by Amanda Usen
Another knock on the door made her bury herself deeper. Whoever it was knocked again, harder, pounding so loud she couldn’t ignore it without her neighbors calling the police. A weird feeling of déjà vu settled over her as she struggled out of bed and walked to the door. It got worse when she looked through the peephole.
“Oh, hell no.”
A woman stood outside the door with a garment bag over one arm and a suitcase on the floor next to her. She was wearing a smock with the Keystone emblem, and she looked like an airbrushed super model. Either she was moving in or she was, indeed, a fairy freaking godmother sent to make Betsy presentable for the ball. A zing shot through her. She braced her hand on the door, holding it closed. She’d experienced that sensation enough times over the past few weeks to know to pay attention to it.
Deny what you want, and your subconscious will fuck you ten ways to Tuesday making it happen anyway. Is that what was happening? Had she secretly hoped for an invitation and been disappointed when Quin didn’t ask her to come to the party? Is that why she’d gone to bed? Depression? Her feelings were a tangle she couldn’t unravel, but she couldn’t deny she wanted to see the hotel now that he’d invited her. One last night. Her stomach sank.
Oh buck up, Cinderella, it was your idea. She could play the role he’d cast for her tonight. All she had to do was put on the dress, go to the ball, and disappear at the stroke of midnight. The urge to crawl back in bed made her unlock the door and open it. “I hope you’ve got a magic wand in that big bag. You’re going to need it.”
…
“What the hell is she doing here?” Every hair on Quin’s body stood on end as he passed the gypsy woman sitting at a table with a guest. Her purple turban bobbed and her shawl clinked as she gestured. The scent of incense mingled with the humidity of the impending storm. His stomach turned. “We need to get a fan over here.”
“Chill out, boss. Everything is going great. That tea-leaf reader is almost as popular as the crawfish pies.” Kyle gestured, but Quin didn’t look. “We’ve also got tarot by the kabobs, and somebody is throwing the bones, whatever the hell that means, next to the beignets. It keeps the people in line happy.”
“We’re serving kabobs?”
“Blackened chicken on a stick, whatever. Do you want a drink? The main bar is set up at the front desk, but we have classic New Orleans cocktail carts in every corner of the lobby. How about a Sazerac cocktail? That will fix you right up.”
“No.” He didn’t need a drink; he needed Betsy to return his texts. Was she coming to the party? He’d expected more of a response to his messengers, and his nerves cranked tighter with every minute that passed. The week had been as much agony as ecstasy as he forced himself to keep things light between them while his emotions grew heavier and deeper, and his nightmares turned into daydreams of them together.
A silver-painted mime fell into step beside him, mimicking his impatient stride, and Quin gritted his teeth. The street performers roving the lobby were a nice touch, but he wasn’t in the mood. He stopped abruptly, and the mime backed away on tiptoe. The guy was a good judge of character. Of course, if he made his living on the street, he’d have to be. Quin’s chest tightened. Had his early days on the streets shaped him, too?
He turned to Kyle. “Any news from Trenton and Hart?”
Kyle shook his head. “Expecting a call pretty soon, though.”
Thunder rumbled, and Kyle looked out the front windows where the sky was darkening, clearly about to do a cloud-dump. “Glad we decided against the float.”
“No shit.” Quin had nixed the parade idea immediately. Too much clean-up, and God forbid the female guests got tipsy and started flashing their tits. That wasn’t the vibe they were going for at all.
“Maybe some food would settle your nerves?” Kyle suggested. “Or a long look at the reservation book? Full for six months. Relax—your work is done.”
Quin didn’t correct Kyle’s assumption that he was nervous about the success of the hotel. “Be right back.”
He headed for the food cart parked at the front door, surprised to find it manned by Luc. “Blackened chicken on a stick?” the chef asked, pressing a sizzling skewer into Quin’s hand. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thanks,” Quin said dryly. “I’d never have guessed.” He tore a hunk off with his teeth and hissed.
“Told you so.”
The chicken was tender and juicy, redolent with herbs, and had just enough kick to be addictive. He polished it off in three bites, mouth watering for more. “Damn that’s good.”
“Thanks.” Luc handed him another. “The official blackener is taking a smoke break, of all things. I’m just filling in.”
Quin nodded. He’d figured the chef had more on his plate tonight than blackening chicken. He kept his eyes on the door, tempted to wait out front and search the street for an approaching carriage, despite the impending downpour. Maybe he should have a drink.
The party had only been going on for half an hour, but his face was about to crack from smiling when he wanted to snarl. Every time he shook a hand, he wanted to crush it. Each time “You’re welcome—glad you’re enjoying the party” slipped from his lips without a growl, it was a victory because he hadn’t planned this elaborate party for his guests. They would have been happy with Keystone 1.0, perfect, soulless, and gray. He’d turned the Keystone lobby into a courtyard for Betsy, damn it. Where was she?
Lights had been strung everywhere, rented wrought-iron furniture supplemented the new couches and chairs, and lush, green ferns provided privacy for the seating arrangements. Near the elevators, the Zydeco band was totally killing it, drawing a raucous crowd of dancers to the dance floor. The guests wore masks, some elaborate, with feathers, jewels, and sequins. Others were simple bands of black, but all seemed to be enjoying the masquerade, if the noise level was any indication. The warm, brick-red paint on the walls gave the lobby an intimate feel, but the sky-painted ceiling opened it up. It was everything Betsy had described to him and more, and he couldn’t wait to show it to her.
If she ever showed up.
A commotion drew his attention to the front doors. A mule-drawn carriage pulled up in front of the hotel, and his heart shuddered to a stop. He stared, taking in every detail.
A soft chuckle broke his concentration. “Gives a guy hope, it surely does.”
Quin glanced at the chef. “What does?”
“If the likes of her will consort with the likes of you, there’s hope.”
“You know Betsy?” Jealousy flared in his reptile brain. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Luc shook his head, turning his gaze back to the smoking hot pan in front of him. “I know her sister.” There were a lot of nuances in those four words, but Quin didn’t have time to interpret them now. Betsy was out of the carriage and sweeping slowly toward the front door.
She glowed. There was no other way to put it. The iridescent, pale pink of her full-length gown made her creamy caramel skin look even more lush and inviting. The dress was strapless, displaying her strong arms and shoulders to perfection. The cleavage dipped to show a hint of mouthwatering curves. A tiara sparkled in her hair, which was swept up in front and cascaded down her back. Her mask was silver, glittering with rhinestones. She was breathtaking.
He walked to meet her. “You look stunning.”
“The royal treatment was quite a surprise. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.” He bowed low, taking a moment to admire the sparkling heeled sandals on her feet. When he rose, he carefully tugged the mask from her face.
“Isn’t it a costume party?”
“Not for you. I want everyone to see the face of the woman who gave the Keystone New Orleans its soul.” It was the same reason he wasn’t wearing a mask.
“I was wondering when you were going to admit that.” Her smile was bright as she looked around the lobby, and his anxiety vanished. “It looks fantastic, inside and out, even better than it did two years ago. Y
ou did an amazing job.”
He could tell she meant it, and he was fiercely glad. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I never would have done it without you.”
“No kidding.” She laughed up at him. “You would have bought Last Call and done it over there instead.” He watched her gaze follow the twinkling lights, skip from food cart to food cart, and land on the wrought iron furniture, growing speculative. “I guess you got your courtyard from me after all, just not the way you thought.” She raised one arm and encompassed the lobby in a regal gesture. “This is my kingdom tonight?”
For longer than tonight, but he’d get to that. He simply nodded. “Your wish is my command. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like to dance?”
“All of the above.” She tugged him toward the bar.
As soon as a drink hit her hand, she headed for the first food station and then the next, claiming she wanted to enjoy every single thing. Seeing her in his courtyard smiling, holding his hand, and having a good time was literally a dream come true.
He shook his head to clear a sudden wave of dizziness and put his drink aside. It was almost midnight, and he should probably slow down. They’d made a dozen circuits of the lobby, eating and dancing. She didn’t seem interested in the fortune telling, and he was glad because that meant he could keep her on the dance floor in his arms. As they’d circulated, he’d introduced her to the staff, Kyle, and the previous owners of the hotel as the mastermind behind the new concept, and she’d glowed even brighter under the praise.
He took the plate from her hand, set it on a table, and pulled her back onto the dance floor. She slid into his arms willingly, easily. They’d come a long way in two weeks, and his heart raced as he thought about how much further he wanted them to go. The statement from the bank was burning a hole in his pocket.
“Thank you,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
He put a few inches between them so he could see her expression. “For what?”
Her gray eyes were luminous. “For this. For everything.”
This is my moment. He’d never seen so much softness in her. Words fought to come out of his mouth. I paid off the mortgage. Forgive me. Don’t leave me. I love you. He took a breath, but she pressed her fingers to his lips.
“This was the perfect ending to a wonderful vacation.” A smile trembled on her lips, starting an earthquake that leveled him as she stepped out of his arms.
Vacation? Shadows obscured his vision. Temporary. Not part of her real life. His head spun. He’d known she didn’t want him in her life, but he hadn’t realized she was compartmentalizing their entire relationship, stuffing him into a box she could neatly place on a shelf and forget.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
He nodded, automatically following her to the edge of the dance floor. He stood staring, thoughts whirling, barely breathing, paralyzed by the loss, grief, and fury snarling inside him, hopeless knots tying him in place while his heart caved inside his chest. A flash of pink by the kitchen caught his eye just as it disappeared through the door. The restrooms were near the kitchen, but that hadn’t been the door she’d chosen. Of course not.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind she was headed for the alley.
He cut across the lobby, ignoring everyone who tried to get his attention. Kyle caught his arms just as he reached the front door. “Trenton and Hart—”
Quin shook him off. “Not now.”
Betsy wasn’t going anywhere, at least not without saying good-bye.
Chapter Thirteen
She kept her eyes on the floor as she walked past Madame Rousseau’s table, not wanting to see I told you so in the woman’s eyes. Royalty. A celebration. Dancing. It was all here except the love, and she felt mocked at every turn.
It had been a huge mistake to come tonight. I’ve made so many mistakes.
She ducked into the kitchen, dodging the staff and keeping her eyes trained on the door so she wouldn’t count the employees, see their fancy uniforms, or notice the expensive equipment in their hands. Too bad she couldn’t block the sizzling sounds and scents making her mouth water even though she was stuffed to the gills. She put words to the fear that had grown inside her when she saw the lobby. He’s going to put me out of business. She couldn’t compete with his delicious, adorable food carts, now a permanent part of the hotel.
No one would come to Last Call for a cocktail when they could come here and get designer freaking ice in a glass that cost more than the drink. Her own ideas were going to ruin her, and it was all her fault. She’d been selfish, wanting to spend time with him, and he’d picked her brain of every hope and dream she’d ever had for Last Call without her realizing he was doing it. He’d made her grateful for the experience, for God’s sake. She’d thanked him and meant it. The past two weeks had been amazing, even better than her culinary school respite, but she couldn’t hide her dismay for one more second. If I’d said yes, he would have made Last Call as incredible as the Keystone.
But she’d said no, and now she’d be lucky if she ever saw another customer in the café…or the bar. All my fault, all of it. Her mother wouldn’t have taken out a mortgage if she hadn’t gone to culinary school, and if Betsy hadn’t been so dead set against selling, forcing Quin to turn the lobby into a gorgeous courtyard, they might have had a fighting chance to pay it back. But now? With a mortgage to pay back? Not gonna happen.
Bedrock splintered inside her, and she began to shake. Had that been Quin’s plan all along? Force them out of business if they wouldn’t sell Last Call? Her lunch business would die with his food wonderland next door, and they wouldn’t be able to afford to keep the café open. Her mother and Kate would happily return to the old bar hours. The bar had less overhead than the café. It would survive, but what would she do?
Maybe Lila or Jenna would hire her until she figured it out. She liked New York, and Jenna’s family restaurant in New Jersey sounded charming. So…big city or small town? Gathering the slippery layers of her skirt into one hand, she pushed the door open and hurried into the dim alleyway.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Quin’s low voice made her stumble, and she nearly lost a shoe. He must have gone out the front door and circled around, cutting off her escape route unless she went through Last Call, which she sure as hell wasn’t going to do. She didn’t want her mother or sister to see her like this. The compassion in her mother’s eyes would kill her, and enduring Kate’s gloating would be hell.
“I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the desperation in her voice. It wasn’t just one crack inside her anymore. Countless fissures boiled beneath her surface. There were too many emotions to keep stuffed inside. Too much to contain. She couldn’t even look at him. If she did, she was going to lose it. She’d wanted one more night with him; she’d thought she could play this role. I can’t do it. I can’t do any of it.
A groundswell of despair snapped her tight control. “You’ve had your fun. Consider my nose rubbed in your success. Your courtyard is going to kill my café. You must have been laughing your ass off while you picked my brain. Well done, Quin. Good job.”
“Is that what you think?” He advanced, trapping her against the wall.
“What else would I think? You’ve got me surrounded, squeezed in the middle. What are you planning to do with the candy store? Build another casino? Put Harrah’s out of business? God, I can’t believe I fed you everything you needed to ruin me. You must have loved that. Just keep her talking—”
“Talking? The talking isn’t what sticks in my mind.” His hands closed over hers, and he thrust them behind her. His thigh pressed her legs apart. She turned her head to the side.
“Of course it isn’t.” She felt sick, even as her traitorous body heated to his touch.
“I want more than sex from you. You’re the one who put limits on our relationship—”
“We don’t have a relationship. We had a fling,
and it’s over.” Did he still want Last Call? Her skin went hot and cold, and every muscle in her body locked, resisting, but she couldn’t afford to hold on to her pride, not with her family at stake. “You win. You can have the bar; I won’t stand in the way. You were right about the mortgage. The café had a fighting chance before the hotel opened, but now it’s doomed.” Each beat of her heart pulsed in her face and chest, and her skin felt thinner with every throb.
“I don’t want Last Call anymore.”
Then they really were doomed. Her stomach twisted. “I’m out of here.”
“Of course you are. Staying would mean you might actually have to give me a chance, and you don’t give anyone a chance, do you? You don’t trust anybody. Not even yourself. Especially yourself.” Damn right she didn’t. Every time he touched her, she dissolved, forgetting all the important things, like her family and her future. She lost her grip on reality and her responsibilities, and it was up to her to keep it together. It always had been.
“What do you want, Betsy?” His grip tightened. “Tell me.”
His body was a long, hard line against hers, a perfect fit. She wanted him so badly she had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. Two weeks of allowing herself the pleasure had created an instant response, and desire was a fire beneath her skin. She felt herself melting, and if he kept pushing, her weakness for him would ruin her. She forced the words out. “I want you to let me go.”
“No, you don’t.” His gaze brushed her painfully hard nipples, beaded under the satin, paused on her lips, open in a pant, and steadied on her eyes, which she knew were begging him to fuck her. “Not that you’ll ever admit it, not unless I make you. Is that what you want?”