No, he is most definitely not joking.
What kind of strange, sexually deviant behavior is this man into? And there I was, thinking that the blindfold and the public groping were kinky enough. But apparently Liam is only just beginning.
And will I go along with him? I wonder silently.
Liam seems to think that I will. This obviously explains his continued desire to see me, and the reason why he’s going through the effort of seducing me in “the old-fashioned way.” Even though his intent is anything but old-fashioned.
I turn over this new information in my head, trying to make sense of it somehow. Is this a line I’m willing to cross?
But before I can contemplate the answer, Liam’s hand slips beneath the hem of my dress. He hasn’t seemed to notice my mental wrangling—all he can see are my knees and my legs.
He brings his mouth to my neck and plants a trail of yearning kisses down to my collarbone. His hand, ever the traveler, continues journeying north.
His palm rubs against the inside of my thigh. I shudder as his fingers brush against my bare sex. He presses his forehead against my shoulder and growls softly in approval.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve followed my instruction,” he says, stroking a finger across my lips, teasing me with his touch. He smiles as my skin twitches against his hand.
His fingers begin to trace the outside of my lips, back and forth, over and over, the pressure steadily increasing. Liam parts open my legs slightly, to give himself better access to me—and I let him. A warmth begins to radiate from between my legs. My breath quickens.
And then suddenly, his finger slips inside me.
I gasp out loud. A few curious heads briefly turn my way and then, apparently not noticing anything unusual, swivel back towards the stage. I clap a hand to my mouth, and Liam chuckles.
“Don’t worry. It’s too dark for them to see anything,” he murmurs into my ear. His finger continues to work in and out of me. “And besides, even if they could, my hands are down here.”
He presses his thumb down onto my clit, and my shoulders jump with pleasure. Another moan catches in my throat, but I press my lips together so that I can’t make a sound. Grinning, he brings his free hand to my chin and tugs gently. My mouth opens obediently.
“Don’t hold it back. Let yourself moan,” he says.
His finger curls inside me, hitting all the right spots. My back arches with pleasure.
“I can’t begin to tell you how sexy you are right now, Sophia. And when you moan in this crowded room, it’s all that I can do not to tear off your clothes and fuck you right here on this table.”
His provocative words, combined with the ecstasy rippling through me, are almost too much to bear.
I let out a soft moan.
My eyes dart nervously around the room, half-expecting to find someone glaring disapprovingly at us. But the heads in the audience are all turned away from us, watching the band.
“Do you want me to make you come, right here, surrounded by all these people?” Liam says in a low, carnal voice. He slips in a second finger; the increased pressure sends spasms through my entire body, from my sex out into my toes.
My body seems to have entirely disassociated with my brain; I’m astonished to feel my own head nodding.
What is happening right now? Is this for real? And—oh my God—am I actually, legitimately enjoying this?
“Ask me to make you come.”
I am light-headed, afloat in a sea of rapture, lost to all sense of reason. I’ll do anything he wants. Anything I can do to find the peak of this ecstasy. Each thrust of his fingers brings me closer.
And so I whisper, “Please, Liam. Make me come.”
“In front of all these people?” Liam asks mischievously. “That’s what you want?”
“Y-yes,” I gasp.
He brings down his other hand in between my legs, using it to tease my clit as his fingers plunge in and out of me. His hands work faster and faster, harder and harder, and my ecstasy begins to mount. I can feel it buzzing in each of my toes, in my fingertips. My cheeks flush. All I can see is the hazy red of the curtains behind the stage. I’m teetering at the edge, swaying, sighing—
The pleasure zaps through my entire body like jolts of electricity. I bite down hard on my lip to prevent myself from moaning loudly with pleasure. That, I am certain, will attract some stares. I realize that every one of my muscles, which had been tense and clenched only moments ago, is now utterly relaxed. My skin is singing.
This has been some second date, that’s for sure.
I hastily smooth my dress back over my legs. Once we are presentable again, Liam gestures for the waiter to bring us both another round of drinks.
My heart still beating hard in my chest, I sip my fresh Gin Fizz and glances nervously around the room. The only lights in the house are trained to the stage, but it’s still dim enough to make out the faces in the audience. Miraculously, not a single one of them shows any sign of being aware of what’s just happened mere feet away from them.
I take another sip of my drink and feel a goofy grin spread on my face, feeling like I’ve gotten away with something very naughty. Which I guess I have.
The band finishes their set and takes a bow. The audience whistles and cheers as the members of the band tromp offstage.
“Are they leaving already?” I ask, turning to Liam. “It’s a shame, we hardly got to hear them play.”
Liam smirks at this. “I think they’re just taking a break. We’ll get to hear them—finally—when they come back.”
“Oh. Good.”
“But we can only stay for a few songs.”
“What? Why?” I ask, confused.
“I have to go back into the office first thing in the morning to follow up on some things from the board meeting, so I really shouldn’t stay out too late. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to spend the rest of the evening with you, listening to jazz…among other activities.”
Another smirk. I can feel my cheeks patching with heat.
“Okay, I understand,” I say, feeling slightly disappointed. “So when do we get to see each other again? This coming weekend? Saturday, maybe?”
But Liam shakes his head. “My parents are hosting a Mardi Gras party at their house. Because apparently the country club’s party wasn’t enough.” He rolls his eyes.
“Do you need a date?” I ask hopefully.
“I haven’t decided if I’m going to join, actually. My parents’ parties are a hit among their friends, but I can’t think of a duller way to spend my Saturday than being forced to make small talk about golf putting techniques with the Dufrenes and the Gauthiers, and the rest of my father’s business acquaintances,” Liam says. He glances back over at me. “And even if I were planning to go, I still don’t think it would be a good idea to bring a last-minute guest. I suspect that my mother’s head might actually explode if I tell her that there’s going to be a change in the headcount.”
That wouldn’t be the worst thing, I want to reply.
But I play nice instead. I say sweetly, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure.”
He leans over and brushes his lips softly against my neck. My heart begins to pound.
“Count on it,” he says.
7
It’s now been days since the evening at the jazz club, and still I can’t make myself stop thinking about it. I know that Miranda said I should just enjoy myself, but I can’t help but feel a mix of conflicting emotions. Body-wracking excitement at the memory of our date. A guilty worry that I’m perhaps enjoying this too much. Anxiety over what Liam has in store for me. And finally, a desire to feel Liam’s hands on me again.
I wish that I could talk about all of this with Miranda. Throughout high school and college, she had always been really frank about her own sexuality, and I know that she won’t bat an eye if I tell her about my sexual escapades with Liam.
But I’m still gett
ing used to all this. It’s enough to experience it in the first place, for the first time, but the thought of having to give someone else a play-by-play makes my cheeks burn.
A walk will help me process all of these jumbling thoughts. But not in the Garden District, where—if my rotten luck persists—I’ll likely run into Judge Connelly again. This time, my destination is the LaBorde Lookout.
LaBorde Lookout is the highest point in the entire city of New Orleans, nestled in the center of City Park. Back when I lived in the neighborhood of Lakeview, Riley and I would take the short ride over to the sprawling green park. The incline up to the lookout would strain our muscles and make us puff, but it was always worth it when we got to the top. A small clearing in the middle of an untamed patch of woods, the lookout offered an incredible view of the glittering water, the park, and the city beyond it. Riley and I would spend our afternoons there, chomping on turkey and cheese sandwiches and chatting about nothing in particular. It always felt like we were in the middle of some long-forgotten magical forest, rather than a small, wild nook in a big city.
Since my hotel is on the opposite end of town, it takes me nearly twenty minutes to drive over. I’m thankful that I’ve packed my high-tops for this trip; the hike up to the lookout is less taxing than I remembered it, but the ground is still uneven and feral.
Someone is already there when I reach the lookout, sitting on the curved wooden bench. His tousled hair reflects the sunlight, and his head is bent down toward a book that rests on his lap. I recognize him immediately.
“Riley,” I breathe out. I had no idea that, after I left, he had continued our tradition of coming to the lookout to while away the warm, lazy afternoons.
He looks up when I say his name. Our eyes meet.
“Hi…do I know you?” he says warily.
“I’m Sophia. We met the other day at your bookstore. You sold me a book of poetry by E.E. Cummings,” I say helpfully, taking a tentative step forward.
“No, it’s not that…” he says, his voice trailing off. He continues staring at me intently. “Did I ever give you my name?”
“Uh…” There’s a jolt of panic in my chest. You’re not supposed to know who he is, remember? I think.
A curious series of expressions begins to play across his face—first polite surprise, then confusion, and then dawning realization, shock, and disbelief. With each stage, his eyes widen and then narrow; his mouth opens and then parts.
It would be comical, if it weren’t for the sudden pounding of my heart.
Oh my God, I realize. He recognizes me.
“No,” he says in a barely audible whisper. “It can’t be.”
This is bad. This is very, very bad, I think frantically. I look around me, half-hoping to find an escape route. I feel like a deer trapped in a pair of headlights. Totally blindsided.
He runs a hand through the mop of his hair. “You’re—you’re her.”
I blink my eyes with as much obliviousness as I can muster. Maybe there’s still a chance that I can play this off. “Sorry, who? My name is Sophia. Sophia Moore.”
Riley leaps to his feet. His eyes narrow behind his glasses.
“Don’t lie to me, April!”
Damn. So much for that.
He takes a few paces toward me, his book entirely forgotten on the bench. I take a half-step back, trying to identify the intense expression on his face.
But then, to my astonishment, he throws his arms around me and squeezes tight.
“April,” he says my name again, and the sound is like a sigh. “Where have you been? Who the hell is Sophia? What’s going on?”
When he releases me from his embrace, I see that his glasses have fogged up. But he doesn’t seem to notice. He gazes back at me with his round, chocolate brown eyes.
“I always used to wonder what happened to you,” he says. “After you moved away to live with your cousin, it was like you fell off the face of the planet.”
Guilt twists in my stomach.
“Oklahoma kind of felt that way,” I try to joke.
“Why didn’t you call? Or email?”
“I guess I thought that everyone hated me,” I admit quietly.
Riley squints at me, confused. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s complicated. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Believe me. There’s nothing I want to hear more.”
I shrug helplessly. Where to begin?
“Because my parents were put in jail for life, even though, to me, they were the best people on Earth,” I say. “But it made me think—if they were actually terrible people all along, then what did that make me? I grew up hating myself. And so it seemed like a given that everyone else hated me too.”
Riley’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “But that was never true.”
“I know that…now. It took me a long time to realize that. Years,” I say. “But now I see the world as it really is. And I know exactly who the terrible people really are.” There’s a fire in my tone.
“What do you mean?” Riley asks. But soon after he says the word, his mouth parts open with understanding. “Ah, I remember. When you come into my shop, you said you were dating Liam Hawthorne, didn’t you?”
I nod. “Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne are not nearly as charming as they seem to the public. But I know the truth. And they need to get what they deserve.”
“And your plan for doing that,” Riley says slowly, “is dating their son?”
I walk over to the curved wooden bench and slump onto it. My face is hot with frustration; I paw at it, hoping that Riley won’t notice how it’s turning red.
“It’s more strategic than it sounds,” I tell him.
“Of course it is.” Riley takes a seat beside me.
I crane my neck and gaze at the leafy canopy above us. “I want to give the Hawthornes a taste of their own medicine. I want them to know what it feels like to have your private details splashed over every newspaper in town. I want them to know how it feels to walk into a room and to have everyone suddenly stop talking, because every single one of them was talking about you.”
“And what kind of ‘private details’ are you looking for?”
“I know it when I’ll find it.”
“How can you be sure that you’ll find anything at all?”
I look back at Riley. My eyes are blazing. “Because everyone has secrets.”
“And Liam will give them to you?”
“That’s the plan.”
Riley sighs. He absentmindedly digs the toe of his shoe into the ground. “Can you promise not to hate me if I say something?”
My heart wallops painfully. My mind reels with fearful possibilities of what he might say next. Does he think less of me for dating Liam Hawthorne, knowing that to date a man like that means only one thing—sex? Does he think that the entire plan is doomed to fail?
I don’t want to hear him say it, but yet I’m burning with curiosity.
“Okay,” I say nervously.
Riley speaks cautiously. He’s being careful to choose his words, I can tell. “I absolutely agree with you about the Hawthornes. It was a rotten way to deal with the situation with your parents. Being who they were…they sure could have handled things with a lot more class.”
There’s a but coming, I’m sure of it. My fingers tap nervously against the edge of the bench.
And then there it is—
“But,” Riley says, “don’t you think that, in the end, the results were still fair? Your parents were con artists. There’s no arguing that. They did scam people out of their money. They pleaded guilty to it, after all.” He sees the anger growing on my face and hastily adds, “I know they were wonderful people and everything, and I always liked them a lot when we were kids, but surely they must have known that at some point their crimes would catch up to them.”
“Fair?” I repeat in a seething voice. “You want to talk about fair? How was it fair that they’ll have to spend the rest of their lives in prison fo
r what they supposedly did? You know, fine—maybe they did steal money. But they never ruined anyone’s life. I’m certain of that. The punishment did not fit the crime.”
“But why are you going after the Hawthornes for all this? They weren’t the ones who sentenced your parents. That was the judge.”
“I haven’t forgotten about him,” I say menacingly.
“What? You’re dating him too?”
I look up, surprised that he’d actually think I’d do such a thing. But there’s a familiar, teasing twinkle in Riley’s eyes. This is the kid I remember from my childhood.
I give him a soft punch in the shoulder. “Of course not. But I have a few other ideas.”
“Care to share?”
Riley’s expression is genuine, but I shake my head. “I never intended to get you involved in any of this. It’s all too complicated, too messy. I didn’t even want you to know that I was back in town.”
“I can handle a little complication,” Riley says softly.
I smile at him. “I know you can. But honestly, even though I’m hoping for the best, I’m not entirely sure how this is all going to play out. And the absolute last thing I want is to for you to get caught in the crosshairs.”
Riley sighs again, but this time I can tell he’s begrudgingly accepting what I say. “Fine. If you say so. But I don’t want to see you get hurt, either.”
“Don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself,” I insist.
He doesn’t reply, but rather just gazes at me with a look of mingled concern and amazement. He still hasn’t fully processed the fact that I’m back in town—but at the very least, it seems like he’s genuinely glad to see me. And in a town full of enemies, it’s nice to have a friend.
“Enough about me,” I say, shuffling a little closer to him. “How have you been? I can’t get over the fact that you have your own store now. That’s like a dream come true.”
Riley smiles softly. “Yeah, it’s pretty great.”
“So what else is going on? How are your parents? What about the old kids from the neighborhood? Tell me about everything I’ve missed.” The questions spill out of me, and I suddenly realize just how eager I am to make up for all those years.
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