Beneath These Shadows

by Meghan March

  Cheers and shouts dulled around us. Every one of my senses was focused on Bishop and the giddiness roaring through my senses.

  This is living.

  When I finally released him, he dropped another kiss on my temple and spun me around. “You see that corner? We’re headed there and then we’re taking a left. Next stop, Pat O’Brien’s.”

  BISHOP DIRECTED ME TOWARD THE famous red building of Pat O’Brien’s, and once we broke through the crowd, the line I expected wrapped all the way around the corner.

  We didn’t slow or even try to find the end of it, though. Bishop walked us right to the front door where the bouncer checked IDs. The high from catching the beads began to fade as I worried about whether we could actually get in. It’s not like we couldn’t come back and do this another day, but I had to admit there was something incredibly cool about the idea of doing this on the most famous day of the city’s entire year.

  We stopped in front of the solidly built man as he handed a woman’s ID back to her. The fierce frown dominating his face disappeared as soon as he saw Bishop.

  “Hey, man. Never would’ve expected to see you here on fucking Mardi Gras. What the hell are you doin’?”

  Bishop lifted his arm to wrap around the top of my chest. “My girl wanted one of Pat O’s famous hurricanes on Mardi Gras. It wasn’t like I could say no.”

  The bouncer’s attention landed on me for the first time. “Hey there, Bishop’s girl. You must not be from around here.”

  For a moment I thought I must still stand out like a tourist from his comment, but he continued.

  “If you were, you wouldn’t even attempt it. Just know, your man is making quite the sacrifice taking you to this zoo today. Enjoy it.” He stamped our hands and jerked his head to the side, and Bishop propelled me forward through the darkened doorway.

  Relief slid through me that he didn’t ask for my ID. With Bishop standing right beside me, I wasn’t sure how I could possibly explain why the name on it didn’t match the one I’d given him. An icy trickle of guilt slid down my spine, but I pushed the feeling away. Tonight wasn’t the night to worry about that. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d lied to him about who I was. It would have been different if I’d given him the name on my ID, or so I convinced myself.

  When we squeezed through the entry out into the courtyard, I realized why Pat O’Brien’s was such a legendary tourist spot. The inner courtyard was totally New Orleans, at least from what I could see with the crowd of people. There wasn’t any hope of getting a table, but Bishop got the attention of one of the servers passing by.

  “Two hurricanes.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back with those.”

  Bishop guided me to the edge of a fountain where he sat down and pulled me onto his lap. My skirt spread out over us, covering the top of our legs and bunching up between us.

  My butt rested directly on Bishop’s hard thighs, without anything between my skin and his jeans. He was completely aware of this because his hand slipped under the fabric and his palm skimmed along my thigh.

  His promise from earlier rose up with the goose bumps rising on my skin.

  “You think you can be quiet, cupcake?” His tone wavered between playful and seductive.

  I nodded, wondering how quickly the server was going to return with our drinks, and what kind of panting, writhing mess I’d be by then.

  “Good girl. Would it make you feel better if you knew we weren’t the only ones doing this right now? I see at least two couples who are being a hell of a lot more obvious about it than we are.”

  “Where?” I scanned the courtyard.

  “Red-and-black dress at three o’clock.”

  The only reason I knew three o’clock meant to my right was because I’d spent plenty of time watching NCIS reruns at night when I couldn’t get into one of my books. Who knew it would ever come in handy?

  I glanced in the direction he’d indicated and found the red-and-black dress and, oh my God, I could see her skirt riding up as the guy she was with slid his hand beneath it.

  Even as shocking as it was, I couldn’t deny my body reacted by pushing all the heat south, not that I wasn’t already primed from my shower incident.

  “Watch what he does to her.” Bishop’s voice was a husky whisper sending shivers down my spine as he tucked my hair behind my ear and skimmed his lips along it.

  The man pulled up the back of the skirt, exposing the rounded curve of the woman’s ass.

  “Scandalous, what you’ll see if you’re looking for it.”

  My nipples tightened into hard points against the bodice of my dress as Bishop’s fingers stroked my inner thigh.

  I turned my head toward him, but he nipped my ear. “Keep watching them. I want to see if he’s going to do what I’d do if that were us up there.”

  With every word, his fingertips edged closer to my center, and every sensation seemed heightened without panties acting as a barrier.

  The man at three o’clock pulled the thong from between the woman’s cheeks and tore it free.

  I released a pent-up breath.

  “He just ripped her panties off. Did you like that?”

  But somehow, I couldn’t find the right words to tell him just how much I liked it.

  “Come on, cupcake. You can tell me how wet it makes you.” He paused. “Or I could just find out myself.”

  His voice had dropped to seriously husky, and I nodded ever so slightly. I wanted him to touch me as I watched the other man yank the woman’s skirt down over his hand as she threw her head back.

  As soon as the pad of his finger slicked along my wet slit, I bit my lip to keep from moaning just like the other woman must be.

  “Fuck, I love that you’re soaked.”

  He didn’t have to tell me because I could feel just how wet I was as he stroked and circled around my clit without touching it.

  I opened my mouth, ready to beg him, when the server rounded the side of the fountain with our drinks.

  Bishop’s hand is up my skirt and there’s a guy less than two feet away. But apparently the server hadn’t noticed or just didn’t care.

  “That’ll be fifteen,” he said as he balanced the tray with two ornate glasses filled to the top with red cocktails.

  I expected Bishop to slip his left hand out from under my skirt when he reached for his wallet, but he didn’t. He pulled a twenty from his pocket and handed it to the server before accepting one cocktail and placing it in my hands. The second, he set on the edge of the fountain.

  “Keep the change.” The statement was a clear dismissal, and the server thanked him before walking away.

  I slid the straw between my lips, desperate to look like we weren’t doing what we were actually doing.

  “Don’t spill,” Bishop whispered as his finger pushed inside me.

  Oh my God.

  My first taste of a hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s happened with me a minute from orgasm, courtesy of the sexiest man I’d ever met.

  With each drink I took, Bishop’s fingers became cleverer and bolder. His thumb found my clit as warmth from the alcohol hit me.

  He didn’t let me come until I was almost finished with my drink, and then pulled it from my hand and covered my lips with his to hide the sound of the half scream, half moan I couldn’t hold back.

  The aftermath of the climax washed over me as Bishop pulled his hand from beneath my dress. To cover the tremor in my hand, I reached to pick up my drink and sucked down the final inch. When I lowered it, I turned on his lap to meet his gaze.

  “Well, that might not have been what I’d expected when I made my list, but it was a million times more memorable.”

  One side of Bishop’s mouth quirked up. “That’s what I’m here for, to make this memorable for you. Now, you want to remind me what else was on that list?”

  WE LEFT THE CRAZINESS OF Bourbon Street behind and headed down streets I hadn’t yet walked. With Bishop beside me, his fingers twined in mine and the heat
from a good buzz and an even better orgasm thrumming through my veins, I felt like I could take on the world. If one of Dom’s goons showed up tonight and told me to come home, I’d squeeze Bishop’s hand tighter and tell him to go to hell. It could have been my overactive imagination, but I thought that Bishop would tell him to go to hell right along with me. Possibly even fight to keep me here.

  Maybe it was the alcohol, but every time he looked at me, there was something more in his eyes than I’d seen before.

  He wanted me.

  Well, no shit, E. He had his fingers inside you.

  But more than that, he liked me. I could tell. Well, at least I thought I could tell. I hoped I could tell.

  But what was I going to do with that?

  Grab on to him and ride this ride for all it’s worth. Take this opportunity and live, came the bold voice from inside me.

  Buoyed by good spirits and even better booze, I decided that’s exactly what I was going to do.

  When we slowed in front of a building I’d never seen and Bishop pulled me toward an old wooden doorway, the amazing scent of Cajun food wafted toward my nostrils.

  The girl waiting at the hostess stand just inside lit up at the sight of Bishop. “Hey, Bish. I’ve been wondering when you’d come see me again.”

  Her tone was more than flirty, bordering on suggestive. Scratch that—to be accurate, I’d have to say she was eye-fucking the hell out of him.

  Of course, because I was female and human and feeling all warm and fuzzy about the guy who’d just given me the most memorable orgasm of my life, I had to do a full once-over. Okay, maybe twice-over.

  Her hair had to have been dyed that red because there’s no way the color was real, and her purple eyes were so vivid they had to be fake, and why, if you were picking out fake contacts, would you let them clash with your hair so badly? She was curvy in all the right places, with cleavage for days visible in the low V-cut of her shirt. And, oh my God, she couldn’t have been wearing a bra because I could see what looked like nipple rings through it.

  Is that what Bishop likes? Nipple rings and gravity-defying boobs? Because I clearly didn’t have either of those. Then I reminded myself of the most important thing—He’s with me. Not with her.

  “Hey, Jules. We’ll take a table for two.”

  It wasn’t until Bishop lifted his arm from around my waist to rest it over my shoulders that Jules noticed I existed.

  Her bright smile instantly turned from genuine to I’m going to keep smiling if it kills me.

  “Oh, I didn’t even see you there. Of course, I’m assuming that means you won’t want your normal seat at the bar.” She gave me a cursory inspection and seemed to write me off.

  Really? Dammit, I looked good. My dress was adorable, my makeup didn’t scream I raided the MAC counter and tried every single thing they had, including twenty sets of fake eyelashes like Jules, but then again, I didn’t know if I could look that trashy if I tried.

  Okay, so maybe I was getting a little catty, but still, who wouldn’t after being brushed off like that? What happened to sisterhood?

  “No, we’ll take a table in the corner. Something out of the way.”

  Her gaze came back to me, and this time she gave me a long, slow study. “Not your usual style, Bish.”

  I didn’t know if she was talking about me or the table, but I had a feeling she was talking about both.

  “Change is good for the soul,” was all Bishop said in reply, along with pulling me closer to his side.

  Non-alcohol-induced warmth rushed through me, but I tried not to read into his words. Maybe it was only a temporary change for him. Then again, from what I gathered, whatever was happening between us didn’t seem to be his normal at all. That had to mean something.

  The hostess grabbed sets of silverware from a bucket, and spun. “Come right this way. I’ve got the perfect table for you.”

  She led us to the very back of the restaurant, right near the door where servers slammed in and out of the kitchen. The table didn’t even look like it was used regularly for dining. From the way Bishop’s body stiffened against my back, I could tell he wasn’t impressed.

  “Here you—”

  “This one isn’t gonna work for us.”

  She turned around, her face the picture of innocence. “What do you mean? This is the most secluded—”

  Bishop grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the front of the restaurant, and for a moment, I thought he was going to lead me right out the door. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped next to a table in the corner that hadn’t yet been cleared.

  “We’ll take this one. I’d appreciate you sending someone over to bus it.” He pulled out a chair and waited for me to sit before looking at Jules.

  “You don’t date. That’s what you told me. Sorry if I’m a little shocked.”

  Still standing behind me as he pushed my chair in, Bishop’s hands landed on my shoulders and he squeezed. “I didn’t then. But sometimes a man has to change to go after what he wants.”

  Another rush of warmth filled me along with a realization. It didn’t matter if Jules was skinnier than me, had better makeup contouring skills, or bigger boobs with blingy hardware—I was the one who inspired Bishop to change. I was enough for him, and that was all that mattered.

  A silent Jules gathered the plates in her arms and mumbled an apology before taking them away.

  Bishop grabbed the menus from a holder between the condiments and set one in front of me.

  “You’ll be able to find crawfish every which way you could possibly want it here.”

  “Are we going to pretend that didn’t just happen?” If not for the hurricane courage, I might not have said anything.

  He looked up at me from where he was already checking out the menu. “There’s not much to say. I want to be with you. No one else. End of story. I don’t give a shit what Jules or the fuckin’ pope thinks about it. I won’t let anything stop me from making this night the best it can be for you.”

  I want to be with you. I’d already rationalized that myself, but hearing Bishop say it made all the difference.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me. Tonight is already the best night I’ve ever had. You make everything I’ve walked past a hundred times seem new again. It’s like I’m seeing it through your eyes, and the world is a hell of a lot brighter that way. You make me happy, Eden.”

  It was the best compliment I’d ever been given. The simplicity. The sincerity. The meaning behind it.

  “You make me happy too. I can’t imagine how differently this last week would’ve gone if I hadn’t met you.”

  “I don’t even want to think about you out there on your own. That’s enough to give me nightmares, and I’m a pretty tough motherfucker.”

  “I would’ve survived. I just wouldn’t have gotten a chance to experience all this.” I gestured to the restaurant around us, but we both knew I was referring to so much more.

  “Stick with me and I’ll make sure you get all the experiences you could possibly want.”

  My smile widened as the server came to the table to welcome us and take our drink order.

  “Another hurricane?” Bishop asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Why not?” I was feeling bold and alive and like nothing could possibly bring me down.

  Bishop ordered a bourbon and let me taste the smoky liquor when the server brought it to the table. I wasn’t a fan, and washed it down with my hurricane.

  The second cocktail hit me a little harder, and I was laughing as Bishop told me stories about tattoo cover-ups he had done. From the run-of-the-mill ex’s names, wedding dates, and wedding rings, to penises, vaginas, and things that couldn’t actually be identified.

  “Don’t you get tired of covering up people’s mistakes?” I asked.

  He shook his head, his expression thoughtful before he answered. “I don’t consider it a mistake. It’s a new beginning. A second chance. Why should we be stuck with
something we don’t want when it can be fixed?”

  The words hit home. A new beginning. A second chance. Wasn’t that what I really wanted? Not just an experience or an adventure? Something permanent. Like ink.

  It suddenly occurred to me that Bishop might have an ex’s name hiding under one of his many tattoos. Did he have a second chance or a new beginning on his skin?

  “Have you ever had a tattoo covered up?”

  Bishop nodded, and I held my breath waiting for his answer. “Absolutely. Who do you think had the tattoo that couldn’t be identified?”

  I blinked as a rush of relief blasted away the momentary gut twisting. “What do you mean, it couldn’t be identified? How do you get tattooed and not know what it is?”

  Bishop shrugged. “I was young and stupid and it was a friend. He sucked, and I should never have let him near me with a tattoo machine. I had my uncle cover it up.”

  “Your uncle?”

  Bishop’s posture stiffened, and his easy mood seemed to evaporate. “Yeah, he’s the one who taught me the trade. He raised me, most of the time in the tattoo shop. He’s the reason I do this.”

  “Is that how Delilah learned too?” Part of me wanted to drop the subject because something about it clearly made Bishop uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get another opportunity to ask.

  He shook his head. “No. Our parents were killed in a car wreck and they didn’t have a will. My mom’s sister didn’t want to take us both, so she took Delilah, and my dad’s brother stepped up to take me. He already had a kid of his own and a struggling business, so he couldn’t handle adding two more mouths to feed either. Just one extra was a struggle. I think Delilah became an artist just to piss off our straight-laced aunt, if you want to know the truth.”

  My heart clenched as I imagined how horrible it would have been to lose your entire family in one fell swoop the way he had. “I bet that was hard, especially being separated from your sister.”

  Bishop shrugged. “It was better than ending up in foster care. We were lucky, really.”

  “Do you still get to see your uncle? Does he still have his shop?”