Page 11 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Dante

S ince I’m the project manager for multiple sites, I’m not at The Nest every day, but I park my truck outside today to check in with the electricians who are installing all the new equipment after we gutted the place, working as quickly as possible so Taryn isn’t left without a kitchen that long.

The subcontractors got the new floors in, fixed the small leak in the ceiling, and are now working on the wiring.

With two coffees in hand—I’d learned Taryn has a bit of a sweet tooth and brought her coffee with lots of cream and sugar—I head in through the back, greeting the workers in both English and Spanish. I can’t read worth a damn, but my accent for an easy Qué onda? is pretty good.

“For me?” Raf asks in his thick accent, jutting his chin to my second coffee, and I laugh.

“Get the fuck outta here. Where’s the bunuelos you promised me?”

“Carla is baking this weekend,” he says with a smack to my back .

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He waves at me with a congenial smile, saying offhandedly, “Jefe is upstairs.”

Technically, I’m Raf’s boss, like all the other subcontractors, but Taryn is the big boss. And she runs a tight ship.

I take the steps two at a time and find her in the hall, speaking to a housekeeper in low tones, and I patiently wait until she’s done to hand over her coffee. She accepts it with brows raised up to her hairline, her mouth curved in a surprised little O.

“No one’s ever brought you coffee before?” I ask, a little grumpily because that’s shit.

“No one besides my brothers.”

I still don’t like that, and I huff. “I would’ve brought you breakfast, but I didn’t know if you have any food allergies. Do you have food allergies?”

“No, I don’t, but you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to.”

She steps past me into one of the bedrooms. “I don’t want you to.”

I pivot to lean against the doorframe, watching as she sips from the coffee before setting it down on the little table in the corner. “Taste okay?”

“It’s good, thank you.” She starts to peel back the bedding, her voice sharp as a knife when she says, “You can leave now.”

“I’m good, thank you.”

I can hear her eye roll as she yanks on the quilt. Next are the bedsheets, my eyes glued to her as she strides around to the other side of the bed so she’s facing me when she bends at the waist. It’s not my fault I have a direct line of sight down her sweater when it gapes, but I do take advantage.

“Eyes up,” she says, and I take my time, meeting her gaze.

I smile. “You look very pretty today. ”

“Stop it.” She straightens and tosses the sheet on the floor, and what I wouldn’t give to throw her on top of the building pile. Get rid of that sweater and pull the cups of her bra down. “You promised you’d be professional.”

I lift my arm, gazing around innocently. “I think I am. I’m well within my rights to compliment you.”

She closes her eyes and takes a big breath, one I hear all the way across the room. “You’re incorrigible.”

When she flicks her eyes open once again, I lift my coffee to my mouth. “You’re gonna have to define that one for me.”

“Unable to be reformed.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Accurate.”

She can’t hide the tremor of her lips, and I take it as a win, moving to step into the room, but I hear a muffled yell from downstairs. “La migra!”

Taryn whips her head toward the window, before running past me. “You know all the workers?”

I follow her down the hall. “Yeah.”

“You know who’s undocumented?”

“No.”

“Get anyone out of here who might be,” she says, flying down the stairs, catching the two officers before they can enter her building, one hand on the door, the other on her hip.

All the panic in her voice is gone as she straightens her spine and lifts her head. “Hi there. How can I help you today?”

I rush back to the kitchen, noticing Raf is gone, but a handful of other workers are jockeying for space to see what’s going on with Taryn. I turn, interested myself, and silently pump my fist as she blocks the door. “Rafael Parilla? I don’t know who that is.”

I don’t hear what the ICE officers are saying, but she stands her ground, a spine of steel.

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, loud enough that I think anyone in a three-block radius can hear. “You gentlemen cannot come in without a warrant.”

Behind me, the workers murmur. They’re proud of her too.

“We need to look around,” one of them says, but Taryn doesn’t budge because she’s a fucking rock star. Although I can’t merely stand here anymore when they shift, attempting to get inside.

And, no. Nope. Not happening.

I clomp across the floor, making each step in my work boots heavier than it needs to be, so I pull their attention.

It’s two older white guys, decked out like they’re going to war as opposed to standing on the porch of a century-old home in the middle of West Chester, PA, “a charming small town with a historic downtown,” according to the pamphlet on Taryn’s desk.

I fold my arms over my chest, making myself as big as possible behind her.

“You heard the boss. No warrant, no entry.”

They look me up and down and back away, narrowing their gaze on Taryn. The taller of the two juts his finger at her. “We’ll be back. With a warrant.”

My first instinct is to jump in front of her, but she wiggles her fingers at them, a sarcastic smile gracing her face. “Nice seeing you, fellas. Have the day you deserve.” Then she slams the door on them, muttering, “Motherfuckers.”

A moment passes before she lifts her focus to me. “That was…”

“Fucking awesome,” I finish for her, grinning. “You were incredible.”

She laughs, a shaky sound, and walks past me to the check-in desk, and I tell all the guys in the kitchen to take five, leaving Taryn and me alone.

She plops down in the chair and yanks open a drawer to find a bag of mixed gummy candies.

She rips it open and plucks out two gummy worms. She sticks one between her teeth, stretching it until it breaks in half, and I don’t know why I find that so hot.

She’s welcome to bite me and break me in half anytime.

Catching me staring, she holds out the bag. “Want some?”

I shake my head. I don’t really feel like eating at the moment, too nauseated about what just happened. “You’ve got your own candy drawer.”

“For emergencies.” Then she stuffs another worm into her mouth and takes another three. “I have a bad habit of eating without thinking, so I have to hide it. Otherwise, I’d eat a pound of this a day, and I don’t have the money to support a candy addiction.”

I make a mental note of the Gray’s Candy label and decide I’ll stop by to make sure she’s always stocked up. I check my phone—for what, I don’t know—but my nerves are jangled.

Taryn seems okay, at least, going ham on the poor worms. But I can only guess it’s her stress relief. After a while, she turns to me. “You know Rafael well?”

I nod and sit on the edge of the desk, close enough that her foot rests against my calf when she crosses her legs. I don’t move. Neither does she.

“I’ve known him for years. He’s in his forties, married with kids. His wife, Carla, works in healthcare. She’s a home care nurse, I think.”

Taryn nods, swallowing another piece of candy. “He’s the guy doing the electrical work?”

“Yep. He’s the best. I’ve worked with this electrical company for a long time because I trust them. I trust Rafael.”

She looks down at the bag of candy, her fingers playing with the edge. “What do you think will happen to him?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know anything about his immigration status, but even if I did, it doesn’t matter. He’s a good person. He’s lived here for…I don’t know. At least a dozen years or so, from all the conversations I’ve had with him. I just…”

She looks up at me, eyes round and worried. “You feel responsible, don’t you?”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but I guess I do. This is my site. This is my project he’s working on.

She puts the candy away and stands up, inching closer to me. “It’s not your fault.”

I know that, and yet… “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.”

She curves her palm around my cheek, lifting my face up, her normally angular features soft. “It’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” I rasp, emotion clogging my throat, and she surprises me by wrapping her arms around my shoulders, urging my head down, and I bury my face against her neck.

When I accidentally brush my lips over her pulse point, she doesn’t move.

So I do it again on purpose, her skin warm and too tempting not to kiss, but she stops me before I can, leaning away.

Her fathomless dark eyes roam over my face, and I could get lost in them, searching, learning, drawing out every desire and need.

“Dante,” she whispers, not quite an invitation but not exactly a reprimand either. I press my forehead to hers, our noses brushing, her breath smelling sweet like the candy, and it’s near impossible to stop myself from taking a sip from her decadent mouth.

And yet somehow I do.

I stop.

She wanted me to be professional, and after what just happened, I need to check in with Raf. I need to talk to all the workers. I have a job to complete.

For myself and for her, I wrap my fingers around her upper arms to gently push her back, making room for me to stand up. So close to each other, she’s forced to tilt her head back a bit, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like that.

With a smile, I remind her, “You left your coffee upstairs.”

She clears her throat, and it’s a small consolation to know she’s not as unaffected by me as she likes to pretend.

“See you later, duchess.”