Fainthearted? Cullen? “No, he's not fainthearted.” Andrea stared down at the pile of yarn in her lap. When it transformed into a pretty blanket, how many people would look at it and think about the strands of yarn that had made it?
Unfortunately for her, people just couldn't look past the strands that had made up her life. She'd waited for two days for him to call, and he hadn't. How many times had she picked up the phone wanting to contact him? Finally she had put Selena in charge of the business, left her cell phone at home, and gone backpacking in the Ocala. “But he's a cop. And I have a record.” And now everyone thought she'd stolen Vanessa's money.
Her grandmother's lips tightened. “Then your cop is a fool. He does not deserve my beautiful granddaughter.”
Tears burned Andrea's eyes.
“Come to dinner, you two,” Rosa called from the back door. “Everyone else is already seated.”
Blinking away the weakness, Andrea helped her grandmother rise, then followed the tiny figure into the crowded dining room.
Not the greatest of neighborhoods, Cullen thought, as he drove down the street. Cracked concrete, minuscule weed-eaten lawns, houses with broken windows. Not a safe place to grow up either. The idea of a young Andrea walking to school in this area tightened his gut. The red-light district was only a few blocks away.
He checked the numbers—at least a few houses had them—and frowned. Cars were parked bumper to bumper up and down the entire block. Antonio had mentioned a party, hadn't he?
After parking the next block over, he walked back in the growing twilight. The aunt's place had a well-tended lawn of St. Augustine grass, and pots of pink pansies or petunias—damned if he could tell the difference—decorated the edges of the steps. A vine climbed a trellis on the side of the house. Pretty respectable looking for Enrique Marchado's home.
Cullen vaguely remembered the notorious dealer's death a few years back—shot when a buy went bad. No one at the station had mourned him.
He didn't spot a doorbell, so he tapped on the front door and knocked louder when the murmur of voices told him no one had heard. A party was definitely going on at this house, damn the luck. But his patience had limits. If the little sub wouldn't answer her phone or reply to her messages, then she'd get her Dom on her doorstep, up close and personal.
A tiny Hispanic woman frowned up at him through the screen. “Yes?”
“I'm here to see Andrea.”
“But… Well, come in.”
He followed her through a living room, spotless except for a scattering of children's toys. A picture of Jesus reigned above a table crowded with figurines of saints. In the dining area, people packed the small room so full that a fire inspector would have been screaming about exits and maximum capacity.
Cullen smiled. The party looked just like an O'Keefe gathering. As his hostess bent to whisper in the ear of a tiny old woman at the head of the table, he spotted Andrea disappearing into the kitchen with an empty jug of milk. Satisfaction coursed through his veins. You've been run to ground, little tiger.
He took one step in that direction, but the lady who'd let him in grabbed his arm. “My mother wishes to speak to you.”
The old woman in the place of honor was so tiny that when he knelt beside her, his head was still level with hers. She studied him without speaking for a minute. “Are you the man who hurt my baby?”
He winced. The thought of his sub, someone who he'd defend with his life, being hurt, cut deep. He hadn't done it, but he hadn't been there to save her. And that fact surely pissed him off. “Others did the hurting, ma'am. And your baby should have called me to defend her.”
She pursed her lips. “Then why are you here?”
“To apologize for them and have it out with her over not calling me.” He didn't evade questions, and this woman probably preferred blunt. He nodded toward the kitchen. “May I—”
“You may sit beside me and enjoy my birthday dinner. After, I might let you see her.” The fragile shoulders straightened, and her chin rose.
Cullen grinned, recognizing the same spitting attitude in her as in his sub. “I would be honored, ma'am. My name is Cullen O'Keefe.”
The daughter standing nearby sent one of the young boys off to fetch another chair.
A minute later, Cullen sat down next to the matriarch of the family. She reminded him a hell of a lot of his grandmother as she pointed a fork, naming off her children and their children. The great-grandchildren scrambling around with the enthusiasm of puppies moved too fast for her to name.
Cullen watched as Andrea carried out food, chatting with everyone, laughing at jokes, roughhousing with the youngsters. She wore cutoffs and a bright red shirt that showed her figure, and damn, she was gorgeous. Eventually, she took a seat at the other end of the long white-clothed table, and looked up, calling, “Abuelita, we have…”
Her voice trailed off, and Cullen met her wide-eyed gaze, caught the flash of joy, and then pain. Her face lost all expression, and she started to rise. To boot him out, no doubt.
The old woman pointed a fork at Andrea. “Sientete.” Her voice rose. “This is Cullen, who has come to be with Andrea. They have had a fight, so I am keeping them apart until dessert sweetens their tempers.” Laughter rolled up and down the table.
The furious look Andrea sent him should have had a flammable sticker applied to it. He definitely had his work cut out for him.
What was he doing here? Sitting between her cousin and Aunt Rosa, Andrea tried not to look at him, but she couldn't help herself, especially when he laughed, the sound so distinctive and infectious. He'd already charmed her grandmother, the damned bartender who wasn't a bartender, and had half the table leaning forward as he described an arson investigation. He certainly wasn't hiding his occupation now, was he?
He looked up then and caught her gaze, holding it with his intent green eyes until she flushed. Until he deliberately let her go.
“He's hot,” Jasmine, one of her teenaged cousins, whispered, fanning herself. “And he looks like he could really kick ass, even yours. Where did you meet him?”
“At a club. I thought he was a bartender.” Not a damned cop. She deliberately met his gaze this time, keeping her expression hard. It didn't help. He smiled at her, and the sun lines around his eyes crinkled, and she had to avert her eyes. Too many memories came with that smile, ones of how he had looked after they'd made love.
“Madre de Dios, the way he looks at you, like he's just waiting to get you into bed,” Rosa whispered.
“Aunt Rosa!”
Rosa gave her a sunny smile and patted her hand. “I have four children, and they didn't arrive by stork. I have seen that look on a man's face before.”
The dinner lasted forever, and then the desserts came out of the kitchen. Even the thick chocolate brownie seemed tasteless, although Cullen ate enough and gave enough compliments to please every woman there.
As people finished eating and started clearing the table, Abuelita whispered into Cullen's ear.
He rose, strode directly to Andrea, and held out his hand. “We have been dismissed to make our peace. Come.”
When she ignored him, he merely smiled and pulled her up. He placed a hand low on her back, pushing gently each time her feet stopped. The cabrón knew she wouldn't make a scene at her grandmother's party.
The heat of his hand and the intimacy of his touch there, right above her bottom, sent a simmer of need through her. She shoved it away. The Shadowlands had called her a thief and kicked her out. Her anger surged up again.
“Where can we talk?” he asked as they left the dining room.
“I don't want to speak with you.” Why had he come here? Everything in her wanted to snuggle into his side, feel him pull her closer, and at the same time, she wanted to hit him very hard.
“That's a shame, since we're going to be talking now.” He looked around and guided her out the front door.
On the steps, she planted her feet and stared up at him.
“I'll put you over my shoulder, little sub,” he said softly.
“I'm a thief. You shouldn't be talking to me.”
“You're not a thief. You never were. And Dan admits he acted like an asshole.” His arm came around her waist, forcing her down the steps, holding her so closely that her hip rubbed against his leg with every step. “However, I didn't. You should have called me.”
She stared up at him, her mind gone blank, and his eyes crinkled. His finger touched her bottom lip. “Don't look at me like that. We have some talking to do before I kiss you.”
Her breath hitched and started again as he kept walking. The streetlight on the corner provided a faint amount of illumination as they reached the next block, and he stopped beside a truck. After lowering the tailgate, he plucked Andrea up and sat her on it. He set one booted foot next to her on the metal and leaned both arms on his knee, staring down at her.
How could she fight him in this position? She started to slide off the tailgate, and he snapped, “Stay there.”
“Fine,” she huffed, trying to ignore the melting sensation inside. She looked down at her hands, saw her fingers trembling, so she crossed her arms over her chest. Dios, he was here. How could she hate him and want him so much all at the same time?
A big hand cupped her cheek. His thumb pressed her chin up and forced her to meet his eyes. “Why didn't you call me?” he asked.