hour later, I drop Nico off at his apartment. The ankle is badly sprained but not broken, and the doctor gave him a cold gel pack, a brace, and orders to stay off it and keep it elevated for a few days.

  I want to be back at Millie’s when she gets home from the gym, but I can’t get Papi’s words out of my head. And I’m ready to wring Sam’s neck. My guess is he told Donner, who is in a GroupMe with the other site managers. I already know they gossip like a bunch of seventh grade girls. And if it’s not about who’s banging who, then it’s about what kind of mood I’m in.

  Donner probably thought he’d nailed both categories.

  Except I’m not sleeping with Millie.

  And as much as his call galled me, I couldn’t bring myself to say that to Papi. But the truth doesn’t belong to him. Or Sam. Or Donner. Or anyone else.

  But what’s also true is that I’m dying to be inside her. I’m dying to look into her eyes as I lose myself in her. I’m not going to lie to myself. I want the release. I want to chase her climax with my own. Bring her to that event horizon with my whole body.

  But more than that, I want to join. To share. To couple with her. I want to be as close to her as two people can possibly be. I want to be one with her.

 
And when I think that the last man inside her was someone else—someone who hurt her—I’m ready to shred something.

  I want to be the last man inside her.

  This is where my head is when I pull up to the Sterling house. I’m just this side of feral. The crew is installing Tyvek wrap, and I swear, if I see even one trip hazard or safety violation, I’m going to lose my mind.

  But nothing is out of place. Not even one Wrap Cap nail. Tony, the site manager, must know to stay on my good side today. As I inspect the site, I feel eyes on my back. Anyone could see they’ve been talking about me. They know about Millie. They may not know her on sight or know who she is, but they know what Sam walked in on this morning. They know the boss is seeing a client.

  I honestly don’t know what’s worse. That the guys and Papi think I’m sleeping with Millie or that they’re wrong. I feel like a hair trigger landmine. I should just go to the gym and work out until I can’t think. Or go home and take matters into my own hands. But my bed offers me no peace. Not since Thursday when I made Millie come. My sheets still smell like her.

  After barking orders at Tony, I climb back into my truck and drive to the only place I want to be. Millie’s Infiniti is parked in the garage, gracias a Dios. I enter through the kitchen door and find the room crowded with custom cabinetry. By the looks of it, Sam and Donner have measured and marked and measured again, making sure each piece has been made to our specifications. Sam is busy drilling pilot holes. Donner is balancing a level against the wall, double checking his marks.

  Things look good. I should be happy.

  But I’m not.

  Both men turn when I shut the door. “Hey, Luc.” Donner’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me. Sam actually takes a step back. Maybe my eyes are glowing red. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve sprouted horns and a forked tail in the last hour. El Diablo has nothing on me.

  “Take the day off.”

  Donner blinks. Sam grips the drill in his hand and it revs, startling him.