by Meghan March
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Oh, I know what I want to do with you. But you’d go running for the hills if I told you.”
After this morning, that was doubtful. “Try me.”
He shifted in his seat. “I’d rather show you.” He gave me a meaningful look. One full of seductive promise.
Heat rushed through me and took up residence low in my belly and between my thighs, only to be doused when we pulled into a parking spot in front of the clinic. Jesus. My libido was inappropriate and schizophrenic.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Simon added, “We’re going to continue this conversation later.”
“Mr. Duchesne, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat.”
I supposed that my sitting down on the plush leather couch meant Dr. Carlson was officially my new psychiatrist. I also supposed I should be grateful that he’d agreed to see me on such short notice.
The session started as I imagined most sessions with a shrink did.
“Tell me what brings you here today, Mr. Duchesne.”
“It’s Simon, please.”
“Of course, Simon.” He waited with his pen poised over a manila file filled with sheets of paper. It was somehow comforting to know that he was still old school. The sound of someone tapping away on a keyboard while I spilled my darkest secrets would have annoyed the shit out of me.
“I have nightmares. Trouble sleeping,” I admitted.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Just over four years.”
He flipped a page, probably looking at the life story I’d been required to commit to paper before my appointment. “You were a pilot in the Navy?”
“Yes.”
“And the source of the nightmares?”
I told him much the same story that I’d told Charlie a few days before. It was easier the second time. Probably because she hadn’t judged me. Hadn’t responded with platitudes. She’d just let me get it out. I also told him about how I’d pinned her to the bed when she’d woken me in the midst of a nightmare. My stomach still knotted when I remembered how she’d carefully backed away from me afterward.
“I understand, given the high profile nature of your family, why you’ve opted not to seek treatment at the VA.”
This part made me feel like a hypocrite. Because most veterans didn’t have the financial means that I did—and would have no choice but to seek treatment at the VA. But I also didn’t want them to just write me a script for psychotropic drugs and send me on my way. I explained my reasoning, and he only nodded and continued with his questions.
“Have you told anyone this before?”
“Yes, just recently.”
“And how did you sleep after that?”
I thought about the last couple of nights, both of which I’d slept through without nightmares.
“Better.”
“I’m not saying you’re going to be healed just by talking about this with someone a time or two, but it does help. And making the decision to come here today was a big step.”
I continued to answer the questions he posed, and Dr. Carlson jotted down more notes. When the session was almost over, he laid his folder aside and studied me.
“While it is my opinion that you have PTSD, I think it’s a relatively minor case. From what you’ve told me, you function very well, and I believe the biggest block you’ve been facing is that you’ve refused to discuss your experience until recently. I’d like to see you twice a week to start, and then we’ll see how it goes from there.”
“What about what happened with my … girlfriend?” I liked referring to Charlie that way. Too much. It was way too soon, but that was where this relationship was headed, if I had anything to say about it.
“I don’t have any concern that you’d hurt someone, including her. I would suggest she not try to wake you from your nightmares, however.”
We shook hands, and I left, feeling lighter than I had in years. Hope was a heady thing. Now I just needed to track down one mouthy, tatted-up girl who’d been MIA since Tuesday.
On Friday afternoon, fifteen minutes before closing, the door to the Dirty Dog swung open with a whoosh. I looked up and almost dropped the stack of jeans I was holding.
Simon filled the doorway, his big body blocking out most of the late-afternoon sunlight.
“Well hello there, handsome,” Yve said. And he did look good. The light gray suit, crisp white shirt, and navy tie were understated yet sexy.
Simon nodded in response and looked pointedly at me. “You avoiding me?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t been answering my calls or texts.”
Oh. I’d called the clinic so many times over the last few days that I was burning through my small, monthly allotment of minutes way too fast. To conserve them, I’d kept my phone off the rest of the time. It was a double-edged sword, because with my phone off, the clinic couldn’t reach me—so I overcompensated by calling every few hours for an update. I’m pretty sure the woman who answered the phones was ready to strangle me.
“Sorry, I haven’t been keeping my phone on.”
Simon took it in stride. “Got it. I was starting to wonder what was up.”
I set the jeans down on the shelf where they belonged and arranged them into a neat stack. I had to keep my hands busy or else I might twirl my hair or something stupid like that.
He came closer, and I could smell the woodsy scent of his … cologne? Aftershave? Deodorant? Whatever it was, it made me want to rub up against the five o’clock shadow shading his jaw.
“I was hoping I could give you a ride to go visit Huck. I hear he’ll be coming home in a few days.” Warmth bloomed in my chest. He’d been checking on my dog.
I looked up at the Kit-Cat clock on the wall. It was quarter to five, and I had a shift at Voodoo starting at seven. Without a ride, I’d be cutting it close to see Huck. I’d been pedaling my ass over to the clinic every day after work, but riding through the somewhat sketchy area without Huck by my side freaked me out, especially when it started to get dark.
“That’d be great.” I met his intense stare. “I’ll be done here in a little bit.”
“You can clock out now. It’s cool,” Yve said, leaning up against the counter and shamelessly listening in. I glanced her way, but her attention was fixed on Simon. “Take that girl out to get some food. She ain’t eatin’ enough to keep a ghost alive lately.”
Finally, Yve looked at me, and I glared back, giving her a seriously, bitch? look. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Done.” Simon tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear. “Anything you need before we go?”
“Just my bag,” I said, as Yve pulled it out from the cabinet beneath the counter. “And my bike.”
“We can put your bike in my car. I’ll meet you around back?”
“Okay. Thanks.” He smiled and headed for the door, pushing it open with as much gusto as when he’d come in. I looked at Yve.
“Seriously? Ain’t eating enough to keep a ghost alive? What the hell? Don’t even think about meddling.” Yve fancied herself a matchmaker. Her disastrous efforts to date hadn’t stopped her from trying.
She smiled a smug smile. “I don’t think I need to meddle. That man is hung up on you. I nearly swooned when he did that thing with your hair. Damn, I need a man who looks at me like that.”
“Just leave it alone, okay? More likely than not, this isn’t going anywhere,” I said, at the same time hoping I might be wrong. After Simon’s raw honesty on Tuesday morning, I’d been thinking about my own situation. An idea had taken root, but given my crazy work schedule, huffing and puffing halfway across town to see Huck, and then falling into bed at night, I hadn’t had much time to consider the implementation, let alone the ramifications of it. But the idea was germinating. I just wasn’t sure I had the courage—or the skill—to see it through.
Yve gave me a quick h
ug as I picked up my bag off the counter. “Later, girly. See you tomorrow morning. You better come ready to dish the dirty details.”
I rolled my eyes as I slipped out the back door.
Simon was leaning against the door of his X5. It was idling with the tailgate already open.
Within moments, Simon had my bike loaded, and classic rock was quietly thumping through the sound system. Spotting the volume control, I turned the song up, because “Hotel California” deserved to be more than background noise. He shot me a crooked smile, his dimples peeking out, and I had the urge to lean over and kiss him.
“Dinner before or after we see Huck?”
“After.” He pulled away from the curb.
“I figured you’d say that. Seafood okay?”
“Of course.” I gestured to myself. “But nothing fancy, obviously.”
“You look beautiful. And I have just the place.”
Simon drummed on the steering wheel as we headed to Jack’s clinic. The silence was companionable rather than awkward. But I had questions that I wanted answered.
“I tried to pay Dr. Richelieu. He wouldn’t take my money. Want to tell me why that is?”
Simon stopped at a red light, expression darkening. “Please tell me you did not ride your bike through this part of town with ten grand in cash.”
I looked down at the fancy tan floor mats embroidered with the BMW logo.
“Charlie…” His tone wouldn’t allow for anything but the truth.
“Okay, in hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea. But I only would’ve had to carry it one way if he would’ve taken the money. So really, it’s kind of your fault.” I glanced back up.
Simon’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. He may have whispered something about a prayer for patience. After a long pause, he said, “Let’s make a deal. You want to go see Huck, you call me. I’ll make sure I’m available.”
“You can’t just drop everything…”
“Just call me. Please. It would give me peace of mind. Otherwise I’m just going to wait outside the Dirty Dog for the next few days after closing and pick you up and put you in the car anyway.”
“That’s kind of stalkerish. And sort of kidnapping.”
“Exactly. So please spare me the disgrace.”
I tapped my finger on my lips.
“So do we have a deal?” Simon asked.
We were pulling into the clinic. It was the look of sincere concern on his face that made me cave.
“Fine. Deal.”
He reached out a hand, and I shook it. When I went to pull my hand back, he held on for a beat. “Thank you.”
Dr. Richelieu confirmed the good news: Huck would be well enough to come home on Sunday. I guess one of the perks of being friends with the vet was that he was willing to come in on his day off and give me all of the care instructions I’d need. I already knew that Huck’s recovery wasn’t going to be easy. I’d be moving downstairs into Harriet’s guest bedroom, because there was no way Huck would be able to tackle the stairs up to my place for at least a month, if not longer. He’d have to stay in his crate almost all the time, except for short trips outside to do his business. I scratched his ear, and Huck licked my hand and rested his giant head on my lap, his heavy tail thumping on the ground. I didn’t care about the inconvenience; I was just so damn glad that my big mutt was going to be okay.
Dinner was boiled crawfish served in a bucket and all the fixings. It was absolutely not what I expected. Which was turning out to be a theme when it came to Simon.
When I questioned his dinner choice, he explained, “What you don’t realize, is that I’ve got some bayou in my blood. My momma was raised in a house on stilts in Jean LaFitte, and crawfish was a regular Sunday dinner. My granddad captained his own commercial fishing boat until he died at age seventy-eight.”
“And here I thought you were as silver spoon as they come.”
“Maybe some, but this,” he flicked his tie, “is only one part of me. It’s just the surface.” He picked up my hand and traced the tattoos up my arm. “Just like you’re more than the sum of your ink. I want to know who you are beneath all this.” I shivered. Whether from his words or his touch, I’m not sure. But when he looked at me like that, it was like he was seeing inside me. There was no way in hell I’d hold up under his scrutiny.
I pulled my hand away and shattered the moment. “I’m going to be late for work if we don’t go soon.”
He flagged down our waiter and paid the bill, giving me a decidedly dirty look when I reached for my purse. I guess bayou manners precluded going Dutch. I was already five minutes late when we pulled up in front of Voodoo and Simon put the SUV in park.
“Thanks for dinner. Would you mind opening the back? I need to grab my bike.” I didn’t want to cut and run, but I was already late and wasn’t sure what to say after Simon’s statement at dinner.
My body was angled toward the door, fingers wrapped around the handle.
Simon scrubbed a hand across his five o’clock shadow. “Just leave it. I’ll pick you up.”
Umm, what? I smiled. “That’s not necessary.”
“Charlie, you can’t think riding your bike home at two o’clock in the morning, by yourself, is a smart idea. Maybe once Huck is back on his feet, but without him…”
He was right. I couldn’t argue the point and not sound like a moron. “I’ll get Con to take me home. It’ll be fine.” I didn’t want to put Simon out more than I already had today.
He frowned, jaw clenching. “Are you still sleeping with him?”
I bristled. What the hell? I was just trying to save Simon an extra trip. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“It sure as hell is.” His tone was begging for a fight.
I yanked the door open and climbed out. I was struggling with the tailgate when Simon slammed his door shut and strode toward me.
He pressed both hands against the rear window, trapping me against the car. “Open this stupid thing,” I demanded.
Simon’s voice was low, his breath hot against my neck. “It’s my business because I want you in my bed. No one else’s.”
I spun in his arms, his words sending a bolt of lust straight through me. I should not find his high-handed behavior attractive. At all. I lifted my chin and countered, “What about what I want? Doesn’t that mean anything?”
He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. “It means everything. And I think you want exactly the same thing I do.” He pulled away. “I’ll be here at two. Don’t let Con take you home, Charlie.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to give the impression that I was considering telling him to fuck off when all I wanted was for him to take me home now.
“Fine. But just know, I’m not always going to give in this easily.”
He grinned. “I can live with that.”
He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, the same move that made Yve swoon, and I decided he’d waited way too damn long to kiss me. I leaned up and slid my arms around his neck, pulling him down until our lips met. Simon didn’t resist, but my control over the kiss vanished the instant he angled his head and sought entrance to my mouth. I opened, and his tongue slid inside, tangling with mine. He wrapped both arms around me, hauling me up against him. His woodsy scent surrounded me, and I tasted peppermint, beer, and something uniquely Simon.
I barely registered the sound of the door chime and a throat clearing. “You coming in, Lee? Or you gonna make out like a teenager with the prom king?”
I pulled back, swiveling my head to look at Con. He looked … bored. Which was his go-to expression when he didn’t want anyone to know he was pissed. I pressed another quick kiss against Simon’s lips, refusing to let Con dictate how this scene ended.
“Were you really the prom king?” I asked, hoping to erase the scowl that had formed on Simon’s face.
He looked away from Con and back to me. “Maybe.” He bent to kiss my cheek, his lips brushin
g lightly across mine once more. “I’ll see you at two.”
He nodded to Con. “Leahy.”
“Councilman.”
I followed Con into the shop, and swore the temperature dropped about twenty degrees.
“Seriously? Simon Duchesne? Jesus, that’s fucked up, Lee. Fucked up.” The buzzing of Delilah’s tattoo gun quieted.
“Why? What exactly is so fucked up about it?”
Con paced. He wouldn’t look at me. “It just is. You don’t get it. He always gets what he wants. And the rest of us poor fucks have to watch it happen.”
I planted my hands on my hips and stared at him. “I don’t know what’s between you two, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me. And don’t pretend like I’m breaking your heart, Con. We had fun. That was it. I know you slept with Yve. So, you’re certainly not pining away for me.”
Con stopped his pacing, finally facing me. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, babe. And what we had was more than just fun, at least to me. You’re important. I care about you. I … don’t want you to be surprised when this doesn’t turn out how you’re hoping.”
“I don’t even know what I’m hoping for. I’ve got no expectations. All I’m doing is enjoying it while it lasts.”
“Just keep your eyes open, okay? You’re worth way more than being some politician’s sidepiece.”
The door swung open, and we both turned to see three giggling young women stagger in, each dressed in short shorts, halter-tops, Mardi Gras beads, and mile-high heels. I took the opportunity to step behind the counter and end the conversation.
Simon’s X5 was idling at the curb when I walked out the front door at two o’clock. He was already out of the car and smiling when I hit the sidewalk. He’d changed into worn jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He followed me around the front and opened my door for me. His mother, the tiny, dark-haired tornado, had definitely raised him right. Or maybe it was just a Southern thing. The guys I’d dated in New York had always let valets and drivers get my door, never bothering to do it themselves.
“I have to admit, the Southern gentleman thing is growing on me.” I was about to climb in when Simon put a hand on my arm.