Ruby

by Jeffe Kennedy

He followed her gaze, tilted his head in question. “It doesn’t always have to be the exotic flavors. I can do vanilla too.”

  “Vanilla is the boring choice though.”

  “Not the way I do it. Sweet cream and fresh ground vanilla bean.” He smiled. “Come in. I know exactly the thing to make a bad day better.”

  She followed him up the stairs. “How do you know I had a bad day?”

  He made a tsking sound. “It’s written all over you. You’re easier to read than a picture book. There’s a glass of wine for you on the counter.”

  She dumped her bag, making sure the damn phone was off, and gratefully sipped the wine. It was early yet, the sun sinking low and flooding the loft with golden light. Gary padded up to her and flicked his tail in question. She reached down to scratch his head and he bumped his arched back into her hand.

  “Hi to you too,” she said, bemused.

  She found Prejean in the girly bedroom, sorting through several flirty-looking dresses.

  “Perfect,” he declared, holding out a chiffon number with pink cabbage roses, a full skirt and a satin sash. He added a pair of low-heeled candy-colored sandals and a white cardigan.

  “You don’t think it’s a little weird, that you have all these women’s clothes?”

  He grinned, not at all embarrassed. “I like women. Women like clothes. I like women in and out of clothes. What’s weird about that?”

  “Most guys would not have this stuff.”

  Coming over to her, he took the glass of wine from her hand and set it on the dresser. Lacing his fingers with hers, he drew her arms over her head and leaned her back against the doorway, his body pressed to hers, his mouth warm and languid. He kissed her thoroughly, then trailed sweet kisses down her throat.

  “I think that even you would have to admit I’m not like most guys.”

  She melted. “True,” she sighed.

  “Now, get dressed.” He released her. “I want you to see the lake while it’s still light.”

  Despite the sunny day, it was a little too cool to put the top down on his car. They drove across Ponchartrain on the causeway, the sun setting to their left and gleaming crimson on the water. The road seemed to course just barely above the lapping waves. Easy to imagine he was rowing her along on a coracle, something out of the swampland’s romantic past.

  “Used to be,” he said, “that there was this great place by the marina. Been there forever, where you could get the best whole crabs ever. Katrina wiped out all those places and now the lakeshore looks like they were never there.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “It is.” He glanced at her. “But that’s also life, yes? Things come and go. Nothing stays the same. All we have is this moment.”

  “Am I to draw a lesson from this?”

  He took her hand and placed it on his thigh, the muscle flexing under her fingers. “You’re a serious girl. Ambitious, I think. But you shouldn’t worry so.”

  “You’re ambitious.”

  He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the black beard. “Yes I am. But I have my outlets. You asked me what I get out of it—tying you up, making you obey, paddling your adorable ass and watching those pretty gray eyes get so huge while you beg me to let you come.”

  She shifted in the leather seat, arousal sparking through her at the description.

  “That’s when I feel most alive. Powerful. Complete.” He laid his hand over hers. “Totally in the moment.”

  “Yes.” That was right. Caught up in his games, she thought of nothing else.

  “Also, my ambition is directed.”

  “Hey—I know what I want.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Sometimes, I get the idea that you just picked a thing to point your ambition at. That you haven’t yet found the thing.”

  “I have. I’m going to Paris.”

  “Yes, chère. I know.”

  They pulled into a little town on the other side of the lake, one that had escaped most of the destruction because the wind and waves had gone the other direction, whatever that meant. He drove down a street that looked more like rutted lakeshore to a little place right on the water. Lights and people spilled out of the open porches, buoyant music rolling out into the darkening evening.

  Unlike the other places, nobody seemed to particularly know Prejean here. The perky waitress, blond ponytail bobbing, took them to a wooden table overlooking the water and warmed by glowing heat lamps that looked like caricatures of chandeliers. Everything here felt like it harkened back to an earlier time. A simpler place of lazy warmth and alligators in the shadows. Where life and death and sex intertwined in one carnal creature.

  He ordered them Dixie beers and grinned when Dani raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m not being high-handed—you come to Monroe’s, you have beer and oysters on the half shell. It’s practically a law.”

  “You’re always high-handed,” she humphed.

  Taking her hand, he rolled her fingers in his, giving her a sly, little-boy look. “And you like it.”

  “I haven’t decided,” she declared airily, making him laugh.

  He had so many moods, playful, domineering, exacting, sensual. Romantic. The beers arrived and the crisp, bubbly taste did seem perfect for the spot, for the raw oysters he teased her into downing with a squeeze of lemon and a dash of Tabasco. With the candles glowing in the hurricane lamps and his easy smiles, her in the soft, feminine dress, it felt exactly that. Romantic.

  “I think—” she waved her third beer at him, “—that you don’t just happen to have all these clothes. I think they belonged to one woman.”

  He rubbed a finger around the neck of his bottle, wiping away the sweat, dark eyes studying her. “Are we sharing secrets then?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “Ah.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Conversation. Care to tell me about your day, why it went so badly?”

  “Not really.” She picked at a corner of the cheerful beer label.

  “A little tit for tat. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “You’ve already seen mine.”

  “As lovely as all of you is, I’ve only seen pieces of you, Ruby.”

  “Dani,” she blurted. “Well, Danielle. Danielle Sosna. Lame-duck assistant editor for In Style. Nothing interesting—I don’t know why I wanted to keep it all a secret.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Enchanted to meet you, Danielle. Robert Alain Prejean the Third, but everyone calls me Bobby.” He winked at her. “Even certain naughty girls who enjoy breaking the rules.”

  She flushed. Maybe it was the heat lamps, but wow, he made her feel positively giddy at times.

  “And the woman?” She persisted.

  “You are so interested in her.” He signaled for another round and slathered a chunk of cornbread with butter and honey, holding out a bite for her. She nipped it from his fingers, brushing them with her lips. “What was it you said? ‘Nothing interesting.’ Her name was Claire. We lived together for a couple of years. She liked having her own room, so we set it up that way.”

  He drank from the beer. “That was Claire—always at arm’s length. Her own space, her own rules. We made a bad match in that sense, both liking everything our own way.” He shrugged at the futility of it. “One day she took off. Said she was done with me, with New Orleans, all of it.”

  “She left her stuff behind?”

  “Said she
wanted a fresh start. Didn’t care what I did with it. Gary was her cat—she left him behind too.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “A year—no.” He frowned up at the ceiling. “About twenty months ago.”

  “And you kept her room like some kind of shrine?”

  “Not like that. Frankly I kind of forgot it was all there until you came along and needed outfits.”

  “That’s really kind of creepy.”

  “You’re right.” He gave her a very serious look. “You’d better take that dress off right now.”

  “Ha-ha.” She peeled off the rest of the beer label, pressing it to the wooden table and smoothing the edges. “Did she break your heart?”

  It wasn’t a question she’d ask many men. But Bobby Prejean, with his soulful eyes and nurturing ways, struck her as a guy who might admit to that.

  “I don’t know, chère. I was sad for a long time, but also kind of relieved to have her gone. But you know how you said your mother cried when you refused that ring?” He nodded for her, sitting back in his chair, long legs stretched out. “She broke my momma’s heart. Sometimes I think Gary is looking for her. Maybe I kept all her stuff in case she turned up again.”

  “Would you take her back?” Dani held her breath, not certain why that answer mattered to her. Okay, she knew why, but it was stupid since she planned to leave him too. Didn’t she?

  “You are not the first person to ask me that.” He waggled a finger at her. “And I will tell you what I tell the rest of my loving but sometimes very annoying and interfering family.” He lapsed into thought.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you never know what you’ll do until you’re in the moment. Until the words are coming out of your mouth.”

  She found herself nodding along. Remembering the astonished look on Chris’s face, the square diamond ring forgotten between them, as she fought to explain a why she couldn’t articulate to herself.

  “That’s part of why I’m leaving New York,” she told him. “I mean, I got a job at Vogue Paris and that’s amazing and all, but I couldn’t be around all of it anymore. Maybe I’m like Claire.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Danielle, trust me on this—you are nothing like Claire.”

  The assurance pleased her, as much as the way he said her name in that spiced molasses way. “We’re the same size,” she had to point out.

  “Well—” he leered at her, “—I do have my type. I like mine petite.” His fingers encircled her wrist. “Delicate. All the better to turn you over my knee when I feel the urge.”

  Hot moisture surged between her legs. He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to the tender center of her palm, his tongue flicking against it, sending thrills through her.

  “Do you know what I want to do?” His tone taunted her.

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  He tugged her up from the table, grinning at her trepidation. “I’m gonna dance with you. C’mon, I need to dance some of this drunk away.”

  They danced for hours, fast and slow, swinging to the rollicking Cajun songs and rocking in each other’s arms to the slower ballads. Colinda and Tipitina and Iko Iko and Zydeco Gris Gris. When it came time to drive back, Dani took the keys from him and he let her, slouching into the passenger seat with a long-legged sprawl.

  “Tell me about Paris,” he said on a yawn as she navigated her way to the causeway.

  “I haven’t been yet. I’m taking a hit on pay, especially if you figure in exchange rate, but I’m hoping...”

  “What?” he prompted, putting a hand on her knee and sliding up the hem of the dress so he caressed her bare thigh. “What do you hope for, Danielle Sosna, late of New York City?”

  “I’m not sure. I have this idea. It will sound dumb.” She glanced at him and he’d turned sideways in the seat, dark head leaning against the headrest. “Maybe I’ll fall in love with Paris, you know? Like people always say they do. And it will turn out to be my true home in some way. Like New York never was. Or Connecticut.”

  “Connecticut?”

  “Where I grew up. My mom still lives there.”

  “You never mention your dad.”

  “He died. Heart attack during my senior year of college. No one was surprised—he was one of those guys who charged around, red-faced and angry. Cholesterol through the roof, fried food and steak for every meal, six-pack of beer every night. Heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “I’m sorry, chère.” He stroked her knee, comforting.

  She lifted her shoulders, gripping the steering wheel. “He was a tyrant.” Pain is just weakness leaving your body. “Nobody misses him.”

  “And so you’re off to see if Paris will be the answer.”

  She frowned. “Well, not the answer. There’s no question.”

  “Isn’t there? I read this word the other day—hiraeth. It’s Welsh and it means the longing for a home you never had.”

  The moon rose high over the Ponchartrain, shining silver, reminding her of that song. It had that feeling in it, homesickness and love and longing. New Orleans seduced you that way, with her sensuous nights and tropical gardens. Dark and decadent, full of surprises, much like Prejean.

  “You just happened to read that?”

  “On this Tumblr site. It has different words, from all over the world. All these concepts that English has no word for.”

  She glanced over at him, amused. He was watching the moon. “It’s hard for me to imagine you surfing Tumblr.”

  He rolled his head on the seat. “You think I only cook, run and think up ways to debauch you? I like Tumblr—I get many ideas from it, both for food and for sex.” He slid his hand up her thigh, dangerously close to her crotch.

  “Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Now I get it. Everyone knows the internet is for porn.”

  “The reality is better. Spread your legs.” He cupped her through her panties when she obeyed. “You’re always so wet.”

  She kept her eyes glued to the road. They’d passed the little guardhouse midway. “Just around you.” It felt like a confession. “And if you keep doing that, I’m going to drive us into the lake, which would be a sad ending to our story.”

  “Glamorous, though.” He reflected. “A tragic ending to young love.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Ah yes.” Thankfully he pulled his hand away, drifting it down her thigh to a safer position. “You’re right. I should get rid of Claire’s things. I’ve been a fool.”

  There’s a fool born every minute. Don’t be one of them. “It’s understandable.”

  “True. We are all fools at some time or another. The trick is to learn from it.”

  “I know you grew up here, but do you feel like New Orleans is your true home?”

  “I do, yes. It’s like falling in love with your high-school sweetheart. Sometimes it’s just meant to be and it works.”

  “And the rest of us spend our lives looking.”

  “Or find it when you least expect it.”

  He managed to direct her through the narrow and nearly empty streets back to his place. Staying up so late, yet again, would not help her deal with tomorrow, but she didn’t care. It was a little disturbing, how much she didn’t care. Probably short-timer’s disease—the Paris job mattered, not Cassidy’s ridiculous tantrums.

  Give me something fucking sexy, dammit. It’s fucking
Mardi Gras and you show me a cathedral? Fuck that!

  A thought occurred to her. “Hey, can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Anything, chère.”

  “I’d like to use your courtyard, if that’s all right. And maybe, some of your...equipment.”

  He gave her an intent look. “Do I get to tie you up in the bright light of day? Take some photos?”

  A breathless laugh escaped her. “Oh my god—no. This would be for work, actually.”

  “Then I’ll help.”

  She blew out a breath. “I would love that.”

  Chapter Twelve

  They entered the little courtyard and Dani assessed it with fresh eyes, thinking about the possible montages. Prejean came up behind her and unzipped the dress. She gasped at the cool air on her back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Why, sweet Ruby. I’m getting you out of that dress,” he informed her, far more clearheaded than he’d acted in the car. He pulled it down her arms and she tried to hang on to it.

  “Can anyone see?” She peered through the dense foliage, aware of the buildings around them.

  “No. Trust me. And you’re right. You shouldn’t be wearing Claire’s clothes. It’s a travesty.” Bunching his fists in the fabric, he tore the dress down the middle, startling her, bringing the arousal keen and hot to the surface.

  “Bobby...” she whispered.

  He wrapped a hand in her hair and tugged her head back, sliding his other hand along her throat. “What did you call me?”

  Her heart thumped at the stern voice, the sudden helplessness. He’d called her Ruby again, which meant game on, she realized. “I’m sorry, sir,” she answered and he smiled approvingly, holding her in place and trailing his hand down to flick open the front clasp of the lacy bra. Her breasts popped free, nipples hardening instantly in the cool air.

  He caressed them with tender lightness, barely brushing her nipples. “Do they hurt still?”

  “Not really—”

  His fist tightened in her hair, pulling her up a little, staring into her eyes. “Don’t lie to me about that kind of thing. Not ever.”