Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 9

  Melissa absorbs my tough talk and blinks, then smiles, an angelic smile that makes my heart sing with happiness. “Thank you, Andrea.”

  “Now close your eyes. Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, I was thinking maybe we could make a little trip to Paradis,” I say, helping her readjust to her bed. I don't move though, and instead lie down behind her, gathering her in my arms. She's taller than me but still feels tiny with her knees pulled up and her arms in a semi-fetal position.

  “Why?” she asks, and I chuckle, kissing the back of her head.

  “Because we've got laundry to do. And I thought you and I could talk some more.”

  “Okay. Wal-Mart okay?” Melissa asks, her voice already sleepy.

  “Wal-Mart's fine, 'Lissa. We'll take the van, and maybe Nathan. He's strong, he can haul all our stuff for us.”

  “That'd be nice. Goodnight, Andrea.”

  I wait until she's breathing deeply, once again sleeping peacefully, before I kiss her hair one more time and shift my arm to a slightly more comfortable place. “Goodnight, 'Lissa.”

  Chapter 8

  Carson

  “You went where?”

  Melissa's smile falters, but she still tries as she sets the shopping bag on the counter. “Andrea, Nathan and I went to Wal-Mart,” she says, taking out a big bottle of dish soap and putting it next to the sink. “Andrea pointed out to me last night that with us having so many more people, we've got to economy size some of our household things.”

  “Still... it's not that I'm not happy you left the house and went shopping, 'Lissa, I'm jazzed about it. But was it safe?”

  Nathan comes in, carrying six bags in between his arms, and sets them on the dining room table. “As safe as I could make it. I have fed bad intel to Peter every day we have met. He thinks that Andrea is somewhere in the Mobile area, and that Jackson and Katrina are on the run, but their location is anyone's guess. I know he is working with others, but he still trusts me more than anyone else. Today's trip took less than two hours, and we went a total of eight miles, including the short side trip through the McDonald's drive-through for McFlurries for the ladies.”

  “McFlurries, huh?” I ask, my concern evaporating with Nathan's calming reassurance. I can't help but smile, as the sweet treat has been Melissa's one weakness since we were both kids. “Oreo cookie?”

  “Of course,” Andrea says, coming in behind Nathan, and looking so sexy I can't believe it. She's not trying to, in fact she's dressed relatively conservatively in a button-down office shirt and some semi-casual pants, but the way her breasts press against the white fabric of her top, and her hair hangs over her shoulder in a functional but so sexy braid... I've always had a weakness for braids, and hers is thick, black as midnight, and long, the sort of braid I've always wanted to wrap around my hand while pulling her from behind and...

  “Carson? Carson!” Melissa says, snapping me back to reality. Thankfully, I'm standing behind the kitchen counter where I was getting a cup of coffee after getting back from the gallery, and nobody can see my hard-on. I've been working strange hours the past week, and I'm needing more coffee than normal. Part of it is due to the gallery show coming up Saturday night. Another reason, of course, is that by being at the gallery working, I can try and avoid Andrea. The problem with that is when I've been at the gallery, all I can think of is her. She's threatening my self-control, and she's not trying to, I know it. Of course that makes it even worse, because I can see in her eyes, she wants me to take control. I'm just not ready yet though, I can't risk hurting Melissa over this.

  I blink and look at Melissa, who's giving me a hopeful smile. Nobody in the world knows me better than her, and she can nearly read my mind with the way she is. But this time though, she's so off-base it isn't funny, and I'm actually glad about it. “Sorry 'Lissa, you're right. Nathan, I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out.”

  “Well, if you're really feeling sorry, you can help us unload the rest of the stuff from the van,” Andrea jokes, setting her bag down. “By the way, do you know how to change diapers?”

  “No, but I can learn I'm sure,” I shoot back, until Andrea gives me a smirk, like she's got some information that I don't know. “What?”

  “If you haven't noticed, BA has a disposable diaper allergy. She's in cloth diapers. Just a warning,” Andrea says, setting her bag down and turning around. I blink in surprise and follow her out, where I see the entire back of the van is full of things. Another bag that isn't from Wal-Mart catches my eye. It's large, black and zipped up.

  “What's that?” I ask, inclining my head toward the mysterious bag and grabbing the two closest shopping bags. It looks like Nathan planned for a siege. There's enough food here for an army, and two big twenty-five pound bags of dog food as well. “Just how much does Maverick eat?”

  “That dog? I've seen him put down a five pound chuck roast in under ten minutes, back on the DeLaCoeur grounds when he was still a puppy,” Andrea tells me, grabbing the black bag and also shouldering one of the bags of dog food. “What, thought I was too tiny to handle the big loads?”

  I've had enough of her little taunts, especially after being so openly honest with her just last night. I'd left the house to handle some issues with the gallery itself, a last-minute electrical problem, and if she can't tone it down with me, fine. I can give as good as I get. Challenge me, will she? She's going to find out I'm more than her equal in a lot of areas. “Big loads? You don't know anything about big loads.”

  Andrea stops, then gives me a raised eyebrow, then smiles. It's a pretty smile, not quite one hundred percent open, but more than the sarcastic smirks she normally gives me. “Nice effort. I'd give it a seven out of ten.”

  “Oh, I'm a seven and a half at least,” I tell her before picking up the other bag of dog food and shouldering it and grabbing three shopping bags in my other free hand. “Eight and a half, more likely.”

  I have no idea just what sort of trouble I'm unleashing though, as for the rest of the day, Andrea proceeds to flirt with me sexually. From little things like the way she wraps her mouth around the grilled kielbasa that we share for lunch, to the outfit she selects for working out after dinner. Like Katrina, she's wearing just a sports bra up top, but instead of the martial arts gi pants Katrina favors, Andrea is wearing shorts that'd leave a volleyball player looking for cover.

  I'm watching her doing burpees in the dirt, her butt conveniently facing the kitchen window that I'm supposed to be washing dishes next to, when Nathan comes up, a plate in his hand. “How many is she up to?”

  “Forty-five,” I answer, thankful my crotch is pointed toward the sink. “I hope she knows she's making a scene of herself.”

  “I started working for the DeLaCoeurs a little before she joined the household,” Nathan says in his gravelly voice, setting his plate in the soapy water. “When she arrived, she was a toddler who could only scream in panicked Japanese. In the years since, I have watched her grow into a fully articulated young woman. Without anyone around to speak Japanese to her, she forgot what she once knew. But she applied herself and taught herself her mother's tongue in order to more thoroughly investigate the circumstances surrounding her mother's death.

  “She graduated from university early, and is now only a semester from completing her MBA. She worked for years plotting to take down Peter. When I learned how much information she had gathered once we started cooperating, I was staggered at how much she had gotten together, all without my knowledge. I have been very good at my job for two decades, but she was completely under my radar.”

  “She's driven, committed, and very talented,” I acknowledge, rinsing Nathan's plate before putting it in the dishwasher. “And Melissa told me she loves her. There's a lot going for her.”

  “And right now, she is nearly as torn as you are,” Nathan adds quietly. “You are both fighting a mutual attraction and the desire to not hurt your sister.”

  I nod, looking at him out of the side of my eyes. “Your opinion is?”
<
br />   “That it is none of my business,” Nathan says with a small smile. “But that I have been able to focus on my meditation recently, since I cannot bring my normal supply of proper teas to this house. However, if I may give you two pieces of information?”

  “Are you always this obtuse?” I ask, and Nathan laughs softly.

  “It helps when dealing with this family. In your case however, a little guidance is perhaps in order. So, let me say, I feel your sister would not be hurt if you and Andrea did act on your attraction.”

  I nod, thinking about it, but still so unsure. “And the other thing?”

  “That women like Andrea are like the precious jewels that she took from her father. Very rare indeed. Think about it.”

  Nathan leaves, and I finish up the washing, still uncertain. I go up to my room, devoting myself to computer work, trying to prepare. With the gallery show coming up in only two days, I can't be distracted.

  “Say what?”

  Melissa is giving me another hopeful smile, while outside Jackson, Katrina and Andrea are all doing their morning exercise together while BA is trying to crawl on the floor next to both of us. I didn't even know babies could crawl that quickly, I thought they didn't start for another couple of months.

  “I would like to go to the gallery show tonight.”

  I play with BA's little stuffed animal, a unicorn with a rainbow-colored tail, and BA tries to reach for it, squirming to make progress toward the toy. “'Lissa, I know I asked if you wanted to go a couple of weeks ago, but that was before Andrea and company arrived. Are you sure it's safe?”

  We haven't talked about it, but for me, it's always been the elephant in the room. I've enjoyed having my family at the farm, and I know that the danger they're in is not their fault. After all, Peter DeLaCoeur is a sociopathic rotten bastard. If I can lay any fault at all, it's that Jackson didn't break his father's neck when he had the chance. But that would have made Jackson just as bad as Peter, which I can't blame him for.

  Still, knowing that the most dangerous man on the Gulf Coast is using his resources to hunt three of the people in my house isn't exactly the sort of shit that I want to put up with, because it puts Melissa at risk. Nathan's not the only one who's been keeping tabs on things back in New Orleans. I know Katrina's been keeping up with her friend—I still don't know who, but they're connected to the cops somehow—and I've been keeping my eyes out in the French Quarter.

  The chatter I've picked up quite frankly scares the hell out of me. I've never been one to get frightened. I can't afford the luxury of allowing myself to feel fear when I have to provide all of Melissa's emotional stability. But this still worries me. The hardest part is, not only am I worried for 'Lissa, but for the rest of my new family as well. The idea of Andrea being harmed... I shiver.

  Melissa understands though, and reaches across the counter, taking my hand. “I'll be perfectly safe, Carson. When I spoke with Katrina and Nathan about it, they agreed that it'll help things around the house.”

  “You spoke with them already,” I reply, not too happy about that for some reason. “And what did they say?”

  “They said what all of us are thinking, that the stress and tension of staying cooped up on the farm most of the time is driving all of us nuts,” Melissa says, giving me a hopeful smile. “Come on, even Jackson and Katrina are needing some time to chill out apart from each other, and I'm really feeling up for it.”

  I sigh, looking down. Last night Andrea and Melissa slept together again, and I have to admit that I felt a little jealous looking in this morning and seeing the two of them just holding each other, Melissa with a content, peaceful smile on her sleeping face. “I... 'Lissa, I'm sorry. I don't want you hurt, that's all. And you know what Nathan said, Peter's on the lookout for any of the DeLaCoeur siblings. I just... what happens if Peter's men crash the party?”

  “They won't,” Melissa reassures me. “Come on Carson, he's never acknowledged me. Nathan's told me that he's going to push Peter in another direction, and Katrina and Andrea both said they'd work the crowd, making sure that we're as safe as possible.”

  “Great,” I grumble. “Two badasses and Andrea. Can't Andrea just hire some bodyguards or something?”

  Melissa shakes her head, giving me a little half-smile. “She's not rich anymore. Not that it's stopping them, but Andrea told me the other night.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly more concerned than I should be. Why should I care how much money Andrea has?

  Melissa chuckles and smiles, happy that for once, she's got information before I do. “When Andrea left the DeLaCoeur house, she fled with fifty grand in cash and a bag of gemstones. She was slowly liquidating the gems as she needed, but a bag of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies is not exactly something that you carry around with you on a daily basis. And Peter's men found her apartment. You know they took the bag and probably any cash she had laying around before they lit the place up.”

  The implications hit me hard, and I swallow. “So how much does she have?”

  “She doesn't know,” Melissa says softly. “Honestly, I don't think she cares. The only reason the subject came up was because she felt bad having to borrow five dollars from Nathan the other day to pay for her at the drive-through. I don't think she'd have said anything at all except that Nathan offered to stop as we drove back here.”

  “I see. So you're hoping that by getting out, we can all just de-stress some,” I reply, giving her a smile. “You know 'Lissa, that's the amazing thing about you.”

  “What's that?” she asks, smiling.

  “You're as focused on other people as you are on yourself. More, perhaps.”

  Melissa smiles her happy smile again, and I remember why I'm so devoted to my sister. I'd tear apart the entire world just to have her feel this level of happiness. “Thank you, but I'm doing this for me too, you know. So... we can all go?”

  I sigh, nodding. “I'll have to be there early to help out with the final setup, but yes, I'd love it if you were there tonight. Remember, the event kicks off at seven. Maybe you can get there around seven thirty or so?”

  Melissa nods, and comes around the counter, hugging me. “This is going to be fun, Carson. I promise you.”

  Chapter 9

  Andrea

  Red. Okay, I can do red, and I have to admit it's a very sexy cocktail dress. And in my current situation, I can't exactly complain about anything.

  “I thought you got rid of this thing,” I tell Katrina as she spreads it out on my bed. It's slinky, sexy, and the idea of wearing it sends a thrill up my spine that I can't deny. I can just imagine myself in this dress, and it's delicious. “It would have been too dangerous to keep, wouldn't it?” This dress is practically legendary at this point. Back when Katrina kicked off her plan to get revenge on Peter DeLaCoeur, she started by publicly humiliating Jackson... and she wore this dress, knowing she'd be guaranteed an invitation into Jackson's limo that night.

  “Yes, but something kept stopping me,” Katrina says, looking down at the dress. “I'm glad I did. It's nice to know it's more than just a display piece now.”

  “Oh come on, you'd still rock this like fire,” I tease her, looking over. “Fact is, oneechan, you're definitely in the hot mama category. Seriously, what's the difference for you, pre- and post-baby size?”

  “I’ve definitely put some weight on. I’m not sure how much,” Katrina admits, not even bothering to say anything about my nickname for her. “Jackson doesn't seem to mind, though.”

  “Why should he?” I joke, looking over. “What man wouldn't love being married to a hot hacker who's one hundred percent devoted to him?”

  “Hmm, he does seem to like that,” Katrina admits, smiling.

  “Anyway, are you sure I can wear it?” I ask. “I mean, you're what, six inches taller than me?”

  “And I bought it to look like a borderline street slut,” she reminds me. She picks it up and holds it against my body, nodding. “It actually looks classy o
n you, we won't be able to see your panties in it. Come on, let's try it on.”

  Melissa looks nervous as we get out of her car, but Nathan's a total pro in his dark suit, Katrina almost a copy of him, rocking a power suit that makes me jealous. Seriously, I've never looked that good in lightweight worsted wool, although I think the RayBans are a bit much. “You sure you need those?”

  “I'm carrying a gun under this jacket,” Katrina says with a smirk, giving me a glance as she opens the back door for Melissa. She steps out, wearing her own dress although she looks decidedly more elegant than sexy, which is how I feel. Katrina's red dress hangs perfectly on me, the hastily purchased push-up bra and panties giving me just that extra little bit of support. I can feel men's eyes glancing at me while I stand in my also just purchased five inch heels, another gift from Katrina. “The sunglasses help with the image, and with staying anonymous, too.”

  “And me?” I ask. “I'm not wearing anything to disguise myself.”

  Katrina gives me a once-over, shaking her head and grinning. “Sweetie, I gave you that dress, and I barely recognize you. Trust me, you're turning heads right now. I gotta go work security. Enjoy.”

  Our plan is simple. Nathan, after parking the car, is going to work the edges of the party with Katrina, the two of them acting as site security while I stay next to Melissa, who's going to enjoy being an artist for the night. Jackson's back at the farm with BA, enjoying a daddy-daughter night of playing and cartoons, while Carson's already here, working.

  Katrina heads toward the edge of the gallery, which is huge. MCS French Quarter is big, not quite a converted warehouse, but certainly bigger than what you'd expect. Over five thousand square feet of paintings and sculptures are on display, with Melissa's being the central focus. There are four metal sculptures that dominate the center of the floor, and I have to do a double take when I see the tasteful, small display cards with prices near each display. “You can command a quarter million per piece?”