by Meghan March
His arm wrapped around my waist, stopping my attempted flight. His chest rumbled as he murmured, “Fucking Leon.”
“Hey, baby. We were wondering when you were going to show up. Don’t worry; I’m getting us both fired up for you.”
My gaze darted up to Bishop’s face but all I could see was the hard set of his jaw, which didn’t look very excited at what had to be most men’s fantasy laid out before him.
“Did Leon tell you I wanted you here?” His tone didn’t sound welcoming, rather the opposite.
I turned slightly, as though I couldn’t hear her answer just fine without seeing her. Mistake.
The girl on top withdrew her fingers from the other girl and sucked them between her lips.
Oh. My. God.
“Of course. Who wouldn’t want us here?” Her attention landed on me and the arm Bishop had around me. “You don’t need her, baby. We’ll take care of you all night long.”
The girl on the bottom finally opened her eyes and spoke. “I’ve been waiting for that big cock of yours, Bish. Kitty’s fingers just don’t fill me up.”
Kitty scooted off the bed and stood. She was built like the girl who’d slammed her way out of the tattoo shop. Tall and slim, with legs that went on forever and boobs that defied gravity. The girl beneath her looked to be of a similar and equally unfair build.
Where did all these girls come from? He’d turned down the one, but what guy would turn down this? Another thought followed. Is this his type? If it was, there was no way I could ever compete.
Why was I even worried about competing?
“Not tonight. You need to go.” Bishop’s tone was devoid of hesitation.
Kitty—what the heck kind of name was that, anyway?—looked at me with derision.
“Because of her? She looks like she’s got a stick shoved so far up her ass there’d be no room for you in her cunt.”
My mouth dropped open at her rude and incredibly coarse words. Wow. Just . . . wow.
Bishop’s entire body stiffened behind me and his arm around my waist tightened. “Get your clothes on and get the fuck out. I don’t know what made you or Leon think this little party of yours was a good plan, but you were both dead wrong.”
She huffed, and the girl beneath her sat up. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“Both of you. Go. Now.”
“You’re a dick.” That came from Kitty.
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
Bishop unwrapped himself from behind me and strode forward to scoop tiny scraps of clothing off the floor and toss them on the bed. Looking back at me, he said, “You want to go try to find a housekeeping cart to get a clean set of sheets? I doubt you want to sleep on those.”
He was right. It also gave me an excellent excuse to get the hell out of the room as quickly as possible. Five minutes later, I’d raided a linen closet at the other end of the floor that hadn’t been shut all the way, and headed back to the room, hoping the girls would already be gone.
I should have taken a little bit longer, because they were just leaving when I returned.
Both girls looked at me with daggers in their eyes. “Fucking bitch. You better believe we won’t forget this. You wouldn’t even know what to do with a guy like him.” Kitty’s tone was pissed. “No one else ever gets a second shot with Bishop, and you fucking stole mine.”
Second shot? I didn’t even want to think about the fact that she’d had a first.
“She does not exist for you,” Bishop said, anger threading through his voice. “Not another goddamned word. Get the hell out.”
I slipped into the hotel room, desperate to get away from them. Actually, right this moment, I wasn’t too keen on being around him either.
Anger and disappointment rolled through me, and I didn’t want to think about why that was. I didn’t know him. Didn’t care who he screwed or how many at the same time.
I stalked across the room and froze before I could drop the fresh linens on the desk. A room key and four lines of white powder lay across the glass.
“Whoa. Is that—”
Bishop was behind me before I could finish my sentence. “Fuck.” He grabbed the trash can and swept the powder into the bin.
I’d seen the movie Blow; I’d just never seen cocaine in real life.
Bishop dropped the trash can back on the floor, strode to the bed, and tore off the sheets. When he was finished, he balled them up and tossed them in the corner before snatching a clean sheet from the stack I still held in my arms.
I didn’t know what to say, so I rounded the foot of the bed and helped remake it in silence.
When the job was done, Bishop backed toward the door. “You should be good. Room is comped tonight and tomorrow, but after Saturday morning, it’s on you. Room service and anything like that is on your card too.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, I’m sorry about Kitty and her friend. I wouldn’t have—”
I held up my hands, palms out, hoping he’d stop right there. “It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I mean, I might have to burn the garbage—wait, would that get me high?”
He choked out a laugh and shook his head. “Hold on.” He crossed the room and grabbed the trash can before disappearing into the bathroom. The next thing I heard was a flush. He came out and dropped the can back in place next to the desk.
“You’re all set. I’ll make sure Leon didn’t give out any more keys. If he did, I’ll have him rekey the room and call you to come down to get a new one.”
More than anything, I wanted to ask him why he’d bothered to help me, but I couldn’t find the words to put together. Instead, I went with my sincere thanks.
“Thank you. I really do appreciate everything. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without your help.”
Bishop shifted, looking uncomfortable at my words. “Thank me by staying out of trouble.”
He turned, pushed open the door, and disappeared.
I KEPT THINKING I SAW her. Eden. Fucking mind was playing tricks on me.
But it wasn’t the blond cupcake coming into the shop when the door chimed today. No, she should still be tucked away at the Royal Sonesta—or long gone.
I told myself it didn’t matter which, but I was full of shit.
Last night when we’d walked into the hotel room to find Kitty fucking her friend, I’d expected a full-on meltdown from the girl who had surely never seen anything like that before. But she’d barely missed a beat. She didn’t make any shitty comments about the fact that two girls were about to get it on in the bed I’d told her she could have that night. She just brushed it off and did what she had to do. Even when she ran across the lines of coke on the desk, she hadn’t freaked completely. She’d been shocked and confused, but didn’t blink twice after I swept it away.
I hadn’t expected resilience from her, but that’s what I saw. Now I couldn’t help but wonder how long she was staying, or where the hell she was headed next.
Footsteps neared my room, and I finally looked up at the new arrival. Another familiar face.
“Hey, Bishop.” The smile in JP’s voice was impossible to miss, as was the hero worship in her stare.
The girl was relentless. I’d done work on her sleeves and shoulders, and she’d been trying to get me to take her out since the first sitting. Besides the fact that my dick wasn’t interested, she was too young, and I would have been breaking my rule about not touching any female who walked into Voodoo wanting a tattoo. But JP couldn’t or wouldn’t take the hint.
“What do you need, girl?” I couldn’t find it in me to be mean to her because she was just a kid with a crush, no matter how irritating it was becoming.
Her entire face lit up when I stood from my chair and set my book on the counter behind me. “What do I always need when I come to see you?”
She was an ink junkie, a feeling I understood well. “What do you have in mind this time?”
“Maybe a picnic on the riverbank followed by dess
ert at my place?”
I suppressed a frustrated groan. One of these days, she was going to have to learn to take a hint. “I meant for your ink. You know the other ain’t happening.”
Her cute smile fell into a frown. “I’m not too young. I swear it.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me. I call the shots. So, what do you want for your ink? Or you just here to shoot the shit?”
“Fine.”
Her huff was cute, but that’s all she was. Cute. Before I’d thought she was too innocent for me, but even JP came off as more worldly than Eden, and my dick didn’t seem to mind that.
Stop fucking thinking about her, you little bitch, I reprimanded myself mentally, and forced her from my mind.
“Will you draw me a piece for my back? I’m ready to start it. I was thinking something with skulls and flowers. Like girly voodoo stuff.”
At the mention of designing a tattoo, my mind went to Eden again. The first time I saw someone, especially someone without ink, my brain instantly snapped into create mode. With Eden, I pictured the ink I’d put on her shoulder blade as soon as she’d followed me into the shop and it was clear she’d never been inside one before.
Even the thought of tattooing her virgin skin had my dick taking notice. I shifted on my stool to readjust, not wanting JP to notice.
Pushing Eden out of my head and willing my dick to go down, I turned my attention back to JP. “What are you thinking?”
“The magic Bishop touch. Whatever you think. I just want it big, and covering the top half of my back so it ties in just under my epaulets.”
Now that, that I could do. I loved it when clients let me have free rein to design. The best work always came when someone wasn’t dictating every little detail and let me flex my artistic muscles.
“Let me think about it. I’ll start drawing it up today. I might be able to fit you in for a sitting next week. I think I have someone who’s going to cancel.”
“Awesome!” JP clapped her hands, her enthusiasm impossible to ignore. “You sure you won’t change your mind about the date? Just give me a chance. I’m not a kid.”
“It’s my rule. No touching the clients. You’ll find a guy. It just won’t be me.”
Her expression fell and hurt flashed across her features. Even if I felt guilty, it was better that way. I didn’t get involved. That wasn’t my thing.
Then why did you help Eden? Fuck if I knew the answer to that one.
Tearing my gaze from the hope lingering in JP’s eyes, I looked out toward the front window—and caught a glimpse of the back of a blonde with curves in all the right places.
I shook my head. No way it was Eden.
And why the hell did I keep looking for her? She wasn’t coming back here.
End of story. Time to put her out of my head.
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH THE GAPS in the drapes, dragging me from a sleep that was more like a coma. I’d lain awake for so long last night, I thought I’d never doze off with the raucous noise from the never-ending party on the street below invading my room.
But apparently I was wrong.
I rolled out of bed and walked to the French doors to pull back the blinds. I needed to make sure this morning was real and not a dream.
The iconic buildings that lined Bourbon Street stared back at me from beyond the balcony, and a rush of feelings invaded.
Anxiety. Excitement. Nerves. Anticipation.
I was a girl forced from my home because of whatever messed-up stuff my father was involved in, and I’d proven yesterday that I wasn’t nearly as street-smart as I thought I was. Reading about adventuring to new places wasn’t exactly the same as doing it in real life. The confidence I’d had when I stepped on that plane at JFK had faded when I’d nearly gotten assaulted.
But today was a fresh start. The city didn’t seem quite so intimidating with the morning light, and I could pretend I was a normal girl on vacation. I could start on my list and do all the things I’d dreamed about doing.
I remembered Angelo’s orders—stay in your room, get room service, get a massage.
Sorry, Angelo. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
And then Bishop’s words as he left last night popped into my head. Stay out of trouble, kid.
I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble, but I wasn’t going to let yesterday stop me. Today I wasn’t going to be carrying around a suitcase like the target he’d told me I was. Today I could blend in.
When would I ever have another chance?
Staring into the mirror, I gave myself a pep talk. “I can do this. I don’t have to go far. I can just walk around the French Quarter and be normal. I’ll be fine.”
Rationalizations in place and confidence buoyed, I showered and got ready for the day. Obviously, I hadn’t had the luxury of time to deliberate over what I packed, so I pulled some of the mishmash of clothes from my suitcase.
Jeans, a white cami, and a pale pink cardigan wouldn’t stick out during the day, right?
I slipped into my Sperrys and headed out of my room, feeling like today was the beginning of something completely new. My first taste of real life and the uncertainty of how my choices would play out. No safety net or security here. Just . . . me.
It was long overdue.
I found the green-and-white-striped awnings of the famous Café du Monde about the time my stomach was grumbling to be filled. Once I was seated at a little table, I devoured the delicious powdered-sugar-covered confection that was their famous beignet and guzzled a cup of coffee while I people-watched. It was a habit of mine honed from years of living on the sidelines and watching life go by.
I refused to acknowledge that I might have been scanning the crowd for a certain man-bunned giant. Maybe I should walk by the tattoo shop . . . see if he’s there.
I didn’t know where that idea came from, but it was a terrible one. I would do no such thing. Even if he had been the most intimidatingly beautiful man I’d ever seen, I had no business seeking him out. It wasn’t like he seemed eager to stick around and get to know me either.
Which was good because no one could get to know me here. I was still kicking myself for giving him my real name. How could I possibly screw up something so basic and important?
You’re not going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter.
It wasn’t like we would cross paths. New Orleans was a big city. And we especially wouldn’t cross paths if I stayed away from a certain tattoo shop. Not that I had a reason to walk by there, anyway. It wasn’t like I wanted a tattoo or something.
Right?
It wasn’t something I’d ever considered. Getting a tattoo hadn’t made any of my lists because it had literally never crossed my mind. Until now . . .
Pushing the ridiculous thought away, I left my seat at Café du Monde and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was terrifyingly exciting to know that there would be no security trailing me through the streets. Tendrils of freedom wrapped around me, and I savored them.
At least until I remembered that if something happened to me, like yesterday when those guys grabbed me, I’d be completely on my own without any way to defend myself. Except now I knew how not to throw a punch.
Why hadn’t Dom insisted on self-defense? Oh, that’s right, he never expected me to be outside the bubble I’d existed within.
Deciding that I’d keep a close eye on my surroundings, I walked toward Jackson Square and watched street artists create their works as jazz from a brass quartet filled the air. I stood for long minutes, letting the music sweep me up, and inch by inch, I began to relax.
This city had its own rhythm, and I was feeling it in my blood.
I tossed the handful of change from Café du Monde in the open trombone case and continued to explore. I made my way around the Square, soaking up every detail of the architecture, the vivid colors, the eclectic street performers and artists, until a decadent sweet scent hit my nose. Letting my senses lead me, I turned in a slow circle to figure out
where it was coming from. A woman stood in the window behind a hand-painted sign that read FRESH PRALINES.
Just because I’d stuffed myself on beignets didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy more of what New Orleans had to offer. I stepped toward the door, but a familiar voice caught me off guard.
“Hey, sugar. Didn’t expect to see you again.”
Coming out of the store right in front of me was the black-and-blue-haired woman from the tattoo shop. Delilah. Apparently New Orleans wasn’t nearly as big of a city as I’d thought.
“Delilah. Remember me?”
I shook off the momentary surprise at running into someone who wasn’t a stranger. “Yes, sorry.”
“No big deal. It’s good to see you looking a little less lost than last time.” She adjusted the bag over her shoulder. “So you decided to stick around, I see.”
“How could I not? This city seems to be a pretty special place.”
The smile that stretched across Delilah’s face was sincere. “It certainly is. I came with friends in 2005 for a weekend and never left. Definitely more my speed than Omaha.”
One look at her blue hair, retro Hawaiian print dress, tattoos, and vintage yellow Mary Janes would tell anyone that Omaha wasn’t exactly where Delilah was meant to live.
“So, now that you’re sucked in by the lure of this awesome place, are you ready to get a little wild and crazy like the rest of the Mardi Gras partiers? Maybe tattoo that virgin skin of yours?”
My earlier thought slammed into me. A tattoo meant seeing Bishop again, and as much as I wanted to deny it, the idea was tempting.
Maybe he could be one of your New Orleans experiences . . . That thought had to be from an inner troublemaker playing devil’s advocate, but I pushed it away.
“I should probably start with something a little less drastic.” I nodded at the door I’d been about to go in before she came out. “Like pralines.”
Delilah lifted her bag. “I got you covered. I had a major craving today and this is the only place I’ll buy them. And . . . if you want to get the inside scoop on all the non-touristy must-dos to check off while you’re here, I’m your girl.”