Restoring Hope (5 page)

“I’ll let you eat then,” Hope blurted out in embarrassment, knowing full well her face gave away that this man unnerved her. Needing to escape, she turned quickly and headed back to the kitchen as Nic stared after her, the sway of her hips locking his eyes in place.

“When you need more crawfish, you let T-Hope know, 'kay Nic,” Rose jumped in as she watched Hope scurry away and then turned without waiting for his answer to chase after her.

Turning his head back to his son, they both dug into the big bowl of crawfish. Nic watched as Nicky devoured what he thought was the best crawfish this side of the Mississippi. Pulling the shell apart, until the white, tender meat showed itself, he grabbed it and popped it into his mouth.

“That T-Hope is pretty,” Nicky replied around a mouth full of food.

“Saw that did you,” Nic smiled, and then leaned forward and ruffled Nicky’s hair.

“Kinda hard to miss, she’s got curves in all the right places.” Nic stopped chewing, and wondered when he’d missed his son turning from a boy to man.

“What do you know about curves?”

“Not that much, but like I said, hers were hard to miss.”

Looks like it’s time for “the talk”
Nic thought, but he had to admit, Nicky wasn’t wrong, Hope did have curves you couldn’t miss.

A few tables over, several men who apparently had been drinking too much and consuming their weight in crawfish, seemed to be growing louder by the minute. Nicky turned his head and watched them for a moment and then turned back grinning.

“I love coming here, all the crawfish you can eat, and I get to see ass—I mean drunks make fools of themselves.” Nic shook his head chuckling. Yeah, he’d definitely missed the moment when his son had taken that step into manhood.

Grabbing a piece of corn, Nic’s eyes caught on Hope as she came out of the kitchen with another large bowl filled with bright red crawfish and his eyes stayed on her as she placed them on a table near the belligerent diners. One of the men caught a look at her in that tight Tee and said something to her. She ducked her head ignoring them, and Nic watched as her face paled. Considering how ivory her skin was, he figured whatever the man said must have been bad to cause a reaction like that. Hope shook her head when he said something else, and when she tried to leave the man grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap. She went stock-still, and the look on her face turned his stomach sour. Without a thought, he stood up and walked over to the table.

“You’ve had your fun now let her up,” Nic rumbled low in his throat. Hope kept her eyes to the floor, and Nic watched as she started to tremble. Reaching out to help her up, she jerked when his hand came into view of her face and bucked back; looking up, fear in her eyes.

“We’re just having fun man, chill,” the drunk slurred.

“Give me your hand, sugar,” Nic told Hope, his voice gentle, not wanting to spook her again. Hope finally looked at him and without hesitation put her hand in his outstretched one, grabbing on tight.

“The lady wants up, now let her up,” Nic repeated. He was pissed Hope could tell, but he wasn’t the only one. She was angry with herself for reacting the way she did to some asshole. This “good old boy” might have been a nice person when sober, no, scratch that, Hope knew better. Alcohol brought out the bastard quicker than flies on manure, as Big Daddy would say. Taking a deep breath, determined not to let another man make her feel small, she leaned forward suddenly breaking the drunken fools hold on her and stood as Nic pulled her up and then pushed her behind him. Nic leaned into the drunk and with an icy voice told him, “You keep your hands to yourself, and we got no problems, you hear me?” One of his friends put a hand on his shoulder saying, “Be cool, Jason.” Jason, being drunk, shrugged off the hand and stood, but only reached the top of Nic’s chin. Apparently being drunk also made Jason think he was bigger than he was, ‘cause he didn’t notice Nic outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, and most of that was muscle, Hope figured.

Nic stood his ground staring down on drunken Jason, jaw tight, eyes hard, and hands on his hips looking formidable against any man. Jason’s friend mumbled, “It’s your funeral” and stayed in his seat, not backing up his friend. Though, Jason must not have been as stupid as she thought, ‘cause after a moment of staring Nic down, what was left of his brain cells started firing. He causally brushed of the threat with an “If she don’t want men to touch; she shouldn’t wear her shirts like that,” and then fell back in his seat and picked up his beer.

Hope was looking down at her shirt when Nic grabbed her arm, turned her around and started walking away. Without thinking, she mumbled, “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“By my estimation, not a damn thing,” Nic muttered and she realized she had voiced that out loud. Hope looked over her shoulder at him and when she caught Nic’s eyes, he winked at her. Hope couldn’t help it herself, it was an involuntary response, she smiled slightly and then rolled her eyes.

Nic chuckled at her response and then watched as she realized what she’d done and color returned to her face.
Dieu, she was cute when she blushed.

“I, um, thank you for, I, uh, need to go check on the kitchen, but thank you for, well, thank you,” Hope spit out on a rush of words, tumbling over them, breathy, and completely mortified that she was tongue tied in front of this man. The minute she’d laid eyes on him, he’d made her nervous. The second she’d looked into his eyes she’d felt rocked to her core. His eyes, dark brown and soulful, so brown they were almost black, but with sadness in them that she recognized. She knew that look; saw it each day in the mirror staring back at her. Not wanting to embarrass herself further, she turned quickly and went back into the kitchen.

As she walked to the door, Nic felt something inside him tighten, but this time it wasn’t pain thinking of his daughter, it was a yearning for something beautiful. It had been too long since he’d had anything in his life that made him smile, other than his son, and that bit of loneliness he carried with him from Chelsea’s loss didn’t seem as sharp at that moment, watching Hope flee. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for a woman, he needed to keep his focus on his son, so he walked back to his table to finish his meal and keep the lines of communication open with Nicky.

Maman Rose stood at the back of the bar tallying receipts as she kept one eye on the floor and one eye on her newest love match. She was feeling pretty smug with herself when she watched Nic standup and defend T-Hope’s honor, and then the looks they gave each other when the other wasn’t looking. Yes, with a little well placed pushing she was sure it was only a matter of time before she could pat herself on the back at another job well done. “
Laissez le bon temps rouler
.” Let the good times roll indeed, she thought.

Chapter Four

Night had fallen in Nevada; the temperature dropping by degrees until a person could finally tolerate being outside without soaking his shirt through from sweat. Not that John Cummings would have noticed, he was too busy staring at a picture of Jessica Hope Delaney Cummings. She’d snuck off in the middle of the night like a thief, but she wasn’t a thief she was worse, and she would pay for that. He should have kept a closer eye on her, should have put one of his boys on her 24/7, but he’d been busy managing his trucking empire, seeing to other matters that kept the books in the black.

He’d spent years building his empire, he and his brother, and then Hope had entered their lives changing everything. She was like an angel with her light blonde hair and cherub face, but looks could be deceiving. He learned that all too well and she had to die for her betrayal to the family. She should have known her place, should have understood not to push a man, and she should have kept her mouth shut and not argued, forcing the beatings she endured. All of it was her fault, all of it, and she would pay with her life when he found her.

His eyes focused on the light shimmering in her hair as he lifted a highball glass of whiskey to his mouth. She was, in his opinion, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known, and if he were honest, he’d been a little in love with her. She was supposed to be a trophy wife; someone who looked good walking into a room, but in the end she’d become an obsession, one with disastrous results.

John heard a knock at his office door but ignored it; he was too busy wondering where she was hiding to care. After a moment or two more, the knock returned and he threw back his drink, replaced the photo of Hope and then turned to the door, barking out “Enter.”

As his assistant entered, her skintight dress wetting his appetite like it always did, he motioned for her to come to him. As Viv walked around the desk and stopped in front of him, he reached out and circled her nipple with his finger then watched as her head fell back at his touch.

“On your knees, I want my cock in your mouth,” he ordered, and like the well-trained whore that she was, she kneeled in front of him, and released his hard shaft from his pants. She opened that hot, pink mouth of hers and took him all the way to the back of her throat. John groaned, leaned his head back on his Italian leather chair and enjoyed her mouth, as she sucked him deep, swallowing all that he gave her when he pumped his seed down her throat. When he finished, she stood and started to lift her skirt. John reached out and grabbed her arm, wrenched sideways, twisting it until she whimpered, growling, “Out, I need to think.” Like the smart whore she was, she lowered her eyes and then turned and left him alone to his thoughts of Hope.

He hadn’t heard from his private detective in two days, and he’d lost her trail in Houston over two weeks ago. She’d disappeared, never returned to her crappy apartment, and she’d left nothing behind that would tell them where she’d gone. But, that wouldn’t stop him. He’d look under every rock until he found her and then she would pay. Oh, she would pay, and he’d be the one to exact the punishment when they found her. “You can run, but you can’t hide, not for long, Hope.”

“Ride me darlin, yeah, that’s it, give it to Teddy the way he likes it.” Before she did something she’d regret, like march next door and pound on the door, Hope threw the pillow over her head and tried to drown out the noise coming through the wall. It was going on two in the morning, the pounding from the headboard had woken her, and for a brief panic-stricken moment, she’d thought it was her door, and John had found her. This living in constant fear was exhausting, but no less exhausting as the constant fear she lived in while under her husband’s roof. Ten years she’d lived in fear, and the thought of having to live the rest of her life this way was daunting.

When she'd met her husband while working at a boutique in Reno, Nevada, he’d been charming, swept her off her feet, and then married her within six months of their meeting. As a child, she’d dreamt of having a family of her own, not being alone, and she figured her desire for that had blocked out the warning signs. He always wanted to know where she was, would be angry if he couldn’t reach her. But, after a childhood in social services bouncing around from foster home to foster home, the lure of a man who wanted her and the family
she
desperately wanted, Hope had ignored his possessive nature and married him.

The first time he’d hit her they’d only been married six months. He worked a lot, and she’d complained she never saw him when he came home late one night with alcohol on his breath. Then she’d found lipstick on his collar, and she’d confronted him with the same results, only this time he hadn’t been drinking. When she’d tried to leave him he’d become enraged and attacked again saying she was his, she could never leave and if she did, he would kill her. The crazy look in his eyes as he straddled her, spittle dripping from his mouth like a rabid dog as he threatened her, told her she should believe his threat.