Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) Read online

  He stuck his finger in a bit of honey and held it to her lips. She grabbed a napkin and cleaned his finger, then laughed at his disappointment.

  “I wanted you to suck it.”

  “I know. Maybe next time.”

  Amusement brightened his eyes and curved his lips. Damn, he was sexy. To distract herself, she picked up the last piece of sausage and bit into it. Creed watched her chewing, a look of interest on his face. Where were they going with this? Would they have sex again, or was last night a one-night stand, so to speak? If she knew what was good for her, she’d let it become a great memory and leave it there.

  “So I read this short piece on you in Forbes magazine,” she began.

  “Hmm.”

  “It said you and your brothers were from humble beginnings, but it didn’t really go into any details. Were you born and raised in New York?”

  “Would you really like to know?”

  “Only if you want to tell me. If it’s a secret…”

  “Not a big deal.” He said the words casually, but she sensed that remembering bothered him. She should have kept her curiosity to herself and let him volunteer the information if he wanted to share.

  Creed tapped his fork on his empty plate and then set it aside. “We were poor.”

  She glanced around the kitchen at the high-quality furniture and recalled how she had overheard that his brothers bought Marquette’s on a whim. If they were poor in the real sense, they had come a long way.

  Creed seemed to pick up on her doubt. “There were days we had no food in the house and no money to buy any.” He tipped his chin toward the refrigerator. “A small token of that time for me. I never allow it to be empty, no matter how infrequently I’m home.”

  “Marisa could explain that.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question.

  “She loves psychology and takes endless classes on it for no reason other than that she loves it. I’ve heard her say the kids who’ve had a tough childhood often grow up to have vices, but they’re all different from one another. Like one might spend too much money. Another might hoard it.”

  “Interesting,” he commented. “I suppose she’s right. My brothers and I are different.”

  “But you’re close too. I can see it in the way you all interact with one another. You look out for them.”

  He frowned. “They’re stubborn as jackasses.”

  She wanted to say, “Look who’s talking,” but kept quiet.

  He eyed her, amused, reading her thoughts, no doubt. “My dad was an entertainer. He played the guitar and sang in nightclubs.”

  “No way.”

  He nodded. “Didn’t go far, since half the time he either didn’t come home or, when he did, came home drunk, angry, and broke.” His mouth tightened, and she noticed how his knuckles, white from the grip on his coffee cup, stood out. “Stefan wanted to be just like him, but he didn’t see what a loser the guy was.”

  She tut-tutted. “When they’re really young, kids seldom do see the fault in their parents.”

  “I stood between him and my brothers when he came looking for a fight.”

  She gasped and touched his hand. “Creed, you aren’t that much older than them, are you? You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

  He shrugged. “I’m thirty-five. Damen is thirty-three, and Stefan is thirty. You see the smile Stefan always has on his face. I did what I needed to in order to keep it there.”

  Anger radiated off him, and she guessed if he had something to pound at that moment—maybe even his dad—he would have used it. Then he smiled, and she felt like the sun shined.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, glad his mood had lightened.

  “Stefan. One day my mom was out at a job interview. We’d eaten up everything we had in the house, and I got a bone-headed idea of how to take care of it.”

  She took in his form. Creed must be at least six foot three or four. What had he looked like as a kid or as a teenager? Regardless, if he ate then the way he ate now, it was no wonder they had no food. Especially with their father’s neglect.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “Well, I was going to steal.”

  Shada gasped. “Oh no. Tell me you weren’t caught.”

  He grinned. “No, but do you know the bakery on Ninth?”

  “Yes! I’ve been there. Love their chocolate rolls. Mmm.”

  “Don’t make that noise.”

  She grinned at the arrested look on his face. “Go on.”

  “As I said, I intended to steal, and I chose that bakery. I told Stefan to stay home, and I took Damen with me. Unbeknown to Damen and me, Stefan had his own ideas of how to raise money. Damen and I were all set to distract the woman at the counter when we heard someone that sounded suspiciously like Stefan singing at the top of his lungs while he played guitar.”

  Shada burst out laughing. “Oh wow, don’t tell me he did it right outside.”

  “Right outside the window. We could look through and see him standing there.”

  “Aw, that’s so cute.”

  Creed growled. “I considered cracking his skull, except by the time Damen and I ran out of the store, he’d collected five dollars.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” Creed ran fingers through his hair, making it worse. She itched to touch it herself, but she knew what his hair felt like to touch. Much of the night, she had enjoyed tugging at it. In fact, it was probably her fault that it looked such a mess.

  Shaking herself, she tried to focus on what Creed was saying. “So I’m guessing the rest was history?”

  “Not exactly history. We were run off from the bakery. The owner didn’t appreciate us blocking the entrance, but the three of us agreed singing might be a safer way to get money.”

  She gaped at him, surprised and impressed. “You sang?”

  His cheeks reddened, and he grumbled in annoyance. “I might have helped a little.”

  “I’d like to hear you sing some time.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” He stood up. “Come on. I need to get you home.”

  “I have to wash the dishes.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Creed.”

  “You cooked. I wash. Later. It’s a tradeoff.”

  From the stubborn set of his shoulders, she figured she couldn’t change his mind, so she gave in. Besides, she wanted to go home and check on Marisa.

  Creed dropped her off, and she let herself into the tiny apartment she shared with her sister. They had decorated it with the treasures they’d found over the years in New York’s thrift stores. From brass giraffes to unsigned landscapes, she loved it all because it reflected their style. Yet, after being in Creed’s house, she had to wonder what he would think of her home.

  Who cares? It was just sex. Remember that.

  As she passed through the living room, Shada noticed that the pile of four-inch thick books Marisa had been reading at the dining-room table the day before were now on the floor next to the coffee table. She frowned. How many times had she told Marisa to wait for her to move the books?

  Shada reached her sister’s room, knocked once, and opened the door. She smiled on seeing Marisa’s tangled red hair fanning her pillow. A small fist had been tucked beneath her chin, and Marisa’s long lashes brushed her cheeks. Shada inched on tiptoe over to the bed, stepping around more books as she went. Her heart constricted as she peered down at Marisa. Her sister might be twenty-eight, but in sleep, she looked no older than twelve. Shada sighed, and Marisa blinked up at her.

  “Morning,” Marisa whispered.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I was getting up.”

  Shada sank down on the side of the bed. “I thought I told you to wait and let me move your books. I don’t want you to wear yourself out. Don’t be so stubborn.”

  Marisa looked away. “I…uh…”

  Shada waited. “You uh what?” She leaned forward and squinted at her sister
. Nobody knew Marisa like she did. They had come through a lot together, and the one thing Shada was sure of was that Marisa had a hard time lying to her. When Shada caught her doing things she shouldn’t, like lifting heavy books, Marisa owned up to it and apologized. This was different, and Shada didn’t like it. She reached out to touch Marisa’s chin, but she didn’t force her sister to look her in the eyes. “Spill it, you.”

  Marisa gave a weak grin. “I didn’t exactly move them.”

  “Come again?”

  Her sister shifted under the covers, and Shada stood to let her rise. As usual, Marisa took a good minute to sit up, and she sat in silence on the side of the bed. She rubbed her eyes and hauled thick, unruly hair out of her face. Shada looked on with affection and impatience. She had been looking after Marisa almost from the day they met in foster care, when Marisa’s parents abandoned the sickly little eight-year-old.

  Thinking about the past, Shada almost forgot what she had asked.

  Marisa spoke, pulling her from unhappy memories. “Damen moved them for me.”

  “He did what?” Shada’s voice rose. “What the hell was Damen doing in our apartment? Why was he here when I wasn’t home?”

  Marisa almost never grew angry with Shada, although Shada flew off the handle all the time. Not necessarily with Marisa, but just at life and circumstances in general. Marisa tended to dig her heels in until Shada coaxed her to listen to reason. Now she firmed her deep rose lips in a way that warned Shada what was coming.

  “I’m not a child, Shada. Don’t talk to me like one.”

  “Oh, excuse me.” Shada folded her arms across her chest. “You sure are acting like one.”

  “How? I had a man over.”

  “Yes, a womanizer.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “And you don’t know men, Marisa. I don’t want you hurt. Anyone can see he’s not serious from a mile away.”

  “Creed was last night?”

  Shada’s teeth clicked when she snapped them together. She sighed and ran a hand over Marisa’s hair. Good thing she didn’t need to come in early, because she saw them spending a couple hours getting her sister’s hair untangled and washed.

  “I understand what Creed wants, and he understands me. No, it’s not serious. You know I don’t want to get involved with anyone.”

  Marisa hugged her, and Shada watched the fire in her eyes die out, as it always did, to be replaced by sweet happiness. “You say that, but deep inside you want to be loved, and you want to love.”

  Shada groaned. “Don’t go there. Besides, this isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Marisa.”

  “At some point, you’re going to have to stop worrying about me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Marisa chuckled and then coughed. Shada rubbed her back and then pulled a lock of hair from Marisa’s mouth. She started at the warm skin and felt Marisa’s forehead.

  “You feel hot.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re not.” Shada hurried to the dresser to get the kit containing various items she needed for Marisa. She found the thermometer and stuck it in her sister’s ear. A second later, the unit beeped, and Shada read it. “One hundred degrees. What time did you go to bed?”

  “Not too late.”

  “Sis.” This time Shada did make Marisa meet her gaze. “What time?”

  “Um…one, maybe?”

  Shada swore. “Because he kept you up! I don’t want you to see him anymore, Marisa.”

  Her sister said nothing.

  “Marisa, when you don’t get enough rest, you get sick. You know that.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Damn it, you’re so stubborn, and I have to nurse you after you do something like this.”

  Shada realized her mistake the second the words left her lips. She really didn’t mean it. She was just pissed that Marisa wouldn’t listen, and that damned Damen probably only thought of his cock.

  “You don’t have to take care of me.” Marisa lay down again and burrowed beneath the covers. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Sis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Shada reached for her, but Marisa shook her hand off.

  “I said I’m fine,” came the muffled response.

  “I love you,” Shada tried.

  Nothing.

  Shada headed to the door. She went to the kitchen and prepared Marisa breakfast, tea, and her morning meds. Then she brought everything back on a tray. After setting the tray on the table next to Marisa’s bed, she sat down and waited. Marisa rolled over and sat up. Slowly, she began to eat. Shada’s heart ached as she watched the labored movements. No matter what, Marisa said she was fine, but there were days like today when she had no energy, when her temperature rose, and she needed more time in bed. What got them both through were the better days. Rested and somehow stronger, Marisa would attend psych classes, eat lunch out with Shada, and even do a limited amount of shopping. Shada lived for those days and would spend as much time as possible with her sister to enjoy them.

  When Marisa finished eating, Shada watched over her while she took her medicine and then gathered the dishes. At Marisa’s bedroom door, her sister called out to her.

  Shada balanced the tray on one hip and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  Marisa lay in bed with the covers pulled to her chin. “I love you too.”

  Shada blew her a kiss and left the room, sniffling. She spent the rest of the morning caring for her sister and then left her sleeping to head in to work. Shada’s anger hadn’t cooled by the time she reached Marquette’s. In fact, the closer she drew to the place, the higher her own temperature rose. If Damen thought he was getting his jollies off with Marisa, he had another think coming. She would beat him with a frying pan in his own restaurant if she had to.

  When Shada strode through the door at work, she didn’t have to search for Damen. He stood in the main dining room, leaning against a column and smiling down at Tiffany. So much tinier than the tall, lanky man, she tilted her head way back, exposing her throat as if she offered it to him. Tiffany said something, and Damen chuckled. She reached up to touch his glasses and ran a finger along the frame.

  Shada clenched her hands at her sides and weaved through the tables. “Enjoying youself?” she demanded of Damen.

  His eyebrows went up. “I try to get enjoyment out of each day.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I bet. I need to talk to you—alone. If you can pry yourself away from Ms. Thing for a minute.”

  Tiffany pouted and laid a hand on Damen’s chest. “Really, Shada, you come barging in here all angry, as usual. I was talking to Damen. Surely, whatever you want can wait.”

  Shada narrowed her eyes and she raised a finger as she stepped toward the woman. “Let me tell you something, bitch—”

  “Whoa, it’s fine.” Damen thrust Tiffany to the side before Shada could get to her. He gestured toward the back. “How about we talk in the office, Shada. Creed had an errand and will be back soon.”

  Shada capitulated, but she caught Tiffany’s complaint behind her. “Why does everyone always give in to her? She’s not that scary.”

  “I think you better shut up, Tiff,” another of the waitresses said, and Shada ignored them both to follow Damen into the kitchen and farther back to the office.

  As soon as the door shut, she rounded on him. “Stay the hell away from my sister.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Don’t you think that’s up to her?”

  “No. I’ve been looking after her since I was thirteen, and I’ve sent sneakier men than you about their business.”

  “Sneaky?” She had offended him, judging by the tone of his voice, but she didn’t care. Damen frowned. “Marisa and I are friends. There’s nothing wrong with it. She’s an adult. Besides, we both enjoy psychology.”

  “Come off it. You just want to get in her panties. I know you were at my place last night, and then I f
ind you up in Tiffany’s face.”

  “We were talking, nothing more.”

  She glared at him. “Who? You and Marisa or you and Tiffany?”

  “Both.”

  She moved closer to him. “Don’t come to my house again. Ever.”

  “I think you need to show your boss a little bit more respect.”

  Now she saw his anger. She hadn’t witnessed it before, but she refused to back down just because of who he was. “Me working for you has nothing to do with you trying to seduce my sister. You think because you give me a paycheck, I’m supposed to hand her over?”

  Color stained his cheeks. “Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “How did you mean it, Damen?”

  He grunted. “I don’t mean her any harm, Shada. I’m a good guy. Ask anybody. Marisa is smart. I couldn’t take advantage of her if I tried.”

  “And pretty.”

  He worked his jaw. “Fine, yes, she’s very pretty. I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t see that, but if I fuck her—”

  Shada screamed. She leaped at Damen, her fingers curled like claws. He retreated a step, and she would have jumped after him if a strong arm didn’t wrap itself around her waist from behind and haul her backward. She kicked at the legs of the man holding her, but he didn’t flinch. His steel embrace meant she could scarcely draw in a breath, let alone escape.

  “Out!” Creed ordered, his voice booming from somewhere above her head.

  “Creed, just let me explain to her,” Damen began.

  “Now, Damen.”

  His brother left, and Shada shrieked after him. “Don’t let him go! I’m going to beat him until he never goes near Marisa again.”

  The door shut behind Damen’s retreating back.

  “Coward,” she shouted after him.

  Creed hauled her across the room and dumped her into the chair behind his desk. She tried to rise, but he pressed a heavy hand on her shoulder to keep her where she sat. She scowled at him, but he had the nerve to plant his feet, and his huge frame blocked her from going after his brother.

  “You would take his side.”

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side, Shada.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  “I returned and heard you shouting from the hall.”