The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  The two of them were truly best friends. The romance was just the dessert after a four-course meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

  Anna tossed the mascara tube into her makeup bag. “Perfume? No perfume? Did I mention that I’m thankful to y’all for keeping an eye on Julian tonight?”

  Shaelyn, ever the more boisterous one of the two cousins, plunked down on Anna’s leather bench. “Jules is my favorite. Also, what scents do you have?”

  “The usual, I guess. Rose, lavender, that sort of thing.”

  “My sister would be horrified at the small selection,” Jade said, referring to her younger sister who’d recently moved to New York City and was making waves in the fashion world. “The last time she and my mom came to visit, Sammie dragged me to this herbal shop in the Quarter. She was determined to find me a new scent.”

  Anna’s heart kicked up its speed at the mention of Herbal Heaven. It’d been a week since she’d sent Mr. Green Eyes stumbling to the ground, and the embarrassment had yet to lessen.

  Sticking her hand into one of Anna’s makeup bags, Shaelyn pulled out a small glass bottle with a pretty pink topper. She uncapped the top, drew in a deep sniff, and then passed it over. Wordlessly, Anna accepted the perfume and spritzed the lavender scent on her inner wrists.

  For her first date in what felt like forever, she was going big. Blonde hair blown out around her shoulders, little black dress, and her favorite designer stilettos—if she and tonight’s date didn’t hit it off, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on her part.

  “You know who owns that place, right?” Shaelyn asked, bringing the conversation back to Herbal Heaven. She twisted herself around on the bench so she could look at Jade on the bed. “Luke O’Connor’s mom.”

  Anna paused, lifting her gaze to the vanity’s mirror so she could watch her friends. Luke O’Connor. Why in the world did that name sound so familiar?

  Jade seemed equally confused, her dark eyes narrowed in thought. “Not placing the name here. Let’s not forget that I’m the newbie from Miami.”

  Shaelyn waved away the comment. “Brady’s friend? You probably haven’t met him. He was deployed until only recently.”

  What was the likelihood of Mr. Green Eyes working in Herbal Heaven, the same place as Luke O’Connor? Slim to none. Anna didn’t believe in coincidences.

  And as much as she wanted to spend the rest of the night talking about a man with brilliantly clear green eyes, she had a different guy waiting for her.

  Anna was going on a date.

  She had to get her mind in the game.

  Anna was in Date Hell.

  Jason Hudson’s profile on Love Scope, which was a new variation of the same old dating website, had screamed normal. In the square profile photo he’d shared, the man had even worn a pocket-protector for God’s sake.

  Boring perhaps, but exactly what Anna had in mind for dipping her toes back into the dating pool.

  “More champagne?” her date asked, one masculine hand wrapped around a glass of Dom Perignon. When the server had come around to take their drink order, Anna hadn’t wanted anything fancy.

  Frankly, she didn’t even like Dom Perignon and found its price tag way too fussy.

  Of course, that was before Jason had shown her to their table, and she’d discovered that her date had brought a . . . friend.

  “Yes,” she said eagerly, “I would love more champagne.”

  If she could have wrestled the bottle from his grasp, she would have.

  “So,” Jason said, after topping off her glass, “you haven’t answered my question.”

  Anna’s gaze flicked to the “friend,” who hadn’t provided his name. She had a feeling it wasn’t coming anytime soon. Had she thought she was ready to begin dating again? Lies, all lies.

  “I have not”—she took another much-needed swig of her champagne—“no.”

  “Threesomes are not nearly as taboo as they used to be,” Jason’s friend said from his position at the head of the table. “Nor are quad relationships.”

  As the owner of New Orleans’s hottest lingerie boutique, Anna wasn’t a prude. There wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen or heard at least three times before. But this, this was new and she hadn’t quite wrapped her brain around the fact that seated next to the Friend was an inanimate doll.

  An inanimate doll that, apparently, would be the fourth member to their foursome should Anna agree to make it happen.

  “I don’t—” Anna reached for her champagne glass again. They were serious about this, and she certainly didn’t want to crush their dreams but . . . “I don’t think I’m the right fit for your quad.”

  Jason settled a hand over hers. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  Apparently, she needed to reevaluate her standards of “boring.” She slid her hand out from beneath his. “I’m looking for just one guy to date right now. You know, test the waters.”

  The Friend wrapped a hand around the doll’s shoulders and drew it onto his lap. “We only want love,” he said, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

  “Me too.” Only, she wanted it with just one person. Dolls excluded, permanently. “I’m so sorry about this. Here, I’ll pay for your drinks.”

  The Friend was not done. He leaned forward, arms planted on the tabletop. “Might I add that the next time you go looking for love, you don’t do so on a novelty website?”

  She blinked. “Beg pardon?”

  “Love Scope,” he snapped, “is a dating site for those who like to flirt with the taboo or have certain fetishes. It’s not for people looking for vanilla experiences.”

  Her mouth unceremoniously dropped open. Julian. When she’d activated an account on the website, she hadn’t even thought to read the site’s About Us. Instead she’d felt so anxious that she’d simply uploaded a photo, typed up a small blurb about herself, and sent it out into the universe.

  The universe was currently feasting on pot brownies and laughing at her expense, she just knew it.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “I didn’t . . . You’re so right. It’s not for me, but I do hope that y’all meet your perfect match. And should you find yourself down in the French Quarter at all, stop by my shop on Chartres.”

  The date ended with her passing the men—and doll—business cards for La Parisienne with the promise to offer them the Family & Friends discount.

  All in all, it could have been worse.

  Not ready to head home yet and accept defeat, Anna found a secluded booth, and brought Mr. Dom Perignon and her champagne glass with her. She tossed her purse on the table and slid onto the cushioned bench.

  She pulled out her phone to text Julian. Son, I know where you sleep at night, she typed out before hitting send. She sent a group text to Shaelyn and Jade mentioning that the night had been a bust and she’d give them the details tomorrow.

  Sipping her champagne, she rested the back of her head against the booth and closed her eyes. This was not how she’d envisioned her first date going. This was why she invested herself so fully into her business. A business couldn’t confuse or hurt you, and while it sometimes hurled surprise curveballs, they were usually remedied with some good old-fashioned marketing tactics.

  Dating was . . . hard.

  “You rethinkin’ your decision to send those guys home brokenhearted?”

  The champagne sloshed over the rim as Anna jerked at the familiar male voice.

  It was him.

  Mr. Green Eyes. Luke O’Connor.

  He stood by the opposite bench of her booth, a towering male of loose sweatpants paired with a dark polo. It was a strange combination, especially for a bar on a Friday night. Tuck’s wasn’t fancy by any means, but sweatpants weren’t the norm.

  Despite the dim lighting, she noted his astute gaze, and he seemed to have read her mind because he said, “Jeans are too tight on my hip.”

  Almost belatedly she looked to the cane he gripped tight in his right hand, before meeting his green eyes. Strain lines b
racketed his mouth, an unspoken indicator that the pain he suffered was more than he’d ever admit.

  “What happened?” she asked, belatedly realizing how intrusive the question was.

  Mouth twisting wryly, he lifted the cane just a smidge. “A football gone wrong while I was deployed overseas. Let your mind get creative.”

  She tapped the table with her nails, internally fighting with herself. She really shouldn’t even ask . . . “Would you like to sit?”

  For a moment, he didn’t move and Anna was positive he’d rebuff her invitation. In surprise, she watched as he carefully folded his large frame into the booth. He kept his body twisted so that his legs could sprawl into the open space. The cane he folded across his lap.

  Was it weird that she wanted to reach across the table and smooth the furrow between his brows? Yup, totally weird. To keep her hands busy, she topped off her champagne and took a sip. “Have you been stalking me, waiting for your moment to finally get the last word in?”

  He didn’t smile—no surprise there. “You stormed off like a bat out of hell. I took pity on you.”

  “Did you?” Perhaps it was the Dom Perignon making her feel bold, but Anna found herself playfully tapping his arm. “If you would have caught up with me, what would you have done?”

  The slant of his full mouth didn’t change, but Anna could have sworn his gaze darkened. “I don’t chase women.”

  Unexpected disappointment filtered through her, and she hid her embarrassment by coolly sipping her wine. “I thought men liked the chase.”

  His big shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Some do.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “I don’t see the point,” he admitted bluntly.

  Interesting. Based on the number of men who visited La Parisienne with the hope of spicing up their sex lives, she figured Luke O’Connor might be the only man in existence who couldn’t be bothered.

  Anna leaned back, studying him over the rim of her champagne flute. “So, what’s the point then?”

  “Depends on your goal.” The deep cadence of his voice was like liquid heat between her legs.

  It had to be the champagne. Anna wasn’t a huge drinker. When she got together with the girls, she always kept it at a glass or two. But tonight, the Dom Perignon was definitely getting to her head. Because if she’d had all of her senses, she surely wouldn’t have opened her mouth and voiced the question hovering on the tip of her tongue.

  5

  “What’s your goal when you meet a woman?”

  Luke adeptly covered his surprise as he stared at the blonde who’d plowed into him like a Mack Truck. In the seven days since he’d unofficially met her, he’d wondered if she would pop back into Herbal Heaven.

  She hadn’t returned.

  For a reason that Luke couldn’t put a finger on, he’d found himself circling that same section of his mother’s shop, examining each of the glass bottles for some sort of clue of what she’d wanted and who she was.

  Realizing that the woman was waiting for his reply, he went for broke: “Getting her into bed, assuming I’m interested.”

  He hadn’t been interested in anyone since being honorably discharged. In an effort to merge his life with other humans, he’d hailed a cab tonight and found himself at Tuck’s, his former favorite haunt. Less than thirty minutes later, he’d made an unsettling discovery: he was more interested in drinking his Coke than striking up conversation with any of the women who’d sent flirtatious smiles his way.

  But then he’d spotted her, the brassy woman who’d toppled him over, and Luke hadn’t been able to turn away. Her date had been a disaster. He’d overheard most of the conversation; although his hip was out of commission, his ears were still in working order.

  She’d handled herself well, and when she’d sought out the isolation of this booth, Luke had felt inexplicably drawn to her.

  Seated across from her now, he realized that she was flirting with the edge of intoxication. Her blonde hair was loose about her shoulders, and she had that smoky shit on her lids that all women claimed looked “sexy.”

  Luke would argue that it instead made this woman look tired. The kind of tiredness which sank into the bones and lingered. It was that exhaustion in her eyes that kept Luke’s ass in his seat, not because he wanted her but because he recognized that bone-weary fatigue.

  He’d been carrying it with him for years now.

  She put down the glass and leaned forward, her chin coming to rest on upturned hands. “Are you going to take me to bed?”

  Christ. Swallowing a cough, Luke thumped his chest and contemplated how best to avoid the impending shit-show. Blondie seemed the tenacious sort, a suspicion that she proved correct when her blue eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t an answer.”

  Shit, she was serious. Slowly, because Luke was accustomed to dealing with all types of crazy, he shook his head. “That was a no.”

  She blinked. “I thought you were interested.”

  Luke wasn’t interested in anyone. Hell, half the time he didn’t even want to be in his own company. This was why the army had been a good fit—because every time he screwed it up with a woman, it wasn’t long before he was back on deployment with a non-fraternization law in place to keep everyone in check.

  Life outside the military was confusing, and Luke was a man who liked things simple and straightforward.

  Before he had the chance to respond, she continued his March of Death by Woman. “If you weren’t interested,” she pressed, “then why would you sit down with me?”

  Because he was lonely and he’d recognized her, if only her face, and he’d been in desperate need of some form of companionship.

  Since he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—admit to any of that, Luke steered the conversation down a different path. One that wasn’t focused on him. “So, you’re giving the whole dating thing a go?” He ignored the death glare she leveled on him. “Would you consider tonight’s date a success?”

  “You know it wasn’t.”

  “Didn’t look that way but you never know.”

  When she went for the bottle of fancy champagne, Luke did her a favor and moved it out of reach. Another mean-mugging glare from Blondie. If she remembered this conversation at all tomorrow, she’d thank him for not letting her get tanked. Here he was, no longer in the US military but still serving his countrymen and women. Hooah.

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked, curious as to what had possessed her to sign up for a fetish site.

  Her nose went up in the air. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Gives us an air of anonymity,” he told her smoothly. “You can tell me anything you want and I’ll never tell a single soul.”

  “Because you’re not interested in me.” She said it so drunkenly, so morosely, that Luke almost laughed out loud. She was a piece of work, this one.

  Wanting to soothe her hurt feelings, he said, “Because I’m not interested in anyone right now.”

  She plopped her empty glass on the table, and Luke was surprised it didn’t break into a thousand little shards.

  “That’s such a cliché line,” she muttered. “Guys tell that to the women they find unattractive.”

  It wasn’t that she was hideous. Anyone with a pair of eyes would know in a heartbeat that wasn’t true. It’s just that she was . . . fairylike. Fragile. Fair. When Luke took a woman to bed, he liked to know that she wouldn’t shatter under his rough touch.

  Blondie looked like she’d go AWOL the moment he closed the bedroom door and they were alone.

  Blowing out a deep, frustrated breath, she reached into her purse and pulled out a hair elastic. Her hair, a shade closer to moonlight than he’d ever seen before, was shoveled onto the top of her head in sharp, choppy moments.

  Game on.

  Luke propped his cane across his knees, just in case her annoyance skyrocketed and she tried to nail him in the nuts.

  Call him crazy, but he hadn’t had this much fun in years.

>   Offering a slight smile, he prodded, “So, your dates.”

  She disregarded his prompt with a flick of her hand. “About this anonymity thing,” she said, her voice pitched low, “how much anonymity are we talking?”

  “I don’t know your name, so I’d say you could tell me whatever you wanted and it wouldn’t make a difference.”

  She grumbled something under her breath, and not for a single moment did Luke think it was remotely flattering. Clearing her throat, she announced, “I suck at dating.”

  Luke pointedly swung his gaze to the table she’d sat at earlier. “No shit.”

  Blue eyes narrowed at his dry tone, and Luke had to do everything in his power not to grin at her.

  “If it helps,” he went on, “I think your problem is with picking the right guy.”

  Lifting the champagne flute to her lips, she seemed to belatedly remember that it was empty and returned it to the table. Her tongue flicked out to swipe along her bottom lip, sending something shuddering down Luke’s spine.

  It was a reminder that he was a red-blooded male. But just because he could think of at least three different places he’d like to have her tongue on his body, it didn’t mean anything for the long haul.

  He didn’t do long-term.

  “You were saying?” he prompted, more sharply than he’d intended.

  “I was going to say that if you know so much about finding the right guy, you should help me out.”

  Luke’s brain emptied. “Pardon?”

  Excitement, and perhaps a little bit of revenge, brimmed in her gaze. “You said my problem is picking the right guy. So, I’m giving you the opportunity to prove me wrong.”

  Give him the opportunity? Like he’d won the fucking lotto or something.

  Slowly, he said, “I’m not following.”

  Except that he was sort of following, and he didn’t like the trajectory that her brain had taken one bit.

  “We’ll each pick guys for me to date. Three each, I think, would be a good number. You pick three; I pick three. At the end, we’ll decide who did the better job of setting me up with my perfect match.”