by Tricia Lynne
Jesus, it’s hot in here. I fanned my neck and chest.
“Liquor! My favorite.” Kat started throwing back the rum.
“Those are meant to be enjoyed, darlin’, not slammed,” Matthias said with a cheeky grin.
“Sorry, baby. If it’s in a shot glass, I slam it.” Kat knocked the last one back and leaned into Jamie.
Matt met my eyes, dimples on full display. “That’s for you, baby doll.” He pushed the first shot forward.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mattie of the Cherub Curls?”
“The thought had occurred to me, cher, but I hear you’ve taken up with this one.” He tipped his head at Declan, who watched with an amused grin. “That’s Jameson, darlin’. I hear that’s your usual.”
I sipped, savored the burn, and then he pushed the next at me. I tipped the second glass to my lips. “Two Gingers.”
Mattie grinned, rubbed his chin. “Damn. A woman who knows her whiskey? Now, that does it for me.” He slid the next shot across the bar. “What does it for you, Avery? Do tattoos do it, cher? Or is it dimples?”
My face heated. “Cheeky bastard,” I touted. Buzzed, I may have been, but not drunk enough to answer him.
Mattie’s answering laugh shook his chest.
I stepped between Declan’s thighs and he wrapped an arm around my waist in a gesture that felt possessive.
I swept up the next shot with a smirk. Sipped. Savored. “Four Roses?”
Mattie showed me those dimples again, nodded. “Small batch.”
When I eyed Declan from the side, his green eyes lit with amusement; his thumb idly stroked the skin at my waist.
Matt pushed the last shot at me, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Maybe it’s both. Dimples and tattoos?” He looked to Declan and something passed between them, then his eyes shifted back to me. “Yeah, I think it might be both.”
I didn’t speak, didn’t sip. I slammed the last shot and heard Matthias’ throaty chuckle.
The last shot was the best. Smooth, with hints of dark spices mixed with sweet honey and warm vanilla. “What was that?”
“Bushmills 18. Once you’ve had it, it can be hard to resist.” Matt smirked, and I didn’t think for a second he was talking about whiskey.
Declan grinned, even as his hand tightened on my hip. I dragged a finger along his jaw. “Spicy and sweet. With a rough start, but a smooth finish. Reminds me of somebody.”
“Mmhmm.” Declan’s heated eyes traveled down my neck, lingering on my chest. “I think Kat wants you to dance.” He nodded toward her waving on the dance floor, then his hand dipped lower, brushing my ass as he turned his back to the bar. His other palm moved up my back as he slid his tongue between my lips.
Damn. The man didn’t do anything half-assed. His kiss was possessive and sexual and dark as our mouths tangled together.
As I pulled away, I caught Matthias watching me over Declan’s shoulder. “I enjoyed that, Mattie. Thanks.” I nodded at the empty glasses.
His smile spread lazily, and I realized how he chose to take the remark.
Shit, I was flustered. I went to dance with Kat who was grinding on Jamie as Timbaland’s “Bounce” vibrated through the room.
Matthias was lovely to look at in a boy-next-door kind of way, but I had a hunch he was more devil-in-disguise. He was all kinds of contradictions. Those angelic good looks were only skin deep and powdered sugarcoated with a hint of Cajun accent. Yet, he’d take a woman to bed and into her darkest fantasies without blinking an eye.
Yeah, the devil had dimples and a sweet, sweet smile.
Kat and I sandwiched Jamie between us and he ate it up, turning back and forth, even leaning me forward as Declan had the night before. I looked over at Declan and winked, taking in his answering grin.
When we returned to the bar, Kat immediately started sucking Jamie’s face, and Declan and Mattie were nowhere in sight.
Then, from behind me. “He’s into you, you know.”
Mattie. He wasn’t behind the bar anymore; he had one elbow leaning on the bar top and his lips quirked up in a playful smirk. The boy’s smile was infectious. “I noticed how he held on to you while I flirted with you. It’s not like him.”
“Where did he go?”
“Hittin’ the bathroom.”
I tilted my head and returned his grin. “Were you just trying to get a rise out of him?”
Mattie cocked his head, mimicking me. “I think you’re much more likely to get a rise out of him than I am.”
Cheeky, indeed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You have to ask me that? Huh. Declan said you don’t seem to know, but I didn’t believe him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You aren’t making any sense, Mattie.” Still, it was impossible not to like him with that easygoing charm.
“Mattie, huh?” He grinned, shrugged an enormous shoulder. “I guess Declan’s a big boy. If he gets the feels, it’s his own damn fault. Although, I can see why he might.”
I blushed, and although I was confused at his meaning, I was seriously enjoying the exchange and decided to unsettle him a bit. “Don’t you ever risk it, Mattie?”
With brows knitted together, he paused a moment and grew more serious. “No, I don’t. I’d imagine, though, if I did, she’d be like you. But you’re off limits now, aren’t you?”
“You barely know me.”
His face turned dark and his sweet Southern charm slipped out of place. “You barely know Declan. But I know you, cher. I know all I need to.”
The more we talked, the more I was beginning to see through the disguise, but it wasn’t the devil on the other side. There were shadows and darkness, but also someone trying to hide behind the charm and looks. Someone who reminded me of myself. Matt’s flirting was fun for me, but I was drawn to him in a way that had nothing to do with attraction, and everything to do with wanting to be his friend.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, darlin’, because just the look of you would pull my focus, but it has little to do with that. And if I’d gotten to you before Declan had? Yeah, how damn cute you are would’ve been the whipped cream on my sundae.” I felt my cheeks heat again and Mattie answered with a grin. “It’s that blush right there, Avery. That’s all I’d need to know.”
Matt brushed a finger over my cheek as if he could smooth away the color and I jolted in surprise and slipped, but he caught me below the shoulders and held me steady. Hands on his forearms, there was only a sliver of air between us. I lifted my eyes to find his grin gone and his eyes locked on my mouth.
“Be careful with that first step down the rabbit hole, cher. It’s a long way down.” With that, he sauntered away.
As I watched him go, another set of strong arms wrapped around my waist and I was enveloped in Declan’s spicy scent. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Tell me, why do I get the feeling that that boy is no Southern gentleman?”
“Good instincts, sweetness. Very good instincts.”
Chapter 16
It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it, as we stood outside a crumbling cement wall. The moon was high and bright over the pale washes of stone, lending an eerie glow to the towering mausoleums and crumbling tombs on the other side. Next to the locked gate, a plaque affixed to the cement read “St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.”
This was my surprise?
Kat said I had to see this cemetery under the moonlight and all three of my accomplices had broken in before. It was some kind of rite of passage. It sounded like bullshit to me. Bullshit that could get me arrested. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to see the cemeteries while we were in NOLA, but I figured it would be during the day, while they were open, and we weren’t about to commit B and E.
Declan fished in his wallet and came out with something that look
ed like a long pin on a key ring. Sliding it into the lock, he popped it open with as soft click, his smile a mile wide. The gate opened with a rusty, but muted, creek and we slipped inside as stealthily as two tipsy women and two large men could. Jamie shut the gate behind us and we quickly disappeared down a path between the rows of crypts.
The cemetery was eerily beautiful at night, all white stone and marble bathed in bright moonlight. Some crypts looked brand new; others were ancient and run-down. Massive stone angels, crosses, and obelisks adorned nicer plots; others were simple aboveground tombs with markers so worn with age and element that they were impossible to read by moonlight. Small gates marked the entrances to some, while others held vases with flowers in various stages of decay. A few crypts were overgrown with weeds, no one left in the bloodline to tend them, and many had Mardi Gras beads hanging from dormers, catching the moon’s glow.
Kat and Jamie led the way. Declan took my hand as we walked with gravel crunching underfoot. The cemetery wasn’t creepy. It was lovely and sentimental—all those families—generation after generation, who chose to remain together in death. I could almost hear the echo of voices of those who visited their dead, needing to be near to those they once loved and cherished, likely still did.
We were looking for a specific tomb. I had read enough in the hotel pamphlets to know that Marie Laveau’s crypt was in this cemetery so I wasn’t surprised when it came into view, and I could tell by the volume of decorations that it was the one. The decomposing structure was covered in hastily drawn X’s grouped into threes, beads hung everywhere, and liquor bottles littered the ground at the foot. There were no huge statues on this crypt; it didn’t even contain an engraving of her name. It was simple, except for the adornments left by visitors.
We’d stopped at a liquor store on the way and the guys had picked up the supplies. Kat took the bag from Jamie and started pulling out the contents. She set up four votive candles along the structure’s cracked cement foundation and produced a handful of beads from the bag. The last item was the liquor: a bottle of Cruzan Single Barrel Dark Rum.
As she went about handing us each beads, Kat explained that Marie Laveau was the six times great-grandmother of Geneviève Lafitte, the chef at Grand’Mère. Kat had called her when she’d decided to bring me here and Gen told her that there’s etiquette involved in asking the Voodoo Queen to grant a wish. She said, though we could ask whatever our hearts desired, it would be up to Grand’Mère if the wish was worthy of granting, and only if the offerings were good enough to rouse her.
Gen gave Kat very specific instructions, and even if I had thought it was a complete load of bullshit, which I didn’t—it felt as if our actions held weight here—Kat believed very much. Even I could see that magic blanketed this city like a thick fog on a warm bayou. Declan looked to be taking it seriously, as well. Of course, nobody did superstition like the Irish. No, I wasn’t surprised at Declan’s reverie for the dead and their magic.
Jamie was entranced, though more by Kat’s moonlit grace than voodoo and graveyards, but nonetheless, he was under a spell, unable to focus on anything but Kat’s precise and considered movements. Lust swirled in Jamie’s cool blue eyes, but they held something else, too. Torment. His face was that of a man who’d come to a reluctant realization that he was adamantly trying to deny. Jamie was an easygoing, clownish sort who never took himself too seriously. But now his face showed disbelief, anguish, and anger, all at once. It reminded me of that first night we had seen him playing guitar.
I chanced a look at Declan as Kat bent to light a candle. He was watching Jamie, too. I nudged his elbow and he glanced at me, nodded.
Kat twined her beads around the candle she’d lit, and then produced her favorite Chanel lipstick from the pocket of her skirt and used it to draw “XXX” on the door of the tomb. She stood silent, eyes closed, hand splayed wide over the marks, and then she turned to Jamie, handing him the lipstick.
Shadows still haunted his eyes. What did he wish for? The look on his face said it all. Jamie wanted Kat. It was that simple. And Kat? Time maybe? With her mom—something she could never get back. What about Declan? Peace from his conscience? His father to let him back in? Maybe all he wanted was a new ESP LTD.
I couldn’t decide for myself. Success, acceptance, recognition for my hard work? I wanted confidence, to feel desired, the nerve to be myself—but don’t most women want those things? Jamie lit his candle and wound his beads around it, and continued on to help ruin Kat’s lipstick.
Declan let go of my hand, stepped forward and lit his candle, wound his beads around the votive. Slowly, he stood from his crouch to draw the X’s and I thought I heard his voice whisper around my ears, though when I caught sight of his profile, when he placed his hand over his marks, his lips were still.
He moved back and handed me the lighter and lipstick. One word—my wish—solidified in my head.
I knelt to light my candle and the flame jumped to life. I wound my beads around the votive, drew my “XXX,” and laid my hand over the marks, closing my eyes and whispering the word with my soul while I absorbed the energy around me. The breeze and chirp of crickets, the moonlight above, and the stone cool under my hand. The tingling warmth that washed up my arm and spread through my chest. Even the breath in my lungs. Letting my hand fall away, I returned to my spot where Declan took it up again.
Kat opened the rum and tilted the bottle to her lips. She took deep swallows that made her eyes water. She passed the bottle to Jamie. He took two long pulls and exhaled. The bottle went past me and Declan took his turn while I watched, fascinated by the movement of his throat, the powerful line of his jaw, the arch of his neck. He handed me the bottle with eyes aglow in the moonlight and a cocky grin that said he knew I’d been staring.
I took my pulls. The rum burned its way through me, and unbidden, I stepped to the foot of the tomb pouring out the rest against the slab. When it hit the stone, the candle flames leapt up eerily near my knees, forcing me to jump back. Then, like magic, the flames died away in unison, leaving four wisps of identically curled smoke outlined by moonlight.
I placed the empty bottle at the foot of the crypt, and then wound my hand through Declan’s while Jamie held Kat’s. Feeling compelled to complete the link, I slipped a hand into Jamie’s and he squeezed it gently in his palm.
We stood like that, looking at all the offerings—ticket stubs and bottles of liquor, photos and beads, jewelry, hair ribbons, and small bags called gris-gris bags which were full of good luck charms. Little treasures were strewn everywhere. After the space of several moments, Jamie let go, disappearing down the crushed-stone path with Kat in tow.
Declan turned me with a tug and took my face in calloused palms as he pressed against me. Our lips met and our bodies aligned; he pushed his tongue inside my mouth hot and hard, tangling with mine, heated and demanding. He sucked and nipped, forcing me to bow back while his hands anchored my hips in place. Then we were moving over the gravel, into a patch of soft grass around the side of the tomb, my back running up against stone.
It felt right, what we were doing, compelling even. Like the ritual wasn’t complete until our bodies came together under the bright New Orleans moon. It wasn’t desecration we were after, but a kind of pagan sanctification. Body and soul worshipping the power around us, worshipping at the altar of each other, becoming the most critical piece of both ritual and sacrifice.
Hard stone scraped against my shoulders as Declan turned my jaw to the side, licking a sizzling trail from collarbone to ear and biting hard enough to mark my skin. I shuddered, my body hot and wet, craving what he could give me as I arched away from the wall to rub against him.
His eyes didn’t waver from mine as he forced my wrists over my head, pinned them in one hand. The other slid under my tank top and over my stomach to shove my bra above my breasts. He tugged at the sensitive bead of my nipple, rolling it between fi
nger and thumb, and pure lust welled in me. A direct line between his touch and my sex.
Declan’s hungry mouth descended; his tongue swirled around the stiff peak and I pushed into it, trying to tug my hands free. I needed to touch him, to feel his skin against my palms. But he tightened his grip, his free hand skimming my ribs and around to cup my ass.
He leaned his weight into me, grinding his erection against my hip. “Fuck, Avery. How do you do this to me?”
“I want to touch you,” I hissed, tugged at my hands, but he wouldn’t relent. In a quick lunge, I bit out, capturing his bottom lip with the sharp edge of my teeth, and I tasted the coppery tang of blood as I sucked his lip between my own. “I need you inside me.”
He looked up at my arms and let them go, keeping me pinned with his look alone as a wash of moonlight cut across his face. Declan’s face always had a fierceness to it, but in this light, it was downright unforgiving, angles sharper and shading deeper, as light and shadows played over his skin.
Two different men looked back at me. The man Declan tried to be, and the man he was. The angel and the demon. The light and dark. Warring for control of one man.
Unfastening his belt and button, he unzipped his fly and his cock sprang free. I don’t think the man owned a pair of underwear. “On your knees. You’re gonna wrap that hot little mouth around my cock,” he grated, face harsh and body tense.
The demon, then.
I dropped my arms and my back scraped stone as I slid into a squat. Declan moved toward me, gripping his shaft at the base. I gave a cursory lick over the tip, swiped away the bead of moisture, salty and dark, so primal and male.
“Jesus,” he grated.
I swirled my tongue around the rim, flicked the sensitive underside, traced the veins standing tall on the surface. His skin was the softest satin as I slowly pulled him to the back of my throat before bringing him out to the tip again. Abdomen corded with strain, he hissed through gritted teeth; his shaft pulsed with every slide between my lips. I wrapped my hand around him, squeezed. Hauled him to me as I took him deep with powerful suction.