by J. C. Wilder
“So did I.”
Vivian turned, her gaze locked on his handsome face. She saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. Her heart gave a queer little jerk and she stepped over the threshold and into the darkness.
Heart pounding, she moved quickly up the street, people and storefronts blurred before her eyes. How had he zeroed in so quickly on her secret pain? She shivered. And what had possessed her to say any of that in the first place? She wasn’t the type of person to encourage intimacies unless she was well acquainted with someone first. In the past few months, not one person had gotten as much information out of her as a stranger in a bar had in a few moments.
Spying a narrow, dimly lit side street, she moved toward it as a sob caught in her throat. She was in danger of falling apart on a public street and that she couldn’t have. As she turned the corner, the crowds were nonexistent and she could pull herself together without being observed by passersby.
Leaning against the wall, she gulped the cool night air, willing herself to calm. Why was she falling apart? A few insightful words from a complete stranger and she was a sobbing mess. This was unacceptable behavior for the daughter of Bradford Carrington.
When she felt her emotions were a little more under control, she pushed away from the wall. Continuing in the general direction of her hotel, Vivian walked, head down.
Maybe it was a mistake to come to Louisiana. Maybe she should’ve gone back to New York after all. She could do the research there as well as here, and she could resume her charitable activities as well. She wouldn’t be able to visit some of the historic places that only New Orleans could afford her research, but she could probably get photos of the stuff she needed.
Who are you running from?
Vivian scowled and kicked a crumpled paper cup out of her way. That was a good question. Was she running from herself? Her past? Her future? Or was she running from a sexy bartender who was too perceptive for his own good?
She slowed, suddenly weary of everything and everyone in her life. The urge to go back to her hotel and climb into bed for a week was strong and appealing. Maybe she could—
“Hey!”
Vivian turned at the shout. The bartender from the Chat Noir stood at the corner of Bourbon Street waving to get her attention. She frowned. Had she forgotten something? She took a step toward him when someone grabbed her from behind and knocked her to the ground. She put up her hands to prevent her face from hitting the brick sidewalk as hands tugged at her waist. But before she could even comprehend what was happening, her waist pack was cut from her body and she heard the sound of running feet.
She scowled and lunged to her feet in time to see a retreating figure with her pack tucked under one arm like a football. Her blood boiled. How dare someone steal her pack? No way was some little prick going to get away with pilfering from Vivian Carrington.
She ran after the thief, her open-toed sandals impeding her gait. After a few yards her body naturally fell into a familiar rhythm and she thanked her lucky stars that she’d started jogging several years ago. The sensation of the heavy backpack bouncing on her back threw her off a bit but she was keeping up at least.
The thief glanced over his shoulder, his surprise at seeing her obvious when he staggered, giving her a few precious seconds to gain ground. As he passed a trashcan, his arm snaked out to tumble it over, forcing Vivian to jump or end up in a heap of smelly trash.
A stitch hit her in the side and she scowled. She wouldn’t be able to keep the pace much longer. She didn’t usually jog at such an accelerated speed and it was killing her.
She heard the sound of running feet behind her and she glanced back, half afraid that her thief had an accomplice. It was the bartender. Vivian wished she could stop running just to watch him for a moment. Beautiful and fluid, he moved well, a man at home in his own skin and aware of his own abilities. He was something to behold.
Without warning, an old brick on the sidewalk shifted under her foot and a sharp pain ripped through her ankle, causing her to fall facedown. It happened so fast she could barely comprehend that one minute she was running and the next she was lying in the middle of the walk, her palms scraped and bleeding. She looked up in time to see the thief disappear around the corner a half a block ahead.
“Damn!” She smacked the flat of her hand against the sidewalk.
The bartender stopped beside her. “Are ye okay?”
“He stole my purse,” she said.
“Aye, I saw him.”
“I need it back. All my credit cards, my drivers license, my money is in there.”
“Nae, it’s not worth getting hurt o’er. All of that stuff is easily replaced.” He dropped into a crouch beside her, and she was irritated to note that he wasn’t even breathing hard. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck.
“Easy for you to say, you still have your wallet.” Well aware that she sounded waspish, she acknowledged his truth with a nod. “You’re right, through. It is all easily replaced.”
Strong fingers curled around her arm and assisted her to her feet. A tingle of awareness raced through her limbs and her head felt strangely light. Disturbed, she stepped away, trying not to wince as pain raced up her leg.
“Are ye hurt?”
“I twisted my ankle.” She held up her hands, trying to see the damage in the poor lighting. “I think I scraped my palms a bit.”
His expression turned concerned as he noticed her abraded skin. “We need to get ye cleaned up. Let’s go back to the Chat—”
She shook her head. “I’d rather go to my hotel. I suddenly feel the need to lie down.”
He nodded. “Where are ye staying?”
Vivian snorted. “How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you’re a serial killer or something.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, the unrestrained sound sent a tendril of heat down her spine. Oh, how she was a sucker for a man with a good laugh. His head dropped, a smile still curving those tempting lips. “I can assure ye ye’ll be safe wi’ me.”
Tall, dark and surly was gone and left in his place was Prince Charming. With that sexy accent she was in serious trouble.
Vivian couldn’t prevent an answering smile. “Okay Mr. I’m-Not-A-Serial-Killer, my name is Vivian.”
“Damien St. James at yer service. My friends call me Sinjin.”
He was way too attractive for her peace of mind and she needed to keep him at a distance or she might do something foolish like end up in bed with him. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr. St. James.”
The glint in his eyes told her that he’d caught her subtle hint. “My pleasure.”
Vivian started on her way, leaving him to follow, but her sore ankle hampered her progress. Sinjin stayed close to her side as they walked and she was very aware of the warmth of his big body. There was something comforting about walking down an unfamiliar street with a big solid guy beside you. Something safe. She stumbled and he put his hand on her elbow. When she’d regained her balance, she pulled away and he made no objection.
Only once did he touch her again, when she’d lurched over the curb as they crossed the street to the hotel. His strong arm slipped around her waist, anchoring her to his side.
Anticipation sizzled across her skin as they approached the rickety circular doors and she was torn between needing to shove him away and inviting him upstairs into her bed. She shook her head. Talk about confused.
Vivian shivered as they stepped into the warmth and spotty light of the lobby. A large dark stain marred the nondescript carpeting near the door. The scattered chairs in the lobby looked worn as if they were on the verge of giving up. The only thing in the room that looked healthy were the plants. Her escort looked around the shabby space, his brow rose.
“Yer’re staying here?”
Her chin came up. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Nae, no problem.”
She looked at her rescuer, trying to ignore the traitorous clamoring of her pulse. “Thank you again, M
r. St. James.”
“I—”
“Ms. Carrington, are you all right?” The night bellman appeared. His perpetually sagging pants and sweat-stained shirt looked even more unkempt than usual this evening. He held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said.
“Is this gentleman bothering you, Ms. Carrington?” he asked. “Do I need to contact the authorities?”
“No, actually he came to my rescue.”
The man gave Sinjin a narrow look then shrugged, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich as he turned away to resume his post near the small television.
“I hope ye suffer nae ill effects from this eve’s adventures,” he said.
“I second that sentiment.” Vivian smiled faintly, feeling aches in all of her muscles. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Come back to the Chat tomorrow ev’ning. ‘Twill be thanks enough.”
Vivian blinked. She liked the Chat, the food was good, the music was excellent and the scenery was getting better with each visit. She knew she should reject his advance and make immediate arrangements to return to New York, but she couldn’t bring herself to say no, not yet.
She nodded. “Tomorrow evening it is.”
He flashed her a heart-stopping smile, then captured her hand and raised it to his lips. “I look forward to it.”
His breath was warm on her skin as his mouth touched her, centering over her middle knuckle. His tongue caressed her skin and her breath rushed from her lungs as he suckled her knuckle. For a moment, she wished it were another part of her body, not her hand upon which he lavished such attention.
When he released her, his expression self-satisfied as if he could read her mind and the lecherous thoughts that lived there. “Until tomorrow, Ms. Carrington.”
Vivian’s heart thudded in her chest as he exited the hotel. Whether she wanted it or not, she had a feeling she was in for the ride of her life…if she was lucky.
* * * * *
“She’s in New Orleans.”
Anthony Greer grimaced at the sound of the whispery voice over his cell phone. Several months ago, when he’d accepted the job to kill a woman, he’d enjoyed the cloak-and-dagger aspect of not meeting his employer. Now, after multiple false leads that had sent him tearing all over the United States, he wanted nothing more than to tell his employer to fuck off. They could have their money back. Putting up with this horseshit wasn’t worth a half million.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“She used her credit cards to shop this afternoon.” A soft chuckle sounded from the other end of the phone. “How…predictable.”
Anthony straightened. This was much more concrete than a gut feeling or a possible sighting. “What part of New Orleans is she in?”
“She made purchases in the French Quarter. I have someone scanning for use of her credit cards again, so keep your phone close as I’ll call you the moment something comes up.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
His employer chuckled. “How did I know you’d say that? Don’t fail me, Anthony. I’m counting on you to make me rich.” The phone clicked in his ear as the connection was dropped.
He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, anticipation humming through his system. Out of habit, he reached into his jacket to feel the Sig Sauer snug in his shoulder holster before he reached low to feel the Baby Glock strapped to his ankle. He was ready to rock and roll.
Anthony was driving toward I-59 and that would take him to I-10, which would lead him directly into the city. Within seven hours, he’d be in New Orleans, enjoying the nightlife on Bourbon Street as he tracked one Vivian Carrington, the woman who was going to make him a very rich man.
Chapter Three
When Sinjin had invited Vivian back to the Chat tonight, he’d never envisioned the chaos that would erupt before she even arrived.
Thanks to four-inch spiked heels, his hostess had fallen in the kitchen and twisted her ankle. Sinjin had been unable to reach any of his other employees to replace her. Due to upcoming college exams, he’d been running lean for the past few weeks and tonight was destined to be the worst of them all. Already down a waitress because she’d called in earlier, the hostess was now out along with the busboy who’d accompanied her to the hospital. The lines to get into the restaurant and the club were equally long and it was only eight o’clock.
“Tracey, order up!”
Sinjin added a fresh bowl of pretzel mix to her laden tray when she appeared. Clad in a black cotton dress that looked as if it had been painted to her lovely curves and a red silk choker that all of his female employees wore, Tracey gave him a huge smile, showing off her sharp canines. “You should be happy tonight, boss. The crowds are going to be wicked.”
“I could use a wee bit less wickedness and a few more hands. Grab Julius and send him o’er, will ye?” Sinjin grabbed a pair of cocktail glasses and began washing them in the small sink. “I’m running out of Killian’s and I need him to restock the coolers.”
“Gotcha.” Tracey threw a glance over her shoulder at the crowded entrance before she met his gaze. “She isn’t here yet. Even with this crush, no one could sneak in with you watching the door like a hawk, even a skinny woman like her.”
“She’s nae skinny.”
“Yes she is. She has nothing for a man to hold onto. I personally think it’s that touch-me-not exterior she exudes. It draws men like flies.”
“Men do appreciate a challenge,” he acknowledged. Sinjin thought of Vivian’s slim curves. She may not be very big but she had more than enough for a man to hold. “Curves or nae, she intrigues me.”
“Well, well, isn’t this a switch? Usually you’re the one who does the flustering.” Hefting the tray, she turned away humming “What A Difference A Day Makes” as she walked into the churning crowd.
Sinjin busied himself mixing drinks, his movements automatic as he made a pitcher of blue margaritas. Since coming to New Orleans, he’d indulged in a variety of strictly physical relationships, but no one had attracted him on a psychological level until now. He didn’t know what it was about Vivian that drew him. She was beautiful, but beautiful women were plentiful. No, it was more than that. It was something deeper, more basic, a gut-level attraction that he felt when he looked at her and it was all he could do to not reach out and touch her.
It was also obvious to him that she was either running from or running to something. Was she in some kind of trouble?
Julius appeared with two cases of beer just as Sinjin finished the margarita order. He helped the tall man restock the cooler before slipping out from behind the bar. Moving easily through the crowd, he nodded at several women who greeted him, not pausing for a conversation as he would have done in the past.
The restaurant was filled to capacity with more waiting for tables. Crowds of at least thirty people were clustered in the doorway and, in the small waiting area, most with cocktail glasses in their hands. All in all, tonight would be a financial success for the Chat and that was good news. Thanks to Mardi Gras, the restaurant had shown its first profits within months of opening and he was determined it stay that way.
With the doors wide open to Bourbon Street, Sinjin caught a whiff of the heady night breeze. The cool spell had broken and, even though it was early in the year, the air was already heavy with humidity and the faint scent of ozone. A storm was coming. He lifted his head to scent the air. The mingled aromas of sea, too many people in a confined place and spilled liquor swirled through his senses.
There was nothing like New Orleans in early May.
May.
What day was it? He frowned. The biweekly alcohol delivery had occurred this afternoon—he’d found the invoices on his desk when he’d arrived. That would make it Thursday, the first of May. He stepped into a quiet corner behind some tall potted plants, which were used to camouflage the bathroom doors.
Bliss.
He closed his eyes as an echo of pain moved
through his chest. It was six months today that he’d buried her in the Highlands. And that very next day, he’d left his beloved home without looking back.
Every day he missed her more, but slowly he’d embarked on pulling his life back together. Reassembling some normality and moving on. It hadn’t been easy, but necessary. In the past few months he’d even begun dating, if it could be called dating. A flurry of faceless women had made their way through his bed and he’d taken great physical pleasure in all of them.
But he allowed none to touch his heart.
And that was exactly how he wanted it. Loving and losing once was painful enough and he had no desire to indulge again. He was content with the physical solace the myriad ladies offered him. The rest of his life was filled with his business, renovating his home, his friends and the war that loomed in the preternatural world. He didn’t need or want anything else distracting him.
Vivian.
The odor of food, liquor and perfume faded into the background as her scent wrapped itself around his senses. His blood stirred. A sensual blend of ginger, vanilla and warm woman, he looked over in time to see her entering the Chat.
Dressed in a sleeveless red silk blouse, short black skirt and high heels, he sized up her stocking-clad limbs with pure male appreciation. Long, slim and toned, she had legs that looked a mile long and he wanted to kiss every inch of them. His groin tightened at the image of those fabulous legs draped over his shoulders as he paid proper homage to her beautiful curves. He could only hope his jeans were sturdy this evening as he had a feeling the zipper was going to be tested to its limits.
The overhead light cast fingers of blue light through her dark hair. Twisted high on the back of her head in a careless knot, it exposed the slender curve of her throat. He licked his lips.
Yes, he definitely wanted to get to know Ms. Vivian better.
He stepped out from behind the plants and her gaze moved over him. He caught the wariness that lingered in her eyes even as her lips curved into a smile.