She waited.
The stupid mug sat in its bulky tissue wrapping on the table, looking lumpy and ill-advised. It wouldn’t really take the place of an apology, if she’d even thought it could.
But she wanted to at least try. The trick is to learn from it.
The afternoon light faded into evening. Then full dark. Gary gave himself an elaborate bath on the coffee table and fell asleep, white-tipped paws in the air.
Finally she broke down and called him. The wafting notes of “Ruby Tuesday” came down the hall. She followed it to find his cell on the dresser, Danielle flashing on the screen. Her ring tone. It made her smile. It made her want to cry.
Enough of this.
She rifled through the downstairs closet and found a leather bomber jacket to keep off the chill. It didn’t really go with the dress, but who cared? Dumping out her bag, she found the house key he’d given her in the bottom—along with the dirty coffee thermos from the day before. She took her time washing it, then drying it with one of his white kitchen towels and finding its place in the scrupulously organized cabinets.
With each task, she said a mental “I’m sorry.” Apologies, by way of chores. Just as he’d cared for her with food.
She petted Gary, who ignored her, and locked up.
Then went back in and left a note.
Out looking for you. I have my cell, if you want to call me.
RT.
She walked to the Court des Deux Pendus through the rollicking Saturday night crowd plus Mardi Gras festivities. The actual day was still over a week away, but you wouldn’t know it. A drunken college guy bumped into her, nearly dumping his hurricane down her dress, apologized profusely and then sang “Call me maybe” at her, waggling his fingers.
Every other person in New Orleans seemed to be at the restaurant, but Prejean wasn’t. At least, so the maitre d’ told her, barely glancing her way. From outside she called the restaurant, just to be sure, only to be told the same thing.
It took her a while to find the place he’d taken her that first night, off the main part of the French Quarter as it was. She stopped a couple of people who looked like locals, asking after the barbecued shrimp, and followed their pointing fingers.
She spotted Charity right off and gave her a little finger wave from the doorway. The goth waitress frowned a little then indicated the full plates up and down her arms and nodded. Dani waited, shuffling aside as groups of diners pushed in, laughing and carrying on in fine style. A parade had recently ended and they all wore stacks of beads.
“Sorry.” Charity edged past the hostess stand, high-fiving a tattooed guy who’d just arrived. “Up to my ears in ’gators tonight. You’re Bobby’s friend.”
“Yeah.”
“He meeting you here? I haven’t seen him.” Charity craned her neck, surveying the tables.
“No. Actually, I—um, am looking for him.”
Charity narrowed her eyes and Dani felt like a stalker.
“I know it sounds weird, but we had a fight. I was an ass, really, and now I’m trying to find him. He hasn’t come home all afternoon and he left his phone.”
“You been staying at his place?” Charity’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Wow. And they said he’d never get over Claire.”
“You knew her?”
“Everybody knew Claire. The kink community is a small one. She was a real bitch.” Charity said it with a bit of a question, like Dani might fall into the same category. “But I haven’t seen Bobby and my tables are fully loaded—gotta fly.”
“Wait—Prejean took me to a party. Lots of, um, kink. Would they know?”
Charity looked impatient, then shook her head, grabbing a sticky note pad from the hostess stand. “They won’t let you in. It’s invite only.” She scribbled an address on it. “But you can try. Do me a favor and don’t be a bitch to him, okay?”
“Thank you.” Dani folded the note carefully. “I already was a bitch, but I’m hoping to make it up to him.”
“Well, if you spent any time with Prejean, you’ll know just how to do that.” Charity grinned and tugged on the spiked collar locked on her throat. “Good luck. And hey—take a cab. You’ll break an ankle in those shoes.”
The cab let her out in front of the gate flanked by those flickering sconces. It was locked and she remembered how Prejean had used a key that first night. There was no bell to ring and no one answered her knock. She hovered uncertainly on the sidewalk for a while, hoping someone would come along. An NOPD car cruised down the street, the fleshy beat cop scowling at her. She shouldn’t still be standing here on his next pass.
A thought occurred to her and she rummaged in her bag. There were several keys on the ring with the house key. She tried them on the gate. The last one fit.
Hurrying through the courtyard, she knocked on the inside door and the naked redhead answered it. Her submissive demeanor vanished in an instant. “Maurice!” she called out, assessing her with sharp intelligence, as if she knew Dani had dissed her.
A guy built like Michael Clarke Duncan came around the corner. “Hey there, girlie. Invited guests only. You turn your white ass around and go back to Bourbon Street. Nothing to see here.”
“I’m looking for Bobby Prejean,” she said desperately as he took her arm in a gentle but oh-so-powerful grip.
“He don’t know you or you’d have an invite. Don’t make me carry you out.”
“Ruby Tuesday? Is that you?” George, wearing an impeccable tuxedo, paused in the white-light-festooned hallway. “Let her in, Maurice. She’s a friend.”
“My apologies, ma’am.” Maurice patted her arm and bowed out.
“Looking for Bobby, are you?” George tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I believe he’s in the courtyard.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“Sweetheart, I’d recognize those gorgeous tits anywhere—even if you do have them disgracefully covered up tonight.” He snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and handed it to her. “You look like you need this.”
He navigated their way through the party, more packed than it had been the other night. This time the sights seemed less shocking, more familiar. Just people enjoying themselves. And each other.
“I found something of yours, Bobby Prejean.” George escorted her up to a table where Bobby sat, drinking a glass of wine. “Shall I keep her or do you want her back?”
Prejean looked at her with surprise, then recovered himself. “I think that’s a question for the lady.”
“I’d like to talk with you, if that’s okay.”
He nodded and George pulled out the chair, seating her with a flourish before wandering off. She perched on the edge, feeling awkward. Just apologize. Tell him you were an idiot. She couldn’t think of the right words. All that time waiting, she could have practiced a speech.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked her. “How are you here?”
“Charity—at the shrimp place—gave me the address.”
He nodded. Waited.
“I wanted to talk to you. When you didn’t come home, I...” She trailed off in the face of his impassive stare.
“I was giving you time to clear your stuff out. I thought everything had been said.”
Oh. “Fair enough. I’ll do that. I just—here.” She pulled the tissue-wrapped mug out of her bag and handed it to him. It lo
oked even worse now from rolling around in her bag.
He peeled open the tissue and stared at the tacky thing, bemused. Then raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re giving me Paris?”
“No—I mean, yes. I mean—” She took a deep breath. You’re stalling. “I’m sorry I broke your mug.”
He tilted his head, like he didn’t quite understand, setting the cup on the table, where it glittered like a gaudy omen of disaster.
“It’s a placeholder, obviously.” She tried a laugh and it fell out weakly. “I’ll find a match for your set and—”
“I don’t care about the mug, Danielle.” His quiet, implacable tone cut through her explanation.
“Right. I know.” She studied her hem, fiddled with it. Was he saying he didn’t care about her, either? She deserved that. “It’s just that...I behaved so badly. I want you to know that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said. I was wrong and I, uh, apologize.”
“That was a pretty spectacular temper tantrum.”
“I know,” she whispered, feeling her shoulders sag. “There’s no excuse. And then I walked out instead of staying and talking. I’m sorry for hurting you. For using you. I don’t want to be that person.”
He was quiet. The silence stretched thin. From the corner of her eye, she saw him toying with the wineglass.
He sighed. “We are the people we are.”
“I can change.” She met his dark gaze. “I want to do better.”
“I never asked you to change.”
“I know, but...”
“What are you asking me, Danielle?”
She stared at him, afraid to say the words.
“Come here.” He scooted back his chair.
Frozen, she didn’t move.
He gave her that stern look she loved and pointed at the ground between his knees. “Kneel down and say it.”
Blood rushed to her face and her heart thumped, arousal cutting through her paralysis, through her emotional turmoil. She knelt, smoothing the tight skirt over her knees, studying the toes of his Italian shoes.
“Look at me. Hands behind your neck.”
She glanced around, but the people at the surrounding tables ignored them. The dress tightened over her breasts as she obeyed.
“Now tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“Will you...forgive me?”
“Of course, chère. You’re forgiven.”
“That easily?”
“Well, perhaps a spanking is in order. You were excessively badly behaved. Shall I turn you over my knee, in front of all these people, pull up that adorably sexy dress and strip you out of your panties?”
“I’m not wearing any.”
“Ah. How could I not forgive such a woman? Come up here.” He held out his hands and helped her up, settling her onto his lap. He stroked her bare thigh, edging the hem up a little. She wriggled, wanting this to be enough. Knowing she needed to say more. Still afraid to ask.
“You’re not angry anymore?”
“Anger comes and goes. I know also what it took for you to apologize to me, to give up that bit of control.” He took her mouth in a deep, lulling kiss. “Shall I spank you here or at home?”
“Home, please.” The sound of the word pleased her. She wanted this and it wasn’t like her to ask for what she wanted. “And...maybe can I stay for a while? I have an idea for a job. I won’t be a parasite.”
“Stay forever, chère.”
His solemn voice sounded like a vow. The last of the anxious paralysis melted away. Things were so easy with him, so right, she wanted to stay forever.
Her stomach rumbled and he frowned at her. “Have you eaten today?”
She winced. “I forgot.”
He stood up, bringing her with him and straightening her skirt. “Then the first thing we’ll do—after getting you properly naked—is make you something to eat.” He kissed her. “Yes?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled. “I would love that.”
* * * * *
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About the Author
Jeffe Kennedy took the crooked road to writing, stopping off at neurobiology, religious studies and environmental consulting before her creative writing began appearing in places like Redbook, Puerto del Sol, Wyoming Wildlife, Under the Sun and Aeon.
A BDSM novella, Petals and Thorns, came out in 2010, heralding yet another branch of her path, into erotica and romantic fantasy fiction. Since then, erotic shorts in the Blood Currency series—Feeding the Vampire and Hunting the Siren—have been published by Ellora’s Cave. Carina Press is publishing the Facets of Passion series, which includes Sapphire, Platinum and, soon, Ruby. Her fantasy romance novel Rogue’s Pawn, book one in A Covenant of Thorns, came out in July 2012.
Jeffe lives in Santa Fe with two Maine coon cats, a border collie and plentiful free-range lizards, and frequently serves as a guinea pig for a professional acupuncturist.
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ISBN: 978-14268-9548-7
Copyright © 2013 by Jeffe Kennedy
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