by Violet Paige
“You say that as if I should be better at it.” He didn’t know how hard it was when there were no distractions. Kimble had laser focus on only one target—me.
He shrugged. “You’re free. That’s what matters.”
I settled into the seat. “Free.” I glanced at him. “Who is Parker?”
“An old friend. Shit. I didn’t tell him I was leaving the party.”
I smiled, satisfied I had identified the friend was a guy. “Should we call him?” I suggested.
“Hell no. He’ll understand. We ran for a reason, and I know exactly where we can go to celebrate.”
“Tell me there’s lots of champagne and I don’t care.”
He laughed. It was a rich beautiful laugh. It made my core quiver and my breasts tingle. Just who was this man?
“Are you even old enough to drink?”
“I’m twenty-one.” My brow furrowed.
He nodded. “Barely old enough to do much.”
I eyed him across the gear shift. “Is there going to be champagne or not?”
We stopped at a red light and I felt the heat of his stare burning my cheeks. “I will make sure there is the most expensive decadent champagne you have ever tasted, Kennedy.” His grin was as sinful as it was inebriating.
I tugged on the hem of my dress. It seemed to creep up inches every time the car turned on a new street.
“Good. It’s the one thing I like about New Orleans.”
I thought I saw a look of shock on Knight’s face. “One thing? You only like one thing? It looks like I have my work cut out for me tonight.”
“I guess you do.”
“I didn’t know dive bars carried expensive champagne,” I teased Knight from the corner of the restaurant.
“My favorites do,” he answered. “Besides, it’s a French bar, not a dive bar. Its owner would disagree with you. Ahh, here she is.”
We had been met at the door by a woman who seemed close to ninety. Her hair was tied with a scarf that matched the one draped around her shoulders. There was only candlelight. I hadn’t spotted a single lightbulb. A man played the piano quietly across the room.
“Thank you, Marguerite.” Knight nodded at the hostess before she walked away.
“How did you find this place?” The walls were chipped. and the paint peeled in long slow strips. The bar’s countertop looked as if it was original, but I couldn’t put a date on it. Maybe early 1800s. It was clear Knight loved this place.
“I know all the good places to hide.” He winked.
“I don’t see a name anywhere?” I looked for a logo.
“Marguerite’s.”
The champagne was sweet and crisp. It was perfect. The atmosphere was perfect.
“Maybe you can show me where they are. I need good hiding spots.” The piano player stopped playing to light another candle. The wax splatters on the baby grand weren’t appalling. They were charming. Almost eerie. He continued to play when the new flame jumped to life.
“I might be willing to do that. But on one condition.” His voice dropped. It was almost too deep and low to hear. I leaned closer.
“You want to negotiate?” I pressed.
He nodded. “I want another dance. The first one was cut short. It was too crowded.”
“Here?” I placed my champagne glass on the well-worn table. “No one else is dancing.”
I watched as he rose from the table, his tall muscular body straightening. He shirked off the tuxedo jacket and carefully folded it over the back of his chair. I watched every movement. Every flex of muscle when he unclasped his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves above his forearms. God, he had tan gorgeous skin.
He extended his hand. “Come on. The beauty of it is there is no one to bump into. A dancefloor for two.”
Knight’s palm was wide and strong. He had solid fingers, beckoning to accept his proposal. My hand slid against his and I felt the immediate tremor resonate between us. I stepped forward.
His arm circled my waist and I swayed with the rhythm of his body. I didn’t know if our movements were on beat with the piano. I didn’t know if the few drinkers were watching. I didn’t know dancing in a candlelit bar could change me. Dancing was supposed to be freeing. An expression. A release. Dancing with Knight was none of those things. With every step, I felt more connected to him. With every note from the piano, I felt an invisible thread tying me to him. As if the dance was a way to imprint the feel of his body onto mine. I could smell him. A mix of everything masculine, cologne, liquor and a trace of tabaco. I wanted to inhale every ounce of him.
As my lashes lifted, I thought he was posed to kiss me. My lips felt heavy and weighted from the way his eyes dragged over them.
The candle on our table flickered before a swirl of smoke circled. The hostess hurried over to light a new one. It was just enough of an interruption to create space between us. I needed space and air. I pushed off Knight to sit.
“More champagne?” I raised my glass.
He sat. His scowl was even sexy. He poured another glass for me.
“Where did you come from Kennedy Martin?” he asked, his elbows digging into the table. “What brings your family to New Orleans? Is it just you and your dad?”
I always struggled with questions regarding my family. My place in it. My father. It helped that Knight’s family ran the same way mine did. When I tried to date guys in college, things always ended abruptly the second any guy suspected my father’s line of work. It was too scary to date a mob boss’ daughter.
“I finished my senior year early. My father wanted to explore expanding his business here. We moved from Philadelphia. It’s only the two of us.” I blinked. “That’s my story. What’s yours?”
Knight ran his index finger along my arm. It was a purposeful stroke as if he had chartered a course on my skin to explore. “I guess I’ll answer short and sweet with short and sweet. Born and raised in New Orleans,” he answered. “My family has been here for generations.”
“College?”
He nodded. “Tulane. I graduated five years ago.” I knew he was older than me. But twenty-eight seemed almost untouchable. It added another layer to him that seemed to push him farther away.
“Your parents...” I chose my words carefully. “They made sure your sister had a good match. A happy one.” I bit my tongue. “Have they done that for you? Any prospective mergers?”
The darkness in his eyes was consuming. A depth of obsidian I’d never seen. I swallowed hard, as if I had stepped into a pit knowingly and willingly. I was wading through it, with no tools to navigate this man’s moods. Hours in, and I was in frightening territory, but I couldn’t stop. I was drawn to him. I wanted to understand his reaction during the toast. I wanted to know what his father’s words had meant to him. Was his life as twisted as mine?
“No. No mergers.” There was bitterness in his tone. “I have privileges Seraphina doesn’t. I plan to take advantage of them. Fully,” he emphasized.
I didn’t know why his answer made my heart beat faster. It didn’t help that he was sexy as hell. Tall. Cocky and confident. I didn’t know whether Knight was as bad and ruthless as the players I always met in my father’s world. Was he hardened and soulless? Did he spit out good people to make a deal? Would he spit me out when he was done? Was I willing to take that chance?
“It’s getting late.” My champagne glass was empty. Another round would be too much. I already felt light-headed at the engagement party.
“Giving up your freedom already?” he taunted.
The words clawed at me.
“I don’t think you can offer my freedom. It was fun for one night. Thank you for introducing me to your hideout.” I tried to smile, but the reality was suffocating. I was no different than Seraphina. Did he see it? Feel it? I wanted to own my destiny. I wanted to control my fate. My life. My love. I didn’t have that kind of power, neither did his sister. But he did.
I looked away before my voice cracked.
“Kenned
y?”
“Hmm?” My eyes drifted toward him again.
“I could drive you home, or I could take you one more place,” he offered. “It’s your decision, but I think we both know Kimble will be hell-bent on keeping an even closer eye on you after tonight. This might be your last night out for a while.”
“It almost sounds as if you hope I’m locked in the tower.” I peered at Knight.
“Hell, no. I just want you to consider that if you’re going to go rogue, you might want to take full advantage of it.”
My father was lying in his room, trying to recover from bronchitis. He was taking enough medication to sleep for a week. He didn’t know I hadn’t returned from the Castille-Corban engagement party. Kimble wouldn’t want him to know he lost me.
I pinched my lips together. “Let me guess. You want to take me back to your place. Show me the spectacular view of New Orleans from your over the top penthouse.”
He clicked his tongue. “No, not at all. But you paint a nice picture.” His eyebrows waggled and my cheeks turned crimson. “I could change the plan I had in mind. Yours sounds better.”
Shit. He was intimidating. A smartass. A playboy.
“Let’s stick to plan A.”
He chuckled. “If you insist.”
“Is it as quaint as this place?” I tested. I had already fallen in love with the French bar.
“Even better.” He grinned.
“All right. If I’m going to face the firing squad over breakfast, I should at least have a good story to tell.” I plucked my beaded clutch in my hand.
“Always my motto.” His lips lowered close to my ear. “Carpe noctem.”
I tilted my eyes toward him slightly. “Seize the night.”
“What else?”
He guided me out of the bar with his hand pressed to my back. It seared as if he wanted to tattoo remnants of the night on my skin. But there weren’t needles. Just protective brushes of his fingertips. I thought I knew exactly what motto he would have chosen to ink along my body.
4
Knight
The windows were down. I looked over as Kennedy lifted the clasp from her hair, loosening the twist and freeing the pins. Her tresses spilled over her shoulders in the wind. Fuck me.
I threw the car into another gear and pressed on the pedal.
It would have been a hell of a lot easier if her father wasn’t part of the new blood moving into town. Kennedy was as defined by her role as I was by mine. I promised her a good time. I would deliver. We could deal with family ties and consequences in the morning.
I saw the confusion on her face when I pulled into the parking lot.
“What is this place?” she asked.
I laughed. “You’ll see.” We had driven farther out of town toward the riverbank. We were in bayou territory.
I walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her.
“Picnic tables?” Her head tilted.
“You’ve had New Orleans’s finest champagne. Now you need to experience the finest oysters.”
She shook her head as I led her to a table covered with a red and white vinyl cloth. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Trust me.”
She sat sideways in order to spin and thread her legs over the bench. A string of lights dangled over the table. I climbed in across from her.
I placed the remainder of the champagne bottle on the table from the bar. Marguerite had wrapped and bagged it for me on the way out the door. We waited for a server.
“It’s after midnight. Why is this place still open?” she asked. “And packed.” She looked left and right at the crowded tables.
“I told you. It’s the best.” I ordered a platter of oysters when the waiter arrived and asked for cups.
“You seem so normal,” Kennedy commented. “It’s weird how normal you are. It’s almost scary.”
“I am normal.” I huffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She shook her head. “No. You’re royalty. That makes you abnormal and hardly an impartial judge. I know what royalty means where I come from. In New Orleans it’s an entirely different level. So it’s the French families in power here, not Italian. But the rules are the same.”
I poured our champagne into paper cups. Kennedy’s eyes widened when she saw the oysters on ice arrive.
“You eat this?” she pointed at them.
I winked. “You’ll love them.”
I could tell she was against the platter. She didn’t like how they looked.
“Come here,” I urged her to lean over the table. I topped an oyster with hot sauce and placed it on her tongue.
She cautiously closed her mouth. I waited for the reaction. The distrust turned to a smile.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I cocked my head.
“They’re good.” She nodded. “Really good.”
I laughed. “My work here is done.”
We drank and made our way around the shells on the platter. By the time we finished, we were the only ones still sitting at a table. The place was empty. The server cleared our table, taking the vinyl cover with him. I gave him an extra hundred to leave the lanterns on over our table and to close down the outside restaurant. I wanted to be alone with her. I couldn’t give her total freedom, but I could her a night of it.
“This version of New Orleans isn’t bad.” Kennedy dangled the paper cup between her delicate fingers. She was relaxed. At ease. She wasn’t the same girl I had discovered in the pool house a few hours ago.
I climbed out of the table and strolled to her side. I sat, sliding my body next to hers.
I’d never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as I wanted to kiss her. Booze. Oysters. Starry sky. Crackling chemistry. Fuck. How did I show restraint?
“Knight?” she whispered. The question sounded like a command. I didn’t like taking orders, but it was a plea.
I tilted her chin upward and took her lips with fierce ownership. My tongue lashed against hers. Kennedy dropped the paper cup of champagne on the grass and draped her hands around my neck. My mouth burned for her. I wanted to suck the alcohol from her lips. I wanted to drown in her. The purrs from her throat echoed in my ears. I nipped at her throat, inhaling her skin. Biting behind her ear and dragging my breath along her neck.
My hand traveled along her waist, following the lines of her curves. Trailing over her thighs. My fingers curled against her hip. My mind wandered as quickly as my hands. She tasted like champagne and summer. Innocence and purity in a world that was cast in darkness. Her body melded to mine.
“I want to take you back to my place,” I growled against her neck. “Show you that over-the-top view I have.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’d like to see it.”
There was no guarantee she wouldn’t be under lockdown for the next month. I had her in my hands now. I wouldn’t waste wait time we had before dawn broke.
It was another few minutes before we broke for air. I walked Kennedy to the car and kissed her quickly before shutting the door.
I tore out of the Cajun oyster joint and back toward the city. Neither one of us spoke a word. The sexual tension filled the car.
“This is it,” I announced. I parked near the rear entrance to the courtyard. I lived alone with the exception of a few members of my staff in a multi-level apartment. The ground floor was mainly for greeting guests or making them wait when I didn’t want to take a meeting. My suite was on the top floor. And it did have a fucking incredible view.
Her eyes followed the windows to the top level. “As old as Marguerite’s?”
“It’s pretty damn old.”
Kennedy was captivating. She intrigued me. And it had only been a few hours since she dropped into my orbit. I wanted nothing less than to take her upstairs to my bed, but it wasn’t going to be enough.
I stroked the side of her jaw, craving her already. She blinked slowly before crossing over the console and wrapping her soft palms to my neck. My tongu
e thrust in her mouth and we started drowning again. Her dress was bunched and dislodged around her waist.
The windows began to fog. My hands navigated her curves with recent memory. Her lips parted with a gentle sigh as soon as I slid between her legs. Finally, under that short little dress that had tortured the hell out of me.
She whimpered when my fingers made contact with the edges of silk. I strummed, working the fabric out of my way. Her hips tilted and I had the access I wanted to her clit. Fuck, she was wet. Soaked.
Her eyes opened. Gorgeous green eyes, beckoning. Calling me. She stared, catching her breath. Gulping for air. But our lips crashed together, and my fingers went to work on her clit. Massaging, grinding, toying against the pulse of her body. My fingers swirled around her opening. Sweet, innocent Kennedy was going to be my undoing. I can’t take much more of her moans without stripping the cocktail dress off her body. It was getting harder to maneuver in the car without climbing into the backseat. I doubted we would fit in the tight space. Breaking free from her seemed as impossible.
I dragged her lips from mine. “Let’s go upstairs.” I cupped her pussy, promising her there was more to come. “More room,” I growled.
She nodded reluctantly. I wouldn’t say the words out loud, but the energy between us was fucking insane. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know if it had a label or needed one. But the way she charged my body with kisses and long gazes. Whispers. Purrs. She was more than a one-night stand. More than a quick fuck. There was something about her I wanted. Hell, I didn’t have to name it. No one was forcing that on me. Instinct was in control now.
I filled my air with lungs and unclipped the seatbelt. Kennedy wiggled her underwear and dress back into place.
I left the keys inside for my regular driver to park the in the garage. I jogged in front of the hood to open the door and lead her inside my apartment. But I froze as soon as I heard the click-click of the gun.
I put my hands in the air before turning on my heels. Kimble was six feet from me. He had been waiting. I didn’t know how long, but the fucker was ready for us as soon as I drove in. Had he watched us? Did the steam on the windows give us privacy?