The Virgin Manny Read online

  “Good night, Tino. You left your sister’s card. I’ll e-mail her the contract for you to look over, and get some information from you so I can run a background check, because I’m not stupid. After that, you have two days to give me an answer.”

  Tino gaped at him. “But… but….” But you were going to kiss me!

  Channing winked. “I promise, taking advantage of people isn’t my style. Not that it’s off the table, but I’m very sincere. Sammy’s well-being is my top priority.”

  “But….” What if I wanted you to kiss me, dammit!

  When Channing spoke next, his voice dropped silkily. “I promise you, young Mr. Robbins, if you ever come asking me for extracurricular activity, I’m not going to turn you down. But it has to be your choice. Right now I’m just offering a job. A very good job.”

  Tino opened his mouth and closed it again, and opened it and closed it—and then found himself, still speechless, being hustled toward the entryway and outside to his car. He was actually in the car, in the balmy spring night, making his way back to his parents’ house near Stanford Ranch, when he managed to wonder if he even said one intelligible thing after Channing Lowell’s last promise.

  Or was it threat?

  The Virgin Manny

  By Amy Lane

  The Mannies

  Sometimes family is a blessing and a curse. When Tino Robbins is roped into helping his sister deliver her premade Italian dinners when he should be studying for finals, he’s pretty sure it’s the latter! But one delivery might change everything.

  Channing Lowell’s charmed life changes when his sister dies and leaves him her seven-year-old son. He’s committed to doing what’s best for Sammy… but he’s going to need a lot of help. When Tino lands on his porch, Channing is determined to recruit him to Team Sammy.

  Tino plans to make his education count—even if that means avoiding a relationship—but as he falls harder and harder for his boss, he starts to wonder: Does he have to leave his newly forged family behind in order live his promising tomorrow?

  Table of Contents

  Sneak Peek

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Tino Becomes the Dinner Box Boy

  The Power of the Spoiled Brat

  Having Your Cookies

  Cross Town and on the Surface of the Moon

  Sunshine and Lollipops and Spoiled Brats

  Summer Daze

  Routinely Coming Home

  Humping the Manny and Firing the Maid

  Of Warriors and Wives

  A Slight Change of Plans

  Summer Loving

  Bespoke

  Paths

  About the Author

  Coming in February 2017

  Don’t Miss Dreamspun Desires!

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Oooh… to everyone who ever read a category romance and thought it was perfect. And that includes Poppy, Lynn, Elizabeth, Damon, Tere, Rayna, and Julianne. And to Mate, the kids, and Mary. Especially and always, Mary.

  Author’s Note

  DAISY the Tamale Girl came to my house at unexpected times. When I was exhausted, or when my imagination for food—never very active—was just tapped the hell dry, this was usually the cue for an exuberant teenager, who had started her own business and used it to fund her college education, to show up at my door with a dozen tamales in a bag. Every time she showed up at my door, her hair and makeup were done, she was wearing cute shoes, and she was adorable, and young, and full of promise. And so proud of what she accomplished. When I told her what I wrote and that she had inspired Tino the Dinner Box Boy, she was so excited—I got a hug, tamales and all. Daisy gives me faith in the human race. She’s off at college now, and I cannot wait to see what amazing things she does in the world.

  Tino Becomes the Dinner Box Boy

  “NO.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No!”

  “Tino!”

  Martin Robbins looked at his little sister in exasperation. Not for the first time, he cursed the nickname she’d given him when they were babies, which would stick with him for the rest of his life. But then, he’d given her a nickname too.

  “No, Nica, because I have finals too!”

  “But Tino, I have a paper to write and I’m so behind—and I promised these people. I mean, I have a brand and I have to deliver!”

  Oh. Well—that there was a low blow. Martin was in his last year getting his bachelor’s in business administration, and dammit, he’d taught Nica about branding and delivering on promises. Hell, he’d taught her how to market her product and how to establish a dependable identity with her clients.

  The fact that she was running what amounted to an illegal Italian dinner catering service notwithstanding, Monica Carol Teresa Gaudioso Robbins was going into her college years with almost her entire tuition already paid because she started selling pans of manicotti and lasagna from an ice chest bungee-corded to the back of her bicycle when she was fourteen years old.

  Tino, on the other hand, was going to graduate with a student loan big enough to choke a giant lasagna-eating horse.

  Tino looked down at his laptop—bought with one of those student loans—and sighed. The final paper for his economics class was almost finished, and he had the evening off from Panera—he might as well help her out. “Yeah, sure, Nica,” he said after a moment. “Who are you delivering to today?”

  His little sister had broad cheekbones, an oval face, and a round little chin. When she smiled, she looked downright cherubic, which could possibly explain why Tino had been wrapped around her little finger pretty much from the moment she was born.

  “Granite Bay,” she said, looking so relieved.

  Tino, on the other hand, was not relieved even a little. “Are you kidding me? Nica, that’s… that’s forty minutes away!” Oh hell no! Their little house off Taylor Road in Rocklin was nowhere near the pricey developments in Granite Bay. And even more disturbing—“How did you even get clients in Granite Bay?”

  Nica smiled at him uncertainly. “Well, you know. Mom and Dad helped me get the car for my birthday, and I did what you said. I started thinking bigger, right?”

  Tino groaned. He needed to get his own place. He loved his parents and Nica and their little sister, Elaina, but God. He was twenty-two years old, almost out of school, and living with his family. And worse, his own thirdhand vehicle had just suffered its ultimate demise, refusing to run with such absolute certainty that Jacob, his best friend and a mechanic for the local Car Czar, had grimly informed him that the car’s only hope for resurrection was a zombie apocalypse. Tino had been dependent on his mother’s car to get to and from CSU Sacramento for the past month, and he was hoping that a summer of Panera and a crappy-job-to-be-named-later would get him another car and help him find a job after he graduated in two weeks.

  But he hadn’t counted on the whole family obligation thing kicking in. As in, living at home rent-free made him obligated to do all of the family things—from taking Elaina to cheer practice to helping Nica with her dinner box business to picking his mother up from her doctor’s appointment and even going grocery shopping when his father forgot to get milk. Tino was part of the family, he was using his mother’s car—and his finals were just not a consideration.

  He banged his head gently against the kitchen table.

  “Granite Bay?” he asked weakly.

  “Sorry, Tino,” Nica said, her lower lip trembling. “I’ll give you part of the commission if you want.”

  He sighed. “At the very least, let me use your car tomorrow? Mom really needs her car for work.”

  Nica nodded. “I’ll have T
aylor pick me up,” she said, and her eyes were dreamy as she talked about the boy down the block—her childhood crush.

  Oh crap. “Nica, hon, don’t get your hopes up. I’m pretty sure Taylor is gay.”

  Nica pouted at him. “Don’t be mean. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean the rest of the world is too.”

  No. Tino was not about to tell his baby sister he’d been propositioned by the boy he’d known since Taylor and Nica had run around in diapers together. It had been too embarrassing—especially given that Taylor had been hot and sexy and dominant, all at age seventeen, and Tino had scuttled away from the kid like a frightened puppy.

  It wasn’t fair. Tino was just as liberal as the next boy, but he didn’t have that kind of sexual confidence—or experience, for that matter.

  And he was certainly not callous enough to break his little sister’s heart. He’d let Taylor do that for her.

  “Whatever. Do you have a map and a list of deliveries?”

  “Yeah—here.” She hit some keys on her computer, and the printer that occupied the corner of the kitchen started spitting up paper. “You take a look at that and I’ll go get the orders together. Thank you!” She hopped up from the beat-up wooden table and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best.”

  He was the best pushover was what he was.

  THREE hours later he hadn’t changed his mind. Eight deliveries—Nica had eight deliveries over in Granite Bay this Tuesday. Holy hell. No wonder she was overwhelmed!

  Tino had driven his sister’s Toyota with the faded paint job from one giant two-story fairy tale house to the next in this pricey development. If he hadn’t been greeted at every house by an expectant housekeeper excited about the delivery, he wouldn’t have believed his little sister had the chutzpah to set up a delivery route in this place. Tino was sort of amazed at her resourcefulness—and more than a little bit intimidated to be there. He’d worked his ass off through school, and he wondered if maybe someday, a house here could be the fruit of all that labor. Now, getting a good look at some of the amazing homes—on great big multiacre spreads too—he was wondering if he’d even have something as big as his parents’ modest ranch-style out in Rocklin.

  He checked his delivery sheet and sighed. One more delivery—he could manage that, right? He parked Nica’s Toyota in the driveway, grabbed the neatly logoed box that held a lasagna (this week) and all the fixings, and knocked firmly on the front door. Maybe there was a back entrance to these places, but Tino hadn’t been able to spot one yet.

  He knocked boldly because he didn’t want anyone to think he was casing the place, and had a prepared smile for the housekeeper unlucky enough to draw dinner duty this evening.

  He was unprepared—woefully, dismally unprepared—for the god who opened the door instead. Six foot five if he was an inch, blond, with brilliantly white teeth, stormy gray eyes, and a jawline straight from a Marvel comic book—this guy’s shoulders were so broad Tino wondered how he got through doorways.

  And he did not look happy as he opened the door.

  “Hello?”

  Tino smiled nervously and pulled up to his five-ten full height. “Hello. I’m working for Monica’s Dinners To Go and—”

  “Dinner Box Girl!” cried a voice, and a small boy—six or seven at the most—came galloping down the hallway with ferocious speed. He took one look at Tino and screeched to a halt.

  “You’re not Dinner Box Girl!” he snarled. “How come you’re not Dinner Box Girl!”

  Tino jerked back, as repelled by the kid’s rejection as the kid was apparently repelled by Tino’s very existence. “Hold on, little man, all I’m here to do is deliver food. I take no responsibility for not being my little sister.”

  “Dinner Box Girl?” the god in the doorway said, sounding dazed. “You deliver… dinner boxes?”

  Tino rolled his eyes. “Yes.” The repeated word was starting to sound ridiculous, so he tried not to say it again. “My little sister has a catering service. She makes deliveries about once a month unless there’s a special occasion. So, uhm, this is her usual day—uh, do you have a housekeeper? Most of the time they take the dinner boxes—”

  “She’s out getting milk right now,” Mr. Imma God said. “You’ll have to pardon us here—our little household has been thrown for a loop, and I have no idea what to do with a delivery of dinner boxes or a Dinner Box Boy instead of a Dinner Box Girl.”

  Ah—apparently this was the husband, probably caught flat-footed when his wife wasn’t home in the evening like he was used to.

  “You’re supposed to buy the dinner box, Uncle Channing!” the little boy directed. “Mommy bought the dinner box whenever Dinner Box Girl came by—it’s your job. It’s what we did for dinner. We had lasagna and cheese and garlic bread—”

  “Okay, okay,” Uncle Channing muttered. So not Dad. “Okay, Sammy. We can get lasagna—do we have the ingredients in the—”

  “Why aren’t you Dinner Box Girl?” Sammy muttered, sticking his face between his uncle’s hip and the door. “I… everything’s been all messed up, and Nica was supposed to come and it would all be the same….”

  The little boy was beautiful from close up: blond hair, blue eyes, a little pug nose—and tears clouding his perfectly adorable little face.

  Tino squatted down, dinner box held carefully in front of him. “What’s supposed to be all the same, little man?” he asked, hoping for a smile, at least, so he didn’t feel like a heel.

  “Because Mommy didn’t come home,” the little boy said, his lower lip wobbling. “Last month. Mommy didn’t come home and I wanted the dinner box day to come because that would make the month start again. That’s what she said. The month starts on dinner box day….”

  Oh God. Oh hell no. No, no, no, no….

  Uncle Channing squatted down too, so for a moment they were squat-to-squat in the big rich person’s foyer. “Sammy,” he said gently, “I think maybe dinner box day doesn’t work like that if… you know… there was a car crash. I think maybe when there’s a car crash, it’s just lasagna.”

  Sammy glanced, horrified and betrayed, from his uncle’s face to Tino’s face.

  “You’re lying!” he shouted. “You’re lying and I hate you both! It would have worked if Dinner Box Girl had been here!”

  Sammy turned around and ran somewhere into the bowels of the dragon cave, and Channing grunted like he was recovering from an expected blow.

  “Oh,” Tino said, putting things together in a hurry. He and Uncle Channing were still squatting on the ground, face-to-face, close enough for Tino to smell Uncle Channing’s aftershave—something citrusy and spicy at the same time—and to get a hint of the sweat and weariness underneath it. The man’s dress shirt looked like it had started the day crisp and ironed, but that wasn’t how it was ending the day, and the few lines on his chiseled face looked equally worn.

  “Sorry,” Uncle… uh, Channing said, flashing an automatic smile. “I’m… my sister passed away almost a month ago. Sammy hasn’t been taking it well.”

  Tino grimaced and shoved up to his feet, and then, as an act of courtesy, offered his hand to the broad-shouldered stranger whose life he’d intruded upon.

  “That’s uh… well, only to be expected,” Tino fumbled. Channing took his hand and pulled, coming to a truly astounding height. “Oh my God, could you be any taller!”

  Channing’s white smile flashed in a lightly tanned face. “I hope not,” he said. “I’m thirty-two this year—I’d like to think I’d stopped growing.”

  Tino shook his head and tried to remember why he was there. “Well, I know I’m not making it to wherever you are. And I’m sorry,” he added, feeling stupid. “About your sister. And Sammy. I didn’t mean to… I don’t know, open wounds and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Channing said, a faint smile pulling at his lean mouth. “You’re just here to deliver dinner boxes.”

  “I am,” Tino agreed, nodding. “And, uh, since my sister’s sort of depending on this
money, if it’s all right….”

  Channing winced. “Of course it is. Okay—cash, check, or charge?”

  “Mostly she takes cash—I mean, she takes checks, but I told her I’m not taking them for her, because that’s stupid. I also told her to invest in a Square and set up a bank account, and she probably would, but she started this business when she had a frickin’ bicycle and you know, God forbid she take any advice from her brother.” Oh God—he couldn’t stop talking. Normally he could put the brakes on his mouth, but this whole situation left him off-balance. Dammit, he felt for the poor kid—and the uncle, who was obviously struggling.

  “Here,” Channing said, taking a few steps into the house. “If you follow me into the kitchen, we can put the dinner box in the fridge and I’ll get you some cash. I think the housekeeper stashes some in the cookie jar for deliverymen and stuff.” He made a grunting noise. “At least I hope so, because I don’t speak a word of Spanish or French, and that seems to be all she speaks. Mostly we just do this sort of grim pantomime and speak really loudly to each other.”

  “Spanish would have been a good thing to learn in California,” Tino said, absurdly disappointed. “French too.” Yeah, he seemed like a nice guy. A nice, clueless rich guy who had no idea he lived in a bigger world.

  “Yeah, but Sam’s mother and I grew up overseas. I learned Japanese, Korean, and Mandarin—but no Spanish or French.”

  Pheeeeeewww crash! And there went Tino’s assumption about Channing being a clueless rich guy. He’d already proven Tino wrong about being the flat-footed father, and now he wasn’t an insular rich man. What else had Tino gotten wrong?

  “Well, Spanish should be no problem now,” Tino said weakly. “Much of California speaks Spanish. So, are you sure you want to put it in the refrigerator? I mean, the lasagna is still pretty warm—add up the fixings, put it back in the oven for a little, and you’ve got dinner.”