The King of Bourbon Street

by Thea de Salle

  “She’s good,” Alex conceded, sounding slightly more human. “I’ll have her get in touch with you.”

  “Do that. And the next time you go to church, perhaps you should consider matters of wrath. Or maybe take kickboxing. I don’t know, Alex. Do something about your temper. It’s going to give you an aneurysm one of these days. Or a heart attack.”

  Alex hung up on him, which was probably for the best, because Sol was only going to give him more grief for being upset, which would twist Alex’s boxers into an even tighter wad and eventually, Alex would explode. Alex was a large man, and an Alex-sized explosion would probably level the Dallas hotel.

  “Problems?” Cylan asked.

  Sol eyed him through splayed fingers. “You think?”

  “What can I do to help?”

  Before Sol could answer, his phone vibrated again.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! What now?” Dora. Front desk. It was probably nothing. Hell, it was likely nothing, and yet his stomach clenched and his temples started to throb like it was everything. “Yes?” He sounded much calmer than he felt.

  “Drew Andrews is here from th—”

  “Tell him to come back later,” he said, but Dora was undeterred.

  “He says he’s here from the Flood Protection Authority. He’s the new project manager on the levee board and he wanted to talk to you about emergency city protocols. He says it has something to do with city infrastructure and that you might want to contact your lawyer. I’ve already notified Brutus.”

  She’s coming after my hotels.

  She’s coming after me.

  Fuck you, Elise.

  “I’ll get dressed. Get him situated in my office.”

  He tossed the phone onto the desk and stared at it like it had sprouted tentacles and a fanged, acid-spewing mouth. Cylan snagged it.

  “I’ll take the rest of your calls,” Cylan said. “Dora can contact Najmah and tell her what to do about the safety inspection. I’ll write up the official statement for Chicago while you deal with that.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Sol glanced at the closed office door. “I have to tell Rain something. She’s waiting for me.”

  “Send her out with Vaughan. He’s capable of distracting her. She’ll understand that you have to work.”

  “It’s why I’m working that’s the problem.”

  “You can’t shield her from it,” Cylan said quietly. “I know you want to, but she’s an adult. Treat her like one. Tell her. Maybe she can make a call or two and make a difference.”

  “You’re right. I know you are.”

  I just hate that you are.

  I don’t want to upset her.

  Sol’s phone began to ring again. He eyed it, but Cylan jerked it out of his reach and answered it in his stead. “Annalea. It’s Cylan. How are you?”

  San Diego calling.

  She’s going to hit all twelve at once.

  Sol couldn’t listen. He probably should have, he knew, and yet he left the call to Cylan’s tender mercies so he could get dressed and handle the problem shadowing his own doorstep.

  “Kitten,” Sol said, returning to the bedroom. She was naked on the bed, belly down, a magazine open before her. Her hair was a tangle of bouncy, fat curls dangling over her right shoulder. Her cleavage looked deep enough for him to dive into. Freckles lounged beside her, stretched out long, his paws pushing at her hip. He peered at Sol upside down and squirmed.

  “Hi. Is everything okay?”

  “No, not exactly.” Sol darted into the closet to dress. This wasn’t a full-suit affair—there was no time. “My hotels are being inconvenienced, and while each of these incidents on their own are not alarming, so many inconveniences at once suggests something is amiss. Do you understand?”

  Her face fell.

  Oh, she understands.

  Fucking Elise.

  “Yes.” Her voice was small. Sol cringed as he pulled on a black polo shirt.

  I can’t soothe her. I don’t have time.

  “We’ll fix it. Why don’t you call Vaughan and see some sights? I’m not sure how long I’ll be working, but I promise I’ll join you just as soon as I’m finished.” He pulled on slacks and crossed the room to kiss to her head. The fact that it was bowed low—that she couldn’t stop looking at her hands—told him everything he needed to know.

  They can wait another damned minute.

  He sat on the corner of the bed and gathered her close, his face pressing against her gently perfumed neck. Vanilla. Cinnamon. A hint of lemon from her shampoo.

  “It’ll be fine, kitten. She’s trying to inconvenience me, and it’s working, but she hasn’t burned the building down, hmm? We have a capable team—”

  Somewhat capable. Nash, don’t talk, and Alex don’t leave your room until you’re human again, but beyond that . . .

  “—and will weather the storm. I promise. I’ll see you soon, yes?”

  “All right,” she whispered. “I’ll call Richard and see what he can do.”

  She was such a puddle of mope. All he wanted to do was cover her with kisses until she beamed with sunshine again.

  But I can’t right now.

  I can’t.

  “I have to go,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  RAIN SAT ON the ferry traveling back from the Audubon Zoo, watching the Mississippi flow by, an afternoon breeze stirring the hair by her shoulders. Vaughan manspread on the bench across from her, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses on to protect his eyes from the insistent fireball blazing down from above. He’d suggested furry animals and elephants as a way to distract her from their mother’s awfulness, and it had worked awhile, but by the time they got to the snake house with its enormous albino slither monster, Rain had mentally checked out.

  I hope Sol’s okay.

  “You’re distracted,” Vaughan commented.

  “I’m worried about Sol.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Rain eyed her cell. No texts or calls from Richard, whom she’d contacted immediately about the Mama problem. He’d asked for details but she didn’t have any, Sol keeping her shielded from the bulk of it, but Richard insisted that was fine, he had his ways of finding out. There were no messages from Sol, either, because he was busy fixing her problems, and really, they were Rain’s problems when she boiled everything down to bare parts. If she hadn’t upset her mother, Sol wouldn’t be under attack. Richard wouldn’t be maneuvering the Mama gauntlet, nor would he be working extra hard to ensure the Harwood merger stayed copacetic. Vaughan wouldn’t have punched a guy and be awaiting a court date.

  Everyone’s inconvenienced because of me.

  “Don’t do that,” Vaughan said.

  “Don’t do what?”

  The ferry aligned itself with the dock, the dockworkers tethering the massive vessel while the gangplank lowered so the tourists could disembark. Luckily, no press greeted them; Vaughan had been crafty about their departure from The Seaside. They’d used the service door outside Gustav’s kitchen. Lorelai had been waiting on the curb for them, just like she awaited them on the curb for pickup then. She stood next to the black BMW in her pressed slacks, black jacket, white shirt, and shiny boots. She was dressed like one of the agents from X-Files, except she’d dyed her long hair a dark teal, had a diamond stud in her nose, and wore reddish-purple lipstick that beautifully complemented her tan skin.

  “Blame yourself. I know how you are.” As they neared the car, Vaughan grinned at the driver, flashing top and bottom wolf teeth. “Lore, looking good.”

  “Answer’s still no.” She motioned him into the backseat.

  “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Having fun doing it, too.”

  Rain climbed in and peered out the tinted windows, paying little mind to
her brother bantering with the driver. It wasn’t until Lore let loose with a cheerfully delivered string of “No. Nope. Never and move on,” that Vaughan gave up and got in so Lore could lock them away.

  As soon as Lore climbed into the driver’s seat, she put up the privacy window. Rain wasn’t sure if that was for their benefit or Lore’s.

  “You’re relentless,” Rain said affectionately.

  “I’m an opportunist. I bet she has tattoos. I like tattoos.”

  “You like anything with a pulse.”

  “True. But I like girls with pulses and tattoos best.”

  Rain rolled her eyes and slumped into his side. Vaughan’s arm slid over her shoulders and he hauled her close. “Chin up, droplet. You’ve got a new boyfriend who adores you, Richard’s probably beating Mom to death with a broom handle as we speak, and you never have to deal with Harwood again if you don’t want to. All net gains, yeah?”

  “I suppose. But everyone’s unhappy in the meanwhile,” Rain replied.

  “Sure, but it’ll get better. It always does.”

  “Maybe.”

  But maybe not.

  She didn’t say as much because she didn’t want to be a downer. They drove away from the ferry and onto the main strip, past Jax Brewery, then took a left and then a right to get to The Seaside’s back entrance on Chartres. Unfortunately, paparazzi had clued into their tactic. When Lore stopped the car to let them out, a half dozen reporters snapped photos, the blinding lights and shouted questions dizzying.

  Lore threw an elbow at a too-close reporter who oomphed and staggered back. Vaughan pushed outside to make way, offering Rain a hand. She bumbled behind him, her vision swimming, a barrage of voices pummeling her with questions about Sol and her mother and Harwood as the Barrington siblings shoved their way toward the kitchen door. It was disorienting, but the press was always disorienting. The difference was, at home, she traveled with security and rarely did the photographers get too close.

  In New Orleans there was only Vaughan or Sol, and if Vaughan went home as he inevitably would at some point . . .

  I’ll be alone with Sol.

  Will that be enough to justify the shitshow Mother’s about to put me through?

  Will it be worth it if she disowns me?

  Don’t think about that now.

  Safe inside Gustav’s kitchen, Vaughan shoved a hand out between the door and the frame to wag his middle finger at the press. Rain whacked him on the elbow and he allowed the door to close, flashing her an unrepentant smile.

  “Don’t be rude,” she said.

  “But I’m so good at it.”

  “No argument there.”

  They walked through the hall and toward the elevator. Dora eyeballed them as they approached the front desk.

  “Mr. DuMont finished his meetings,” she announced. “He’s upstairs.”

  Rain nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” Dora picked up the phone to make a call, completely ignoring Vaughan’s leering smile.

  “She’s cute,” he said as he slipped into the elevator beside Rain. “You’re cute, Dora,” he shouted before the doors closed him in.

  Dora ignored him.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She’s feral.” Rain paused. “Okay, that’s not very nice. She’s very serious.”

  “Feral. Serious. Same thing. Either way, I like my arms attached to my torso, thank you.” Rain swiped her card for the penthouse, Vaughan pressed three for his third-floor suite. “I think I’m going to hit the pool for a while. If you and Sol get bored, I’ll be the one with all the abs and a bottle of tequila.”

  “Maybe later? I’ll text your abs.”

  “Sure you will, droplet.” He tousled her hair like she was still seven years old and exited the elevator, throwing her a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered to his room. The elevator rose to the top floor and deposited her in the nice hallway with the glass-enclosed art and antique furnishings. Rain stared at the closed door of Sol’s suite, apprehensive about going inside.

  What if he’s mad?

  What if he’s sad?

  Okay, Dr. Seuss.

  She shook her head and approached, knocking before she slid her key card into the lock. Walking inside revealed the couch and the back of Sol’s head. His body was slumped to the side, his chin balanced in his palm. At his elbow was a bottle of whiskey that was only half empty. Whether that’d been the case before he started drinking, she didn’t know.

  “Hello?” She closed the door.

  “Kitten.” His voice was flat. “You don’t have to knock. You live here as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Oh. I . . . all right. Is everything okay?”

  “How was your day?” he asked in return.

  He avoided the question.

  “I went to the zoo with Vaughan. We were going to go see the otters at the aquarium, too, but I said another time.” She set her purse on the end table and walked around the couch. The minute she turned the corner, his eyes were on her. Green. Fixed. Intense. He looked exhausted and upset but he was so very aware of her. When she rubbed her hand over her pink sweater to smooth the wrinkles, he followed the motion and licked his lips before jerking his gaze away.

  “You two should go out to dinner tonight. I can get you in anywhere. Just tell me what you’re in the mood for.”

  “Do you want to come along?”

  Sol shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m bad company right now.”

  “Oh, Sol.” Rain approached, but he held up his hand as if to ward off a blow. She stopped three feet short of him, her stomach sinking to her knees. To keep herself from getting too anxious, she picked up the magazines on his coffee table and arranged the titles alphabetically, and then by month. “What can I do? It’s my fault. All of it. I . . .”

  “Leave them, kitten. And no, it’s not your fault. It’s your mother’s and we’re handling it. She knows how to pick her spots, I’ll give her that. We’ll reconcile it, we’re not going to founder, but I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just a lot for one day and I’ve had one too many drinks.”

  She put the magazines down and patted them into a perfect rectangle. He looked so miserable, his eyes haunted, his shoulders tense. When he lifted his glass to his lips, his grasp was so tight his knuckles were white.

  He’s suffering.

  It’s not fair.

  “I want to help,” she whispered.

  “I know you do, and believe me, I’d like your help very much. It’s just . . .” He paused to eye his whiskey, his free hand skimming down his face and covering his mouth. “I don’t trust myself right now, and I’d never compromise what we have. You. You’re lovely. Wonderful. Worth every annoying moment I’ll spend dealing with your mother. I think about you—have been thinking about you—all day. You’re all I want, and that means I should wait to indulge until I’m sure I’m in control of all my faculties.”

  “You’d never hurt me,” she said, and she believed it. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her when they were curled around each other. It was soft and loving and tender, like she was his most precious discovery. Sure, the sex was frantic at times, but she enjoyed every second of it.

  Every hot, lascivious second. With the mouth and fingers and fucking and stuff.

  “Yes, I would.” He paused. “I might hurt you, kitten, that’s the point. And I’d like it.”

  Oh.

  Oh, he means . . .

  Oh.

  It wasn’t much of a decision. She likely should have been more cautious after he’d confessed to not being in complete control, but there was no hesitation all the same. No sense of self-preservation. Nothing other than a blind belief that whatever happened between them, she’d be safe and happy and loved when they were through.

  She pulled off her sweater and threw it on the couch. That
got his attention. The glint in his eye, the way his whiskey glass suspended in midair, halfway between table and his mouth, lent her some pause, but she sucked in a breath and unbuttoned her blouse, fumbling with the top button. Sol hissed and set the drink aside, crossing his legs, his hands folding on his knee.

  “Slower. Do it slow, if you’re going to do it.”

  There was no arguing with that tone, not that she wanted to. She took her time with the second button, her face going hot as her lace bra became visible in the widening V of her neckline. The third button slipped through the loop, revealing the top of her stomach. The fourth, her belly button. She glanced up. Sol’s face was impassive, devoid of expression, but his eyes . . .

  Oh, those eyes.

  Staring. Demanding.

  She shivered with the fifth button. Her hands trembled by the sixth. She shouldered off the blouse and threw it on the couch. Sol twirled a finger in response.

  “Turn, face away from me. Take off your skirt.”

  She reached for the hook-and-eye latch at the waist and unfastened it. She started at the zipper, too, but Sol barked, “Take your time, pet. Slowly.”

  Slowly. Right.

  And so she inched it down, tension building in the pit of her stomach, her weight shifting between her feet, ass swaying with the movement. Down the skirt went, easing past her ample hips before plummeting to the floor and exposing the panties coordinated to the bra. White lace all over save for a tiny strip of fabric at the crotch, which had ridden up over the course of the day and tucked itself neatly between the lips of her pussy.

  “Now pull your panties down. Not all the way. Just above your knees.”

  Arianna was glad he couldn’t see her mortified expression as her thumbs hooked in the sides of her underwear. Slow, she remembered, and she let the reveal happen, her ass on display, exposed, for him. She spread her legs so the panties hovered midthigh.

  “Good. Here. Across my lap.”

  The walk was ungainly because she had to maintain her hold on the underwear, instinctively knowing if they plunged, whatever awaited her over Sol’s knees would be infinitely less bearable. She lay across long legs covered in fine linen. Sol’s hand traveled from one cheek to the other. She sucked in a breath and held it, anticipating a heavy strike on her fat ass, but it was a caress and nothing more.