The Queen of Dauphine Street

by Thea de Salle

  He’s all man.

  A dork, but all man all the same.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “You can pack.”

  He rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, while she ducked into the bathroom to run them a bath. They both needed it; her thighs were disastrous from their fuck. It’d been sexy at the time, to sleep with his spunk deep inside her, but a few hours after, it was like she’d been hosed down with Elmer’s glue. Not fun.

  “That’s a lot of lube,” she heard him say.

  “They do different things!” she called out. “Some have flavors, some heat up. Make sure you read labels!”

  “Don’t worry your pretty head!” There was rummaging, clattering. A buzzing started, then stopped, then a deeper buzzing started and stopped. He tested out at least a half dozen more. One drawer closed, another opened. And then he went quiet.

  “Hey, Maddy? What’s this?”

  She poked her head out of the bathroom. Darren hadn’t emerged from the closet, instead just his hand was outside waving an object around. He held a short piece of pink marbled glass with a handle. “A butt plug, dove.”

  “Whoa. You’re into butt stuff?”

  He sounds mystified, like he’s found the great temple at the peak of Fuck Mountain.

  She smiled. “I’m into a lot of things.”

  “Are these all butt plugs?”

  “The entire third drawer, yes. Well, the right side has dildos, but they’re specialty—for anal. No ridges or bumps or veins so they’re good for pegging.”

  “Pegging. Is that when the girl wears the thing and puts it in the guy’s butt?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying, dove.”

  “Good.” He paused. “I’d do you in the butt if you wanted, but I’m probably too big.”

  He sounded so earnest, so helpful, like he’d offered to do her laundry or mow the lawn, except in this case he was offering to sodomize her because wasn’t that what good neighbors were for?

  It was so divinely ridiculous she giggled.

  “You’d be amazed at what I can handle, dove. Put nothing past me.”

  Darren poked his head out of the closet door and grinned. “I don’t want to put it past you. I want to put it in you. Aren’t you paying attention?”

  “Oh, I am. Trust me on that.”

  “Good, ’cause”—he slid from the closet with a very full purple bag, zipping it up and tossing it into Maddy’s packed suitcase—“I have plans.”

  He wouldn’t let her peek inside. Every time she tried, he looped his arm around her waist and dragged her across the room. It became a game, and then it stopped being a game when they were making out and dry humping against the wall. The bathtub nearly spilling over forced them to break away from each other to prevent the next great flood. They snuggled in the tub, “helped” each other get clean, and toweled off.

  “That was an illegal bath,” Darren said.

  Maddy merrily rubbed down his abs with a hand towel. “Oh?”

  “I’m supposed to be Mr. Spongebath for another week. Don’t tattle.”

  “I won’t.” She paused. “But should you ask someone about getting on antibiotics just in case.”

  “Already on them.” He grinned.

  There was more kissing and groping before they separated, reluctantly, to dress. Patrice collected their luggage. The head of her security, Julio—an ex-cop who’d worked for her father for a decade before switching over to Maddy’s care—listened intently to her briefing, taking copious notes. Darren offered him Sergeant Lopez’s contact information, too, and he took that down.

  Every time he dipped his head to scribble in his book, Maddy could see the bald spot at the crown of his head. She wanted to poke it, but she stopped herself; Julio was a nice man, but he wasn’t quite so nice he’d tolerate her being a brat—not like Patrice would. A problem with keeping people who knew you as a kid on staff was you never actually grew up in their eyes.

  “So I want a full detail in New Orleans and at the hotel, though you’re probably going to have to work with Sol’s people on that front.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have some ideas. We used a good company for security during your Mardi Gras party. A lot of military men. I’ll give them a call.”

  “Good.”

  The conversation was cut short by the ringing of her cell phone. Sol. She held up a finger to Julio and turned her body away to take the call.

  “Hello!” she said. “It seems I’m here.”

  “It seems I am, too,” came Sol’s dulcet reply. “Welcome back to my city, darling.”

  “Are you at the dock?”

  “I am. Kitten’s with me, and the babies.”

  “What babies? You’ve been dating for three months. Are you buying them off the black market again?”

  “You’ll see. Come on down with that hunk-a-love of yours.”

  “Julio’s going to want to talk to you about security. Darren’s stalker is still out there.”

  “I have a new head of security at The Seaside. I hired Rain’s brother, Vaughan. He’s an asshole, but he’s skilled. He said at dinner just last night he could kill me fourteen different ways with a spoon. I think he was flirting with me. Oh, and FYI, I don’t see any press down here yet. You might be in the clear for a little while.”

  “Good.” Maddy covered the receiver and looked at Julio. “Sol has a new head of security. Vaughan Barrington. You’ll want to circle the wagons with him.”

  “Will do. We’re going to sweep the dock now. Patrice arranged a car for us so we can follow your limo back to the hotel.”

  “Good, good. Now go forth and amaze me with your securing.”

  Julio grinned, bowing his head to her and Darren alike, and headed off. Maddy winked at Darren and went back to Sol. “As soon as we’re allowed off the boat, we’ll be down.”

  “No rush. I’ll tell Lorelai to bring the car around.”

  A full sweep of the dock took longer than Maddy anticipated. For a half hour, she and Darren milled around the Capulet, waiting. She had enough time to visit Cappy and Richter and say her good-byes. For all that Sol was tolerant of her eccentricities—and had enabled them for years—a tiger waltzing around his hotel was a violation of pretty much every imaginable health code. It was a nightmare on insurance, too. No, Cappy would stay aboard her floating resort and snuggle up with Richter at night. She was an equal-opportunity bed pig and was quite content as long as she wasn’t reduced to “lesser” sleeping accommodations like her six-thousand-dollar custom-made couches.

  Kitty was a little spoiled.

  It was almost three when Julio texted Maddy that they were good to go. He awaited them on the gangplank, two of his men at the end standing sentry near a stretch limousine pulled up to the curb. Maddy glanced at Darren. His eyes were narrowed and scanning the dock. His expression was unreadable. She took his hand, and he turned to look at her, immediately smiling.

  If he’s nervous, he’s hiding it.

  “It’ll be all right,” she said.

  “Of course it will. I’m just mentally preparing myself to meet yet another person I’ve seen on TV.”

  “Oh. Sol’s fine. He’s easy. He might try to touch your weenie, but that’s a sign of affection.”

  “Not him. Her.”

  “Her?”

  And he pointed. Emerging from the limousine, wearing a pale blue skirt suit with white trim, a white straw floppy hat, sunglasses, and holding not one but two puffy dogs, was Arianna Barrington. Sol’s cream puff of a girlfriend was barely over five feet tall and round, very round, with all the curves of an old-school pinup. She looked like two basketballs stacked atop each other, the waist belted between them. Around her neck, something sparkled—diamonds, knowing Sol—and she hobbled around o
n a pair of high heels, letting loose with a squawk when one of her dogs scrambled up her body to flop across the shelf of her bosom.

  “Isn’t she divine?” Maddy said, awe in her voice.

  “That’s a word,” Darren replied.

  They walked toward the limousine, hand in hand, smiles on their faces.

  EIGHTEEN

  SHE LOOKED TALLER on TV. He’d never say as much, especially considering he had a foot and a half on her, but Arianna Barrington was nipple height and not a smidge more. She was also so busy crooning to her dogs, one a full-grown Corgi, the other teeny and obviously a baby, that she didn’t quite clue into his presence, not even when he was two feet away from her, standing with his right arm wrapped around Maddy’s waist, the other trussed up in the sling.

  Sol unfolded himself from the car, dazzling in a dove-gray suit with a pale pink vest and a coordinating tie. Darren felt underdressed; Maddy was easy and breezy in a tropical floral sundress with sandals, but Darren wore jeans. And a T-shirt. Because that’s what he wore every day.

  At least I’m in a pair of loafers. That’s slightly more formal than sneakers, I think?

  “Goodness, you’re a mountain,” Sol said with a smile. He was only a few inches shorter than Darren, which was a change. Rarely could Darren look someone in the eye without risking neck trauma.

  “Darren Sanders,” he said in greeting, offering a shake. Sol accepted, squeezed his fingers, and returned to his lady friend’s side, his hand settling on her back.

  “This is kitten. Well, Rain Barrington, but to me she will forever be kitten.”

  “Hmm?” Arianna looked up from her puppy to blast a beaming smile Darren’s way. She was very much a golden thing with her hair spilled out of her floppy hat and over her shoulder in soft blond waves. Her eyes were the same color as the sky and her skin glowed with a soft, sun-kissed tan. She was adorable and so very not Maddy. Before, Darren had marveled that one man could have such disparate taste in women—the glamour puss Maddy versus the compact version of a Disney princess in Rain. The differences were even more pronounced in person, with Maddy towering over Rain by a foot, thanks to her heels. Undoubtedly, both women were beautiful, but Sol certainly had run the gamut as far as his women were concerned.

  He supposed Maddy had, too, though. Darren was big and strong and often let himself go to a five o’clock shadow because he pulled off grizzled well. He wore work boots and cowboy boots, and yes, sometimes a cowboy hat if it was particularly sunny out and he needed relief. He was salt of the earth and, according to his mama, a modern-day Marlboro man.

  Sol DuMont was tall, thin, and graceful. He pulled off that Bowie-esque male glam thing, but he twisted it with enough Robert Redford that he didn’t slant too femme. He was . . . beautiful? Darren was about as straight as they come, but he could recognize when a man was good looking, and Sol was a poster child for classic male beauty. He knew how to package himself, too, in suits and shiny shoes and a tie with a fleur-de-lis tie tack. He even had a perfect shell of coordinating handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket of his suit coat, making Darren think the dude had just stepped off the pages of a Brioni ad.

  Snappy dresser, this one.

  “Wow,” Rain said, her voice high and raspy.

  It took Darren a moment to realize she’d said it to him. He glanced down. She was staring at him, mouth agape. She kept staring, too, giving him a thorough once-over like she was appreciating a particularly fine piece of horseflesh she wanted to buy.

  Darren quirked a brow. “Hmm?”

  Sol giggled. “I do believe that’s kitten’s way of saying you’re revoltingly good looking, and I have to second the motion. Madeline, I’d applaud your choice in men, but I don’t want Darren to feel objectified.”

  “That’s big of you, dove. Rain! Hello. Kiss, kiss. Good to see you again.” Madeline swooped down to kiss Rain’s cheek. Rain looked startled at first, like she was about to be aerially assaulted by a pterodactyl, but she snapped to at the last second and offered Maddy similar kisses, a yipping Corgi puppy writhing between their bodies. Maddy stooped to go nose to nose with the black, tan, and white fluff ball. “So this is what you meant by a new baby. It’s so hairy. And adorable.”

  “Her name’s Doodle,” Rain offered.

  “Doodle?” Maddy blinked over at Darren and grinned. “Doodle!”

  “Kitten was eating Cheez Doodles in bed when we decided to get a friend for Freckles—that’s the adult Corgi. It seemed only natural to call her Doodle. My God it’s humid out here. Why don’t we head back to the hotel? I texted Vaughan to let him know we’ll meet later to discuss security things. Lorelai!”

  A tall woman in a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, tight black pants, black sneakers, and reflective black sunglasses walked around from the driver’s side. She was broad through the shoulders and had a plethora of tattoos—on her neck, forearms, and down over her wrists. She also had teal hair she’d tied back in a ponytail. She motioned Maddy and Darren into the car, and they squeezed inside, Darren manspreading on the bench because the limo could fit eight and there’d be only four. Well, six including the Corgis, but he was pretty sure he’d eaten a burger bigger than the puppy not a week ago.

  Rain and Sol piled in, the luggage was loaded into the trunk, and they were off, leaving the dock, a black car with tinted windows following behind. Darren assumed it was Patrice, Julio, and more security, and it made him feel better; being out in the open, being on land wasn’t the comfort it should have been, even if they were in New Orleans and not Dallas.

  It’s only a handful of hours away by car. Kelly could have gotten here fast if . . .

  Don’t think like that.

  Darren stared out the window at the passing scenery, his fingers twined with Maddy’s, willing the thought spiral away. Sol, Rain, and Maddy were chattering, but he paid more attention to his surroundings than to the people. The last time he’d visited New Orleans had been a decade ago. Mardi Gras had seen too many people fitting into too little space. He’d waded through a sea of the drunk, the high, and the stupid, the chaos making it impossible to enjoy himself, but the closer the limo got to the French Quarter, the more his eye for art kicked in. Off-season, with a bright sun, quiet streets, and in good company, it was beautiful. The old architecture was painted pretty colors—pastels a lot of the time, with tall windows and taller shutters in coordinating colors. The greenery was vibrant, the window boxes full to the brim with blooms. There were flashing lights in store windows and street performers playing music or posing as human statues near Jackson Square. The wrought-iron fences lining the terraces were topped with intricate whorls and designs. Every once in a while, when the car slowed, he caught a glimpse of lush courtyards sandwiched between the buildings.

  Maddy gently nudged him. “How are you doing?”

  “Better.” He craned his head to nuzzle at her temple, enjoying the scent of lavender and . . . herbal stink. Girl stink. Good stink. “I think it was just too crowded the last time I was here.”

  “Understandable. Mardi Gras isn’t for the faint of heart, but I like it here the rest of the year. Best food in the country as far as I’m concerned.” Maddy waved her hand at the window. “We’ll have to go out to dinner tonight if we can get your security . . .” Maddy’s voice faltered. Darren glanced at her only to see her eyes huge and staring at Rain.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Sol,” she said in response.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “Is that what I think it is around Rain’s neck?”

  Darren hadn’t paid much attention to the sparkly bling before. Big money meant big gifts, and seeing a Barrington dripping in diamonds wasn’t a surprise. However, upon closer inspection, Arianna’s necklace wasn’t really a necklace after all, but a choker.

  That shouldn’t have been such a big deal, either.

  I don’t ge
t it.

  Sol’s smile couldn’t feasibly get any bigger. “Rain likes her collar. Don’t you, kitten?”

  Oh. OH.

  Now I get it.

  That’s dirty.

  Rain giggled and squished into Sol’s side, nodding. They shared a soft kiss before she lifted the smaller Corgi to Sol’s mouth so he could kiss it, too. Doodle returned his affection with a squirm and a spirited yap to be put down.

  “My goodness,” Maddy said. “I’d be scandalized, except I think I taught you everything you know. I hope you like it, Rain. It looks lovely on you. Suits you.”

  “It’s pink diamonds,” Rain replied, her fingers tracing the heart at the center. “He had it custom made for me. I don’t wear it all the time.”

  “Just most of the time?”

  Rain tittered, and Sol looked like the cat who ate the canary. Darren didn’t realize he had his own self-satisfied smirk until Maddy drew attention to it, her fingers tracing along the curve of his lips. “What’s this for? Are you jealous? Do you want a collar, too?”

  “No. It’s just . . . it’s kinda cute.”

  “Cute. You think it’s cute,” she said.

  “Well, yeah! She’s his kitten, she has a collar. It’s cute.”

  He grinned and everyone laughed. Darren lifted Maddy’s hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, and didn’t tell her that he’d packed a collar and a leash in the purple zip-up bag before they left.

  The thing was, he wouldn’t be the one wearing it.

  The Seaside was a beautiful hotel. Maddy referred to it as a wedding cake, and Darren agreed with that description. The clapboards were painted peach, the shutters white, and gas lanterns lined the front facade. The stone walkway up to the entryway doors were etched with fleurs-de-lis. Fountains flanked each side of the path, stone frogs spitting water onto lacquered lily pads and backlit by colorful bulbs.

  It was perfect, and he had plenty of time to study that perfection, because Julio insisted they stay in the limousine until he’d given the place a once-over. Meanwhile, Patrice checked in and asked Maddy what she wanted from her, but Maddy insisted Patrice should be free the rest of the day to enjoy herself.