The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  “Why is she . . .?”

  Brady chuckled. “You should see her during hurricane season when she sweeps the water into the sewer.”

  With her gaze still fixed on Crazy Shirley, Shaelyn asked, “If she were to call the cops, wouldn’t she just call you?”

  The silence on the other end of the line was long enough for Shaelyn to redirect her focus to Brady, who was combing his fingers through his hair. His tattoo peeked out from under the short sleeve of his T-shirt.

  “I may have arrested her for public nudity and disturbing the peace two years ago during a bad storm.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t ask; I know you want to.”

  He knew her too well. Her gaze flicked to Crazy Shirley and then returned to Brady. “I’ll resist.”

  “Good. Now are you going to come inside or what?”

  Shaelyn grinned like a fool. His patience was wearing thin. As teenagers, he’d never had much in the way of that department. She couldn’t count the number of times he used to tell her “you’ve got five seconds” before he claimed her mouth for a hot-as-hell kiss.

  “What if she tries to attack me with her broom?”

  “You gonna let a little old lady intimidate you, sweetheart?”

  Heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies trapped inside a mason jar, Shaelyn rolled her eyes—even though he couldn’t see her do so—and played it cool. “I could handle her.”

  “I’m sure you could, but then I’d have to arrest you for brawling with a senior citizen.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Mr. Taylor,” she said, laughing.

  “Don’t I know it, Miz Lawrence. But let me ask you a question.” His voice lowered, deepening to a husky timbre that hinted at tangled sheets and entwined limbs. “Can you handle me?”

  Her lips parted, and only silence tripped off her tongue. With just those four words, he’d cleared every witty remark from her supply bank and replaced them with naughty visions of them together in bed.

  Shaelyn watched as he slid his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. Watched as his mouth moved a split-second faster before his voice came through the receiver and said, “If you think you’re up to the challenge, come on in.” He took one step backward across his front porch. “Door’s open, Shaelyn.”

  Without waiting to see if she might follow, Brady slipped into his house. True to his word, the door stayed open.

  She hesitated only a second before grabbing her purse, shoving open the driver’s side door, and stepping out. Crazy Shirley turned to stare her down, broom clutched tightly.

  “Great, uh, job there,” Shaelyn stuttered as she skirted around the Pothole of Doom.

  Crazy Shirley didn’t say anything.

  Right, time to get out of there. Just as her foot hit the first step of Brady’s porch, Shaelyn heard a sharp whistle and jerked around.

  With broom bristles pointed in Shaelyn’s direction, Crazy Shirley nodded her head at Brady’s house. In a wobbly voice tempered by age, she called out, “Go get him, girlie!”

  For the second time in less than five minutes, Shaelyn was struck mute. Which was fine, apparently, because Brady’s elderly neighbor had enough to say for the both of them.

  “Broke an old woman’s heart when he arrested me for trying to show him the goods a few years ago.”

  Oh, God.

  Shaelyn’s gaze fell to the “goods,” which were all but hidden by the woman’s Urkel-like wardrobe style.

  “We would have had a grand time, you know, but I’m past my prime. Go get him, girlie, for the both of us.” And then Crazy Shirley, who was honestly living up to her nickname, went back to sweeping the leaves into the sewage drain.

  Shaelyn might have thought she’d imagined the whole thing had Crazy Shirley not looked up just then and winked. Winked. Raising a hand awkwardly in the air, Shaelyn practically sprinted up the last remaining steps.

  She was going in. She and Brady were going to have sex, and now she had to do it for the three of them.

  Herself. Anna. And that nutty Crazy Shirley next door.

  19

  Thanks to years working for the NOPD, Brady knew a little something about curbing his impatience. He’d spent thousands of hours in cruisers, roaming the streets for expired license plates or drug hand offs—more hours than he could count in front of a computer, clicking through arrests, warrants, and other violations. Brady may not have been a patient guy growing up, but his time in blue had beaten his natural impulsive tendencies into the dirt.

  Thank God for that, because at the sight of Shaelyn entering his house, he wanted nothing more than to strip her out of her pale yellow dress. She reminded him one of those custard pastries that food critics salivated over, but that you could finish off in just one bite.

  He cleared his throat and gestured to the table. “I ordered some food for you.”

  She offered him a small, hesitant smile as she edged past him to check out the spread on the kitchen table. Three different types of cheeses awaited them, along with toasted French bread (Leideinheimer’s, the best in town), smoked salmon, and an assortment of fruits and veggies.

  “This looks like heaven,” she told him as she popped a purple grape into her mouth. “I didn’t realize that lunch was actually part of the deal. I would have brought something besides myself.”

  Not necessary.

  The words almost escaped, but no, now wasn’t the time. He had no intention of scaring her off before they’d even gotten started. Hell, maybe it should have unnerved him the way he wasn’t feeling the need to call it quits with her yet. Should have unnerved him, maybe, except that he wanted this. He wanted her. He always had.

  His gaze trailed down the feminine line of her back. “You only had to bring yourself,” he murmured. Slicing a piece of warm bread, he slathered it with baked Brie and plunked a thin sliver of tomato and salmon on top. “Here.”

  Her hazel gaze went to his offering. She accepted, and Brady’s heart soared. Progress, he thought. Just weeks ago she would have thrown the food at his face or accused him of tampering with it. Now, she took a bite and gave a satisfied moan that sent blood rushing south to his cock.

  “Good?” He couldn’t keep his voice from dropping an octave. Watching her eat was seductive as hell. She enjoyed her food, and he hadn’t even realized how sexy that was until now.

  He was a goner.

  Somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn.

  She flicked her tongue to gather a crumb resting on her bottom lip. “So good. Don’t tell me you made it all yourself.”

  Brady nodded solemnly. “I did. Gutted the salmon, too. Me, Tarzan, you Jane.”

  Rolling her pretty hazel eyes, Shaelyn set upon making herself another half-sandwich. This time, she replaced the tomato with a cucumber slice. Definitely not to his taste, but the restaurant had thrown everything into the bag as a standard house order. “If I were maybe one of your groupies I’d fall for that,” she replied, “but thankfully I’ve developed an immunity to your charms.”

  Oh, had she now? He’d see about that.

  Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he felt the quick tattoo of her pulse as he lifted her hand and sampled the smoked salmon and French bread for himself. Huh, he thought with mild surprise, the cucumber combo wasn’t so bad after all. He flicked his tongue against the pad of her thumb. “Delicious,” he murmured.

  Her gaze lifted to meet his. “The food or me?”

  Coming from someone else, the question would have been strictly sexual. From Shaelyn, her tone ringing with brutal honesty, it was laden with various nuances. Her gaze unveiled every last insecurity.

  “Do you have to ask?” He placed her arms around his back and then settled his hands on her hips. After a moment, her palms slipped up to the middle of his back, just on either side of his spine.

  “I mean,” she whispered, “the salmon-brie mix is really tasty.”

  “You’re deflecting.” He sank his hand into her craz
y curls, watching with fascination as the tight ringlets wrapped around his fingers. Medusa with a new, modern twist.

  He preferred this version.

  “Ask me again if I prefer the food or the woman eating it.”

  Brady felt the flex of her fingers against his back. “Are you a fan of fish or meat?”

  Trust Shaelyn to twist his words around. Grinning, he tugged gently on her hair and brought his lips a breath away from hers. “I prefer ‘carnivore,’ actually.”

  The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. “So scientific. They teach you that in the police academy, too?”

  “They teach us a lot of things.” He brushed a soft kiss over her mouth. “But what they really focus on is always having the upper hand.”

  And with that, he shifted his hands to the backs of her thighs and hauled her up into his arms. A shocked gasp was his reward.

  “Brady!” Her fingers dug into his triceps.

  “Unless you’re gonna ask me to take a bite out of you, I don’t want to hear another word.” He patted her butt to clue her in that he was only teasing.

  “Really?” she demanded, rolling her eyes. “That was beyond lame.”

  “You know I’ve said worse.”

  Their gazes caught, held. It was one of the few times since she’d returned that one of them had voluntarily brought up their tangled past. He watched as that age-old distrust clouded her hazel eyes and, Jesus, it nearly buckled his knees.

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  She blinked and the cloud dissipated. “Are we not going to officially christen the kitchen once and for all?” she asked as he carried her toward the back of the house.

  “Sweetheart . . . ”

  She shook her head. “Not right now, Brady.”

  Some part of him had always known that his words were solely responsible for her hightailing it out of town twelve years ago. He’d crushed her as much as her abrupt departure had crushed him. They were going to talk about this, lay it to bed once and for all.

  But first, he had her in his arms. Finally.

  He dropped another kiss to her lips. “To answer your question, I thought we could do it for the first time in a bed.”

  Brady wondered if she, too, found the words ironic. Did this technically count as a “first time?”

  If she felt the same, he’d never know because all she did was duck her head to avoid hitting the top of the doorway. “The bed? How very traditional of you.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Dipped his chin to glance at the woman who had stolen his heart as a boy and was driving him up the wall of insanity as a man. His hands clenched the soft skin just above the back of her knees. She didn’t want “traditional?”

  Brady could work with that. Easily.

  Twisting on his heels, he pressed her back to the wall. She gasped at the sudden contact, her legs tightening around his waist. Lust surged through him, heavy and hot. She’d be the death of him. Fuck, it’d be one hell of a way to go, though.

  “Are you going to put me down?” Her voice was helplessly breathless. Satisfaction followed hot on the trails of his desire.

  His lips found the curve of her ear. “Now why would I do that?”

  She squirmed in his grasp. “I just think—”

  When he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, Brady couldn’t help but grin at the knowledge that she’d completely lost her train of thought. “You just think what, Shae?”

  Her fingers discovered the crease of his shoulder blades and pressed down, nails carving small half-moons into his back. “You’d probably be more comfort—”

  “How about you let me decide what’s comfortable or not?” Then, with his weight distributed evenly to keep her steady, he reached up and ripped the stupid flowery flounce off the neck of her dress. The answering shrip-p-p as the material separated from the rest of her sunshine dress was equally as satisfying as having her in his arms.

  “You just tell me if I’m meeting your monthly traditional quota.”

  And then he stifled her retort by capturing her lips with his.

  Her brain was on the fritz.

  Not only was Brady hoisting up her against the wall like she weighed as little as cotton candy, but from the determined way he moved his lips over hers, he clearly felt as though he had something to prove.

  His mouth ate greedily at hers, demanding entrance, demanding submission. And, oh God, she readily gave him everything that he wanted. More, even. When one hand came up to her chin to hold her steady for his plundering kiss, Shaelyn was already this close to throwing her arms up in the air and begging him to take her.

  They paused, drawing apart ever so briefly, and Shaelyn took the opportunity to halfheartedly ask, “Rules?”

  Head tipping back in a laugh, Brady caressed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Not on your life.”

  Her teeth grazed his thumb. Bit down gently, only to swipe her tongue out and soothe the sting. His blue eyes flickered to the simmering heat of a blue flame.

  “When you fall in love with me, don’t forget I didn’t try to put rules in place.” She said it flippantly—a reminder that love was not in the cards—but damn it if his eyes didn’t warm with interest. Alarm bells jingled in her head. Hastily she tacked on, “That wasn’t an invitation.”

  “Who says I need an invitation?” he inquired bluntly, just before he loosened his grip on her thighs.

  Her body slid along his, and the feeling of his hard erection grazing her belly, despite the interference of their clothes, pulled a small moan from her lips. When her feet landed on the soft, plush rug, Brady dropped to his knees.

  Was he . . .?

  She dragged her hands through his perpetually messy dark hair, then wrapped them around his biceps and pulled up in a silent command. He didn’t pay her any attention. Could they do this? Could she do this? She wanted this, him, so badly but where was the line drawn?

  If he claimed her body, would he claim her soul too?

  It’d been that way as kids. Only, they weren’t kids any longer and the emotional fall if he broke her heart now would be ten times more devastating.

  She whispered his name, unsure if it was a plea to fulfill her unquenched desire or for him to sate the lonely spot in her heart.

  No. She couldn’t afford to confuse the two. This was only sex, about sating the itch, about—

  She gasped as he flipped up the skirt of her dress and propped up her foot on his broad shoulder.

  “Palms against the wall.”

  Her gaze flew to the top of his head. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Yep, roger that, she’d heard him loud and clear. Even though she was experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu, she did as he said. His fingers traced the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, traipsing closer and closer to her center. But every time he drew near, he retraced his path in the opposite direction of where she wanted him. Again. And again. And again. Until she was quivering with need and tearing her hands away the wall to—

  Brady’s hands shot out from under her skirts and returned her own to their place on the wall. “Stay still.”

  Stay still? What, was she a dog? Shaelyn opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but he chose that particular moment—the wretch—to finally make contact. Her head tipped back, her eyelids fluttering closed.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said reverently.

  She felt the soft press of his lips to the left of her new underwear just before he hooked his finger around the flimsy fabric and pulled it to the side. Her eyes shot open. Oh. Oh, wow.

  His mouth worked over her center, languid and slow like he had all the time in the world. “Brady,” she whimpered, but besides a masculine chuckle that she felt all the way to her toes, he didn’t stop. Lips teasing, tongue flicking out for short, mind-numbing caresses, Brady eased the fabric of her panties even farther to the side so that he could slide one finger into her.

  All the while, he m
aintained that slow, easy pace. It was driving her wild. He was driving her wild. Her nails scraped against the wall. She wanted to touch him, but fear that he might stop held her back.

  He added another finger, curling them forward to hit just the right spot, and Shaelyn came apart. Her vision blurred, little dots dancing in the peripheral, and she clutched his shoulders to keep herself upright.

  If left on her own, she’d melt into a puddle and never move again.

  “Holy cow.”

  Brady gave one last flick of his tongue against her clit, and she shuddered at the contact. Laughing, he removed her foot from his shoulder and slowly rose to his full height. “How was that for traditional?” he asked, wrapping his hand around hers.

  The sight of him down on his knees was the only thing emblazoned in her mind. Traditional? If Brady wanted to do missionary sex for the rest of life and still make her orgasm like he just had, she’d have no problems obliging him. Still, to keep up the joke, she retorted, “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a six.”

  More like a two-hundred, but the mediocre score was all the more worth it when he halted in his tracks and jerked around, his blue eyes narrowed, his broad shoulders stilling with disbelief.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shrugged, stifling a smile. “Don’t get me wrong. It was very nice.”

  “But?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly.

  It occurred to her that she might be playing with fire. She plodded on anyway. “Doing it in the hallway with the bed five feet away really doesn’t make the sex any less vanilla.”

  She almost didn’t think he would respond. Then, with lightning fast movements, he ducked down to wrap his arms around her legs. She flew up in the air—or at least it felt like she was flying, he was so tall—and then she was hanging upside down over his shoulder with her ass in the air and her dress hiked up around her torso.

  “You really just want to do it on the kitchen table,” he grumbled as he headed for the front of the house.

  Laughter bubbled up from somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. “I didn’t say that!” she told his backside. Inspiration struck. She wound her arms around his waist, playing with the tab on his jeans, before slipping her hand down to fondle his erection over the denim.