Jardin's Gamble (Haven, Texas 9)

His mother would have died of shock had his father dared to touch her like that. Let alone pull her onto his lap and feed her by hand.

It just wasn’t done.

Of course, she likely wouldn’t understand that Jardin was a Dom. She’d think he was perverted. She’d likely have disowned him. She’d been a cold, hard bitch, who’d never smiled in her life.

Mia rarely stopped smiling.

So why am I trying to emulate what my parents had? Maybe I should be more like the Texas Malones?

Dear Lord, there had to be something wrong with him. Had he really just thought that? His cousins were insane. It was just by some weird stroke of luck that two of them had managed to find women to put up with them.

How none of them had ended up dead or in jail was beyond him. Every time he visited, he risked his life. They’d been known to shoot at visitors. And just because he was family didn’t mean he was exempt from that.

It had almost become a competition. He’d even seen money exchange hands. Assholes.

Damn, he missed them. It had been months since he’d been to Haven. Even if it did hurt, being there reminded him he was alive. The longer he spent in New Orleans, the colder he grew. The less invested in his life he became. The more the memories got to him, pulling him under, taunting him.

“But you don’t even know the reason why I’m late,” she said quietly.

“You’re not ill. And I’m guessing no one died since you’re not crying. I don’t see what other excuse you can possibly have.”

“My car broke down.”

“And your phone was broken? Why didn’t you call me?”

Surprise filled her face. “You would have helped me?”

Helped her? Of course he would have. No, wait. No, he wouldn’t have. She wasn’t his sub. Not his responsibility.

“I meant to call a cab,” he explained coldly.

She blinked. And he worried for a moment that she might cry. Tears—her tears—might just break through the coldness. And he couldn’t allow that. If he let her in, he was in trouble.

Because, deep down, the last thing he felt when he looked at Thea Garrison was cold.

Nope. She heated him from the inside out. When she was near, his hands itched to draw her closer. His ears begged to hear more of her sultry voice. His entire body leaned toward her. Wanting . . . needing to touch her.

And that is why he had to get rid of her. Thea was temptation wrapped up in a small, sexy package. It would be all too easy to get drawn into her web. He wasn’t going to allow himself to fall for her.

So, he acted like she didn’t affect him. Like she barely existed beyond work. He didn’t ask her about her homelife, even though he worried about how threadbare her clothing appeared to be. He didn’t express interest in her wellbeing, not even when she turned up to work with large, black circles under her eyes. He didn’t care. Or, at least, he pretended not to.

Because he had to keep himself safe. From the moment he’d given into weakness and hired her, he’d been cursing himself.

Because he fucking wanted her. And for more than a quick affair. He wanted to wake up to those smiles in the morning and go to sleep with her curled next to him each night.

But it wasn’t happening. She was his personal assistant, or at least she had been. She was way too young. Naïve. Innocent. They likely had nothing in common.

Nope. Best he stick to his asshole routine and get rid of her.

“I called for an Uber and I got here as quickly as I could. You see there was—”

“You called an Uber?” He glared down at her.

She frowned. “Yes. Why does everyone find that so objectionable? There’s nothing wrong with taking an Uber.”

“It’s unsafe.”

She threw her hands in the air. “How is it any less safe than taking a taxi?”