by Amanda Usen
She uncovered a filet and gave him a prim smile. “I bet you are, but I’d like to concentrate on my steak, thank you very much.” She sat on the edge of the bed with her plate on her lap, picked up her fork and knife, and cut a piece of meat.
“The food will keep. I’d rather eat you right now.”
“Hush, I’m having a moment over here.” She moaned, chewing.
“You could have that moment with me inside you.”
“Technically, the steak belongs to you. Does that count?”
“Not even close. Eat faster.”
“No way, it’s amazing. The meat is a perfect cool rare, and the sauce is like velvet on my tongue—”
He groaned. “Now you’re just taunting me.”
“—your chef does not mess around with his demi-glace, and don’t even get me started on the herb and goat-cheese crust. There’s got to be bread around here somewhere…”
This time when she leaned forward, he caught her around the waist and hauled her into his lap. While she struggled, he cleared a space for them on the bed. “I’m glad you approve. It’s my favorite dish, and I was going to lose respect for you if you didn’t like it.”
“There’s irony in that statement. I would think a few other things I’ve done might make you lose respect faster.”
“You don’t understand men at all.” He was glad she was enjoying the meal, but he saw no reason not to combine pleasures. He slipped his hand between her legs and found her wet, so he urged her to her feet. “Put your plate on my chest, and I’ll introduce you to the culinary equivalent of snorting coke off a stripper’s ass.” He grabbed a condom, covered his cock, and stretched out on the bed.
“Who can resist an offer like that?” She climbed onto the bed.
Chapter Five
Betsy jerked awake. A hand caressed her hip, sending shivers through her body. Quin’s hard arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his warm body. His chin scraped her neck and then soothed her skin with a lingering kiss. Adrenaline raced through her body, and she fought the urge to scramble out of bed.
She forced herself to relax, feigning contented sleep while his hand roved over her body, stroking her arm, waist, thigh, and then finally settling on her breast. She heated under his touch, nipples tightening, core tingling, and felt him stir against her ass. The urge to take him inside almost overpowered her. All she would have to do was lift her leg, reach down, and…
No condom.
There was a chilling thought. So was the fact she’d been so crazy to have him inside her last night she’d completely forgotten that golden rule of casual sex. Thank God he’d remembered. His hand relaxed on her breast, and he sighed, asleep again.
She slipped out from beneath his arm, inch by inch, until they were no longer touching, and sat up. She watched a frown settle between his brows and wanted to smooth it. He was the most beautiful, powerful, dangerous creature she’d ever seen. Shame crushed her in a tight fist. She’d judged her mother and sister so harshly for the exact same emotion she felt looking at him—desire mixed with hope. She wanted him to wake up and make love to her until dawn, take her out to a magnificent breakfast, and then give her a tour of his kingdom where they would live happily ever after.
Not gonna happen. She acknowledged the ridiculous fantasy, and then banished it. She didn’t need or want a man to interfere with her life. She tried to remember the thought process that had led to her saying yes last night, but couldn’t, probably because it hadn’t involved reason at all. Straight-up naked lust had taken over her decision-making processes, and she’d caught a tiger by the tail, not only in him, but in the treacherous urges he aroused in her. Wake him up this time. Give him a chance.
To disappoint her? No, thank you.
Clearly, she hadn’t completely escaped inheriting her mother’s idiocy, but thought and action were different, thank God. She might want more, but that didn’t mean she believed she could have it. Now that she knew she wasn’t immune to the foolish optimism that infected her mother and sister, she was so out of here. Wanting things you couldn’t have put you on your knees, and she would never let a man make her crawl.
Helplessness, fury, and grief tangled inside her, and a tear splattered on her sandal when she bent to gather her clothes. More tears fell as she dressed. She moved quickly, determined to get out as fast as possible, leaving her weakness with the man who inspired it. Still, after learning about his childhood, she couldn’t bring herself to leave without saying good-bye.
She scrawled a note on the hotel stationery and left it by the bed. She paused at the door to take one last look at his ridiculously sexy hair, now even more tousled. She lingered over the beauty of his powerful shoulders and the breadth of his chest, remembering how strong he had felt when he embraced her. Her fingers curled at the sight of his bare thighs, remembering how his muscles had shifted beneath her palms as she crouched over him, steak forgotten.
I’m such a fool.
This was not her world and never would be.
She looked around the room. The muted gray walls, sleek furniture, and ultra-modern décor reminded her Quin had planned the same fate for Last Call. Thank my lucky stars he has other options. Otherwise, she had no doubt he’d continue trying to get her to sell, and every time he got near her, she ended up saying yes. It had been a mistake to stay tonight. No amount of pleasure was worth giving up control to someone like him, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted when she was so close to securing a better future for her family.
She shut the door of the bedroom behind her and walked out of the suite. It was time to get back to work.
…
Quin woke drenched in sweat, sitting up straight in bed, clawing the air in front of him. His jaw was locked tight, keeping him from shouting. Sunlight streamed in the window.
He gasped for breath, looking wildly around the room. Hotel. New Orleans. Betsy. He sank back onto the pillows, sensing he was alone in the suite and wondering how long she’d been gone. Seriously, what did the woman have against saying good-bye? It was simple common courtesy.
Sweat chilled his body, and he rolled out of bed, spotting a note on the bedside table.
Let’s call it a draw. Thanks for…dinner. Betsy
He crumpled the paper and dropped it in the garbage on top of the condom wrappers, trying to decide if getting a lame note was better or worse than waking up alone. On the bright side, at least she hadn’t been around to witness his nightmare.
He headed for the shower. It had been a long time since he’d slept through the night. He couldn’t remember much about his dream, but it didn’t matter. It had either involved finding his mother dead, discovering his sister was gone, or learning about Peter and Maeve’s car accident. Typical abandonment-issue crap. His subconscious was a sadistic bastard.
He turned on the water, checked the temperature, and stepped into the hot spray. They’d started their night early and passed out by midnight after having sex on nearly every available surface in the suite. His morning erection stiffened, and he stroked himself, imagining her hand wrapped around him. Fantasy wasn’t nearly as good as reality, but it would get the job done. His thoughts paused on her, wide open, taking him in, and he closed his eyes, remembering how her eyes had glowed when he pushed inside her. After a dozen more strokes, he pulsed into his hand, intense spasms that left him groaning. He slumped against the tile, wishing he could collapse onto her soft body.
She’d left him wanting more again, and when he wanted something, he found a way to get it, on his terms, for as long as he needed it. Usually he confined his desires to properties, businesses, and the occasional head-hunted employee, but this time, it was personal. As he stood under the spray, a snippet of his nightmare came back to him, filling him with urgency. It was the courtyard again. He couldn’t explain why he needed it. He only knew that he did, and this time Betsy was standing at the gate, blocking his way.
His cock had derailed his business plans last nig
ht, but he was going to get back on track today. Otherwise, this city would never stop haunting him. Bet or no bet, he wasn’t giving up his courtyard. He had two more weeks to spend in this godforsaken city, and somehow, he’d find a way to change her mind.
Breakfast first, though.
He turned off the water and dried himself. After dressing, he packed up the room service cart and wheeled it down to the kitchen.
Luc greeted him with a smirk. “Enjoy your meal?”
“It was exquisite.” He’d struck up a friendship of sorts with the chef who didn’t like to take no for an answer any more than he did. Luc had offered to regionalize the Keystone menu so many times, Quin had threatened to fire him if he brought it up again, but after talking and eating with Betsy, he thought Luc might have a point. “Write me a New Orleans-style menu you love. I’ll consider it.”
A grin leapt across the Cajun’s face. “Hot damn.” His slow drawl gave the words twice as many syllables as they possessed.
“And get me a cup of coffee.”
“Fancy machine’s on the fritz. Maintenance is on it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Café du Monde is that way.” Luc pointed. “You might find a half-dozen other excellent options on the way.”
Quin got as far as the alley before he acknowledged his intention. He knocked on the door of Last Call. Sounds within told him someone was looking through the peephole, and the door opened slowly.
“Good morning.” Hunger slammed through him at the sight of her. It might be morning, and they might be dressed, but nothing had changed. Heat connected them, making him hard. “Am I coming in or are you coming out?”
She glanced over her shoulder and stepped into the alley, shutting the door behind her. He took note of her crossed arms and guarded expression. “So we’re back to this, are we?” he asked.
“What did you expect?”
“More than a note. It would have been nice to wake up with you, kiss you good morning, and start the day off right, but there’s always tomorrow for that.” He reached to stroke a finger across the faint red whisker burn on her neck, stifling a smile when she pushed his hand away.
Her eyes were dark. “What do you want, Quin?”
“I want you back in my bed tonight. Or this afternoon.” She’d shut him out, but he knew how to reach her.
“You don’t always get what you want.”
“I do when you want me, too. Let’s dispense with the preliminary round of ‘will we or won’t we’ so we can get down to the when will we.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about never?”
“Haven’t I warned you about saying no? Denial is dangerous. Deny what you want, and your subconscious will fuck you ten ways to Tuesday making it happen anyway. Life is much easier if you figure out how to get what you want on your terms. State your terms. What do you want?” If he knew that, he’d be in.
“I want you to leave me alone.”
“Really? Because you’re leaning toward me, and your lips are parted. I think you want me to kiss you.” He trapped her against the alley wall with one hand on each side of her body. “I think you want me to do more than kiss you.”
She stiffened. “I’m working. I don’t have time for this.”
“I’m working, too, but the coffee machine is broken. Help a neighbor out?” He bent to kiss her, opening her mouth with his lips and stealing inside. He growled in pleasure as her tongue met his with greedy strokes, and she lifted her hips against him. Just as fast, she broke their kiss. He grasped her ass before she could pull away and rubbed against her, watching her eyes. When her pupils dilated, he stayed right where he was and rubbed harder.
“If I give you a cup of coffee, will you leave me alone?” Her words were slow and ended on a moan.
“Until later.”
She broke his hold. “Then find your own damn coffee.” Her back was poker straight as she stalked toward the door.
The sight of her walking away filled him with steely determination. “I planned to stay in town until the grand opening, but I could arrange to stay longer. How many weeks of us crossing paths in the alley every day and me eating sandwiches in your café would it take to get you back in bed?”
She turned to glare. “Blackmail only works once with me.”
When she slammed the door, he laughed. She didn’t know much about blackmail.
…
Thank God she had help in the kitchen today. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had time to lock herself in the employee bathroom and take deep, gulping breaths until the lust abated. If he’d raised her any higher on his body, she would have been in convulsions, coming on his cock, fully clothed. Her body roused to him instantly, and his strategy was pathetically effective.
How many weeks would it take to break her? What fraction of a week was one minute? Doing the math shifted her concentration from the raging inferno inside her, and she finally took an easy breath. After a dozen more, she felt like she could leave the bathroom without embarrassing herself.
Tuesday was her busiest day in the café, and her to-do list was so long, she dared not waste another minute. As she passed the alley door, another knock sounded. She ignored it, assuming it was Quin. He knocked again. And again. She wrenched it open. “I said no—”
The owner of the tea shop across the street gave her a tentative smile and held out a measuring cup. “But I haven’t even asked yet. Can you spare a cup of sugar? I’ve emptied every sugar bowl in the shop and I don’t have enough to make cookies. If I take the time to run to the store, they won’t be ready in time to open.”
Betsy sagged. “Sorry, sure. Rough morning. C’mon in.”
The tea shop had opened right before Betsy left for the Culinary Academy. She’d given it six months to go under, but apparently it was possible to make a living selling tea. In fact, it seemed to be thriving.
“Thanks.” The woman stepped inside.
Betsy took the measuring cup from her and crossed to the sugar bin. She dipped the cup. “Sure you don’t need more?”
“A cup will be plenty—thank you. By the way, I’m Linda, also known as Madame Rousseau.” She held out her hand.
Betsy’s palm tingled as she shook it. A sense of familiarity made her look more closely at the woman. Her hair was secured by a gypsy scarf, only showing a hint of flaming red at the hairline, and her eyes were a rich, dark brown. Her flowing skirt had bells tied to the hem, and the scarf around her waist was shot with silver thread. Betsy wouldn’t have forgotten such a striking woman if she’d ever come into the café.
Linda cocked her head to the side, and Betsy realized she was staring. “Sorry—I’m Betsy. You look really familiar.” She handed over the cup of sugar.
“We’ve crossed paths a few times in the morning.”
“Then I apologize for not saying hello. I’ve been pretty preoccupied with getting the café off the ground.”
“Business good?”
“Getting there.” They shared a smile.
Linda turned for the door. “Thanks again for the sugar. Come by for a cookie when you can. Or a tea-leaf reading.”
Betsy followed her out. “I’m more of a coffee girl.”
Linda’s warm brown eyes lit with mischief. “I’ll make a tea believer out of you. Got any life problems you’re trying to solve? Puzzles? Quandaries? Conundrums?”
Betsy snorted. “All of the above?”
“Look no further. The path lies in the leaves.”
“I might have to take you up on that,” she said to be polite.
Linda waved over her shoulder as she walked down the alley. “You crossed my palm with sugar. Let me return the favor.”
Betsy didn’t believe in psychic nonsense, but it was tempting anyway. If the leaves told her more hot sex was in her future, she’d have no choice but to enjoy her fate, right?
She washed her hands, donned gloves, and went back to slicing meats, making neat piles for the sandwiches. Quin had hit the nail
on the head when he’d accused her of rationalizing. Her mind was busily thinking of ways to justify hooking up with him again. Maybe if I don’t spend the night, I won’t want more. Maybe if we have as much sex as humanly possible until he leaves town, I’ll get sick of him. Maybe this thing between us just needs another night to burn itself out. All equally ridiculous.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and her lunch server walked in. “The dining room is set, bar prepped, and bathrooms cleaned.”
“Thanks, Ali.” The waitress had been quiet this morning, probably expecting to be reprimanded for her no-show yesterday, but Betsy wasn’t in the mood to play bad cop. She was glad Ali had shown up for today’s shift, and prepping the bar had been next on Betsy’s list. Now she’d have time to create a special sandwich for lunch. She surveyed the reach-in, which was full of odds and ends left over from the weekend.
After rejecting several combinations, she thought of something perfect. Fried oysters, garlic-marinated roasted red peppers, pickled vegetables, and remoulade. She’d call it the Happy-Right-Now Po’boy in honor of mistakes worth making…she hoped. Regardless, the fatty fried oysters and remoulade would be delicious with the piquant vegetables, making the certainty of deadly garlic breath totally worth the eventual suffering.
As expected, service was wicked busy, and orders piled in. Ali kept everything running smoothly out front, but Betsy bungled ticket after ticket. Every scent, taste, and texture somehow reminded her of last night, and her thoughts kept drifting to Quin. The harder she tried to focus the worse it got. It wasn’t until her stomach growled a protest while she was remembering how it had felt to orgasm with buttery steak clenched between her teeth that she realized she’d skipped breakfast. No wonder she had food on the brain.