by Tricia Lynne
“Welcome to The Crescent.” The receptionist stood behind a counter crafted of thousands of tiny white tiles, a soft glow emanating from within. Beyond it were immense, barnwood bookshelves I could see through that doubled as a divider between the lobby and the bar. An extension of the lobby, the bar was full of ambient-lit glass mixed with reclaimed wood and Prohibition-style liquor bottles where people sat and sipped and flirted.
We finished up the paperwork and moved to await a bellhop near a pair of hammered aluminum elevator doors and I glanced around at the people milling about. I felt like a Thomas Kinkade poster in a room full of Salvador Dali originals. “Kat, this place is so chic.”
“Don’t you like it? An old grad school friend told me it’s the new it hotel in The Quarter.”
“No, it’s beautiful—so stylishhhit….” The words ran together as someone ran into me from behind, launching me forward into Katia and rocking her back on her heels. What the fuck? I righted, wincing at a stab of pain in my ankle.
My little black heart skipped a beat as the singsong voice in my head caroled someone’s gonna get a new asshole. “Hey, why don’t you watch where in the fu—”
“Shit. Are you all right?”
I heard him before I saw him. His deep bass voice was rough and grainy, scoured by sandpaper and drug over hot coals. Then I got a look at him and all conscious thought fled.
Ho. Ly. Shit.
He was ridiculously hot. Taller than Kat’s six feet, making me look up to meet his eyes. Long black lashes framed a hooded gaze as green as Irish moss. A forehead lined with concern gave way to what was likely a perfect nose before whatever street brawl had broken it. A long scar cut through a thick slash of a black brow; it missed the eyelid but resumed the harsh line high on the outside of his cheekbone and across to his jaw.
“Uhn.” My breath rushed out in a heavy exhale that had nothing to do with the hit.
“I didn’t see you. You okay?” The concern in his voice was tinged with a hint of amusement, and that whiskey-worn timbre and the calloused hands on my arms were more than a little distracting. So was the wide expanse of black T-shirt in my eyeline. His chest looked firm as it heaved with the shallow breathing of an adrenaline spike. My eyes traveled back up to his face and a cocky grin turned up one corner of his lips. Pink, full lips—with that pouty bow women paid good money for.
He’d caught me checking him out. Figured he knew how hot he was. Dick.
That did it. My brain finally fired up. “Yeah, I’ll live. Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going?” I snapped, glancing at the hand on my arm. Heavy black tattoos crept up tanned forearms and over the back of his hand, and a silver ring, Celtic knot style, wound around his thumb. Both hands dropped away, leaving hypersensitive skin behind, and I immediately regretted the look.
“Yeah.” He scratched the black stubble on his head as those impossibly green eyes danced under the lobby lights. “Guess I deserve that. I was walking backward, waving at someone—not too bright.”
When a bead of sweat ran between my shoulder blades, I flashed on an image of his mouth following the same path down my spine. My brows drew together; I was annoyed with my body’s reaction. “Perhaps you should give some thought to the other people that inhabit the planet, asshole.”
“What? I uh—” He stepped back, eyes widened.
I felt a smaller, softer hand on my arm. Kat telling me to calm down, but God, I wanted to wipe that cocky smirk off his face, the one that said he thought he could get away with anything because he was hot and knew it.
“Tell me, did you just use your entire vocabulary in that last sentence? Because you won’t get by on your looks forever, beefcake,” I fired off lightning quick.
But the verbal nut-shot didn’t have the desired effect on this guy.
“Beefcake?” Instead, his eyes lit up; his half grin a full panty-dropper as he effectively sidestepped my black temper and quick mouth. “Did I hurt you? Are you injured?” he asked, unruffled.
Kat squeezed my arm and I took inventory of his body language. Sincere, though he’d backed up to give me some space, and most definitely amused. He rubbed a hand over his five o’clock shadow, trying to hide the smirk.
I blew out a breath and tried to let go of my pissy attitude. “No, I’m fine.”
He eyed my boobs. Typical.
“Hey, that’s a great shirt. You ever see them in concert?” He nodded at my chest.
I lightened up instantly. Flogging Molly was my favorite band and I had worn my “Swagger” tour T-shirt from their stop in Dallas. It was a bit too small up top, but I couldn’t resist when I’d seen them live last year. They weren’t exactly mainstream top forties and, clearly picking up on my attitude adjustment, his cocky smirk turned into a full-on smile. And it was mesmerizing.
“Yeah.” I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “I saw the Saint Patrick’s show last year in Dallas. They brought the house down.”
“They do a helluva St. Paddy’s Day show. They’re good people, too. I wouldn’t have taken you for a Celtic rock fan, though.” He swiped his hand over his scalp back to front.
My dad was Irish American, but I took after my mother. Nothing about my appearance screamed Irish chick. “Not many do,” I replied as I shifted my weight and winced at the stab of pain that traveled around my ankle.
“You all right, Avery?” Kat rounded my side. She’d been conspicuously quiet thus far.
“Shit. I did hurt you.” Hot guy’s brows furrowed as his smile slipped away. Calloused hands covered my arms again and I jolted as a whipcrack of electricity rode down my spine and goose bumps raced over my shoulders.
Christ, I liked his hands on me.
“I think I twisted my ankle a bit is all.” I hoped to God he hadn’t seen the heat creeping over my cheeks.
He squatted down and felt around the joint; my nerve endings started to hum with enough current to light up The Quarter. When he brushed a thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of my ankle, heat washed through me and an ache kindled to life low in my abdomen. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, closed my eyes trying to get a grip.
“It doesn’t look bruised. Maybe a little swollen, though. I’m gonna lift your foot up.”
I lurched forward, grabbing his solid shoulders, and immediately had the urge to run my hands over their width, so broad and defined, warm and heavy under my palms. More heat, more ache, as I struggled with the impulse to run my fingers around to his nape and through the jet-black stubble shorn tight to his scalp.
Get a fucking grip, Avery.
“You should put some ice on it to be safe.” He set my foot down, looked up with piercing eyes, and a new rush of dirty images flooded my overactive imagination. Slowly, he stood, giving me time to regain my balance, and my fingers grazed over his chest.
I thought I heard an intake of breath, but I was too busy looking at the tiny nipples pearled against his shirt. “Um, thanks. Not for the sprain, for the advice.”
“You guys staying here?”
“Nope. We just like to hang out in lobbies hoping random guys will hit us up for a double team.”
Eyes wide, his mouth fell open before a grin stretched over his lush lips.
Kat snorted, tried to stifle a giggle.
“Yes, we’re staying here, and that was a joke. I don’t do my girlfriends.” I was babbling. Great.
“That’s…kind of a shame, but good to know.” There was a shocked sort of delight on his face. Something told me surprising this guy was no easy task. He looked like the kind of dude who had done it all and posted bail. “Avery, right? Let me take you to dinner to make up for this.” He nodded at my ankle.
WHAT? Oh, of course. He didn’t want a date. He just felt guilty. Because dude was fuck-all hot and waaaay out of my league. I couldn’t help the disappointment that swept through m
y stomach. But God that voice—I savored the sound of my name on his lips and tried not to show how it affected me.
“Thanks, umm…”
“Declan.”
“Thanks, Declan, but that’s not necessary. It was an accident and I shouldn’t have popped off so fast. Really, it’s no big deal.” I heard Kat actually “eek.” When I cut a glance her way, she was intently studying the leaves of the fake ficus next to us.
“C’mon. Let me take you to dinner, Avery. It’s the least I can do.” Head cocked to the side with a challenging grin pulling at his lips, he crossed thick arms over his chest and his shirt raised enough that I could see the tops of those muscles that really hot guys always had at their hips. The ones that point at their junk like the sign over the entrance to the roller coaster at Six Flags that said, “Come Ride the Texas Giant!”
My eyes closed with an extended blink and I bit the inside of my cheek as I tried to get a grip.
“No, really—” I started.
“Yes! She’d love to go!” Kat cut in, nearly squealing.
Declan slid her a quick wink, then his emerald green eyes danced with laughter as he met mine.
“We have a reservation this evening, remember?” I shot daggers at her with my eyes.
“Actually, this is perfect. I wanted to meet a grad school friend for dinner, but she was only free tonight. You guys can take the reservation instead.”
“Kat,” I warned through clenched teeth. I didn’t need this guy’s pity.
“When’s the reservation?” Declan asked her, but his eyes stayed on me.
“Seven at Grand’Mère. Do you know it?”
He whistled. “Yeah.”
I exhaled, met green eyes that held a hint of challenge. If I backed down now, I’d feel like a coward. My badass turned up then and started beating at the insides of my chest, demanding I meet his challenge.
Fuck it. “Yeah, why not?” The words slipped through my mouth without further thought.
“That works for me.” Declan glanced at my mouth.
“I’ll drop you off on my way, Avery.” Kat nailed Declan with a hard look, brandishing a threatening index finger. “You will make sure she gets back safe, right? We’ve got other plans tonight.”
“Yeah, no worries.” Declan’s eyes turned back to me with a wink. “I gotta run, but I’ll see you at seven. And take care of that ankle.” Walking backward, he kept his eyes on mine, hand brushing the top of his head. “Man, I do love a girl in Vans.” He hit me with that panty-dropper grin again. I glanced down at his feet. Old school, black with white laces. I couldn’t help the smile as he turned and strode through the door.
“What is your problem?” I wrestled my gaze away from his ass to look at Kat. “He was into you and you verbally squeezed his balls?”
I exhaled. I’d lashed out because I felt like I’d lost the upper hand whenever I tripped over my tongue. “Okay, I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. But into me? Not a chance. That man was sex on a stick, Kat. Flirting is probably his MO. You know, kinda like it’s yours.” I batted my eyelashes at her. “And I can’t believe you did that.”
“Oh, c’mon. He’s seriously into you, Avery.”
“Huh, he wants to apologize because he feels guilty, and I accepted because you want to see an old friend. Who are you meeting for dinner, by the way?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find someone.”
“Oh, you lying, little twat.”
Chapter 3
Opening the door to my room, I fell smack into the middle of Wonderland. It was every bit as chic as the lobby, done in black and white with violet and silver accents. A king-sized bed covered in fluffy white down and black accent pillows dominated the space, a shuttered window substituting for a headboard.
Cream-colored wisps of paint swirled in a singular circle over the black wall adjacent to the bed, reminding me of the halo of sunshine that surrounds the moon during a lunar eclipse. An aluminum nightstand held a sound system, and an aubergine wingback chair sat next to it, whimsical and cartoonish. The aluminum dresser and TV dominated the opposite wall with full-sized bottles of Maker’s Mark, Pedialyte, and Tylenol next to the coffee service. The bathroom was done in lipstick red subway tile with a white vessel sink on top of a black lacquer vanity. The backlit mirror had a tarot card etched in the bottom corner. The whole room looked like a good place for the Mad Hatter’s tea party.
I threw open the balcony doors, leaned against the railing as I took in the dark beauty of the city, from the intricate ironwork of the master smiths, to the buildings crumbling from age and element, the roofs of The Quarter silhouetted against the setting sun, and the haunting notes of a lone saxophone drifting on the evening breeze. The streets were beginning to draw out the early birds as Jackson Square slipped into shadow and I moved back inside to unpack.
As I pulled out the rumpled clothes Kat had added to my suitcase while she mumbled about beige bras, my mind wandered back to Declan. God, he might as well have walked around with a T-shirt on that said, “You know you wanna bang me.”
I had been a bitch, no doubt.
In college, guy after guy would walk right past me, ignoring me completely, to hit on my best friend and I’d become an unwilling wallflower. I began using my mouth as my defense mechanism against fading into the background and getting tongue-tied meant I lost my best protection. I felt like an idiot and I went on the attack, but it was knee-jerk—giving off that “go fuck yourself” vibe.
I’d had a lot of practice honing my defenses, too, with an extensive “asshole” highlight real. There was the guy in the engineering department sophomore year whose friends posted pictures of me leaving his room all over his My Space page with the caption, “Brandon Ropes a Stray Heifer.”
UT’s star first baseman that I’d tutored senior year. Ashton was smart, built, popular, and we’d become friends, hanging out and talking for hours at a time. Then one night he’d walked me home.
I stood at my door, fiddling with my keys.
“Do you want to come in?” I hoped my look conveyed what I had in mind wasn’t a beer and leftovers.
“Avery—”
“Ashton, I like you, okay? I thought maybe you felt the same about me?”
“Sweetheart, don’t get this confused. We are great friends; you’ve been amazing helping me make the grades for eligibility. And you really are pretty, in a Mia Tyler sorta way. I’m just more of a Gisele Bündchen guy—that’s not to say if you decided to drop forty or fifty, we couldn’t be fuckbuddies, ’cause I’d totally hit it then.”
I kneed him in the balls so hard he had to sit out his next game.
There were the guys who took me out just to grill me for info on Kat. The dude who, as he’d zipped his fly in my living room, told me, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a thick chick. I heard y’all were amazing lays. So, do you wanna hook-up ag—?” I shoved his ass out the door and threw his other shoe at him, hitting him in the eye.
The last one, though, Jason…It had been two years but was still a healing wound that I couldn’t stop picking at. Every time it scabbed over, I yanked it open, making the scar worse.
No. I can’t do this.
I had to let the wounds heal or I’d never move forward, never allow myself to feel like the sexy, confident woman I wanted to let out of the dark. We all had scars. They proved that you’d showed up for your life—that you’d persevered and came through stronger—but since Jason, I’d stopped showing up. And I was the first to admit that my walls were steep and my defense mechanism was razor sharp.
Declan didn’t back down, though, and didn’t seem put off by the shots I took at his ego. It was intriguing, if not annoying. I didn’t think he was interested in me like Kat did, but my body definitely reacted to him—traitorous bitch. His emerald green eyes were captivating, and that gravelly voice was sexy as h
ell. He was solid flesh, too. Not some bulging gym rat, but muscle that was hard and heavy. Honed by doing more than throwing weights around and grunting.
With the unpacking finished and my work emails answered, my mind made a beeline for the gutter as I flopped back on the bed, knees dangling over the edge. What was he holding in those low-slung pants? What would all that hard muscle and ink feel like under my fingertips? Or it feel like to bite down on the skin that connected shoulder to neck as he pushed between my thighs. I unzipped my jeans, started to slip my hand inside…
Ohmygod! My cellphone blared next to my head, scaring the shit out of me as the obnoxious bass of Skrillex’ “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites” followed.
Goddammit. I slapped the bed, looking for the thing. “What?” I yelled into it.
“Wait to get dressed until I come over later.”
“I’m a big girl, Kat. I can dress myself. Miraculously, I manage to do it every day without you.”
“What is up your ass? No, wait. It’s what’s not up your ass. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“My ass is exit only, thank you kindly.” I grinned, annoyance waning.
“See, that right there is the problem. You’re anal retentive, darling.”
Click.
* * *
—
After a quick shower, I toweled off and then palmed my breasts to dry them underneath and pushed them up to a more acceptable height. They were large and full—though a bit low—as were all big boobs made by God. Gravity sucked balls.
Letting my palms wander down my ribs and the curve of my waist, I then roamed my hands over my hips. They were too wide, as was my ass—I hated the few faint stretch marks that rounded the outside. And though I didn’t care to catch a glimpse of them in a mirror, I’d always enjoyed the feel of the swell of my hips under my palms. Why was it that what was pleasing to the eye and what pleased the touch were so often at odds with each other?