Chasing Marisol (Blueprint to Love Book 3) (12 page)

"The man— his name is Phil, I think. He takes a step toward Miss Ortega . . . like he wants to talk to her." Pete's gaze shifted again and he frowned. "But I knew he didn't wanna talk."

A visceral warning jagged down Jeff's spine. He wasn’t going to like what the giant said next. "How did you know?"

Pete hesitated. "I did a few tours in Iraq before I finally came home. I got the same feelin' about Phil I had when we were clearing houses in those little villages. After a while, you just sorta knew which house was booby-trapped. You'd get that feelin' in your gut— and you learned to pay attention to it. Or you got waxed."  

"What did Phil want?" Jeff was wide awake now. Damn. His heart was in friggin' overdrive. He knew it was going to be worse than what Mari had made it out to be.

Big Pete shifted his gaze back to him. "We won't know for sure cuz Miss Marisol got away from him. I walked over there and put myself between him and her while Miss Sharon called the cops."

"But you know . . . right, Pete?" A cold, dangerous flame ignited in his chest.

The giant nodded. "That guy is a whole lot more dangerous than they want to admit. I been watchin' for him ever since."

Lowering his voice, Jeff leaned across the table. "What was he going to do?"

Pete leaned back in his chair and drained the rest of his coffee. He took his time setting the empty cup on the table before he finally leveled his gaze at him. "He was gonna use Miss Ortega to get to his ex. He was gonna take her hostage." 

***

Chapter 6

"Yes, Mom." Mari leaned an elbow on her desk and absently rubbed her forehead as the day from hell just kept getting worse. "No . . . we're not remotely close to where I'd inflict a family interrogation on Jeff."

She heard Sharon smother a chuckle at her desk across the way. "Don't
'carida'
me. That won't work. No family dinner. Not yet. Not a month from now." 

She shot a baleful glance at Sharon who tried to fake being busy with the unread reports on her desk, before groping for the aspirin bottle in her drawer. "Ok— I have to go, Mom. Sharon is standing here-" She sighed and held the phone away from her ear.

"Be nice," Sharon whispered before she leaned in closer to hear her mother's side of the conversation. "What's she sayin'?"

Mari covered the mouthpiece with her free hand. "She's probably checking availability at the Wedding Palace-" She frowned as she sifted through the babble. What had her mother just said? "Hold on— say that again?" 

She stared at Sharon, who raised her brows. "I didn't hear nothin'."

"Mom— what about Dad and Manny?" Her heart began thudding with warning when her outgoing, talk-a-blue-streak mother began backpedaling. Damn. Something was up. Her mother totally sucked at lying. "No, you said . . . Manny told Dad what?"

She listened as her mother attempted to stutter and stammer her way out of the hole she'd dug for herself. "Never mind. I'm late for a meeting." 

"What was that all about?" Sharon's over-eager eyes were wide with curiosity.

Mari sighed. "Hell if I know." She'd have to remember to call Caridad. Since their father's attempts to control her sister's life two years earlier, Cari had made it her business to always know what was going on with their parents. She'd become a rather adept spy herself— a chip off the old block. If her father had any clue, he likely would’ve been proud.

"Knowing my parents . . . it can't be good."

Her boss chuckled. "They mean right, Sugar. Speaking as a parent— we tend to worry."

She glanced at her friend. "Would you hide a tracking device on your daughters' vehicles? Would you perform background checks on their dates? Would you force your son to follow his sisters around like a Neanderthal thug?"

Sharon's eyes widened in disbelief. "While he may be going a bit overboard— you know your daddy has good reason. After what happened to you— I could justify their becoming a bit overprotective. Can't you?"

Mari gritted her teeth. "It's been two years. And my poor sisters never had an incident like what happened to me. They're paying the price for my mistake."

"Honey— how many times do you have to be reminded it wasn't a mistake? You did nothing wrong."

She reached across the desk and gave her friend's hand a squeeze. "I know, Sharon. I'm not blaming myself. I haven't started slipping," she reminded gently. "But my parents need to let it go."

Her bangle bracelets clanged against her desk. "Maybe your mama was just making conversation." 

"No— they're up to something." Damn. It probably meant her family would descend like locusts this weekend— a surprise attack meant to catch her off guard. She made a mental note to bolt the doors tonight. It would be just like her family to arrive unannounced and completely ruin her evening with Jeff.

Lord—
Jeff
. Mari gulped in a suddenly shaky breath as the previous evening came tumbling back. She'd succeeded in shoving her lapse in sanity to the back of her brain— but only temporarily. Every few hours, it charged back— taking center stage and setting her heart pounding. While a part of her was completely exhilarated and nearly trembling with eagerness for her date with Jeff— the rest of her pulsed with a racing sense of terror. As though she'd fallen into the deep end of the pool and suddenly forgotten how to swim.

"Sugar— you okay? You're lookin' a little green around the edges."

"I-I'm fine." Sharon's motherly voice intruded on her panic attack. No way in hell could she handle her friend’s sudden interest. All Sharon knew was she and Jeff had been to dinner with Hector a few times. That's all she wanted anyone to know. Mari was nervous enough. If everyone at work started discussing their relationship, she wouldn't be able to think clearly.

It was definitely time to change the subject. "We should run down this list of late donations. Some of them are starting to worry me."

Her friend's no-nonsense cocoa eyes stared at her for a beat longer than necessary and she crossed her fingers. That I'm-on-to-you look. The I've-caught your-scent-of-fear expression.

"Seriously, Sharon— aren't you concerned? I'm off budget by thirty thousand in donations this month. With the new card access system, we need to come up with
more
money, not less."

"Okay, we'll play by your rules. But if you think I don't know that you're head over heels for our friend, Mr. Stud Muffin . . . then Sugar, you don't know Miss Sharon very well."

Her face in flames, she dropped her head into her hands. "Is it that obvious?"

Her friend's rich chuckle filled the tiny office. "Only to me, sweetie. Oh— and Annie suspects . . . and Miss Robin mentioned something yesterday. And the Tuesday chef squad-"

She peeked at her friend through her fingers. "Seriously?"

"We're happy for you, darlin'. You deserve some fun. And you deserve to have it with that hot, sexy man."

"I don't know if I'm ready for this." Despite her misgivings, Mari blurted out her biggest fear to the woman who knew her nearly as well as her own mother. "I think we're moving too fast-"

"Now, Sugar . . . the only thing movin' too fast is that brain of yours. You need to let it rest. Shut it down for a couple days. Don't think about anything. And see where it takes you."

She raised a brow. "Would you be giving this advice to your own daughter?"

Her friend stifled a chuckle. "I promise you, if my Latrice had scooped up a man who looked like Stud Muffin— I'd a told her to go for it weeks ago."

She raised her gaze to the ceiling. "I don't know who's worse. Me— for contemplating a relationship with someone like Jeff or you, for egging me on."

"What do you mean
someone
like Jeff? From what I've seen, he's not only one fine lookin' specimen, but he's kind . . . thoughtful. He makes a steady paycheck. He's responsible. He gets on with Hector like his long-lost big brother." The older woman scrunched her nose in confusion. "Mercy Sugar, what the hell else are you lookin' for?" 

Assurance he'd never hurt her. Faith he'd stick around? Who the hell offered that sort of ironclad guarantee? And why did she suddenly think she needed one? Mari chewed her lower lip. Was she using an impossible set of standards to keep him at arm's length? "When you say it like that— I guess I don't know what I want."

"You want to know for sure he ain't Nick. I can sit here all day long and tell you Jeff isn't like that. He's not the kind of man who needs to beat up on a woman to feel powerful. He doesn't strike me as the sort who takes out his anger on others. But until you see it for yourself . . . what anyone else says really doesn't matter."

She nodded slowly, confirming what she'd already been thinking . . . what she'd been hoping. Mari smiled, sensing some of her restless panic ease. She couldn't control every damn thing. "You're right. I'm gonna stop over-thinking this and just . . . try to enjoy it."

"
Try
?" Sharon cracked up. "Sugar, if you don't enjoy it with him— then there's no hope for the rest of us."

***

Jeff was still brooding when he pulled into her driveway that evening. He'd tried all day to forget what Big Pete had said— to discount his story as being over the top. But Pete babbling about the mysterious truck of the day or a teen graffiti artist on the loose didn't come close to hearing Marisol might be in danger. No way would he discount a story like that.

Suspecting the confrontation was worse than she'd claimed, he’d sensed a strum of anxiety when she'd discussed the incident earlier in the week. Instinctively, he’d known Mari wasn’t telling him everything. She’d been placating him, or worse— trying to convince herself the Phil problem would go away on its own.

They needed to have a serious discussion, but tonight wasn’t the time. He'd waited too long to risk ticking her off over an issue that was technically none of his business. Even though Jeff planned to insert himself squarely in the middle of it, he was smart enough to choose a different time to address the touchy subject and the role he planned to play.

His smile returned when he climbed the porch steps and a waft of jasmine hit him square in the face. The subtly erotic scent took him straight back to the previous evening. The memory of Mari in his arms— her beautiful eyes torturing him in the sweet, scented night— had been scorched into his brain. He would never smell jasmine again without thinking of her and remembering the exultant feeling he'd experienced when she'd shyly invited him over tonight.

A sense of victory and a feeling of rightness— all rolled up in his finely tuned awareness of her. There was no mistaking the attraction. Hell— it had been there all along, fisted in his stomach, strumming along his nerves and poking him in the chest for nearly two months. More confusing was the crazy way she drifted through his thoughts. When he wasn't even with her. Or the unease he felt over this problem with Phil. Or the way he wanted to find that expensive kitchen equipment for her— for the shelter. Just because it would please her.

And what about the way he was feeling toward Hector? How much he enjoyed being around him— how much he liked teaching him stuff like baseball. With alarming frequency, Jeff was able to imagine taking Hector to a ball game with his brother and nephew or out to the farm for a Traynor family celebration.

All of those
feelings
— were highly irregular for him. He should be worried . . . and he
was
a little. But he wasn't panicking— and that made this experience different from the past.

Drawing in a deep breath, Jeff rang the buzzer. Tonight, there would be no worries. There would just be time. Hours and hours alone with Marisol. Getting to know her— what she was really like. Not the devoted mom, not the dedicated helper of those less fortunate. But the fiery, passionate, strong-willed woman he'd caught only glimpses of.

When Mari opened the door, his breath caught. Something about her made him want to forget the social niceties and just kiss her senseless. Her long, wild hair hung loose at her shoulders. Jeff wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it and pull her closer. Her beautiful eyes were welcoming and unfathomably blue. Her creamy olive skin beckoned to be touched.

"Hi— you're right on time."

"You look beautiful." He leaned in for a kiss and heard her breath hitch in anticipation. "I knew you wouldn't cut me any slack if I was late."

"For you— I'm starting to think maybe I can make exceptions."

His mouth lingered over the task of kissing the smile from her gorgeous, full mouth. Jeff hoped this evening he would begin chipping away at the impenetrable wall she seemed to surround herself with. If not, he was sure as hell scaling over it— for tonight.

"Don't cut me any slack," he warned as she closed the door behind him. "It keeps me on my toes."

"You want me to be hard on you?" Marisol smiled over his confession before twining her fingers through his and retracing her steps through the hallway. He loved the affectionate gesture of possession— even more so because she probably wasn't aware of it.

"I like that you have expectations," Jeff admitted, shocking himself with the honesty of his answer. Another first. He should have been hearing alarms sounding at this point— or that voice in his head reminding him
'dude— no promises'
.

Over her shoulder, she threw him a beguiling smile that made his body tighten with anticipation. Instead of warnings, his brain flashed to an image of them stumbling through this hallway on the way to her bedroom, clothes scattering along the way. He wondered if they'd even make it up the stairs. "Okay— remember that tonight when it's time to wash dishes."

Mari was completely different from the women he'd dated previously. In so many ways. For one— she hadn't wanted him. She'd made him work for it. She'd challenged him— against his will, Jeff readily admitted, to get to know her. Even now— when he'd been intrigued by what he'd learned, she still allowed only glimpses. Something— or someone in her life had taught her caution. Probably a ‘someone’ very much like him.

Instead of his usual tactic of disarming a woman with charm so he could speed up the process— he'd been surprised to realize that with Marisol, he was willing to wait. Not that he'd been completely in control of their situation— another big difference. In spite of her calling the shots, he'd discovered he was enjoying the process, probably as much as he typically enjoyed the end result.

In the past, Jeff had avoided any appearance of emotional entanglement. No sleeping over. No breakfast the next day. No expectations of a repeat performance unless they were both still game. Women knew up front what he wanted. Though some might consider him a player, he wasn't about leading women on. They knew exactly what they were getting when they jumped into bed with him. No commitments. No promises. The only time things got ugly was when someone tried to change the rules.