Xavier’s Loving Arms
KT Grant
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by KT Grant
ISBN: 978-1-61333-131-6
Cover art by LFD Designs
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Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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“KT Grant is an author to watch!” - National bestselling author, Julie James
Other Stories by KT Grant
For the Love of Mollie
The Claiming of Suzy
The Christmas Fantasy
Xavier’s Loving Arms
1Night Stand Story
A Bid for Love
(Coming in early 2012)
~DEDICATION~
A big thanks to Heather Sands for all her wonderful input and my editor Kate Richards who has helped me evolve as a writer. A shout out to the wickedly fabulous Natasha. To the very talented Carolyn Crane, my own author idol and one I look up to in so many ways. Carolyn, you make me want to be the best writer I can possibly be.
And to that anonymous woman my senior year of college, who thought she had nowhere to turn because she was ashamed of her obsession to look thin and the damage she was doing to her mind and body. Rebecca Price was created in your memory, a gift from this recovering survivor who hopes you got the help you so desperately needed.
“The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul.”
[b]George Sand (1804-1876) French Romantic writer[b]
Chapter One
Xavier arrived at the party with seduction on his mind, but that changed when the night ended up going to shit. His date, a woman he’d envisioned building a future with, had given him his walking papers. She had feelings for another.
The one his date had been longing for was busy getting frisky with her on the crowded dance floor.
Dressed in a gladiator costume—a toga, no less—with his hairy legs on display for all to see, Xavier Marks sipped his gin and tonic while watching the costumed couples dancing. A slow, sexy number set the mood for many who would go home after this year’s Halloween Gala and spend the night together heating up the sheets.
He would be one of the few leaving alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a dry spell. Ten months without sex had made him grumpy. How had he come to this, when the previous fall he’d had a fiancée who he thought loved him and wanted to cherish him all the remaining days of their lives?
As the tune changed into a softer melody, Suzy, his former date, snuggled closer to a masked Robin Hood. They kissed, as if hundreds of eyes didn’t view their public display. Or rather, Robin Hood had initiated the lip lock, placing his claim on her, proving to all in the room she belonged to him alone.
Xavier’s older sister, Tamara, appeared at his side. “What are you doing by the bar all by yourself?” Her eyes grew wide. “Isn’t that Suzy—”
“Yes, Tammie, she’s kissing another man,” he responded, hiding the burn settling deep in his chest by gulping down the rest of his drink. He raised his glass in a salute when Suzy studied him for a short moment and then turned her attention back to her partner with a warm smile.
Sympathy emerged on Tammie’s face. “I thought you and Suzy had something special going on. After your breakup with Yasmine and moving back home, I hoped you’d find some peace.” Tammie’s mouth slanted into a grim line.
He gave his full attention to his sister. At five eight, she was one of the tallest women in the room—only a few inches shy of his six foot one—and she appeared ready to storm the dance floor to give his former date a piece of her mind. He patted her arm. “Suzy and I weren’t meant to be. Just like me and Yasmine.” Xavier scratched his goatee and caught sight of the full moon through the French doors. A small, bright star twinkled back at him. “Fate has different plans for me. Maybe I need to take a break from women in general.”
Fisting her hands on her hips, Tammie signed in resignation. Her white and pink bunny ears perched on top of her chin length black curls complemented her old-fashioned Playboy bunny outfit, complete with black high heels that made him wince. Why she continued to wear such punishing footwear was beyond him.
As she opened her mouth, most likely to begin some sort of tirade on his behalf, Marcus came up and embraced her from behind. “Hey, baby, I missed you.”
Marcus’s eyes sparkled. Tammie smiled and relaxed in his hold “I’ve missed you, too, honey.” She turned and rubbed his chest. “You look too handsome for your own good.”
Lucky bastard won’t be going home alone tonight.
Only ice cubes bumped his lips when he lifted his glass. He needed another drink. Maybe he’d take a stroll around the manicured grounds to console his wounded heart and cool off his bitterness amid the late October chill.
“Isn’t that right, Xavier?” Marcus asked.
“What? I drifted off for a moment there.”
“It’s okay, brother.” Marcus winked. “I mentioned we’ll soon celebrate another event, with Tammie’s fortieth birthday right around the corner.”
She gave her husband a light slap on the arm. “Thanks for reminding me I’m getting old.”
“But, baby, forty is sexy.” Marcus hugged her, grinning.
Xavier rolled his eyes. Marcus would be forty-five in February, despite looking closer to his own thirty-five. I hope I look as good when I reach his age.
“You both have aged well, so stop complaining.” He motioned to the gyrating crowd. “I think you two should dance and show these younger kids how it’s done.”
The pair gave him playful frowns.
“Oh, just wait until you’re my age, baby brother.” Tammie gave him a kiss on the cheek then dragged her husband onto the crowded floor.
He made his way back to the bar. When he reached the ripe old age of forty, he’d probably still be alone, lamenting over his single status. Replenished drink in hand, he watched the merrymakers. Suzy and her masked man had disappeared. The crowd applauded and shouted when the band began a current Lady Gaga hit. He loved to dance, finding pleasure in holding a lady close and swaying against her, his leg sliding in between her thighs as she moved up against him, her moist heat soaking his pants, causing his own arousal to surge….
He gulped his drink, the bright lights of the spinning disco ball stinging his eyes. The final good-bye between him and Yasmine still wounded him. She had debased his masculinity in the lowest away—by cheating on him with a friend—then defended her actions by explaining she needed more excitement in bed.
“Next time I’m using handcuffs,” he mumbled. Do women seriously get off being bound and tied up in bed at the mercy of their lover? Setting his glass down, he turned his back on the bartender’s questioning stare and propped his elbows on the bar. Checking his watch, he was discouraged to note it wasn’t even ten yet. Maybe I should call the night a loss and head home? Then the crowd parted, and he caught sight of a familiar face.
Well, isn’t this interesting? Xavier straightened and with narrowed eyes scrutinized one of the waitresses talking with a male guest dressed in a king costume. The monarch loomed over the server, who held a large round, empty tray. Her black hair swung in a tight ponytail down the middle of her back, the same style she wore most mornings when he stopped in to his favorite coffee shop before work.
What a pleasant surprise. For once, the younger woman didn’t slouch with her head down and her lips fixed in a straight, weary line. In fact, she appeared angry enough that her cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink. She glared up at the man, eyes flashing fire.
Too thin for his taste, she bordered on waiflike. But the way her butt stretched the back of her pants when she bent to clean a table gave him a woody. He liked a nice, rounded ass and hips a man could hold onto and this woman had some of the best around, even on her slim stature. The black mini-skirt she wore, a change from her black uniform pants, molded that part of her body all too well for his comfort.
Down boy. At least his toga concealed his reaction. Should I be embarrassed my dick’s hard as hell? So what if I’m aroused by the woman because she’s smoking hot. Shit, I’ve become a perverted stalker.
Shifting to his right, his ire rose when the tall, redheaded prick caressed the waitress’s face. She stepped back, but the bastard grabbed her arm and pulled her up against his chest. Who the hell does that guy think he is treating a woman that way? No one, not even some stuck-up party guest, could get away with molesting the help at the elegant Westminster Chateau.
In the less than a minute it took him to reach the harassed woman, the stranger had released her and cut across to the other side of the room. The waitress shook her head and shot daggers at the rude man’s back, clearly upset from the vexed expression on her face.
Xavier tapped her shoulder. “Miss, was that man bothering you?”
She flinched. He couldn’t help but give her a quick foot-to-head appraisal. His mouth was aligned with her own, her height perfect for him to steal a kiss if he dared.
“Not at all. He’s a friend who happens to be one of the owners here. We were just having a discussion. No need to concern yourself.” Her lips curved up in a sunny smile, although her eyes appeared empty and bleak, her face pale under her makeup.
She’s lying. He nodded, wanting to get to the truth of the matter. “From my viewpoint, you two were having a heated argument. I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. But since he’d already stepped away by the time I got here, I decided to make sure you were all right.”
She stepped back, her smile disappearing. “Why did you feel you had to come to my rescue? You don’t know me from Adam.”
He cringed at her tone.
“Since we’ve met before, I didn’t see the harm in saying hello. It’s a surprise to see you working here as well as at Common Grounds.”
“You come into the Grounds?” she asked, moving to the side and farther away from him.
Why is she being so obtuse? The last time he’d seen her, he’d offered her his card in the hope they could meet outside the café. Taken aback, he reminded himself they were in different surroundings and he wore a ridiculous toga and not his typical business suit. “Yes. I come in most mornings and get a large Columbian coffee with soymilk. You’ve waited on me many times, or we passed the time of day while you bussed tables and swept up the floor?”
She shrugged, her eyes lowered. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Her face had become blank and remote.
Someone bumped into him, and he brushed up against her. She shrugged, her lip curled in disapproval.
“Since you don’t remember me, how about we introduce ourselves again? My name is Xavier Marks. I work in the tall building across the street from Common Grounds. I’m going to be vice president of one of the most successful family owned and operated real estate agencies in the area by the end of the year. And you are?” He held out a hand, waiting for her to take it. She didn’t.
He rubbed his goatee, exasperated by her lack of response. The woman exhaled and stared intently into his face.
“Funny, you say we’ve met before, but you don’t even remember my name.” A stiff smile pulled up the corners of her lips. “I recognized you, Mr. Marks, the moment you approached me. You work at Marks Realty on the fourth floor. Odd how I can recall that, but you can’t remember something simple like my name.”
“Ah….” He swallowed. Not what he’d been expecting at all.
“And don’t try to be smart and look at my nametag.” She held her tray higher, covering her chest.
I’m drowning here. His face ignited with fire and his chin dipped in embarrassment. “How about I apologize? Apparently I’ve had too much to drink, and my date has left me for another.”
“Oh please, stop making a fool of yourself.” She shoved a loose lock of hair behind her left ear, and he fisted his hand to stop from reaching out and doing the same to a soft-looking wisp on the other side of her face.
What’s the matter with me? How can I be so aroused by this outraged woman? Is there something freaky in my gin and tonic?
Before he could come up with another, more believable explanation, she rolled her eyes. “It’s better if you forget this ever happened, go back to the bar, and have another drink, or whatever your type does.” Loathing pierced her voice. “I have to get back to work before I get in trouble.”
He tried to process what she’d said as she scurried away. My type? Does she have a thing against black men or just guys who stick their feet in their mouths?
Running after her wasn’t an option. Finished with making an idiot of himself, he decided to slink away to his new and still unfurnished home. Before he left the ballroom, he searched, trying to spot the cantankerous woman. I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Have one dance with me before we leave?”
Tammie’s smiling face was a welcome distraction. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It would be my pleasure.”
As they dipped and swayed to the sounds of Frank Sinatra, she laid her cheek against his chest. They circled the floor together. On the far side of the room, he noticed the king standing alone near the kitchens, his arms crossed on his chest as he surveyed the action, much like a true sovereign might do at his court. Something about the man didn’t sit well with Xavier, though, and when the bad-tempered server strode past the man, Xavier grimaced and squeezed Tammie’s waist.
“Tam, do you happen to know the guy in the far corner next to the kitchens?”
She followed his gaze. “That’s Devdan Rossi. He owns part of the Westminster with his cousin and works for his father. He’s into buying and selling buildings, and owns a large number himself. I think Dad and Uncle Ben have done business with him in the past.” His sister’s eyes twinkled up at him in sly humor. “He’s some nice eye candy.”
“Tammie,” he chided and pulled her in closer.
“Hey, I may be happily married to a man who makes me hot under my skirt, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating the landscape around me.” She winked and he chuckled, amused despite his general irritation at the way the evening had gone.
“Thanks for revealing that bit of information about yourself.”
“You did ask.” She stared up at him in undisguised glee.
As the snarky server passed, Rossi took her by the hand. This time she didn’t pull away, and when he whispered in her ear, she laughed. Xavier’s chest tightened and sweat covered his forehead at their easy interaction.
“Too bad you’re not gay. You could make a play for him.” Tammie gave him an impish grin.
He shook his head in disbelief. “What? Are you saying Devdan is gay?”
“I’m joking. Devdan is a notorious ladies man.” She spoke near his ear. “I heard he has a preference for white women, although as half Indian, you’d think he’d fancy a more ethnic type of woman. I guess his father’s Italian blood is more potent.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” he asked, growing more confused by the second.
Tammie giggled. “If you were a woman, you’d understand.”
“How about we just finish our dance and keep our thoughts to ourselves?” he grumbled.
“I sure do love getting a rise out of you.” She rested her cheek against his chest and rocked with him, the conversation forgotten.
For a short moment, the tension in his stomach disappeared, but then returned with a vengeance. The affectionate way Devdan and the woman—whose name he still couldn’t remember—stared at one another, provided all the proof he needed they were more than just friends.
He should take a break from romancing women and stick to more important things, such as dealing with his father’s retirement, planning Tammie’s surprise birthday party, and searching for a new café for his caffeine fix.
Chapter Two
The dark had never frightened Rebecca. She loved when the branches on the tree outside her bedroom window shook on windy nights. Even after watching the horror movie, Poltergeist, as a child, she hadn’t been scared. Not by the dark, walk-in-closet or the stuffed panda on the small rocking chair at the foot of her bed given to her by her Grandma Ava on her tenth birthday.
There were scarier things in life than unusual squeaking noises in the middle of the night or the possibility of a monster in a closet. What she found beyond terrifying was not having enough money to pay the bills, a fear she lived with on a daily basis.
For the moment, neither darkness nor any other terrors imposed on her quiet morning ritual. She felt at peace, standing in her sunny kitchen, drinking a cup of tea before she rushed out to her job at Common Grounds. In less than an hour, she’d be making coffee and trying her best to be sociable. Already dressed in her white polo shirt and black, pleated pants, she spotted her green cap with the Grounds coffee bean logo on the table next to an open photo album. Her eyes felt dry and sore after all the tears she’d cried when she first woke up. Her father wouldn’t want her to be this way. He’d expect her to be grateful for all she had.
But it was so hard. On this day, three years before, her father had died of a massive stroke. Around this time of year, right before Thanksgiving she always felt alone. She had no other family left to share the holidays with, only friends she relied on way too often to keep her upbeat and cheerful.
She placed her empty mug in the sink and threw out her tea bag. Lately, the idea of drinking coffee to wake her up or eating breakfast other than oatmeal or cereal made her stomach churn.
Like clockwork, when she thought of food, she had to stop her gag reflex from making her run into the bathroom and vomit. She stood, fists clenched, inhaling through her nose until the urge subsided. After completing a few breathing exercises learned while she was in treatment, she calmed and listened to the sounds of the house settling.
“It’s going to be okay, Becca. Just take one day at a time.” She looked one more time at the photo album with its pictures of her family during happier times.
As she closed the book, she spotted her rough knuckles, the calluses tightening.
Her watch alarm went off. Time to get moving.
Grabbing her cap, bag, and bulky pea coat, she walked out into the blustery, cool November morning, keeping in mind she should be happy to be alive and healthy.
If only she could say the same for her grandmother who lay in a hospital bed, unable to recognize her. Thanksgiving loomed, and she’d spend it at the bedside of someone who regarded her as a stranger.
***
The rush of customers rarely let up until late afternoon, and the patrons dressed in business suits and clutching their briefcases and Blackberrys expected to be served in a fast and efficient manner.
During this Monday morning rush, Becca helped behind the counter alongside her two fellow employees—both peppy morning people whose perkiness she found irritating to the extreme, except that it seemed to placate the customers and kept them from talking to her too much.
An hour into her shift, she longed to go take out the garbage or clean the bathroom—anything to get away from the crowd for a moment. The shouting of drink orders and the endless running back and forth made her head ache.
“Becca, do you mind grabbing some more large cups from the back? We’re all out.” Lisa, the barista manning the espresso machine, whistled while steaming milk and filling cups.
“Sure thing, Lisa.” She pulled down the cap she could never get stay in place over her unmanageable long hair. Maybe I can find the money to go to the salon this weekend….
“Thanks. You’re a star!” Lisa swung her hips from side-to-side, making drinks and passing them out to the thirsty morning crowd.
Yeah, if I were a movie star, I’d earn enough to pay my bills. She couldn’t wait until she had her break and could make a run to the convenience store to get the twenty dollars’ worth of lotto scratch offs she bought each month.
She hummed, thinking about winning a big jackpot after all her years of playing the lottery. One hundred thousand big ones would go far in helping with the mortgage on her house.
Spotting a box of unopened cups, she lifted up on her toes to grab it. The carton next to it teetered on the edge of the shelf, and sleeves of napkins rained down around her.
She squeaked and covered her head, hopping back while the box she’d been reaching for landed at her feet.
“Are you okay in here?” Tim the manager entered, no doubt wondering what chaos she had caused in his storeroom.
“I’m all thumbs this morning.” She bent down to pick up the scattered napkins, piling them on an empty shelf. Flipping the fallen box upright, she slid a few sleeves of cups out and glanced at her boss, a man who reminded her of her father. Tim scratched the top of his balding head of salt and pepper hair.
“Is something wrong?” Why is he here with me when the front was so busy? She clutched the cups to her chest, nervous.
“Nothing too serious. But I do need to talk to you.”
Uh oh, this can’t be good….
“You’re going to fire me?”
His eyes went wide and he shook his head. “Why would you ask such a thing? You’re one of my best employees.”
She exhaled. “Oh, good. My imagination started running wild.”
He straightened his loud and colorful Snoopy and Woodstock-covered tie. “I’m worried about you. You’re quieter than usual.”
“I’m sorry if I’m not cheery like Brad and Judy are this morning.” She lifted her chin and pulled back her shoulders. “I’ll try to be more pleasant to the customers, if that’s what you want.”
“I’m not criticizing you. We all can’t be happy-go-lucky first thing in the morning.” He scratched his neck. “You seem down today. What’s up?”
Tears filled her eyes at his concern. She wouldn’t break down. “My dad died three years ago today.”
“Oh.” Tim placed his hand on her arm. “If you need to cut out early—”
“No.” She shook her head, overcome with relief at his kindness. “I need to work to keep my mind off of things.” She smiled brightly, though her mouth trembled.
“Okay. If you want, why don’t you stick to keeping the front clean, and after you return from your break, you can help me with inventory?”
“Thanks. That means a lot. I don’t think I could be too outgoing today.”
“No problem.” His expression became somber. “My mother and I were close. When she died, it felt like my whole world had been destroyed. I count myself lucky I had Carole, my three boys, and my friends at work to help me get through my tough time. I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”
She offered him a watery smile. “I’ll keep you in mind.”
“Good.” Tim smoothed down his tie again. “Why don’t you bring out those cups and then go check the garbage and the condiment bar? I’ll help up front until Stacy comes in at eleven.”
“Sounds like a plan, chief.” She grinned and saluted him.
He returned her salute and left the room.
Becca inhaled slowly until she counted to ten. She’d get through this day even if it killed her.
***
“You have to talk to Mom and Tammie for me. They’re both driving me insane!”
Xavier chuckled, driving his baby—a year-old BMW—on the street leading to his office. His younger sister Winona had started complaining to him the moment she called, which had become the ritual between them on Monday mornings.
“Is this about Thanksgiving?” He couldn’t wait for Thursday to spend time with his family and eat until he couldn’t move.
“Part of it is. Tammie wants to cook dinner at her house this year, but Mom’s having none of it. She feels all her chicks should be under one roof. Hers. She refuses to budge. I suspect she doesn’t want to be outdone by Tammie’s amazing cooking.”
“You know how territorial Mom is about holiday dinners”
She snorted. “Tell me about it. I offered to make some sort of dessert, like an apple pie or something, and Mom walked away from me! Tammie, that brat, just laughed.”
Winona didn’t have the cooking gene like his mother and Tammie. His youngest sister, Cindi, had skill in the kitchen, and he and his father could fix something in a pinch.
“Mom will never let you live down the brownie fiasco when you were eighteen.” Pleased, when the light changed to green, he stepped on the gas.
“That was eleven years ago! I was just a baby then. Why do I have to keep apologizing for burnt brownies? So what? I can cook. I just don’t do it all that often because of teaching, tutoring, and working part-time at the library.”
His sister was a go-getter. All the Marks sibling shared that gene. He wished he could claim to be the ultimate overachiever, but they were all very competitive, trying to one-up each other every chance they got, all in good fun.
“Why not bake brownies again to show how far you’ve come? You can make them for Tammie’s birthday.” He knew full well she wouldn’t.
“You think you’re funny! Well, you’re not. At least Dad thinks I’m good at something. He has me doing all the work for the surprise party. And shoot, Tammie won’t quit, asking me a ton of questions, expecting me to slip up about the whole thing.”
“I’m proud of you. She will stoop to any level, including concocting something that will make your mouth water and refusing to give it to you until you tell her the deets.”
“Deets? How old are you, Xavier? Even Cindi doesn’t talk like that.”
He maneuvered into a reserved parking space near the front of his building. Shutting off the engine, he took the phone off speaker and held it to his ear.
“Don’t take it out on me because you’re being pulled in every direction and still can’t cook to save your life.” He squinted at his watch. “Isn’t it almost time for your first class?”
“Oh, shut up, Mr. Smarty Pants. I have ten minutes. I need to grab a cup of coffee and I’ll be all set.”
“Now I understand why you sound so cranky. I’ll bet you haven’t had your caffeine.” Hmm, coffee would be good. Xavier’s stomach growled at the thought of the strong brew. He locked his car, spying people trickling in and out of the entrance of Common Grounds. “I’ll let you go, since I’m going to get a cup of brew myself.”
“All right.” She sighed. “Cindi should be home by Wednesday afternoon. Make sure to give her a call. You’re both in charge of Dad’s retirement party.”
As if he wasn’t busy enough with running things at the office, dealing with the holidays, and helping with Tammie’s festivities. Planning his father’s testimonial dinner would require more of his nonexistent free time.
“How about we all talk about it on Thursday? Mom will want to be involved.”
“You’d think so. But Mom is busy arranging a cruise for her and Dad. You’re not getting out of this one.” Winona’s voice had grown chipper.
“But don’t you want us all to plan it together?” He crossed the street toward Common Grounds, hunching his shoulders against the brisk, morning breeze.
“Nope. Oh, I’m running late! I gotta go. See you Thursday. Kisses.” She hung up, to his chagrin.
Inside the café, he was soon filled with a sense of belonging. The smell of rich coffee, the hint of cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils. As he joined the throngs of people standing around or sitting at small tables in the cozy coffeehouse, his tight muscles began to loosen up. It had been nearly a month since he’d been in. He’d tried his best to stay away, but couldn’t give up his addiction to the Grounds’ coffee. And if his eyes happened to light upon the familiar face of a lean woman with shiny black hair and big gray eyes, whose ass he couldn’t help but admire, all the better.
This morning, he’d make certain to learn her name and he’d find a way to make her smile—an authentic one, aimed at him.
Joining the long line, he knew exactly what he wanted to drink. The baristas called out orders from behind the counter. Disappointment filled him. His quarry was missing. A sudden pinch in his chest gave him pause. What if she was off today, or worse—quit? He pushed that thought away.
He’d stepped forward to place his order when a harried woman holding a bawling toddler wearing a white T-shirt covered with brown splotches broke through the line and approached a large, balding man wearing a bright, cartoonish tie. “I’m sorry about the bathroom! Gregory’s hot chocolate didn’t agree with his tummy. Please tell the young woman cleaning up in there I feel horrible. Greg has never thrown up so much! Your employee tried to help, but then he splashed her with his vomit and…well, I could have just rolled up into a ball and died.”
Xavier covered his mouth in horror and relief when the employee the distraught woman mentioned emerged from the ladies’ room.
The woman who had given him major attitude at the Halloween Gala had her head down with her cap riding low on her brow. Her apron was covered in dark brown goop and she pushed a mop in a yellow bucket across the floor. People backed away, wrinkling their noses at the foul odor rising from her.
The poor dear. He shifted to the side to let her shuffle past.
“What did I do in my past life to deserve getting puked on?” she whispered miserably and wrinkled her nose. Xavier couldn’t help himself and chuckled.
She frowned. “Oh no, it’s you.”
He kept his smile in place, although it miffed him to hear her say such a thing. What was it about him she didn’t like?
“I think you need a coffee more than I do. Rough morning?” He gave her nametag a peek. Bingo! Becca. He liked the way her name rolled off his lips and mouthed it a few times.
She blew a breath out through her mouth. “You could say that. How often do kids upchuck on you?”
“Never, so far, Becca. You’re a brave woman for dealing with that.”
“So you finally figured out my name?” She pointed to her badge. “How could you not after so many weeks? Not that I’ve seen you in here lately.”
She noticed I’ve been missing? This was an interesting state of events. “I tried to stay away, but couldn’t. Common Grounds has something special here.” He made certain to focus on her face so she knew what he meant.
Her cheeks reddened, and when he smiled at her again, she glanced everywhere except at him.
“The Grounds’ coffee is the best in the state,” she replied and rubbed under her nose.
“It’s not the coffee that keeps me coming back here.”
She sneezed, a short eruption that had her sniffing hard. She grabbed for a napkin, but he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “Here, use this.”
“Thanks.” She took it and blew her nose. Inspecting the cloth, she turned a stunned expression on him. “But this isn’t a tissue. It’s a real handkerchief! Monogrammed.”
He enjoyed watching her rub her thumb over the blue script of his initials, XAM—Xavier Allan Marks. Heat built low in his groin as her finger smoothed the material, a longing for her to caress some part of him.
He didn’t stop to think and tugged on the end of her ponytail. She stepped away, wearing a frown again.
“Don’t do that. I don’t like strange men touching me.” Her voice shook and she crushed the handkerchief.
“I apologize,” he replied in a low voice, sneaking a peek at the counter to see if anyone had noticed their interaction. “You forget we’re not strangers anymore, Becca.”
“I disagree. But why am I not surprised by how you act all smooth and hands on.”
Xavier frowned this time. “I’ll admit I do like to flirt with you. But I never meant to overstep my bounds and make you uncomfortable.”
“Let me guess. You’ve never had a woman tell you no before. I bet scores of women just drop at your feet, letting you toy with their hair as if you have the right.”
At a loss for words for the first time in his life, he didn’t like it. He moved back to give her more space. “Again, I don’t mean to be pushy. I’ve been batting zero with the ladies lately,” he muttered, scraping the heel of his loafer on the floor.
“You are being pushy. Listen, I know you want to be friendly and think you can offer me something special, but I’m just too busy and I’m not attracted to rich playboys who get off by mocking the poor coffee girl.”
Stunned, he tried to digest what he’d heard.
She quirked her lips at his lack of a response. “How about we keep things between us businesslike? You come in, order your coffee, greet me with a good morning. I respond in kind, and you go on your way.”
“I’m not a playboy. You’d be surprised how far from it I am.”
“Note how you didn’t say you aren’t rich. Whatever.” With a final shake of her head, she disappeared into the back.
She wins this round. He wouldn’t be surprised if Becca found a way to bar him from the café for life.
He left without his coffee. He’d lost his taste for it during their interaction. Becca’s opinion shouldn’t have mattered—they were different in too many ways. So what if he did have enough money for a comfortable lifestyle? He’d worked hard to achieve what he had and refused to make any apologies for it.
Perhaps Becca didn’t like men with money? He wouldn’t be surprised to learn a wealthy man from her past had hurt her in some way to leave her so biased.
The idea someone could cause pain to such a fragile woman made him livid. But at least it would explain why she acted bitter toward him.
With many thoughts churning in his head, he paced back across the street toward his office. At the doors, he chanced a quick glance back at the café.
Well, isn’t this a surprise? Becca stood in front of the window, holding up a white square. She shook her head and motioned to the handkerchief. He waved. She did the same and he nodded.
Once she disappeared into the cafe, he went into the lobby. Waiting for the elevator, the urge to run back and talk to her grew. Was her handkerchief waving a sign of peace or just her offering it back to him? Whichever way he looked at it, he won. He would have to see her again to retrieve his possession. And the next time they met, he wouldn’t leave until that cynical expression on her face disappeared, replaced by a smile.
Something about Becca, his unhappy barista, made him want to sweep her into his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay. Perhaps fate was telling him to push aside his own boring, good guy ways and release a different side—one prepared to invade and pillage.
And Becca would be his first conquest.
Chapter Three
The wind coming off the bay had picked up by the time Becca got out of her car. She advanced across the gravel, trying not to trip over the cracks in the sidewalk as she made her way up the front steps and reached inside her mailbox.
She flipped through the various letters and other items, mostly bills, ignoring the swaying branches of the skeletal trees surrounding her property. A single lit streetlamp in front of her house pierced the darkness cloaking her block. All the other lamps stood burnt out or shot out, the other houses desolate and empty. Off in the distance, lights from the buildings across the bay glittered and a few boats drifted by on the choppy water. A horn blared, and she breathed in the smell of salt and brine. She had lived most of her life on this street. Even after so many people had relocated to smaller, more modern homes, she had remained with her grandmother. But now she lived alone.
The oldest street in Michi Falls had been abandoned, the three story mansions and townhouses slated to be torn down by some sort of housing corporation. Rumor had it they’d bought the land to build pricey condominiums to sell at astronomical prices. By then she would have to move anyway. Where to? She had no clue.
She unlocked the door and made her way inside, met not by a welcoming warmth, but rather the slight chill layering the hallway and following her into the living and dining room. She kept the thermostat on low, since she couldn’t afford to heat all three stories of the house. Plus, the boiler was on its last leg. If that went, she’d be in trouble and forced to wear layers and blankets since she didn’t have any money for home repairs.
Ignoring the cold and her empty stomach, she switched on a lamp and left her purse and mail on the end table. A nice, toasty fire would be perfect for a brisk night like this. Too bad the fireplace didn’t work. Not even her three-year-old winter coat with its wool lining could keep her warm under these conditions.
One good thing about her father being dead was that he couldn’t see how much of a failure his daughter had become. After work she’d gone to visit her parents’ grave and sat on the frozen ground, trying not to break down over her unbearable life.
Acid built up in her throat, causing her to breathe through her nose. If she ate something, she’d throw it all back up. She needed to stop these damaging thoughts or she would end up back in the hospital. But this time, no one would be there to take her home and tell her it would get better. The last time that happened, she’d had her father and grandmother to take care of her until she could function again.
Shaking off those depressing thoughts, she pulled off her coat, grabbed her mail, and sat down on the old couch, the middle cushion sagging. She wrapped up in her bright blue Snuggie, a birthday gift from her friend Gabby. Always cold, she welcomed the blanket with sleeves, although it swallowed up her entire body. She relaxed and opened her mail.
Electric bill…water bill…flyer for a new Chinese restaurant…cell phone bill…chunky letter from the bank….
She dropped the other envelopes on the table in front of her, keeping the large, long one from the bank on her lap, unopened. She huddled her face under the blanket, her body warming up from the pocket of heat surrounding her. This letter didn’t leave her cold.
The confirmation that she’d lose her home, the graceful old house her grandmother had bought based on a long-lasting dream, made her distraught. How would she ever forgive herself if that happened?
Her eyes burned and she sat up, picking up the bank notice again. She’d received one like this three months ago, that one containing the first mention of the word—foreclosure.
The wind rattled the front windows and she shivered. At least she had a home, a slightly cold one, but it belonged to her.
“Keep positive thoughts, Becky.” She would change into her pajamas and then fix something to eat.
With that in mind, she carried the bank letter into the kitchen, leaving it on the counter. She’d open it, but first she needed some downtime after her long day.
Releasing her hair from its band, she massaged her head. The strands tangled and snarled around her shoulders since she hadn’t had any time during the day to brush it. When did she ever have time to style her hair or beautify herself to attract some guy? Xavier Marks didn’t think she needed to dress to impress him, though, based on the way he stared at her….
She rolled her eyes and fetched her purse to check her voice messages. She had a bad habit of keeping her phone on silent while she worked. Scrolling through the missed calls on the touch screen, two numbers popped up, including an anonymous one. She tapped her cell against her cheek. What if Xavier had learned her number and left a message? It was a mystery to her why he was on her mind today. He reminded her of Dev, well, not so much that she’d think Xavier would force her to do something she didn’t want to do. Even with his persistence this morning, he’d still made sure she had enough space to breathe, a concept Dev couldn’t understand.
Stop placing Xavier and Dev in the same category!
She opened her blanket and reached into her pocket to pull out the handkerchief Xavier had given her. Touched by his thoughtfulness, she held the small piece of him to her chest.
“Ugh.” She grimaced, her stomach knotting, but not in the same way as when she thought of food. A nice, inviting feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time swept through her.
Shaking her head, hoping that would erase Xavier Marks from her mind, she focused on her phone messages. Then she’d hunker down with some tea and a bowl of oatmeal and immerse herself in family pictures from a time when she’d had so much to look forward to.
***
Bing Crosby sang about a white Christmas from the stereo next to the fireplace. An empty, crusted bowl and a few rejected, scratched-off lottery tickets lay on the coffee table. Becca finished rubbing a penny across another scratch-off and waved it. Winner!
She placed the ticket on the couch cushion beside her and finished up her chai tea, rubbing a finger across the album she’d spent the last hour perusing. A strand of hair still damp from her shower hair fell across her shoulder and she pulled her Snuggie apart. Her long, black and white flannel nightgown and gray, fuzzy wool socks offered perfect insulation. So what if she drowned in her oversized gown? At the moment, she was relaxed and content.
The CD finished. She didn’t jump up to play another, too focused on reading a brochure from one of the online universities and flipping through the information about classes in hospitality and economics. A year-and-a-half short of getting her college degree, she hoped for a future that didn’t include serving coffee or working in a bookstore making minimum wage for the rest of her life.
I should call back Gabby about stopping by the Sir Bean on Black Friday after I finish my shift at the Book—
Brrring.
Holding back a frustrated groan, she dropped her Snuggie on the couch and went to answer the door, shivering at the chilly draft floating up under her nightgown. Lifting her eye to the peephole, she cursed and then opened the door. Devdan tipped the brim of his black wool fedora hat with one leather-gloved hand, holding a white box with the other. The gleaming smile he bestowed on her used to make her thighs clench in lust. But no longer. That girl who used to hang on his every word had vanished long ago.
“Hello, Dev. What are you doing here on such a cold night? Shouldn’t you be wining and dining a client or on a date with some billionaire’s daughter?”
Laughing, he chucked her under her chin. She ducked away, his touch unwelcome.
He didn’t comment on her reaction, just brushed past her and into the living room, leaving his hat and the box on the antique side table. Rubbing his palms together, he frowned. “Jesus, Rebecca, it’s like an icebox in here.”
He wouldn’t leave even if she asked nicely. And since he outweighed her by a good eighty pounds, she couldn’t throw him out.
“I wasn’t expecting any guests.” She shut the door. “And for your information, I’m pretty warm.”
Dev scoffed, eyeing her from the tops of her wool-encased feet to her long, potato sack-like nightgown, then her hair, flat from her quick comb through after her shower.
“I can see that. What’s with the granny nightgown?” He shook his head and unbuttoned his coat, opening it to place his hands on the hips of tailored gray slacks that matched his suit jacket.
Dev made a dashing figure in a suit that cost enough to cover her mortgage payment for a month. Always impeccably dressed, he oozed sex appeal and knew it. He posed, waiting for her to comment on what he wore or how fine he looked. His face had a healthy glow from the fake tan he spent an hour or two a week perfecting at one of the health spas he frequented. Even, his red-toned curls didn’t appear out of place from the blustery wind outside.
“If you’re going to insult me, you can get out. I’m not in the mood.” She moved toward the couch, but he stepped in front of her.
Shrugging off his coat, he draped it over his arm. Flashing a small, understanding smile that barely dented the dimples on each side of his mouth, he gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “I came to see how you’re doing. I thought you might need company, considering what today is. I didn’t want you to be all alone in this mausoleum tonight.”
Becca held back a snort. Like he should talk. Dev’s house was equivalent to the size of hers with a backyard the size of two football fields. Much too large for a man who lived alone.
She moved out from under his hold. “Thanks for your concern. It means a lot. I’m doing okay. I just finished my dinner.”
Dev strolled to the sitting area, grabbing the mysterious white box that gave off the slight scent of chocolate and something else like vanilla.
“Please tell me you didn’t have just a bowl of cereal. And what’s with the scratch offs? It’s a waste of money if you ask me.” He shook his head as he examined the table.
She pursed her lips together. “Not cereal. Oatmeal. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.” She chose to ignore the second part of his comment.
“Rebecca.” Dev frowned and returned with the container as he laid his overcoat on the back of the couch. “You need to eat more. I would be very displeased if you had a relapse.”
His stern opinion should have upset her, but it was his way of caring, even if unneeded half the time. He had seen her at both her best and, more often, at her worst.
“I’m not going to have a relapse. You can rest assured I won’t be sticking my finger down my throat anytime in the future.” She tried her best to make light of her disorder and tapped the top of the carton he held. She smiled upon spotting Sweete’s pink and white cupcake logo. The bakery had a reputation for creating the most flavorful and unique cupcakes and muffins. “And since I had a light dinner, I have room for dessert. What did you bring me?”
Satisfaction filled his face as he passed it to her. “Remember how much your father loved Sweete House Cupcakes? I stopped there after I left the office. I thought we could have a cupcake together in honor of his life and his love of their desserts.”
She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. “I smell mint and….”
“Vanilla, cookie dough, and dark chocolate, your father’s favorite,” Dev responded and grinned at her.
“I shouldn’t,” she moaned, but when he grabbed the box away from her and made his way into the kitchen, she followed on his heels.
“What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Rossi?”
“You must have one, at least.” He set the treats in the middle of the table while zoning in on her chest.
She started to cross her arms, but pulled on her cuffs instead. “If my nightgown disgusts you, why don’t you—”
“Rebecca, it’s not that.” He grabbed her hands and rubbed his thumbs over the rough patches on her knuckles. “You’re too damn skinny, and that baggy nightgown shows it all too well. I don’t want you to waste away like you did last time.”
Like you wanted me to when we started dating? She swallowed and walked to the refrigerator to grab the container of coffee she kept for guests.
“How about I make a pot to go with the cupcakes?” She plugged in the coffeemaker without waiting for an answer. Dev always enjoyed a cup, regardless of the hour.
“I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“It’s in the past. There’s no reason to continue blaming yourself for what happen to me back in college. I’ve gotten past it. I forgive you. I thought we’d gotten beyond this.” Becca scooped grounds into the machine and filled the pot with water at the sink. As she poured it into the filter, he came up behind her, dropping his hands on her shoulders, and massaged her tight muscles. She bit her lip to keep from moaning too loud. He always finds the right spot to work on.
“Okay. I won’t go there.” He dug his thumb into her shoulder blade and she gasped at the pain. “You’re too tense, Pyaar.”
Love. She closed her eyes at the old, familiar endearment. When his nose brushed up against the crook of her neck, she stepped to the side and reached to grab mugs from the cabinet above her head. She turned back around, to find Dev leaning against the counter with a shielded expression.
She fiddled with the confectionary box and opened it. The smell of sweet, baked goodness hit her in the face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any type of dessert, let alone a cupcake. The sudden urge to sit down and eat one right after the other overcame her. She stepped back and opened the refrigerator to grab the milk.
“I only have skim milk, unless you want it black—” She slammed the door and stomped up to him in outrage. He’d torn the letter from the bank open. “Hey, you have no right! That’s mine.” She grabbed for it, but he held it high. She wouldn’t resort to jumping for his entertainment.
“Calm down.” He gave her an amused glance then focused on the letter. She held out her hand, her face growing hotter by the second.
He finally gave the open letter back to her.
“You’re an asshole,” she murmured, crumpling the paper in her fist. Shaking with rage, she went to the other side of the table to sit down. He didn’t follow her, just continued standing with a nasty smirk on his face.
“Aren’t you going to read it, Pyaar?” He fixed his tie.
“Don’t call me that! Since you’ve gone out of your way to do that yourself, why don’t you tell me what it says?” Throwing the paper ball on the table, she glared at the cupcakes, wanting to pound them into a pulpy mess.
“It shouldn’t be too much of a shock that the bank is giving you until the end of February to pay the mortgage in full, along with the accrued interest and back taxes.”
“It’s not a surprise,” She spread her palms across her lap. She pulled on a loose string from her nightgown and twined it around her pointer finger, watching the tip change to a dark shade of red.
“It wouldn’t have to come to this if you —”
“If I what, Devdan?” She unraveled the string and shoved the chair back until it slammed into the wall behind her. He merely raised a mocking eyebrow at her childish action.
He shook his head, digging his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “Why won’t you let me help you? You’re killing yourself working at the café and the bookstore. Leila’s aunt can’t be paying you that much. What do you make with her? Eight, nine dollars an hour? Maybe ten at the most?”
She exhaled slowly. Her job at Aunt Judy’s independent bookstore kept her from even more dire straits. And the fact that he had a made such an accurate guess at what she made caused her blood pressure to rise.
“I refused your help because of what you want in return. It’s too high a price to pay. And why do you have to butt your nose in my business? We’ve been over this time and again.” She picked up the letter and threw it in the direction of the garbage can.
He shook his head. “That’s not going to stop anything, Rebecca. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. Your immaturity disappoints me.”
She ground her teeth together, seething. The sugary smell of the cupcakes, a short time ago so enticing, sickened her.
“I realize ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you offer me a job at one of your father’s companies with a nice salary to help me pay off my bills?”
She ground her teeth and marched to the coffeemaker, yanking out the pot and pouring the liquid down the sink. Hell would freeze before she allowed him to stay. As she opened her mouth to tell him just that, he sat down and helped himself to a cupcake.
“What’s the snort for?” She tugged on her hair in frustration.
“I’d love for you to work with me, and see you every day in an adorable suit-skirt ensemble.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “But the truth of the matter is, my dear, the Rossis hire only the best, those with a bachelors or higher. Dad would never go for it.”
“I hate you,” She stepped behind him to pull away his chair and make him get up, but he reached around and grabbed her wrist. She yanked, but he wouldn’t let her go. When he tried to pull her onto his lap, she dropped onto the chair next to him instead.
“You don’t mean that.” He released her wrist, peeled the wrapper down and finished his chocolate cupcake, licking the last of the icing from his fingers.
She scowled and shook her hand, feigning pain. He had pulled on her, but not hard enough to hurt. She knew how forceful Dev could get, and the upper body strength he achieved from working out four times a week could do major damage to a person if he felt inclined.
“You make it hard for me to like you.”
He linked their fingers, which she allowed, leaving her hand limp on the table.
“I’m not trying to be cruel. I want to take care of you,” he said softly. “The stress of keeping your house and dealing with your grandmother’s sickness is running you ragged. I’d never forgive myself if you had a breakdown.”