More than a Maid (13 page)

Isaac shrugged. "Cake?"

Ramon huffed a loud breath out of the side of his mouth. "Come on. You want more than that."

Isaac thought for a little while, then said, "My fwends. My pwesents. My—"

"Race car?" Ramon said.

Isaac gasped. "My wace caw!" Then he looked around the room, his eyes lighting up more each second.

Ramon laughed. "Did you really forget about that? It's all you've talked about for weeks." Then Ramon put his arm around Isaac's shoulders and drew him close. "Don't worry about your friends. Everyone's gonna have a great time, I promise. All you need to do is show up, eat cake, and drive your race car. You let me take care of everything else."

Isaac let out a slow sigh of relief. "Okay." Then he jumped off the bed and said, "Bye!" as he ran down the hall.

Ramon laughed and called, "You're welcome," after him.

Marcy chuckled. "What's gotten into him today? I've never seen him like this before."

"He's goin' through a lot. Kinda confused about his Mommy getting married. I told Victor they need to talk to him, but…" Elbows against his knees, Ramon hunched forward, staring off at the wall. After a little while, he took a deep breath and looked at Marcy. The corners of his mouth slowly turned up. "You look really pretty."

Marcy blushed and thought,
I love him
. But she laughed inside, quickly dismissing that random thought. It was certainly a mere knee-jerk response to his sweet interaction with Isaac… then telling her she was pretty… and of course, it didn't hurt that he sat before her in nothing but a towel with tiny drops of water floating down his chiseled torso.

She let out a slow breath and weakly uttered, "Thank you."

Ramon's eyes locked on hers. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest.

Marcy wondered for a moment if he'd changed his mind about leaving the house and they could just spend their evening in the bedroom.

But then he inhaled deeply and stood, tightening the towel around his waist. "S'pose I gotta get dressed now. See you in a few."

Marcy watched him walk away. Then she stared at the empty doorway, in a stupor.

Hopefully whatever she was feeling was temporary… hopefully…

At exactly four o'clock, Ramon knocked on Marcy's door, wearing shorts and a plain black T-shirt. They greeted each other with a simple, "Hey," then she picked up her purse and they walked side by side down the hall.

Mmm. His heart swelled a little more every time he saw her. Pretty lady. She looked good when he first laid eyes on her, but how had he not noticed then how special she was? The way her lips crinkled when she smiled. Tiny little freckles on her cheeks. Supple body, begging for his touch…

But Ramon knew better than to pay her too many compliments so quickly. No doubt he'd accidentally call her "fat" again and that'd be the end of all hope.

As Ramon followed her down the stairs, he inhaled deeply to try to even out his erratic heartbeat. Her sweet scent filled his senses. It was either perfume or shampoo. Maybe both. Whatever it was, it intensified his urge to rip her clothes off. But it wasn't time for that right now.

When they walked out the front door, Marcy started to take a left, past all the cars parked outside, but Ramon said, "Hey, wait."

"Hmm?" she asked over her shoulder.

"We're taking this." He clicked a button on his keychain, and his Mercedes beeped.

Taken aback, Marcy asked, "This is yours? I assumed we were taking your truck."

Ramon shook his head. "Nah. I use this when I'm not working. The truck's a gas hog."

Marcy's eyes widened, scanning the little black car. She quickly opened her door before he could open it for her.

Maybe she's one of those modern women who doesn't like a man to hold the door open
, he thought, and made a mental note of it.

Soon, they were both fastening their seat belts as Ramon started the ignition. Pressing the accelerator, he said, "It's nice that you'd still wanna go out with me, even if you thought we were taking the truck. I can tell you hate it."

"I don't hate it. I just can't imagine how I'd get up into the passenger seat. Would I jump from a trampoline?"

Ramon laughed. "No. I told you. It has steps. You'd be fine."

Usually, a woman who didn't like his truck was a woman he had no use for. But there was something special about Marcy. It was like she understood him in ways no one else ever had. And it seemed like a cruel joke that she may only be in his life for a little while longer.

"Okay," he said as they headed down the driveway. "I'll give you one last chance to pick the restaurant."

"No. I meant what I said last night. Just take me to one of your favorite places. Show me who you really are."

"All right." He'd given her the chance. If she wanted to know who he really was, he'd show her. And if they realized they were incompatible as a result, it'd make saying goodbye to her a whole lot easier. He decided right then—after they went shoe shopping—to take her to Floyd's Grill, a place he used to frequent a couple of times a month before Victor and the rest of the clan moved in.

Ramon said, "I was thinking we'd go to a sporting goods store at the mall to get those shoes."

Marcy shot him a sideways glance as she fished something from her purse. "I thought you told me I didn't need boots. Isn't that what they sell at sporting goods stores?"

"You don't. Just some comfortable sneakers that'll clean easy if you get 'em dirty. Like, maybe hiking shoes or something."

Marcy gulped. "I have never owned anything like that in my entire life. Can't they be pretty, at least?"

Ramon laughed. "They don't have to be ugly, but they can't be high-heeled. You'll fall and hurt yourself."

"Every pair of boots I've ever owned has been high-heeled."

"I'm sure they have. That's why I mentioned it."

"Well, you're the boss." She paused, then added, "But don't let it go to your head." Marcy dropped her purse to the floor and relaxed in her seat.

Ramon smiled. He liked it when she called him, "boss."

Marcy said, "Do you think it'll take that long to find shoes?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Just wondered why you wanted to do this so early, at four. You gonna treat me to an early bird special?"

Ramon chuckled, "Nah," even though he knew the place where they were going actually did offer an early bird special. "Thought we'd need some extra time before dinner in case you got all prissy and high-fallootin' with your shoes, or—"

Erupting in laughter, Marcy said, "Oh my God. Did you really just use, 'high-fallootin' in a sentence with a straight face?"

Ramon raised a brow at her as he shifted gears. "Yeah. I use 'high fallootin', 'dag nabbit,' 'darn tootin'.' You know, 'cause I'm a classy guy and stuff."

Marcy placed her hand on her stomach for a moment and groaned, like she was equally amused and nauseated. "I'm surprised this car wasn't too high-fallootin' for your tastes."

"Why? It's not that fancy. Simple four door sedan."

"Yeah, but you could've bought something less expensive."

"You mean, something country? Redneck?"

"Don't put words in my mouth." Marcy leaned back against her seat, meeting Ramon's eyes when he glanced her way. "It's a high-end foreign car. That's all I meant."

Ramon chuckled. "Well, I'm a foreign guy. Born in Mexico. And I got a good deal on the car 'cause I know a guy."

When they arrived at the mall, Ramon parked outside the sporting goods store, and Marcy immediately turned her gaze to the department store beside it.

As Ramon parked the car, he said, "You really wanna go there instead, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I got a little extra money right now and I love a good clearance rack." She shyly bit her lip, adding, "And I'm sure they have shoes."

Ramon looked in her pretty green eyes… and caved. "All right. I'll park over there." Lord, how many times over the years had he come shopping with other women here at this mall? He loathed shopping as a date. It was one of about five hundred reasons why he'd abandoned the entire concept of dating long ago. And now he found himself here again. Hopefully it wouldn't be so bad with Marcy.

So much for showing her who I really am
, he thought. Then he decided to say, "For the record, I hate this store." There. At least he'd tried.

"I'm sure you do."

A few minutes later they walked together through the glass doors into the department store. This time, she let him hold the door open as she rushed inside, entering through the men's department.

Ramon was already looking around for the shoe section, intent on getting this over with, when Marcy stopped him.

"Hey," she said on her way to a rack of shirts. "Come here. What size do you wear?"

Ramon sighed. "I knew this would happen. Don't shop for me. Let's find the shoes."

She threw him a smirk as she flipped through the rack. "This is a good sale. Come on. What size?"

Ramon scowled at the rack of hoity toity, button-down, long sleeved shirts. "Do I look like the kinda guy who wears this crap?"

Marcy took in a deep breath through her mouth and blew it out slowly as she went to a rack full of short-sleeved, casual shirts. "What about these?"

Ramon stopped, glancing at the rack. "Hmm. Well, maybe."

"What size?" She asked. "You wanna try 'em on?"

"Not really." Ramon took a shirt to examine it. "I can always bring it back if it doesn't fit."

"Or you can try it on?" She grinned suggestively. "And I can help?"

He lifted his eyes to hers, his shorts suddenly feeling a little tighter. But from his peripheral vision he saw a sales woman. The very sales woman who would certainly catch them. "No. I know too many people around here. I'd never live it down."

Marcy sighed. "All right."

Then his voice softened and he gently cleared his throat, plucking another shirt from the rack. "Maybe some other time."

Marcy smiled and unconsciously licked her lips.

Ramon returned her smile, hoping now more than ever she'd stay in his house a while longer.

Fifteen minutes later, Ramon was at the counter, paying for a pile of new clothes. He grumbled under his breath.

Marcy heard him and asked, "What? No one's holding a gun to your head."

He ignored her and handed cash to the woman behind the counter. No way in hell he'd admit he actually needed these clothes. But shit, every shirt he owned was old and faded and he couldn't remember the last time he bought new clothes for himself.

Bag in hand, they turned in the direction of the women's shoe department.

Marcy emitted a tiny gasp and started walking faster in the direction of a pair of gold stilettos she spotted.

Ramon watched her hurry off and muttered, "I knew this would happen."

For a few minutes, Ramon thought Marcy forgot he was there. And maybe she had. She appeared to have found her paradise. She pulled six pairs of shoes from the rack and sat them down on a bench, ready to try them on. A friendly sales lady finished with another customer and rushed over to her, saying, "They were just marked down."

"Oh! I'm so glad I came in today." Marcy's words came out fast. "It's so hard to find them in my size unless I order online and…"

Ramon immediately tuned out their chatter and strolled over to another rack. Women's boots, all flat. All fairly heavy duty, but hopefully feminine enough for her. After she finished with the clearance rack, he'd hopefully have a few pairs lined up and waiting for her. But it appeared as though the only person working in the shoe department was the woman helping Marcy. So, he took a deep breath and looked around for anyone else who could help.

Then suddenly, a woman standing behind him cleared her throat and said, "Ramon?"

His heart raced. There was an odd familiarity in her tone, even though he didn't recognize her voice. He glanced at Marcy a few racks over to make sure she was still busy, then he turned around.

Two women stood there, not smiling, but not angry. Both were skinny with blond hair and deep tans, but one looked much older than the other. The older one grimaced. She said, "So,
you're
the one who went home with my cousin and never called her."

"Uh…" Ramon slowly backed away. He shot a quick glance at Marcy over his shoulder to make sure she was out of earshot. He asked, "Who's your cousin?"

The younger one lifted a brow and raised her hand.

"Oh." Ramon gulped, then nodded.

The older one said, "She's standing right in front of you and you don't remember her?"

His eyes narrowed. "You confused me with the question. You said it as if she was somewhere else." Inside, he knew it was a flimsy excuse but it was the only one that came to mind. Wanting to somehow remedy the situation without drawing Marcy's attention, he softened his voice and said, "Look, I'm sorry. I don't remember you. Did I meet you at The Tumbleweed?"

"Yes," she said in a flat tone.

He looked in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I said I'd call you. I don't remember saying that. Hell, I don't even remember meeting you. Please forgive me."

She rolled her eyes then looked at her cousin and said, "Come on. Let's just go."

As they walked off, Ramon felt terrible about this woman. The last thing he wanted to do was mislead or hurt someone. When he hooked up with women he met at bars, he prided himself on making his intentions clear. Apparently this time, he'd failed.

Ramon rushed after them and said, "Hey! Wait."

Both women stopped in their tracks. The younger one turned around slowly. Her cousin waited a little longer and gave him the angriest look she could produce.

Ramon cleared his throat. "I'm truly sorry. I mean it. If I thought you were gonna get hurt I never would've—"

The one he slept with held up her hand. "Spare me. You're a man whore. Don't pretend you actually care."

Ramon saw from her steely glare that it'd be worthless to argue with her. And he was relieved she interrupted him before he asked what she was doing here at this mall. The reason he went two counties away to bars like The Tumbleweed was to lessen his chances of seeing these women again.

Gently, he backed away and muttered, "Fine. But I'm still sorry."

The women both huffed, looked at each other, then stalked off.

Ramon turned around. Marcy was still at the sale rack, but she stood at alert, watching him with curiosity. He kept her gaze for a moment then looked down at the floor as he trudged toward her. Hopefully she hadn't heard anything.

Marcy waited until she was close enough, then asked, "Did that girl call you a 'man whore'?"

Her question was a fist to his gut. He hesitated before saying, "Yeah."

"Why?"

Ramon glanced over each shoulder, then closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger, his head suddenly pounding. Before he answered, he took a deep breath. "I met her at a bar. Don't remember much about it." He exhaled, hard. "Okay, I don't remember
anything
about it."

"Were you that drunk or was it that bad?"