Love Caters All

Inc.

Praise for Nicci Carrera

Sexy billionaire with dimples...yummy.

~Marie Tuhart

Love Caters All

by

Nicci Carrera

Lobster Cove Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Love Caters All

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Nicci Carrera

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Angela Anderson

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2014

Print ISBN 978-1-62830-675-0

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-676-7

Lobster Cove Series

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Nancy, Chandra, Isabella, and Len.

Your brainstorming made Love Caters All possible...

and so much fun! Thank you!

Chapter One

Rick Nordan pulled to a stop in front of a fully lit large white house with an enclosed front porch. There was a flicker of movement through the screened deck. Two figures. Great. He was tired, thirsty, and hungry. Now he was also lost. What did the directions say? Yep. Right address. If this was the place he had rented, why were there people inside?

Adirondack chairs and a wrought-iron table arranged on the porch seemed to say, Come sit down. Have a glass of lemonade. Trouble was, he didn’t do lemonade. He’d spotted a few hotels on the way. Nice ones. Big ones. Sophisticated ones. He’d passed them all by. Now here he was at someone’s house. Thanks, Doc.

Doc’s bushy gray eyebrows had lowered when he gave his orders. No laptop, no tablet, no cell phone, no e-reader…nothing.

"No e-reader? I thought you wanted me to read."

The house has this thing called books. Unplug. You might like it. You definitely need it. Doc didn’t have to say, or you’ll end up like your dad. It was implied. Since Doc had been around more than his father, he was the one man who could give Rick orders.

Something about the silence of the place, the zillions of stars overhead, the sound of crickets and tree frogs—made him close the car door without a sound. It was a little strange to walk onto someone’s front porch, but he had to go through the screened-in area to reach his destination. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. He raised his hand to knock.

A female voice carried through an open window. "Mama, it’s not a guest. It’s a customer."

The voice was something a little sultry, yet with a feisty edge that made him smile. But what was going on in there? Was this his rental?

"Our guest is not an it, Maya. Our guest is a he."

This sounded like a family tiff. Had Doc set him up to take this vacation because he wanted to send money the way of his friends? A sour taste filled Rick’s mouth. He peeked through the paned-glass door.

A colorfully clad woman with salt-and-pepper hair swished generous hips against a chair, which rocked and then settled into place under an oblong wooden table. Capable tanned hands set a bowl of fruit in the center. An old familiar longing gripped Rick’s gut.

Wait. Who was that? A petite young woman who looked like she’d been carved from the older woman: wavy hair, (all pepper, no salt) bobbing in a high ponytail, teetered on high heels, hands on hips. A low urge stirred.

The young woman waved her hand. A Band-Aid circled one of her fingers. How had she hurt herself? Better question…why did he care?

"Sit down, mija. You work too hard," said the mother.

Mama, we have to clear out of here. The young woman’s tone was protective.

Rick’s gut hollowed, like when he was still a kid watching his friends with their moms.

****

Cookies baking smelled like home. A breeze rustled the same curtains that had always covered the large sash windows of Casa de Cruz. Mama Cruz bustled in the kitchen. The bones of the house were the same, Mama was the same, but this wasn’t home any more. New furniture filled the rooms. New paint coated the walls. A stranger had a contract to occupy the premises, to use the kitchen, to have a party, to do whatever, for two weeks. Renting their home to a stranger sucked. Whose great plan was this? Oh yeah...hers.

No, the plan made sense. The room came into sharp to focus. Mama could get the rest she deserved, but the reality of having a stranger in her childhood home hit hard. Maya’s spine stiffened. Time to stick to the strategy. Job number one was to drag Mama out of the house before Mr. Rich Guy arrived.

Okay, Mama, we really have to go. Maya lifted her mother’s warm hand. We’re ready. Let’s go—she tripped over the word, then forced it out—home.

Mama winced. Maya’s heart squeezed. Maybe this was a mistake. With a sigh, she tucked Mama’s hand under her arm. They progressed three steps across what was beginning to feel like an endless expanse of hardwood floors.

Did I turn off the oven? her mother said.

Maya’s heart sank. I don’t know.

A loud rap sounded. He was here!

Mama was rearranging the cookies on the beautiful sunburst dish back in the kitchen. She had insisted on leaving it in the house despite Maya’s arguments, because it was pretty. What if the renter broke their parents’ treasured wedding gift?

The second knock was a gentle tap. Time to welcome their first customer.

The man waited with his head turned discreetly to the side. He had a firm jaw, strong nose, and stern mouth. A handsome profile. Maya’s breath hitched. He wore a well-tailored jacket with a black and pale-blue hounds-tooth pattern. The way it lightly hung from his broad shoulders suggested silk blend. She’d have to touch it to find out for sure. Her fingertips tingled at the thought.

Breathe, she ordered herself.

Hi. His firm mouth turned up at the edge in a half smile. I’m Rick Nordan. I believe this is the house I rented for two weeks.

His eyebrows were slashes of dark along a strong ridgeline of bone. The hair in one of his eyebrows had an up-tick that made him look like it was ironically lifting. Between his handsome, if hard, looks, the permanently quirked brow, knowing half-smile, and laser-like golden eyes, this man kept people off balance. No wonder he was a CEO.

Was he thrown by this family-run operation? She could already see the online review. Great place, eccentric family included.

Welcome. You’re in the right place. Didn’t I mention on the website that the Cruz family is included with the vacation rental? We’ll be staying in our usual rooms. We’ve prepared the basement for you. You’ll have your privacy down there.

His eyebrows arched. The little hitch in his right brow telegraphed he liked a joke. At the same time a grin spread. Dimples appeared. I’ll welcome the accommodations if it comes with those cookies I smell. His deep voice was a moan of longing.

Maya’s heart kicked against her ribs. Oh, God. This man would chase her vows of celibacy right out the window. You’re in luck. You get the cookies and the whole house to yourself.

Welcome home, Mr. Nordan! Mama called from the kitchen.

Mama’s a little unused to the idea of being a business owner. But we really are on our way out now.

His tawny eyes glowed. You’re welcome to stay, he whispered, cocking that brow. Something stirred low in her abdomen. Thanks! he called to Mama. His gaze remained on hers.

Maya kept her back turned to her mother to conceal her blush.

Come in. Get comfortable, Mama said. Maya will get your bags.

Maya? Rick said.

Yes, I’m sorry. I’m Maya Cruz. This is Mama—my mother. Pilar.

He offered his hand to Maya, speaking over her shoulder to Mama, Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cruz.

He was being polite to Mama at the same time he was sending electrical tingles up her hand. This guy could multitask? Not good. Who could resist a six-foot-two lion-eyed hunk of manhood who was also nice to Mama? Maya gulped. She squared her shoulders. No, she so was not going to be another rich guy’s summer toy.

Please excuse me. Rick released her hand. I’ll go grab my bags.

At the same time his heat was withdrawn, a gust of cold night air blew inside. Perhaps it was the combination that made her long for his touch again, like a cat drawn to a sunny window. I’ll help.

He glanced at her shoes. No, really. That’s quite all right.

Hey, I can climb mountains in these babies.

He grinned. "Now, that I’d like to see. I know you have some great mountains around here. Care to join me for a hike tomorrow? You can wear those shoes. I’ll take up the rear. Keep the bears away. Cover your back."

Thankfully Mama was out of earshot.

I’m busy. Where’d he get off criticizing her choice of shoes? She’d worked hard to get them so she could stand tall amongst the likes of him.

He wore designer shoes himself, no doubt oblivious to their cost, while her pair had cost many hours of hard work scouring the second-hand shops in Brooklyn where socialite shoes landed after a single wearing. Maya didn’t do knock-off, she did the real deal. And her wardrobe didn’t cost her a fortune, just all her spare time. It was worth the effort though. A polished wardrobe put her on a level playing field with rich people like Rick.

Time to get over her old sensitivities. None of this mattered right now. The goal here was to help Mama earn passive income so she didn’t have to clean up after the tourists who partied down in Lobster Cove. Partiers who also used the local women like Maya as summer flings. Then returned to Boston to get serious with women they respected.

Head held high, Maya descended the wooden steps. One of the high heels wedged between the boards. She lurched forward, heart pounding, arms flailing. Rick’s hands around her waist stopped her scream in her throat. Her brain didn’t register his touch at first, but her body did. By the time her mind caught up, this stranger had lifted her and set her down in the driveway. From adrenaline rush to sexual desire in less than a second. Her body reeled. So did her head. Did he feel the attraction?

His gaze traveled from her eyes down to her mouth. Her knees wobbled. She whipped around and managed to trip over her shoes. He grabbed her again, settling her on her feet but leaving his hands around her waist. This stranger’s hot hold on her body was so wrong but felt so right.

Damn. Get a grip. She was just proving Rick right about her footwear with her clumsy performance.

Those shoes aren’t made for lifting, Rick said.

These shoes make me your height. Perhaps you don’t like that.

He chuckled. Still got a few inches on you, Maya.

Still got a few hands on me too.

He grinned, leaving his hands where they were. Sorry.

Somehow your smile belies your apology.

"Are you sorry?" His brows rose in inquiry, but his tight half-smile showed confidence that her answer would be no.

Her answer should be yes, but her head was shaking before her mouth could get the word out. Well, perhaps it was better his big hot fingers still supported her waist since her bones had melted.

He smelled of expensive cologne and fine fabric. Would it be improper to bury her nose under his jacket collar? It was a silk blend. Her fingers had already confirmed that.

Are you steady now?

Yes. She managed to remain upright when he released her. Her gaze followed him to the rental car while her mind followed him to the bedroom.

Rick hauled out a suitcase and a smaller bag, which he perched on top of the wheeled large one. A brush of five-o’clock shadow made him appear more casual. Not quite so commanding. Shadows showed beneath his eyes.

The poor man was tired. She and Mama needed to clear out so he could rest.

Is there anything I can carry for you?

He smirked. I think I got it.

Why don’t you come inside? I’ll show you the basement. There’s a nice bench down there where I can give you a good spanking.

Rick burst out laughing and dropped a bag. Had she gone too far? She wished she really could spank him. He deserved it.

For what?

For grabbing hold of me.

His voice raised in protest. You tripped.

Your fault.

His eyebrows quirked. How’s that?

You made me think about it too much.

Rick chuckled, using his free hand to tickle her under the chin. You really know how to provide good customer service, Maya.

Her cheeks flamed. Why had she pushed it so far? Sorry, I know I can be a brat.

Shouldering the bag, he grinned. Don’t apologize. I haven’t had this much fun checking into a hotel—he looked skyward as though considering—ever. But please don’t do this with all your customers.

Okay, now her whole body was blushing. She was mortified. It was her own dang fault. It’s not a hotel. Like that was the relevant point here.

He snorted. I could get seriously used to having you around.

I don’t really come with the house. It’s not a brothel either.

Maya, I’ve never met anyone like you, but believe me, a house of ill repute is not the impression I had.

I’m really sorry, Rick. I don’t know what came over me. You push all my buttons. Why did she say that?

His eyebrow quirked again.

I mean, you bring out the worst in me.

He frowned.

Why had she said that? Why couldn’t she say appropriate things like normal, poised women? "I’m digging this hole so fast I’m nearly to