by Kate, Jiffy
Thankfully, I feel better this morning. I took over for Jules at five, checked out a handful of guests just before eight, and I’ve been holed up in the office ever since trying to make heads or tails of the stack of papers covering the desk.
We have five reservations for today, everyone checking in around three. Since it’s only Thursday, that leaves me hopeful for the weekend. We should start seeing an increase in traffic as summer approaches. Although, I don’t know why. People should really get a clue and visit New Orleans when they can walk around without melting.
It’s hotter than two squirrels fucking in a wool sock today.
Speaking of hot, I haven’t seen Maverick today, and that’s bothering me. I even went as far as checking the guest log, just to make sure he didn’t check-out yesterday without me knowing. Not that I think he’d leave without saying goodbye, but after how weird I got the other day, I wouldn’t blame him. However, I do know he now has a job to do while he’s here, and I have to admit, I’m kind of happy about that. No, really happy about that. I like that he has a reason to stay. Well, more of a reason. I’d like to hope that I haven’t fucked things up too badly and part of the reason he wants to stay is me, but that might be giving this attraction I feel a bit too much credit.
Maybe it’s not like that for him?
Maybe he’s more of an adult than I am and he sees this for what it is: two people who find each other attractive and have needs?
I’m trying to be mature about this.
I can be.
The bell on the counter ringing practically makes me jump out of my chair and piss my pants. I was so far into my thoughts I kind of forgot where I was. Tidying the papers in front of me, I stand up and walk to the front.
“Hey.” My greeting sounds dreamy and girly and swoony, so I clear my throat and try again. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Maverick nods his chin in my direction and takes the shades he’s wearing and places them on top of his head.
Shit.
The action makes my mouth water—the sight of him is an oasis in the desert—but maybe he should’ve left the sunglasses on because he’s now unleashing the full force of his gaze on me, and I don’t think I was ready for that level of sex appeal. I thought I was, but now, not so much.
It’s like the first day all over again—butterflies, nerves, and feeling flustered.
“How...how are you today?” I stutter, but quickly recover, trying not to fidget.
This is fine.
He’s Maverick.
I’m Carys.
We’re fine.
“Good,” he replies, slow and steady. Deep. His tone is deep, like his gaze. Unapologetically, he lets his eyes roam my body, at least what he can see from where I’m standing behind the counter. “You?”
“Good.” I nod my head several times, trying to decide where to take this conversation. “Enjoying your day?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looks back toward the door and then back at me. “Are we okay?”
My eyes freeze on his as I try to determine what he’s thinking...feeling. “Yeah.”
“After the other day, I wasn’t sure if I said or did—”
“No,” I say fervently. “That was me. I just...” I pause, searching for the right thing to say that won’t make me sound like an immature idiot. I think I like you—like really like you—and that freaked me out. Sorry, can we kiss again and make up?
“It’s cool,” Maverick says, saving me from myself. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything to piss you off.” Honest, open. I think it might be one of the things I love the most about him.
Like.
Like the most about him.
Feeling my cheeks heat up, I avert my gaze. Thankful he can’t read my thoughts, I try again for comfortable, safe conversation. “What have you been up to? I didn’t see you yesterday.”
“I had some work to do, so I went over to Neutral Grounds. CeCe has great coffee and Wi-Fi.” He smiles and it’s innocent and unapologetic, but his admission makes the jealousy I felt the other night spike.
“Oh, so you and CeCe—”
“Met,” he says, cutting me off abruptly. “She speaks highly of you.”
I’m able to give him a genuine smile in return. CeCe is probably my closest friend, outside of the hotel. She understands where I come from and she just gets me.
“You mentioned her the other night.”
“Thanks for that, by the way...helping me upstairs and taking care of me. I don’t think anyone has put water on my bedside table since I was ten.”
The scruff on his chin is perfect, accentuating his sharp jawline, and I’m mesmerized by the way his mouth moves when he speaks. It’s weird, but I actually missed him yesterday. How is that possible? I just met him. He’s a temporary fixture. I can’t miss him.
“You said she’s pretty.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. My cheeks flame as his smile grows.
“Why, Carys Matthews...” He pauses, cocking his head to one side. “Are you...jealous?” It’s nothing more than a whisper as he leans into the counter, bringing himself closer to me, close enough I can smell him. The same thing I picked up on the first night we met—oak, spice, sweet. It’s a lethal combination when paired with those sapphire eyes and perfect mouth.
Snapping out of it, I cough. It’s fake, but it works as a nice cover while I process what he’s just accused me of and clear my head of the seduction that is Maverick Kensington.
“What?”
“Jealous.”
“Me?” I ask, going for denial, but landing somewhere between liar and guilty-as-charged. “CeCe is my good friend. If you like her...and think she’s pretty, that’s cool.”
When he lowers his lids, I swear he rolls his eyes at me, but quickly covers it with a smirk...and then swipes his tongue along his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. Those damn perfect white teeth. “You think I like CeCe?” There’s that tone again—honey rolled in gravel—rendering me useless...a complete waste of space.
“Uh...I just,” I start to reply and fail. Swallowing hard, I try again, “You said she was pretty and then you’ve been over there a few times.” When he turns the full force of his gaze on me again, I feel like it’s burning through my skin. I wouldn’t be shocked if I looked down and my clothes were singed off my body.
“Well, I think you’re pretty and I come here every day.”
“You stay here.”
“Because I want to.”
“So, you like me?” The question tumbles out of my mouth and hangs between us for a second. I struggle to hide my smile, not knowing where the heck that came from. Normally, I wouldn’t be so forward, but Maverick definitely brings out things in me I didn’t know existed.
His honesty evokes honesty.
He doesn’t reply, just nods—evil, sexy smile still in place.
“Wanna make out later?” I ask, forgetting myself as I remember the feel of his lips on mine and immediately turning into a hot mess. Shifting on my feet, I squeeze my legs together to relieve the heat and ache, fueled by the look Maverick is still giving me.
Now he’s the one fighting a smile. Shaking his head, he steps away from the counter, walks around, looks both ways and pushes me into the office. His large hands come up to cup my face and his lips are on mine before I hear the door shut behind him. Breathless, intoxicated, out of my mind, out of my body—those are things I feel when Maverick is in my space.
When we’re kissing, it takes me to another dimension, somewhere else entirely. The way his lips devour mine—fast and furious and then slow and intentional—it makes my head spin.
Eventually, my shock subsides and I’m kissing him back.
My hands are fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him to me, trying to get as close as possible.
My leg hitches around his waist, causing him to chuckle, but he doesn’t let me go.
I want him.
I want more of him to touch more of me.
“Sorry,” Maverick mutters, removing his lips from mine but staying close enough our noses are touching as he breathes deeply. It’s rough and desperate, exactly how I’m feeling.
“Don’t apologize.” There’s no going back this time. No chickening out. No head getting the better of my heart. I’m all in.
“I’m only sorry because I can’t finish what I started.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, maybe because it’s the middle of the day and you’re technically at work.” His tone is sexy and delicious, making his excuse sound a lot more provocative than it should.
Why an excuse? Why can’t we have sex right here, right now?
“Nobody’s here...they won’t know.”
Maverick takes this opportunity to pull back far enough to see my face. “Oh, mess, they’ll know. I already told you, when I finally get you...under me...on top of me...I’m going to need to take my time and everyone within earshot will know.”
My eyes grow wide at his promise, and it only spurs me on to want him...now.
The bell at the front desk scares the shit out of me for the second time today, and this time, I actually let out a small squeal. Covering my mouth, I hide my laugh.
“Fuck, you’re cute.” He kisses my nose, stepping back to straighten my shirt, even giving my hair a once-over, brushing a stray strand behind my ear, before opening the door. He hides behind it and smiles sinfully, motioning for me to leave the office.
I do. And I put on the best acting performance of my life as I check in two new guests.
Chapter 17
Maverick
Waking up after the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while, I feel refreshed. The night didn’t go exactly as planned. Carys isn’t lying next to me. But talking with her and making out in the office did relieve some tension and helped ease the tightness that had resided in my chest since my phone call with my father.
My grandfather’s words of everything will look better in the morning filter through my mind. Followed by: when in doubt, sleep on it.
I’ve decided as far as my father will know, I’m investigating the properties he listed out for me, meeting with owners, and negotiating deals. What he won’t know is that I plan to scout out new properties, as well. I realize this could potentially get me fired. He was very straightforward regarding his intentions if I don’t follow through with his plan, but since I don’t really care anymore, I’m doing what I want and I’m going to protect the Blue Bayou. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen a lot of boarded up buildings, just sitting empty waiting for new life to be breathed into them. I feel like there’s an equal or better opportunity out there, and if I can find it and perhaps save my father’s client some money in the process, I don’t know how he could refuse it.
Before I leave to meet with a property owner and walk through a few buildings, I check a couple things off my to-do list. Picking up the small tool box George lent me, I walk down the hall and pause at the fourth banister. I take a wrench and tighten the bolts at the bottom, putting some elbow grease behind it until the wrought iron no longer squeaks.
Next, with George’s help and disapproval, I set about replacing the light bulbs in the stairway chandelier. “Mr...Maverick,” George starts. “I’ll get to this. There is no need for you to...” His comments trail off as I ascend the ladder.
I have no doubt he would replace the bulbs, but to reach the fixture, the ladder has to be precariously balanced on the edge of the landing leading to the second floor. There was no way I was going to let him climb it.
“No worries, George. It’ll only take me a second.” Reaching the top, I look down at him and give him a reassuring smile. So much about him reminds me of my grandpa—salt of the earth, hard worker, stubborn as a mule.
“Miss Carys won’t...” he begins but stops when the ladder wiggles.
I laugh, partly due to nerves and partly due to his mention of Carys.
“Miss Carys won’t what, George? Like that I’m fixing her light fixture?” I ask, breathing heavy for such a menial task. “I think she’ll get over it when the foyer is once again bright and shiny. Toss me a rag and I’ll give it a good dusting while I’m up here.”
George huffs and mutters under his breath, but he retrieves a rag and tosses it to me, all while holding onto the ladder with one hand, refusing to let it go.
George and I make a pretty good team.
Once we’ve stored the ladder back in the maintenance closet, I grab my bag and phone. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I tell him, stopping for a glass of water and pausing. “Where did these come from?”
On the small cart where the ice cold, fruit infused water always sits, there is a plate of bright blue macarons. My mouth immediately starts to drool. I’m not sure if it’s the memory of how good the small cookies are, or the vision of Carys covered in flour and sugar, looking more delicious than I can even put in words. Regardless, I instinctively grab one and pop it in my mouth. The entire cookie. I don’t have time for bites and nibbles. I need the whole thing.
“Miss Carys. Apparently, she couldn’t sleep last night.”
I smirk at the wall in front of me, thankful my back is turned to George, because I couldn’t look him in the eye while having sinful thoughts about someone he considers a granddaughter.
Snagging two more for the road, I mumble around the cookie in my mouth. “Can you tell her thank you and that I’ll be back later? Oh, and give her this.”
Quickly, I slip the note out of my pocket and turn back around to hand it to George, who is giving me a sly smile.
“Will do,” he says with a nod.
Waving over my shoulder, I head out the door and into the early New Orleans morning.
After mine and Carys’ little tryst in the office yesterday, I spent the rest of the afternoon working in the lobby, while she worked the front desk and got some office work done. I just wanted to be close to her, hear her laugh when talking to guests, and catch her glances when she threw them my way. When I couldn’t stop fidgeting from wanting to touch her so badly, I went for a run. I needed it. I’ve neglected my workouts the past week and I can tell.
When I got back, Carys was talking with Jules and they were going over the schedule for next week, so I left them to it. Went back to my room, showered, jerked off, and fell asleep early. I didn’t mean for that to happen. My intentions were to find Carys and spend the night with her, but my plans were foiled. Again. I’m starting to feel like the universe is against us being together, but then I remind myself that it allowed me to find this place. So, I’m banking on fate just taking its slow, easy time.
But I’m also a guy who takes fate into his own hands, so I left her a note.
Mess,
I’m tired of eating alone. Please accompany me to dinner tonight. I’ll be in your lobby at 7:00 sharp. Also, the beds at the Blue Bayou are spectacular. Would you like to sleep in mine?
Mav
In reality, I’ve only known Carys for a little over a week, but it feels like so much more. I don’t know why, can’t really put my finger on it, but I’ve felt connected to her since our first conversation. When we’re together, I feel like I’m talking with an old friend. She’s a favorite song, or that new song you hear on the radio, but swear you’ve heard before. This odd combination of fresh and familiar is something I can’t get enough of.
I’ve heard of people falling in love after a few days together, and I still call bullshit on that, but there’s definitely some instant attraction happening. In a short amount of time, she’s worked her way under my skin and I haven’t even had her in my bed yet.
Yet is the key word there.
Huffing a laugh at my fucking poetic waxing, I turn the corner and step into the full view of the cathedral. This scene is one that never gets old. I could walk these streets every day and never get tired of it. The thought actually makes me a little jealous of people who get to live here full time.
Except for the heat.
Fuck t
his heat.
And fuck this humidity.
My balls are already sweating at ten in the morning.
Instead of heading to Neutral Grounds, I walk to a bench in the shade and begin making phone calls. I don’t want CeCe overhearing my conversations. They could easily be misconstrued.
“Hello, Mr. Grainger. This is Maverick Kensington from Kensington Properties. I’m calling about your property at...”
This same phone call is repeated half a dozen times until I’ve made it through every location on the list my father gave me. Some of them, I had to acquire myself, which is what I did yesterday morning, footwork. I walked around the block, peeking in abandoned windows and writing down any number or identifying information. It wasn’t too hard to track down the few missing contacts.
I’m able to talk to three of the six. The others didn’t answer, so I’ve left messages for them. Two of the three I spoke with agreed to walk-throughs tomorrow and are very interested in selling. It feels like wasted work, because ultimately, I’m not giving in on the Blue Bayou...and Carys won’t be selling. But I feel like I have to do this part of things to keep my dad from flying his ass down here and ruining everything. So, I just look at this as buying time.
After stopping in Neutral Grounds for an iced coffee, I start hoofing it to the vacant properties I’ve seen around. The ones that are in larger clusters are on the outskirts of the Quarter. If I had to guess, it’s the Blue Bayou’s proximity to Jackson Square and Bourbon Street that makes it so appealing. So, I walk in the other direction, eventually running across a few potential locations. Jotting down the addresses and any information I see, I turn to make my way back to the Bayou.
It’s almost two o’clock and I haven’t eaten anything since Carys’ macarons, so I stop by a small bistro down the street for a late lunch to hold me over until dinner, using the time to call my father.
“Maverick.” That’s always my father’s greeting. No, “Hey son, how are you?” Just, “Maverick.”