One NIght With Pasqual (The Chevalier Series)

  One Night

  With Pasqual

  By

  Shara Azod

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are no to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Shara Azod

  Editor: Katriena Knights

  Cover Art: Shara Azod

  ISBN: 978-1-300-98479-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  Pasqual Chevalier had never found himself wanting for something that was unattainable. As one of the many offspring from one of the most powerful and prestigious names in the south, he was—in a word—entitled. To money, to women, to whatever his heart wanted. So why was it so hard to obtain the one thing he'd wanted for the longest but never had the ability to admit out loud--the heart of a women he's desired for years? Too stubborn to open his mouth and say the words, he finds himself in a precarious position after a wild night with an unnamed woman leaves his cousin Rayce hot and cold with him and asking Pasqual to look after a pregnant friend...who happens to be one Rhonda MacDaniels; the same woman Pasqual has been carrying a torch for. Now he has to question himself as to why her taste, touch and scent seem so familiar...and why he has such a strong yearning to take the role of her unborn child's father.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated in loving memory to Rhonda Scales.

  I can never repay all that Miss Rhonda did for me,

  I can only hope her spirit carries on in us all.

  May the heroine live up to her name.

  ~ Love Always,

  Shara

  Contents

  Dedication. 5

  Chapter Two. 16

  Chapter Three. 22

  Chapter Five. 33

  Chapter Six.. 39

  Chapter Seven.. 46

  Chapter Eight. 51

  Chapter Nine. 57

  Chapter Ten.. 64

  Chapter Eleven.. 72

  Epilogue. 79

  The Chevalier Series In Order…... 82

  Also By Shara Azod.. 83

  Chapter One

  You can’t punch the groom, especially not while he’s standing in front of the altar after receiving the blessings of God and the Church and whoever/whatever. That didn’t mean Pasqual’s hand had to relax from the tight fist he held it in. It just meant he had to wait until his parents weren’t looking. The parents who should’ve stopped this travesty. Oh, yeah, then there was his traitor cousin, Remy Junior, the priest. Too bad Remy the Saint was nothing at all like his namesake. Probably because his namesake was his uncle, not his father. One would’ve thought the name would have some power. Who hadn’t heard of the wild exploits of Uncle Remy? Why didn’t Remy the Blessed consider it his duty to just this once live up to the name his parents had for some reason seen fit to give him?

  But no, the wedding had been allowed to proceed, and the twenty-three-year-old Marie Chevalier was now Marie Chevalier (gag) Roche. Tears, cheers and well wishes applauded the couple’s first kiss. Son of a bitch! That bastard actually had the nerve to caress his sister’s ass, right in front of God and everybody!

  “You cannot attack your sister’s new husband at her wedding,” his father hissed, grabbing Pasqual by the arm. He hadn’t realized it, but apparently he had started to move, fist raised. Damn. He was going to have to watch it. He really should be allowed to punch the groom, especially since his father and uncles had been so easily swayed by the matriarchs of the family. Marie was too young. If that jackass she was marrying really loved her, he could wait. Maybe ten, fifteen years or so.

  “She’s too young.” It was a pathetic excuse, but nonetheless true.

  Honestly, Pasqual wanted his sister to be happy. He really did. But he didn’t trust Daniel Roche. His background had been way too clean. Not even a speeding ticket. Just because Marie had known the guy most of her life didn’t mean she really knew the guy. The fact Pasqual hadn’t been able to find any dirt was proof positive there was something darkly sinister about him. Had to be. What kind of twenty-four-year-old man wanted to get married? Especially if he was already rich.

  “You know, I dislike this as much as you do,” Thierry Chevalier mused under his breath. “But Daniel is a good kid. You know that. And those two were always meant to be together. Besides...your mother will kill us both if anything happens to ruin this wedding.”

  “Mom won’t kill me—she loves me. I’m her first-born baby boy.” Pasqual turned and did something he rarely ever did. He begged. “Please, Dad, let me punch him just one time. You know you want me to. That asshole is going to...they’re going to...” He couldn’t say it. The very thought was just not something he could stomach when it came to his little sisters. “This should have never been allowed. He’s not good enough for Marie.” No one was, but hey, he understood she would eventually marry and—the other stuff. Just not today. Not now. This was making him feel way too old. Way too lost.

  “None of that is for us to say no matter how we don’t like it.” Thierry’s tone had taken on the authoritarian vibe that pronounced as clearly as his words he was serious. “It’s too late now, and Marie is happy. Maybe if you concentrated on having a family of your own you could let your sisters go a little. Besides, you know very well Daniel is head over heels for Marie. Always has been.”

  Everything his father was saying was true. Pasqual knew it deep down; Marie and Daniel had been boyfriend and girlfriend in kindergarten. They were that one-in-a-million couple that had always been together, always been perfect for one another, always been friends that led to something deeper. Despite a couple of rough spots in high school, they had been steadfast since forever, deciding to tie the knot the moment they graduated from college. Well, the moment Marie graduated. Daniel was a whopping year older and had graduated last year and begun grad school. To be a freaking pediatrician.

  Way too good to be true.

  Pasqual drank his way through the reception. It was damn hard to see the little girl he had protected with his life handed off to a man. A man who would...

  Nope, he was not going to think about that. It was disgusting, churned his stomach. His sisters were innocent (sooooooo not). So were all his cousins (HA!), damn it. None of them should be married. Except Teres and Thereze, of course. Those two terrified him.

  “You are going to regret every drink tomorrow.” The slow, lazy, perpetually amused drawl came from Rayce, Remy the Blessed’s twin. Rayce was the one who should’ve been named after Uncle Remy. The man was never serious about much. It was annoying, but endearing. “But since you’re bound and determined to get good and sloshed, let’s get you out of here to get you fucked up good and proper.”

  Pasqual threw a glance over to where Marie stood, the bastard Daniel’s arm around her waist, standing amongst the elders of the tribe. They all looked so damn happy. He really didn’t want to ruin the day for his little sister, but damn, it was hard to see her as a grown up. He was probably taking this way too hard. He wasn’t her father; her father approved of th
is travesty.

  “Don’t you think they’re too young? I mean, how would you feel if that were Chloe?”

  Rayce’s face momentarily drained of amusement and color as his eyes swung to his own sister. Chloe was the same age as Pasqual, but as with every single one of the Chevalier women, she was incredibly sheltered.

  “My dad would never allow it.”

  Pasqual almost laughed at the uncustomary terror in Rayce’s voice. His cousin was probably right, though. If Uncle Rance had his way, Chloe would never date, much less marry.

  “She’s not getting any younger.” Pasqual couldn’t help but dig in a little. Rayce was way too smug. This is what he deserved for enjoying the misery of another so much. “Biological clock and all that. I read women over thirty who haven’t had kids yet have this burning drive to procreate.” He’d read no such thing, and had any female of their large, eclectic family been around he would have never dared to utter the lie.

  “Come on.” Rayce pushed him on the shoulder toward the door. “Let’s go get good and drunk before I kill you right here and Aunt Angelique never smiles at me again.” Rayce paused, placing his hand over his heart while giving a dramatic sigh. “Did I ever tell you your mom was my very first crush? Sick, I know, but I was a lad of five. What did I know? And she is really very lovely.”

  One of them would probably die tonight. But hell, drinking and fighting was a damn sight better than watching Daniel drool all over his sister. His baby sister. Married. And on her way way to...

  Nope. Not thinking about that.

  Bourbon. he needed way more bourbon so he could focus on making sure Lisette, Marie’s twin, never got the opportunity to go out there and meet unsavory types. Meaning anything male. Bourbon would help him concentrate, Rayce would help him plot. He couldn’t save Marie, but he could save Lisette. Maybe Remy the Saintly Blessed would help her become a nun...

  *****

  The Neighborhood Crier was light years away from the clubs Rhonda had attended when she was a younger woman. It wasn’t a dive; it boasted good food, a great atmosphere and an excellent lineup of local jazz and blues bands. It just wasn’t posh. The average income of the patrons probably wasn’t over twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars a year. Right up her alley.

  Tonight was only the second time she’d gone out with work colleagues after a rough week. As a counselor-slash-mentor to the citiy’s at-risk teen girls, there were days when showing up to work meant getting your heart ripped out, stomped on, and set on fire. Rhonda had lost three girls to the streets this week alone. Her heart was heavy, but her spirit was heavier. She knew what it was like to be alone, to feel like there was no one in the world for her. Losing her parents at twenty-two had shattered her, inside and out. As a result, she lost her comfortable existence. Lost the security of never having to worry about how she would pay a bill or make her mortgage or fix her god-forsaken car. Right after the funeral she had been informed the family fortune was gone, and she had nothing.

  She could have dealt with the money a hell of a lot better if she had her role models to advise her. But the two people she trusted the most were gone. That had hurt so much more than the loss of status, the loss of friends. As humiliating as it had been to sell her precious Garden District condo and brand-new car, having people she had known all her life, people she thought of as good friends turn their backs had annihilated her faith in almost everything. As a result she pushed away the few people who had genuinely tried to help and retreated inside herself.

  Climbing out of a depression that weighed down her very soul had taken six long, lonely years. But she had done it, and she was ready to live again. Sulking alone in her somewhat broken-down palace in Treme was no longer an option. She couldn’t get back what she’d lost, but she was determined to make a new life for herself. This was her new world, and she was going to love every second of it. Besides, Treme wasn’t so bad. It was an eclectic mix of all the weird and wonderful that was the heart of New Orleans.

  Just like this place. Away from the tourist traps of the French Quarter, this was New Orleans. Loud music, scrumptious food, and lowered inhibitions. Tonight she was truly laughing for the first time. Working on her second Hurricane, Rhonda was working her way to a full-on unwind—something she hadn’t done in forever. Making her way to the dance floor, she let loose of her cares and worries, shaking her hips to the heavy thump of good-time jazz at its best.

  Letting the music take her away, she failed to notice the man working his way up behind her. She felt the extra body heat, but she didn’t open her eyes to find out who was moving with purpose behind her. For once, she didn’t care. Not like she was going home with the guy.

  “Look who’s all grown up and slumming it.”

  Oh God, that voice. The dark-honeyed tone was the star of many a fantasy; had been since about puberty. It was a voice she had never forgotten, would never forget. The untouchable, unreachable, unapproachable Pasqual Chevalier. Despite the fact his cousin Chloe had been one of Rhonda’s best friends since Rhonda had bravely stood up to eight-year-old bully wenches who’d decided to pick on Chloe’s little brother Rayce in third grade, Pasqual was the one Chevalier she had never really been friendly with. The eldest child of Thierry and Angelique Chevalier looked down on peons, and everyone aside from family was a peon.

  Oh, he had never said anything that in your face—he just lived it. And she had loved him despite of it, or maybe because of it. In her opinion, there wasn’t a man sexier in the entire state. Never once had he said more than a few words to her—ever. What the hell was he doing here? And—wow, he remembered her?

  “Why’d you stop dancing, sugar? I was really enjoying the view.”

  Oh, yeah, she was standing statue still on a crowded dancefloor. And seriously? He was flirting with her? Surely she was dreaming. And since this had to be a dream, she was going to enjoy it until she woke up. Probably drunk as Cooter Brown in an alley somewhere, but at least she would have had the time of her life.

  Pivoting on her sensible heels, she cocked an eyebrow, something she had practiced since the first time she saw him do it when he was all of fourteen.

  “Look who came down from Olympus to mingle with the common folk.” Hoping like hell she sounded pithy, Rhonda moved in close and began to dance far slower than the music called for. Thankfully no one else was paying much attention.

  “Damn, Rhonnie, when did you grow up? You look...edible.”

  Oh, my! If she had pearls she would’ve clutched them. Those weirdly exotic signature blue-green Chevalier eyes of his were all bright and...hungry. Hell, yes, she could be his meal.

  “Are you going to stand there lookin’, or are you going to take a bite?” Boldness felt awesome. Rhonda even puffed out her chest a little, suddenly feeling very breasty with her “D”cups. It was about time they start being useful for something other than giving her clothing hissy fits.

  But his eyes didn’t move to her chest as most men’s would have. His gaze never left her face as he swept her into his arms and pressed her against his rock-hard chest. Ummm, he felt good! Smelled good too.

  “I’ve been waiting for this for a while.”

  She had to be hearing that wrong. No way he really meant that. Did he?

  “Why wait?“ Since he was obviously teasing, and this was no dream (dreams didn’t feel this fantastic), why not push it as far as it could go?

  “Come on.”

  Just like that, Rhonda found herself being dragged through the crowd, ever closer to the door. Oh, God, this was happening. This was really happening! It wasn’t until they were almost out of the club that Rhonda saw Rayce in hot pursuit. He did not look happy.

  “Whoa, Pas, where are you going?” Rayce placed himself directly in front of his cousin, but his eyes were on her. And he looked worried.

  Face in flames, she averted her eyes. Of course Rayce knew all about the crush she’d always had on Pasqual. He too had been a good friend once upon a time. She more than liked Rayce
, she respected him. Unlike Pas, Rayce had never been arrogant. There was a time when she thought he was the sweetest of all the massive Chevalier clan. Too bad she couldn’t have fallen for him, but then again, Rayce was quite the playboy. He gave compliments freely, his body even more so. Knowing that made it hard to hold a torch for him. His type was way too easily distracted.

  “Really, Rayce? She’s not a kid anymore—you can let up on the big brother routine.” Rhonda’s ears perked up. Pas sounded more than irritated, he sounded pissed. Curious that. And what had he meant by her not being a kid anymore? She hadn’t been a kid for a good little minute.

  “Rhonnie?” Rayce ignored his cousin and cut right to the chase. “Are you sure about this?”

  Well, hell. She could run away now and be forever mortified, or she could take this one chance to have something she really wanted. That really wasn’t a choice at all.

  “I’ll be fine.” She’d be more than fine. It was a chance of a lifetime, and she was going to take it.

  “Are you sure?” Rayce pressed, looking for all the world like a big brother although they were the same age.

  “Rayce, Rhonnie’s a big girl. Why don’t you go have some fun? Find your own woman,” Pasqual growled. It was really hard not to feel thrilled in that moment. For tonight, she was finally going to be Pas’ woman.

  “No way I am letting you drive,” Rayce snapped. “Come on. But don’t make me have to hurt you, Pas. I will.”

  “Like you could, whelp,” Pasqual shot right back.

  Rhonda didn’t understand most of the conversation, but she decided she didn’t need to. She was going to take this night, then disappear back to her humdrum existence as soon as the sun rose.

  Chapter Two

  The door had barely clicked closed before Rhonda found herself pushed up against it, then lifted in exceedingly strong arms. Unable to do anything else, she wrapped her legs around Pas’ waist, trying to anchor herself. She didn’t have to worry about it. As his mouth swooped down to capture her, he cupped her buttocks, lifting her to his rigid, swollen crotch. Intuitively her hips rocked in small circles as Pas ruthlessly pressed his shaft against her. Okay, the fantasy was something she had always wanted, but this reality? His kiss wasn’t passionate, it was consuming. He pillaged, stealing her breath, her sense of self, even.