by Maria Luis
If he caught the wide-eyed look she sent Owen, he didn’t say anything. “No, just a few minutes.” She swallowed an ill-timed giggle. “I actually wanted to ask you a question. Okay, it’s two questions.”
His expression tensed, and Lizzie threw up a hand. “Nothing bad, I promise.”
“Just what every guy wants to hear,” Owen called out from the tables behind the bar. “For future reference, baby, don’t lead off with that.”
Her mistake.
But it really wasn’t bad. “Do you want to grab an early dinner maybe?”
“Oh, Jesus,” Gage muttered, slipping his hand over her jaw to angle her face for a kiss to her forehead, “trying to fatten me up before you slit my throat, are you?”
Her nose wrinkled. “That’s disgusting.”
“I have a morbid sense of humor.”
“No,” she drew out, pursing her lips, “I never would have guessed.”
“She’s a spitfire,” Owen said.
“Yeah, she is.” Gage’s dark eyes dropped to her mouth, and she could easily read the lust swirling there. The man was insatiable, it seemed, when it came to her. “All right, let’s do early dinner. We’ll grab some po’boys and head up to sit along the river.”
Against her will, her heart flipped over in her chest, and that same damn litany she’d been hearing started up again: him, him, him.
“So romantic,” she teased, a touch breathlessly.
His mouth stamped down over hers in a kiss that stole her breath. “Keep it between us, princess.”
“And me,” Owen griped. “Get out of here before I throw up. Y’all are sickening.”
Sickening, maybe, but so happy.
And for a girl who had a track record of dating douchebags, it felt good to be with a guy who really seemed to care about her. Even if they weren’t dating. And even if all they’d ever be was friends-with-benefits.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time they grabbed their po’boys—fried oyster for her and fried shrimp for him—and made their way up to the riverfront, the sun had already begun to set.
It felt . . . Gage stared down at Lizzie’s chocolate-brown hair, feeling a measure of panic settle in his stomach. Well, it was beginning to feel a lot like a date.
Like they were dating.
A relationship.
Couple-hood.
Fuck.
“Gage,” she said now, fussing with her sandwich bag, her purse, and the oversized jean jacket she’d thrown over one arm, “can you hold this a sec?”
She didn’t give him the chance to tell her no. A bright blue bag with a crazy number of straps was shoved against his chest as she set the sandwich bag on the bench and slipped into her jacket. “Blue’s a good color on you,” she teased, lips lifting in a soft smile. “Let me know if I should buy you one of your own.”
“I’m good.”
“In so many ways, too.” She threw her head back and laughed at her own innuendo, and no matter how much he knew distance was necessary, Gage couldn’t stop himself from setting a hand to her waist and claiming her lips for a kiss.
Her palms immediately came to rest on his chest, her mouth eagerly parting under his. What he’d intended to be a casual brush of the lips deepened. His tongue sought entry into her mouth, and she gave it without hesitation. Parting her lips, releasing a small moan when he tugged her closer. The damn purse kept him from dragging her flush against him.
As if sensing his frustration, she chuckled against his mouth and pulled back to murmur, “Poor Officer Harvey. That purse is like a modern-day chastity belt.”
She smelled like flowers. Sunshine.
Do you hear yourself, man?
Stepping back, he set her purse on the bench and sat down to the right of it. She took the spot to the left. A modern-day barrier wall was more like it. If she noticed his strained expression, she didn’t bring it up. With a little hum of happiness, she broke into her po’boy and took a massive bite off the end.
Her gaze soaked up the Mississippi River before them. The grassy levee, the ferry shepherding people from the French Quarter to Algiers, directly across from them. From where they sat, he could make out the church steeple of St. Mary’s, as well as Algiers City Hall. New Orleans’s Central Business District arched into the sky to their right, sunlight glancing off the windows.
“Have you ever taken one of those river cruises?” she asked without preamble, indicating with her sandwich to the historical steamboats which sat nearby in the water.
“Nah.” Unwrapping the wax paper from around his po’boy, he added, “Seems like something you do with family.”
Shit. Not what he’d intended to say at all. It practically begged her to ask a question, to poke around some, and those doors were locked tight. He opened his mouth, prepared to cover his ass, when she tromped right over his silence.
“Yeah, I can see that. Tourists, family, couples.” Her perpetual smile dimmed ever so slightly. “I’ve never done one either. Always looked like fun, though.”
His hands itched to smooth away the frown from between her brows, but that’d lead her on, right? Encourage the idea that they were anything more than casual sex. He felt like the worst kind of dick. Striving for nonchalance, he said, “If you want a boat ride, princess, you’re better off sailing on the lake. Wide open space, blue for as far as you can see.”
She turned her head to study him. “Have you been sailing before?”
Gage laughed. “Never, but it seems like something I’d enjoy. Sometimes I get tired of the grit of the city.”
“Seems like you might be in the wrong profession, then.” Her eyes sparkled as she tacked on, “I can’t imagine your job is all rainbows and unicorns.”
Only in his dreams. “No,” he said with a slow shake of his head, “it’s not. Furthest thing from it.”
“I know.” She bumped his shoulders with hers. “Big brother is on the job, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.”
She took another bite of her po’boy, and he did the same. “You know, he warned me about you.”
“Seems fitting, since he casually told me the other day that he’d slice off my dick if I hurt you.”
“Slice?”
“Yeah, slice. Told me he could go for a quick shot with his .22, but where’s the fun in making it all end quickly?” Gage shifted his body, uncomfortably remembering that joy of a conversation with Nathan Danvers two days ago. “Your brother has issues, in case you didn’t know.”
Her laughter was like music to his ears, husky and throaty and so many shades of sexy. “Tell me something I don’t know. In case you’re wondering, it doesn’t run in the family.” She leaned in as though imparting a big, bad secret. “I’m totally sane.”
Gage barked out laughter. “Lies.”
“What?” She pointed her po’boy at his chest. “Take that back.”
“Nuh-uh, princess, no can do.” He bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly, determined to ignore the warmth spreading in his chest. She was damned infectious. Her humor, that smile, the way she fidgeted with excitement. “Make another wish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve already hit three, if you recall. Don’t be a tease, Gage.”
“Not being a tease.” Except that he sure enjoyed messing with her every chance he got. Mimicking her earlier pose, he leaned in, silently encouraging her to do the same. Which she did, admittedly with a theatrical sigh. “Now, you might have hit three wishes, but there is something you can rub to earn yourself another.” He purposely dropped his gaze to his crotch. “What d’you say, Lizzie? Want another wish?”
Her plump lips parted. “You . . . you . . .”
“All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll make it happen for you.” He waggled his brows, thoroughly enjoying the way her cheeks crested with red. Any moment she’d throw her hands up in the air, or maybe launch her po’boy at his face, and man, he almost couldn’t wait for it.
This repertoire with her, it was mo
re dangerous to him than anything else. From the moment that she’d strolled into Inked on Bourbon, he’d felt completely at ease around her. Yeah, he was tense—lust tended to do that to a guy—but even the lust couldn’t deny everything else: Lizzie Danvers was quickly becoming his best friend.
And for a guy like him, who’d spent his entire adult life keeping everyone, even his brother, on the surface level, he was close to falling down the rabbit hole of no return.
He’d been here before. Maybe not quite like this. He and Michelle had been practically kids when everything had gone to shit. But fourteen years didn’t dilute the memory of how he was when he fell hard for a woman, just as it didn’t dilute the memory of being left behind.
The heat of his body cooled, and he wrapped the rest of his po’boy up, prepared to throw it into the black waste bin a few feet away. He turned to Lizzie, noting the blush that still reddened her smooth skin. “You all set with your food? I’ll toss out whatever you don’t want.”
“I’ll do it.”
He arched a brow. “Do what?”
She visibly swallowed. “Rub your genie lamp.”
“My genie lamp?” Laughter erupted from him, and tears sprung to his eyes. Jesus, she was amazing. “C’mon,” he said, gesturing for her crumpled up wax paper, “give me that and I’ll throw it out. We can walk along the river. Ask me your questions. Whatever you’re feelin’ like.”
“I’m serious,” she said, her blue eyes near slits with determination, “I’ll rub it.”
Gage scrubbed a hand over his face. Stop smiling, man, it’s weird. “I was kidding, Liz. You ready to get out of here?”
She launched up from her seat, moving toward him with sharp motions. Her hands came down on his thighs, nails digging in, her beautiful face mere inches away from his. And then . . . and then her palm cupped him, and damn him if she didn’t give a little circle.
Maybe he should have put up a fight, told her to stop because the dude two benches down was giving them the eye like he knew Gage was as hard as the damn stone his feet were planted on, but he didn’t.
Because he couldn’t.
Didn’t stop him from growling, “You lied, princess. You’re as certifiable as your brother.”
Her grin was pure self-satisfaction. “Hey, I didn’t threaten to slice off your dick.”
“No,” Gage grumbled, gripping the lip of the bench to keep from reaching for her, “you’re just ensuring my arrest for indecent exposure.”
“Indecent exposure,” she repeated, licking her lips like the temptress she was, “I like that. Perfect name for a photography series on the sexy side of N’Orleans. Thanks for that.”
“Lizzie.”
Blue eyes dipped down to his mouth. “Yes, Gage?”
“If you keep that rubbing up, I’m going to revoke your wish rights.”
“What?” She pouted dramatically, and he felt the absurd need to laugh. Again. “But how will I rub your genie lamp?”
“Good question.” He drew in a deep breath, seeking elusive control over the situation. “The genie lamp has spoken for the day. You get whatever you want.”
“Brilliant!” Her mouth brushed his in a sudden kiss, and she dropped back onto the bench beside him, half-crushing her purse under her butt.
Leaving him with a hard-on the size of Louisiana.
As subtly as possible, Gage pressed the heel of his hand to his cock, seeking relief from the want. He couldn’t even be mad when she looked as pleased with herself as she did, even if it was at his expense.
“When’s your next few days off?”
She wanted to talk right now? A man could only do so much with the blood in his body, and right now, Gage’s was all south of the equator. “Hell,” he muttered, “I don’t know. This weekend comin’ up? I think.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!”
Gage thought so, too. It was rare that his days off aligned with both the NOPD and Inked, not to mention his volunteering. But why did she find it perfect? “It is?” he said, a tad warily.
“Rubbing the genie lamp works.” She winked playfully at him. “I actually met with this guy today; you probably don’t know who he is. Robert Heston? Anyway, he’s this major photographer in N’Orleans, and he saw my photos on Instagram. He reached out and we met. Gage, he wants me to collab with him on a new series about abandoned structures in Louisiana!”
Her enthusiasm was addicting, and before he knew it, he’d stolen another kiss from her lips. A congratulatory kiss, he told himself, nothing more. So much for putting up boundaries. “That’s great, princess. You gonna take him up on it?”
“Heck ya.” She patted his thigh familiarly. “I told him I could get started this weekend. I mean, without worrying about ThatMakeupGirl, my schedule is pretty wide open at the moment. Would you”—she tucked her hair behind one ear—“would you want to come with me maybe? Have another adventure, although preferably without landing in the swamp this time?”
The adrenaline junkie in him shouted, hell yes. Exploring abandoned buildings? It was right up his ally. Hell, at least a few times per week he found himself at trap houses in the city along with S.O.D. Most of those properties had been usurped by vines and nature, thanks to disuse since Hurricane Katrina. Nowadays, junkies squatted in them. Guns were stored beneath the raised foundations. Drug transactions passed hands within the unhallowed walls.
He doubted that this abandoned location of hers would have any of the . . . additives of his job, but still, could be fun.
“Yeah,” he told her, waiting for that moment when her blue eyes lit with joy, “I’ll go.”
He waited.
And he waited.
When she bit her lower lip nervously, Gage’s sensor went haywire. “What else is there?”
She opened her mouth. Shut it again. Went for a second go-round. “It’s, um, a bit of a drive.”
He didn’t mind road trips, especially not when the company was good. “Across Lake Pontchartrain? We could go and head back the same day, no problem.”
“Yeah . . . it’s a bit farther than the Northshore. Like, we’re talking your old neck of the woods.”
Fuck.
No.
She must have read the shut down in his expression because she launched into a flurry of waving arms and bright smiles. “It’s this old plantation just a few miles from Hackberry. Actually, it might not be a plantation. Could be post-Civil-War, which would make it—”
“Lizzie.”
She gulped air like a fish on land. “You could see your family while we’re there maybe?”
What family, he nearly ground out. There was no one left, not in Hackberry, not anywhere. No one but him and Owen. “I’m gonna have to pass on this one, princess,” he bit out from between clenched teeth, hating himself when her lips pinched with hurt. Guilt stabbed him in the chest.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know.
You could tell her, you idiot.
But he wouldn’t. He hadn’t returned to Hackberry in fourteen years and there was no way in hell he’d go back now. Every painful moment of his life had taken place there. Every black memory, every gasp for breath when shit hit the fan.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hoping to ease the sting of his rejection, “it’s not something . . .”
“Is it the money?”
His chin jerked back. “Excuse me?”
“The money,” she repeated with a look of question in her eyes, “for staying over the weekend. I don’t . . . I’m not trying to be rude or whatever, but I could cover for you. As much as I wanted to leave YouTube, it, well, it gave me a nice nest egg. I don’t mind.”
As though his ego hadn’t taken enough of a hit. Shaking his head, he grunted, “I can afford it, Lizzie. The money isn’t the issue.”
Everything else was.
She shifted to the left, away from him. “I know you’re not really feeling it, but I think we could have a lot of fun. I guess it would just be nice to . . .”
&nbs
p; When she trailed off, her eyes on the sinking sun over the historic city of Algiers, Gage cursed himself for wanting to know where the rest of her sentence would lead. “It’d be nice to what?” he bit out.
He didn’t miss the way her hands curled in her lap, nor the way she ducked her chin. “To have someone of my own.”
Fuck, she was just going for the jugular today, wasn’t she?
“Lizzie, I—”
Her raised hand cut him off. “I know we’re not anything, Gage. Just sex and all that. We’re casual, temporary, and I’m okay with it. All I’m saying is that I really like hanging out with you. When you’re stuck with the Hollywood couples all the time, it sucks always being the odd one out.”
She was talking riddles around him and he didn’t even know where to start. He went for the obvious, the safer option. “Hollywood couples?”
“Yeah.” She gave a soft laugh. “Luanna—that’s Luke and Anna, obviously. Then there’s Braelyn. Brady Taylor and his wife, Shaelyn? He’s best friends with Luke. And, of course, my own family: Jathan.”
Even now, when his stomach felt like a rioting mess, she made him grin. “You really thought this all out, haven’t you?”
Her nod resulted in her hair swinging forward like a thick curtain. Hair that he’d had spread across his pillow every night since that day in her studio. Hair that he’d fisted as he took her in every position she wanted to “try out” next.
“I’ve had a few years to get their names just right, obviously. You can’t rush these things.” Blue eyes landed on his face. “I figured we could be Li’Gage. It’s got a sort of French sound to it, which is fitting.”
Li’Gage. How did she always manage to say the perfect thing that broke the dark cloud swarming him? “It’s good,” he murmured, “original.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” She shifted again, crossing one leg under her butt. “Like I said, we’re completely casual. But you seemed to enjoy our trip to the bayou, and I’m feeling itchy to be on the move again, just to see somewhere new. You’re the perfect adventure buddy. We have fun. We have great sex. It seemed like a good idea.”