Six Of The Best Of Desire 2016. Maisey Yates

a picture on the farthest corner of his desk. It was different than the rest. It seemed to have nothing to do with the Hurricanes. Or football, for that matter.

      The photograph was faded, old—probably real film instead of digital. But she would have recognized him anyway. Gervais. His brothers. A woman. His mother, she assumed. But no Dempsey. Which struck her as odd.

      She would have continued to stare at the picture as if it could give her the answers she was after if she didn’t hear a man clearing his throat behind her.

      She glanced over her shoulder, through the blond strands of her hair. Gervais stood in the doorway. And he looked damn sexy.

      He was disheveled. Not nearly as put together as his office. His hair was still wet from a shower, and his shirt was only half buttoned. For the quickest moment she had the urge to finish undoing it. To kiss him—and more.

      The urge honestly surprised her. She had promised herself yesterday that after a good night’s sleep, she would be levelheaded today. She needed logic to prevail while she figured out if he could be trusted. Only then could she decide what to do next.

      Leaning against the desk, and looking at his lips with feigned disinterest, she asked as casually as possible, “What is the emergency? Is something wrong?”

      He shook his head, closing the door behind him. “Not really. I just wanted to speak with you privately about—” he hesitated “—a...uh...new development.”

      Her smile faded. He was leaving. People always did. Her parents, who never remained in town with their kids for long. The vast majority of her friends who hung around only because she was royalty. The dozens of tutors who only helped for long enough to get a good reference before moving on to an easier job than five hell-raising sisters.

      Schooling her features to remain impassive, she sat down in a leather wingback chair. She needed the isolation that chair represented. She didn’t need him tempting her by sitting next to her on the sofa or walking up to her to brush against her. Touch her. Weaken her resolve.

      “Tell me.” She met his gaze. Steeled herself.

      “Remember that I told you I called my father a couple of days ago to tell him about the baby?” His dark eyes found hers for a moment before he stalked toward the wall of windows and looked down at the field. “Apparently, he decided to make a surprise visit.”

      “Your father is here? In the building or in New Orleans?”

      The tight feeling in her chest returned, seizing hold of her. Erika was as unsure of how to deal with his family as she was her own. Selfishly, she had hoped they would have alone time together—without family making plays and demands—to figure out how to handle their situation. And to figure out if there was something there between them, after all.

      “He was in the building but he’s taking his girlfriend out to lunch before coming to the house later. I wanted to warn you in person and couldn’t leave work.”

      More confirmation she didn’t want to hear. But she felt compelled to hear it anyway. “Why do I need warning?”

      “He’s not a good person in spite of being charming as hell when he wants to be. I just want to make sure you’re prepared. Feel free to steer clear of him.”

      “I can take care of myself. If he becomes too much to handle, I will flip him with Krav Maga I learned in the military.” The warrior blood boiled beneath her skin. She would not be taken for a fool.

      “You’re pregnant.”

      “I am not incapacitated. But if you are concerned, I will simply pretend I do not understand his English.” Uncrossing her arms, she gave him a wickedly innocent grin. Eyes wide for full effect. “It worked on almost half the tutors who showed up at the Mitras household prepared to teach the rebellious princesses.”

      “Good plan. Wish I’d thought of that as a kid.”

      A laugh escaped him and he turned toward her, a good-natured smile pushing at his cheeks. Funny how that smile slid right past her resolve to let logic prevail. To be levelheaded. That shared laugh stirred a whole wealth of feelings that had been building inside her ever since she’d stepped onto the practice field to face Gervais Reynaud.

      Thinking back to the photograph on the desk, she had to admit, she was curious about him. His past. What it was like growing up in New Orleans. She had so many things to learn about him that it could take a lifetime. And wasn’t it perfectly reasonable of her to learn more about him when her children would share his genes?

      Emboldened by the rationalization, she thought she might as well begin her quest to know him better right now. “But you did not need to arm yourself with elaborate schemes to outwit the grown-ups around you as a child. You and your brothers are so close—or the three of you I’ve met.”

      The faintest pull of unease touched his lips. “We weren’t always. Dempsey didn’t come to live with us until he was thirteen. Our dad... Maybe you already know this.”

      “No, I do not.”

      “That’s right.” He shifted away from the windows to move closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “You’re not a big follower of football and the players.”

      “I am learning to be. You make me curious about anything that relates to you.” Leaning forward, she touched his arm gently.

      “I’m glad.” A small victory. She could see him struggling with his family history, despite the fact that it was, apparently, public knowledge.

      “Why did Dempsey come to live with you later?”

      “We have different mothers.”

      “Your parents got divorced? But—” That certainly did not seem strange.

      He met her gaze, his expression tight. “The ages don’t match up. I’m the oldest, then Dempsey, followed by Henri and Jean-Pierre. Dad slept around on Mom, a lot.”

      “Gervais, I am so very sorry.” She touched his arm lightly, which was as much sympathy as she dared offer without risking him pulling away or shutting down.

      “My father used to go to clubs with his friends. Remember, this was before the internet made it possible to stalk your date before you’d ever met.” He took another breath, clearly uncomfortable.

      Erika’s eyes widened, realizing that he was opening up to her.

      “All families have...dead bones in the closet,” she said quietly.

      A smile pushed against his lips. “You mean skeletons?”

      “Is that not the same thing?” She ran her hand over his.

      “More or less, I suppose. Anyway, he hooked up with Dempsey’s mom, Yvette, at a jazz club. She got pregnant. Worked a lot of jobs to raise Dempsey, but never found my father, since he hadn’t even been honest about who he was, apparently. Until his image was blasted all over the sports page and she recognized his face. Yvette thought it was her ticket out of the slums. She arranged a meeting with my father. But he insisted Dempsey become part of the family. And Dempsey’s mother agreed. For a price.”

      How horrible for Dempsey. And, from Gervais’s perspective, how horrible it must have been for him to assimilate a new brother almost his own age when they were both young teens. She avoided focusing on him, however, guessing he would only shift gears if she did.

      “That had to be strange for your mother,” she observed lightly.

      He bit back a bark of a laugh. “Strange? She wasn’t much of a motherly type. After one more kid got added to the mix, she left.”

      “That is so much change for children.” Her heart swelled with sympathy for him. She had no idea that there was so much struggle in the Reynaud family.

      “We didn’t handle it well. I was jealous. Henri was my shadow, so he followed my lead. We blamed Dempsey for breaking up our parents, which