Only In His Sweetest Dreams(11)

“I’ve called social services, Mrs. Garvey!” Mercedes blurted, then knotted her hands into fists and folded her arms, hunching. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just this is really—” Humiliating. Heartbreaking. Hard.

She watched L.C.’s big, scuffed work boots shift and turn toward her. Across the room, there was a rustle and scrape. Lifting her head, Mercedes saw Mrs. Yamamoto leave her knitting on the table and come around in her quick, mincing steps.

“Poor Mercedes.” Mrs. Yamamoto approached with her arms raised.

Mercedes had to stoop to accept Mrs. Yamamoto’s hug. The woman was delicate as a doily, her hands light as they patted and reassured, and her comforting touch made everything worse. Now Mercedes wanted to cry.

Don’t fire me, please don’t fire me. It’s not just a job. I need you people.

“You make her tea,” she heard Mrs. Yamamoto say. She urged Mercedes to sit in the chair. “Poor, poor, Mercedes.”

“It’s all right. I’m okay,” Mercedes said, risking a glance at the board. Harrison remained leaning back, hands linked over his barrel chest, watching through slitted eyes. Pete Dolinski was scribbling. Mrs. Garvey had her mouth pinched so small, it was a tiny pucker between her long, hollow cheeks.

“Really,” Mercedes said. “If we could just make a decision on Zack.”

L.C. handed her a steaming cup, the water barely stained by the teabag floating in it. “I’d like to see some of this work you intend Zack to do,” he said.

“Oh. Um—” Mercedes suspended the hot cup in careful fingertips. “Thank you. I just—” wouldn’t be able to see the children if she took him to the end of the complex. Of course if Zack was the paragon of virtue she wanted the board to believe, she shouldn’t have any reservations about leaving the kids with him.

Why couldn’t anything be easy?

“The damage to the units is listed in the police report,” Mrs. Garvey reminded. “We can’t be expected to tour the complex in this heat.”

“No, it’s very hot today,” Mrs. Yamamoto said. “We should stay here in the office and see for ourselves how responsible this young man behaves. We’ll watch him with the children, Mercedes. You take Mr. Fogarty to the duplex.”

“Oh.” Mercedes swallowed and gave Mrs. Yamamoto’s wax-smooth fingers a gentle squeeze of gratitude, appreciating every scrap of support she could get.

Harrison pushed to his feet with sudden energy. “Joy ride, Pete.”





Chapter 6





Mercedes didn’t like leaving the kids, but the fact was she couldn’t do her job with them underfoot. She wouldn’t be long, anyway, she reasoned—which was probably what Porsha thought every time she did it.

Ignoring the blanket of self-loathing she was wearing, Mercedes left instructions with the kids to behave, gave Zack a couple of bucks to take them to the cantina after they dried off, and met everyone at the golf cart.

Harrison and Mr. Dolinski were already in the back seat, leaving L.C. to ride shotgun. Terrific. That was a lot of honed muscle waiting next to the cart until she slid in, at which point he sat and sprawled into her space, smelling manly and no nonsense, beguiling her with the strong hand he splayed on his thigh. He made zero effort to hide the fact he checked out her legs as she settled herself.

Yes, she had shaved her legs, God help her, then moisturized and had even thrown on a sassy little anklet and sandals with a low heel. Like she’d had time for that bullshit, but oh, she had made time, hadn’t she? Yeah, her sister was the piece of work, luring men when she had two hungry kids at home. Maybe it was just the way Kimball women were made. Slutty.

She sighed and took one more look toward the pool.

“You don’t have to worry,” L.C. said. “Zack’s steady as a rock.”

“Right. That’s why we’re on our way to view the scene of his crime.” She started the cart and twisted to back out.

Behind her, Pete and Harrison shook their heads.

“See why I’m marrying her?” Harrison said. “Never did like the charm school debs. Gimme more spice than sugar any day.”

“You’ll be left at the altar, Harrison, unless the rock of Gibraltar is on my finger by June. I told you that.” She straightened and sent a wrinkled nose apology to L.C. “Sorry about the cheap shot. Fact is, I do think he’s serious about making up for what happened. I’m just a little stressed. I’m a Cancer. We worry.”

She was about to snap with anxiety over the coming meeting with the social worker and being way too aware of a man didn’t help.

Don’t think about it. She put the cart in forward and started to turn onto the Ring Road.

“No, no,” Harrison said, pointing to one of the narrow lanes. “We’re swinging by Pete’s so we can pick up beer.”

“It’s not even eleven! This is official business.” And she didn’t have time to conduct a scenic tour of the complex.

“Actually, you’re right. Go out that way, then circle back so Edith doesn’t see where we’re going.”

“Harrison!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been like? This friend of yours—” Harrison nudged L.C. in the shoulder from behind. “—should have his nuts trimmed and fed to the squirrels for producing the little shit who started all of this.”

“If you think you’re the first to suggest that, you’re not,” L.C. drawled.

Mercedes smirked, liking that L.C. was impervious to Harrison’s forthright ribbing.

“Harrison is a Sagittarius. Says exactly what’s on his mind. It’s the one that looks like a centaur, which tells you he’s also a bit of a horse’s behind.”

She waited, expecting Harrison to come back with something about considering the benefits, lewd ol’ coot.

“You believe in that stuff?” L.C. asked, grabbing her attention by angling more toward her. He hooked one arm on the seatback between them, making her aware of his chest and flat abdomen, the rippled fly of his jeans.

She spent a lot of time with overweight, elderly men. She’d forgotten how exciting it was to be up close to one in his prime. Honest to God, she wanted to touch him. Test all that muscle with fingertips and maybe teeth. Nicely, but get a full taste of all that vitality.

“I, um...” What had he asked her? Right. Belief. “No, I’ve just spent a lot of time trying to make sense of people who don’t make sense. What are you?”

He snorted. “Do I look like someone who pays attention? My birthday is end of October.”

“After the twenty-first? You’re a Scorpio,” she told him when he nodded.

“And what does that do for my chances of keeping the family jewels?” he asked dryly.

“Umm....” She licked her lips. Did they really need to keep discussing those? It was really hot today. She waved at Mrs. Sanduk as they passed her deadheading the hanging baskets along her porch. “Scorpios, um, go either way: saint or sinner. Whichever path they choose, they pursue with great zeal.” She smiled sweetly.

His mocking smile told her which way he’d gone, as if there was any doubt.

Sin, sin, sin.

Her pulse tripped and sexy warmth rose like a blush inside her thighs.

She didn’t bother mentioning Scorpios and Cancers were supposed to be a harmonious match.

“Turn, turn,” Harrison urged.

Mercedes tsked, giving in because she was also ruled by guilt. “Was she really so bad?” she asked, accelerating down the lane that would take them to Pete’s backyard. The dry Spring air brushed over her face like warm velvet. Man, she loved it here.

“She would have been happier if the place burned down,” Harrison said. “That way, the only cost would be a bulldozer. Instead, it’s been a steady stream of how we couldn’t afford to repair the units as it was and now look how much it will set us back.”

“Mrs. Garvey’s a Taurus,” Mercedes told L.C. “Stubborn. Doesn’t like change. Hates to spend money.”

“That’s how she got elected to the board,” Harrison said. “We had an accounting problem with our last manager and Edith’s as tight as a— Hey, Pete! Got smokes?” he cut off to ask as Mercedes parked and Mr. Dolinski stepped out of the cart.

“Shirley threw them out,” Mr. Dolinski said with a wrinkly mope in his brow. He strolled to his back porch in a tall, looming hunch.

“Damn,” Harrison muttered. He patted his chest and came up with an empty pack. “L.C., you got any?”

“Sorry.”

“Hmph. Well, as I was saying, our last manager wasn’t nearly so loyal and helpful. Not as pretty, either. I can’t tell you how lucky we all feel to have someone so sweet and accommodating—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! If you want me to run for your cigarettes, just say so.”

“Cigars, angel. They’re in the humidor on the coffee table. Door’s open.”

“Be right back,” Mercedes said to L.C. He was suppressing a grin, enjoying the entertainment Harrison always provided, which made L.C. that much more attractive to her.

She hurried through the Chamberlain’s backyard to Harrison’s bungalow, praying the Chamberlains were out. If they spotted her, she’d be visiting through a six-course meal before getting away.