Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (25 page)

When she came back into the bedroom and dressed, I woke up enough to enjoy the show, and my dick definitely wasn’t behaving like a gentleman either.

Tera laughed when her eyes dropped to the sheets below my waist.

“Hold that thought; some of us have to go to work,” and she sighed. “I’ll try and get out early and be back by five. I’ve left a spare key on the breakfast bar and there are coffee beans in the fridge.” Then she paused. “I
will
see you later, won’t I? You’re not going to run out on me?”

I shook my head and grinned at her.

“Nope. The lady offered me a ride—and I don’t get an offer like that every day.”

Tera smirked. “I bet you do, but never mind. I’ll see you later.”

“Hey,” I called after her. “Don’t I get some sugar before you go?”

She laughed and walked back to the bed, her tight skirt sculpting her ass, as she kissed me quickly.

“Get some rest!” she ordered, skipping away from my roving hands.

“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, happily sinking back into sheets that smelled like her.

I was surprised when less than an hour later, Tera returned.

I’d taken her advice and gone back to sleep, enjoying the wide, comfortable bed and soft clean sheets.

Her bedroom door opened and I sat up sleepily.

“Hey, sugar, you forget someth . . . ?” and then I froze.

An older woman with silvery-blonde hair was staring at me, appalled shock written across her face, both hands clutching the string of pearls around her neck.

“Who . . . ?” Then she collected herself and stood up straighter. “Good morning. You must be a friend of Tera’s. I’m her mother, Catherine Beaumont Hawkins.”

I felt my cheeks heat, reddening uncharacteristically. I suddenly felt very naked lounging in Tera’s bed, as if she was some sugar mommy and I was a guy she paid by the hour to warm her sheets while she went to work.

“Tucker McCoy,” I managed, my voice sounded like I was ten years old before my balls dropped.

Tera’s mother took a step closer, extending her right hand, then glancing at the sheet that had slipped below my navel, and thinking better of it.

“Perhaps we can continue this conversation in the living room,” she said calmly, backing away and closing the door behind her.

I flopped back on the pillows, trying to convince myself that the last 30 seconds hadn’t happened, that my first introduction to Tera’s mother wasn’t when I was naked and, oh shit, sporting a raging boner because I’d been dreaming about her daughter.

But then I heard the coffee machine in the kitchen and knew I definitely hadn’t imagined anything.

I rolled out of bed, cursing my useless arm and weighed up how disrespectful it would look if I made her wait while I took a quick shower.

Nah, the minute it would take to get clean would be well spent—much better than drinking coffee with Tera’s mother while I reeked of sex from the night before.

Showering in record time under a spray of cold water, I pulled on my jeans then searched through my backpack for something to wear. I had clean t-shirts, but I couldn’t get them on, and my button-up shirt was somewhere in Tera’s living room.

In the end I decided that Mrs. Hawkins had probably seen a man’s bare chest before—maybe even the Senator’s—and mine would be mostly covered up by my sling anyway. A quick check in the mirror told me that the bruises had faded, but were still obvious. Then I reasoned that it was her chickenshit husband who’d had his goons put them there—she could damn well look at them.

I felt her cool eyes assessing me as I walked out of the bedroom. I tried to look casual as I glanced around the living room, wondering if my shirt would materialize before her gaze froze me to the spot.

“Are you looking for your shirt?” she asked politely. “I hung it over the back of the chair—I do so hate wrinkled clothes.”

Was she for real? Was I supposed to thank her?

I muttered something indistinct and shrugged my left hand into it, fighting with my sling as I struggled with the other arm.

“That looks awkward,” she said. “Let me help you with that.”

Her pale hands were gently easing the material over my shoulder before I knew what she was doing. It felt . . . uncomfortable.

“My, those are some nasty looking bruises.”

Damn right—thank your husband.

She even buttoned my shirt, bottom to top, which was all kinds of weird.

“There,” she said, smoothing out the wrinkles on my arms and patting my chest. “All done.”

“Uh, thanks. Thank you, ma’am,” I spluttered.

“Oh!” she said, a bright smile on her face. “Are you Southern? How charming! I do love a southern accent. Where are you from?”

“East Tennessee originally, so not really sou—”

“My daughter was just there with her father. Is that where you met?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“And what business brings you to San Francisco, Mr. McCoy?”

“I . . .”

“Or maybe this is just a vacation?”

“No, I’m . . .”
Reeling from all your goddamn questions!
I took a deep breath. “That coffee smells d—mighty fine, ma’am,” I said, pouring a cup and smiling to myself as her eyebrows shot up. “TC didn’t tell me that you were in town.”

“No indeed,” she said, her icy blue eyes fixed on mine. “My visit was a surprise,” and she smiled coolly at me. “In more ways than one.” She took a sip of her own coffee. “I didn’t know Tera had a new friend.”

I bristled at the word ‘friend’ but tried not to make it look too obvious.

“You were saying where you met my daughter.”

No, I wasn’t
.

“Tera’s at work,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint.

“And you’re not, Mr. McCoy. How nice for you to have some time off. You do work, I take it?”

Enough of this shit!

“I’m a motorcycle stunt rider. I work with Kestrel Hawkins, your husband’s son.”

She blanched and set down the coffee cup, unable to hide the tremor in her hand. But she was a cool customer and placed her hands into her lap, giving a light, silvery laugh.

“Goodness! What a small world it is. I’ve always thought it must be charming to live with so many people. And such a change to be in a cosmopolitan city instead of all those sweet little towns in the Midwest. And it must be so pleasant for you to visit a lovely spacious apartment like Tera’s. Of course, this is small compared to the house where she grew up. Oh my, she did love to ride her pony across the grounds. Such a lovely environment for a child to grow up in, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“No, I suppose not.” Then she gave a fake sigh. “My daughter has had a very privileged life, but she wears it so lightly. She has a gift, the way she can talk to people of any class.”

My chest tightened at her words.

“She must get that from her father,” I retorted.

Her left eye twitched, but the smile stayed on her face.

“She’s such a homebody, as I’m sure you’ve realized. I’ve always felt that when she meets the right man, she’ll make a lovely mother. But of course, there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun first.” She laughed again. “Oh, forgive me rattling on like that: perhaps you have children of your own?”

I drank the rest of my coffee and placed the empty cup on the table and didn’t reply.

“Oh well, I suppose the traveling carnival is a very difficult environment to bring up children. It wouldn’t be fair on little ones, would it?”

“People manage,” I snapped at her.

“Yes, I’m sure they do, but Tera can do so much better than just ‘manage’.”

We glared at each other across the kitchen table.

“Tera’s a grown woman—she can make her own decisions.”

“Well, of course she can,” chuckled the Senator’s wife. “But she’s such a soft-hearted girl—it would be so easy for her to be swayed by a hard-luck story. I hate to think of people taking advantage of her. Being a parent, it brings out one’s protective instincts.”

She ran her eyes over my bruises and the cut above my eye, and I knew without any fucking doubt, she knew exactly who had put them there.

She smiled, and I could tell that she’d made her point: I was shit and Tera could do better.

It wasn’t as if that was anything I didn’t know already.

She glanced at her wristwatch then picked up her purse.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCoy. Have a safe journey back to the circus.”

And then she left.

I slumped in my seat, feeling like I’d just gone ten rounds with Floyd Mayweather’s scarier mom—and lost.

Tera

I was in a Tucker-induced daze at work. Good sex will do that to you . . . great sex seems to suck out rational thought completely. And I was speaking from recent experience.

Which wasn’t good when I was snowed under. My desk was covered in a flurry of paperwork, and I could barely see my computer screen for post-it notes stuck all over.

My manager, Lorraine, wanted a blow-by-blow account of every meeting I’d been to in Tennessee, demanding reports in full immediately. She was making the point that just because the client was my father, that didn’t mean I could get away with being unprofessional. I didn’t need the lecture, but I smiled through it anyway. Bitch.

I headed back to my desk to start on the paper mountain. But first, I checked my cell and was dismayed to see two missed calls from Tucker. I was about to call him back when Marie interrupted.

“You have a visitor in reception, Tera.”

“What? There’s no one on my schedule. Okay, I’ll go down, I just have to make a call and . . .”

“It’s your mom,” said Marie. “I got the impression that she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I groaned. “What does she want? Never mind! I just need to call . . .”

Lorraine appeared around the corner, chatting animatedly to my mother.

“You’re on your own,” Marie whispered, disappearing into her cube.

“Mother!” I said, smiling. “This is a lovely surprise.”

Her gaze raked over my outfit, from hair to shoes and back again, a small frown on her face that I recognized as irritation.

“Tera, darling!” She patted my arm and kissed the air beside my cheek. “I do hope you have time to take your mother out to lunch. I’ve found the most divine place overlooking the ocean.”

I looked helplessly at Lorraine, but she was on my mother’s side; or rather on the side of the wife of one of her most prestigious clients.

“Of course, Mrs. Hawkins! We can spare Tera for a couple of hours.”

She saw the annoyed twitch on my mother’s face and interpreted it correctly.

“In fact, why not take as long as you want—you deserve it.”

“It’s not even lunchtime,” I muttered, but no one was paying any attention to me.

My mother scooped me up and a minute later we were in a cab on the way to Benu, an upscale restaurant with a galaxy of Michelin stars. So like her. It used to be like me. I think.

Once we were settled at the right table, by which I mean not the first, or even second table that the host offered us, but the
right
one, she ordered herself a glass of champagne and water for me.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Darling! You’re working. I can’t send you back inebriated.”

I gave a polite smile. “I don’t think one glass would have done that, but never mind.”

She returned my smile and squeezed my fingers, her pleasure in seeing me genuine for once.

“How did you enjoy working with Daddy?”

I wished she wouldn’t infantilize like that.

“It was fine, but honestly, he didn’t need me—his team knows what they’re doing.”

“I’m sure you helped.”

Why did that sound so patronizing? But I did what I’d been taught to do and simply smiled.

The drinks arrived and we ordered our food. I was just beginning to feel relaxed when my cell rang. It was Tucker—and I hadn’t returned his two previous calls either.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, darling?”

“Just a work thing—it can wait,” I lied.

Mom smiled at me.

“I spoke to Josh Hartington’s mother this morning,” she said. “And guess what? He wants to ask you to the Memorial Day fundraiser in November. I told her that you’d love to go with him! Isn’t that wonderful?”

I groaned, not bothering to hide my feelings.

“Mother! I can’t believe you did that! You know I can’t stand him. He doesn’t talk to me, he talks to my boobs . . .”

“I’m sure that’s not true!”

“It definitely is! I think he’s waiting for them to talk back.”

Mom laughed. “You do exaggerate. He’ll call you to arrange the details.”

I frowned. “No, Mother, he won’t. I can arrange my own dates, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be petulant. That young man is going places. You’d be a fool to turn him down now.”

I stilled and forced myself to speak calmly.

“Regardless of that, I am
not
going anywhere with Josh Hartington. You shouldn’t have offered me up like some sort of sacrifice.”

“You can’t turn him down, it will look horribly rude.”

“Then
you
shouldn’t have set it up without speaking to me!”

She patted her lips delicately with her napkin.