Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) Read online

  Creed

  The Marquette Family

  Book One

  By

  Tressie Lockwood

  Creed

  Copyright © September 2014, Tressie Lockwood

  Cover art designed by Clarissa Yeo © September 2014

  Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  ISBN 978-1-627620-76-5

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Amira Press

  Charlotte, NC

  www.amirapress.com

  Chapter One

  Frowning, Creed rubbed his temples, but no amount of pressure could ease the pain. He guessed nothing would help, seeing he’d been up for the last twenty-four hours. Nothing in particular had happened in that time, but still, he felt the irritation rising, and it wouldn’t ease until he dropped his head on a pillow and left the world of consciousness behind for a few hours.

  Numbers ran through his head, which he hated. That was his brother Damen’s area, but the bastard hadn’t been returning his calls. Neither had his youngest brother, Stefan, been answering. Instinct told Creed the two of them were up to something they didn’t want him to find out about. He swore as he heeled off his shoes and yanked his socks from his feet. Unbuttoning his shirt, he counted the number of times his brothers had done something stupid in the last few years, things that he had to go behind their backs to fix. At least once or twice a year, he surmised. His foul mood escalated.

  Having shed all his clothing, he stepped into the shower and allowed water to rain down on his head. The cool temperature, though welcome, did nothing to ease his pain. He needed to dig through his baggage to find the pouch where he kept his personals. He’d gone back to living in a hotel, but this particular one wasn’t so bad, and it wouldn’t be too long until the renovations were done. He had thought a change at his house was what he needed. At least he could work in peace when he wasn’t in the office and not have to deal with endless hammering. Now he’d begun to rethink the decision.

  Too soon, he had to begin washing off or he wouldn’t hear room service arrive with his meal. That might be another reason for the headache. When was the last time he’d eaten? Yesterday morning? He wasn’t sure. The reports he had been studying took all his concentration, not to mention the countless phones calls. Many of them had nothing to do with Marquette Innovations, Inc., which also pissed him off. Newly added to the Forbes list of billionaires, he felt…what? He felt harassed. That’s how he felt, damn them.

  Creed stepped out of the shower and ran his hand over the fogged mirror. He stared into his face, noting the perpetual frown. A change was what he needed, yet he couldn’t get out of his routine. MI had brought him satisfaction every time he walked through the doors at headquarters, but lately, it wasn’t enough. Everyone jumped at his every whim, scrambling to please him. He had only to snap his fingers, and it was “What do you need, boss? Sure, boss, anything. I’m on it!”

  He chuckled low under his breath and slammed a fist against the wall. Pain reverberated through his skull, and he leaned against the sink, waiting for it to pass. Who wouldn’t want the life he lived? Who wouldn’t give a limb to be so pampered? There was something missing, though—a challenge, he guessed. On top of that, he had begun to think now might be the time to produce an heir. He laughed again. How arrogant he sounded using the word heir. Still, that’s what his children would be, heirs to the Marquette fortune. Creed and his brothers were overnight billionaires. Well, if one could call a decade overnight.

  A knock sounded through the suite, and he groaned. He’d forgotten again. After running a towel over his wet skin, he wrapped it around his waist. He should have used the robe but left it in the closet. No matter. The hotel staff had seen more than a bare chest and legs in their time.

  “Coming,” he called and opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Marquette,” came the sultry voice. “I’m Shada.”

  Creed met the bright brown eyes of a very beautiful woman. He stepped back to let her pass and enjoyed the view of heavy breasts beneath a boring uniform, curvy hips, probably thick, satisfying thighs under the skirt, and a nice round ass. His cock stirred as he followed her in, but he willed it to calm down. No need to offend the staff, especially when he wore only a towel.

  “Right there is fine,” Creed said as she rolled the cart into a convenient spot.

  The woman spun to face him with a smile on very kissable lips. For some reason, she seemed overly excited, but he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe this was her first time serving. He had visited the hotel countless times, even though he was born and raised in New York. In the beginning, he and his brothers came here when they could afford it, just for the luxury. Later, at various times, he had found the hotel’s location more convenient to the office during all those late hours entertaining business guests. In all that time, he had never seen this mocha beauty, or he would have remembered.

  Creed considered the smooth skin that looked so soft to the touch, the sexy lips, the wide eyes. She was fuller figured than any of his previous lovers, but only by a little. Skinny women had never appealed to him.

  “I can tell you what we have, if you’re ready?” she said.

  Creed blinked at her. Maybe the bite in her tone had been a figment of his imagination.

  The smile remained in place as she began uncovering the dishes. “We have your mushroom burger with aged New York cheddar and sautéed onions. To die for, right?”

  Creed raised an eyebrow. “That’s medium-well?”

  She winked. “Of course. I don’t know how you’re going to eat all this, but you’re a big man, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “I think that will be enough,” he said.

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Then we have watermelon, feta, and basil salad. And right here,” she said, uncovering a smaller dish with a flourish, “you must try the orzo with wilted spinach and—”

  “I didn’t order that,” he interrupted.

  The foolish woman unwound his napkin from the silverware and stuck a fork in the concoction. “It’s incredible. Give it a taste. I know you’ll beg for it every time you come back.”

  Creed stared. What kind of unprofessional person had the hotel hired for room service? “I said—” he muttered, enunciating carefully.

  “Come on. Just one bite, and I’m out of your hair to let you enjoy your meal.”

  Creed ground his teeth. The irritation that had settled just a little after his shower began to rise again. His head hurt, no less, and here was this sexy but annoying woman trying to get him to eat food he didn’t order. Who cared if it tasted good? She needed to go away so he could wolf down his burger and get some shut-eye. He hadn’t even intended to order the salad, but on the menu, it had sounded good. Now she wanted him to taste some pretentious wilted orzo or whatever she had called it.

  “Like I said,” he pushed between gritted teeth, “I didn’t order it, so I don’t want it.”

  A tweezed eyebrow rose in response to his suppressed anger. She didn’t appear to be intimidated by his size or his temper. At least this was new. Most of the people he dealt with caved when he lost his temper. This woman was either too stupid to recognize the total loss of patience on his part, or she was very brave.

  She picked up the dish and nestled it in the palm of her hand. Inviting lips and a deep cleavage offered him a treat. Resistance crumbled. Creed snatched the dish and fork from her fingers. A tingling began in his nose, but he paid it no mind as he aimed the utensil at he
r. “If it’s not good…”

  She chuckled, and he was struck by the prettiness of it. “Trust me, you won’t regret giving it a try, if I do say so myself.”

  Her hands went to her hips as she watched him with eagerness. Once again, he let his dick direct his brain, and he stuffed a heaped forkful into his mouth. Regret was the least of his worries the second the food hit the back of his throat. His eyes watered, and the burning began right away. Creed coughed and choked. He stared unbelievingly down at the plate and then at the woman. The happy expression on her face transformed in an instant to suspicion and then anger.

  “It’s not that bad. You’re kidding, right?”

  Creed coughed again and shoved the plate at her. His throat was closing fast. Pulling air in became a chore, and his chest grew tighter. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing more than a rasp came out. Damn it! Nuts in my food? They’ve never…

  The full thought refused to form as he focused on getting air before he passed out. He charged toward the bed, but she stood in his path, hands on her hips, frowning at him. “Mr. Marquette, enough with the jokes. If you don’t like it, just say so!”

  Creed shoved her aside with one hand, and she stumbled, giving a small yelp. As she tried to right herself, her arm shot out to grab onto his. The stupid woman missed and caught his towel instead. She landed on her ass, and he rocked on unsteady feet above her—naked.

  Through the fog that his mind was becoming, he saw her staring up at his cock, mouth open, eyes wide. He sank down to the floor, and his forehead hit her shoulder. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t raise it. She shoved at him and managed to look into his face. At last, alarm registered on hers.

  “Oh crap, you’re serious! Are you allergic to nuts?” When he couldn’t respond, she scrambled out from under him, knocking him sideways in the process. He went down hard. All he heard at that point were the ragged gasps as he struggled to pull in air through a pea-sized opening in his throat. He knew from experience it was a matter of time before he got no air at all.

  “Where is it?” she shouted. “You’ve got an epi pen, don’t you? Where?”

  His luggage landed on the floor in front of him, and Shada scavenged for his pouch. She soon found it and popped the blue cap off the container, then rolled him over to push the pen against his thigh. Creed expected to have to help her in some way to realize she needed to hold the pen against his leg for ten seconds, but she did it on her own. In fact, as the lifesaving adrenaline passed into his system, Shada pulled the needle away and, with a hesitant hand, massaged the area. She had no doubt received some type of training to use it.

  When he could breathe, Creed sat up.

  Shada tossed the used pen away and hurried to move closer to him. She laid an arm across his shoulders. “Easy, Take it slowly.”

  She moved away, and he sucked in as deep a breath as he could and winced at his state of undress. How embarrassing and disgustingly weak for him to land in this mess in front of her. Sure, it was her fault, but that didn’t make him feel better.

  “Yes, I need an ambulance at…” Shada was saying into the desk phone.

  Creed groaned. He staggered to his feet and fell against the bed.

  “Wait, let me help you, Mr. Marquette,” Shada called out. She slammed the phone down and rushed to him.

  “I’m fine,” he rasped.

  “You might need another shot in a few minutes.”

  The paramedics wouldn’t find him naked, damn it. Where the hell were his pants?

  “Let me help you.” Her voice was soft, full of fear. She seemed to know what he sought, even though he couldn’t put his need into words or even gestures. Humiliation rose as she slid a pair of slacks over his feet.

  “I…can…do…it.” His heart pounded. He felt jittery, and his stupid hands wouldn’t steady enough to grab the band of his pants. Damn it, she’s not even starting with my boxers!

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re speaking so well.” She slid the pants up his legs and paused as she leaned over him, her face inches away from his. “Um, this part will be a challenge,” she teased.

  He concentrated on breathing. By some strange miracle, between the two of them, they got his pants on, and Creed cursed for the hundredth time when she grabbed the zipper on his slacks and slid it upward. All he could think about at that point was not getting his cock caught, but she managed to handle him fine.

  By the time Shada straightened, a knock had sounded at the door. She ran to open it, and the room filled with paramedics, hotel security, and a man he assumed was the manager. Creed was strapped into a gurney, a mask for oxygen was slapped onto his face, and he was wheeled out of the room with questions flying at his head. He shut his eyes and breathed as deep as he could handle, but the truth was he felt like he was on crack. He hated the reaction from adrenaline almost as much as he hated the allergic reaction.

  After being started on an IV drip and hooked up to monitors, Creed’s equilibrium slowly returned. His heart calmed, and he began to feel a lot better. Allowing the hospital staff to do what they needed to for him, he lay still with his eyes closed. That didn’t mean he was calm. He thought of the woman and what she had put him through. His anger surged higher while he relived again and again the humiliation he’d suffered.

  Hours later, Creed sat on the side of the hospital bed, pulling a shirt over his head.

  “Do you need anything else, Creed?” his assistant, Jeff, asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” he snapped. He didn’t mean to, but Jeff was used to his moods anyway, and he didn’t flinch. “I’m going back to the hotel, and I want a meeting with the head chef as soon as I get there. I want to know why the fuck they would give me food with nuts in it, knowing my allergy!”

  “Of course.” Jeff tucked the bag he had brought Creed a change of clothes in under his arm. “I can take care of it if you like.”

  “Hell, no! I want the satisfaction myself.”

  “Sure. Will there be anything else?”

  Creed slipped his socks and shoes on and then stood up. At last he felt presentable to do battle. He charged toward the door. “Find out where my brothers are.”

  “You got it.”

  * * * *

  Creed ignored the outstretched hand of the man just entering the hotel manager’s office. The white uniform and hat said he was the head chef, and the set to his shoulders and high chin said the man thought a lot of himself. Why shouldn’t he? After all, this hotel was known for its quality and food. For that reason, and because of the way they had treated him up until now, he gave them his business. However, almost dying, incompetent staff, and lack of rest had changed his view.

  “Mr. Marquette,” the chef intoned, “you have my deepest apologies for—”

  “I’ve been a guest here many times over the years,” Creed interrupted, “and I was assured that you and all of your staff know of my severe peanut allergy. I can’t even smell them without having a reaction. Yet I get food with them in it, food I didn’t order?”

  “Sir, I don’t know how this happened…”

  “It was my fault. I’m so sorry.” Shada appeared in the doorway, twisting her fingers together, fear and sorrow in her expression. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been here that long, and usually I’m much more careful about this sort of thing.”

  He glared at her. Once again, his body’s reaction took him by surprise, but memories of her helping him to get his pants on—having to tuck me in!—sickened him all over again.

  “Ms. Howard,” the chef growled, “what would you have to do with anything? I fixed Mr. Marquette’s meal.”

  Creed gave him credit for taking responsibility.

  Shada stepped closer and raised her chin. Creed thought he saw a tremor in her lips, but then it was gone. “I wanted… Well, never mind what I wanted, but I delivered his food and added a little something extra.”

  “Extra?” Now the chef’s chest swelled. “Why would my creations need something extra! Who are you to add e
xtra?”

  Shada faced him. “I admit I was wrong. I’m so sorry this happened. Trust me when I say I know how serious a person being sick can be. I just wanted recognition for my spinach feta orzo, and I went about it the wrong way.”

  The chef sneered. “You wanted recognition? I’ll tell you what. How about you find it somewhere else. You’re fired!”

  Shada gasped. “Fired? No, please don’t do that. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, I need this job.”

  The man refused to hear her appeals. “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue the hotel and I lose my own job. You think I’ll risk my reputation for someone like you?”

  Creed held up his hands, his anger fading just a little. “There’s no need to—”

  “Wait a minute. Hold on. Someone like me?” Shada stepped into her boss’s face. “What are you trying to say?”

  Creed cleared his throat.

  The head chef’s nostrils flared. “This.” He gestured to Shada from head to toe. “This attitude. From the beginning, you’ve clashed with everybody. You’re always angry and defensive.”

  “That’s not true! Ask anybody. You’re the one no one likes working for.”

  The man’s face reddened. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you? Don’t expect a reference. Get your things and get out. In fact, I’m calling security to have you escorted from the premises.”

  “Enough,” Creed bellowed, and both of them quieted down. Shada’s eyes flashed as she looked at him, and she folded her arms beneath her heavy breasts. He looked away from them to the head chef, who appeared just as put out by his interruption. Creed’s headache had eased after lying quiet in the hospital for a while. Now he felt a pulse beginning in his left temple again. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone getting fired unnecessarily. I won’t be filing suit—this time.”

  The chef nodded, but Creed saw he hadn’t changed his mind. Well, it had nothing further to do with him. He had received an apology and an explanation. Now, all he wanted was to get back to his room and sleep.