by Meghan March
“So goddamn beautiful,” he breathed.
His pace accelerated once more, and I arched up, seeking the friction against my clit and then pulling away when it became too much. “Simon—”
“I got you, babe.” And he did. He slid a hand under my ass and angled my pelvis up, relieving the pressure on my clit but shifting his strokes to hit my G-spot. My vision faded as my eyes rolled back. “Holy—” I couldn’t get out another word before another climax ripped through me.
I felt Simon jerk and heard his groan. After a few more strokes, he slowed and collapsed onto me. He immediately pushed himself up, trying to save me from his weight, but I snaked my arms around his neck and pulled him back down.
“No, I like feeling you. On me. Inside me. Let me enjoy it for a minute before you crush my lungs.”
He kissed my temple. “Now who’s a talker? Fucking destroyed me, woman. Jesus. Couldn’t stop myself from coming. Can’t imagine how good it’s going to be to have you raw.”
A smug smile formed on my lips, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe my dirty, bad girl vibes had rubbed off a little on Mr. Polite-as-Hell Duchesne. Because he was anything but polite in bed.
“I think my dirty mouth is rubbing off on you.”
“You can rub your dirty mouth on me any time you want, babe. But I’m afraid I was swearing like a sailor long before you. After all, I was a sailor.” He lifted his weight off me slightly, but I was still pinned when he asked, “How old are you, Charlie?”
I took a steadying breath. If I could trust Simon with my body, I should at least be able to trust him with the age of that body. “Twenty-three.”
His head jerked up, and his eyes went wide.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t say it.” I clenched my inner muscles, and the surprise in his eyes turned to searing heat.
“Let me get another condom.”
“Good call.” He pulled out of me and rolled off the bed to take care of the used one. He was digging in his jeans for his wallet when a loud buzz echoed in the small room. I didn’t think my piece of shit cell phone was even capable of vibrating, so it had to be Simon’s. Still naked, he pulled the phone out of the pocket and answered it. I listened to his side of the conversation while I shamelessly ogled his tight, naked ass. Damn, the man was comfortable in his own skin. Thank the Lord.
“What do you need, Martin?”
Pause.
“You’re fucking kidding me. When?”
Pause.
“Shit. Okay. I’ll be there in twenty. Call our insurance guy, a retrieval crew, and notify the client.”
Pause.
“I know. Twenty minutes.”
Simon scrubbed a hand through his hair. He found his boxer briefs and pulled them on before stepping into his jeans. He turned toward me.
“I gotta go, babe.” His eyes skimmed over my nude body. “And that blows. I was hoping to stay in bed all day with you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember inviting you to spend the day in my bed.”
“You would have.”
“So cocky.” I trailed a finger down my chest, between my breasts. “You’re lucky I think that’s hot.”
“You don’t play fair.”
My smile transformed into an outright grin as he watched my fingers continue down to my belly. “Should I?”
“Never.”
He crossed to the bed and leaned down to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Wish I could stay, but I have to take care of something for work. A customer’s cargo is currently sitting on the bottom of the Mississippi, and I need to clean up the mess.”
I flipped the sheet up and covered myself, suddenly embarrassed that I’d been trying to act the seductress when he had real world problems to deal with. “It’s fine. Do what you need to do.”
He pulled the sheet away, leaving me naked again. “Like you better this way.” He sat on the bed and cupped the side of my face in his big hand. “Dinner tonight?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”
“Wear a dress. A short one.” My jaw dropped. He said what?
“Seriously? You did not just say that.”
“Oh, but I did.”
I huffed, tugging the sheet from his grip. “Have you ever seen me wear a dress? Let alone a short one?”
He leaned in and brushed his lips over the shell of my ear. “I’m going to see it tonight.”
“Cocky bastard,” I said, shivering from the contact.
“If it gets you into a dress, I’ll be whatever kind of bastard you want me to be.”
I won the sheet tug-of-war and tucked it around me before crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe. No promises.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Short dress. High heels. The same wild, just-been-fucked hair you’ve got going on right now. That’s how I’m going to be picturing you all day while I sort this shit out.”
I bit my lip and shook my head at him. “You’re crazy.”
“Only about you.” His lips met mine for one more kiss. This one was long, slow, and full of promise of what was to come. Finally, he pulled away. “See you later, babe.”
He left the room, and I heard the door to my apartment open and close. I uncrossed my arms and pressed a palm against either side of my face and rubbed upward. I was in way too deep. I leaned over to snag a T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. It was one of mine, but I wished it were Simon’s. I wanted his woodsy scent surrounding me.
Apparently I now had two tasks for the day: first, flex my code-breaking muscles; and second, find a damn dress.
Twenty-Four
Charlie
I stripped off the dress and threw it on the bed.
“I can’t do this,” I said to the empty room. I wished Huck were pacing around my tiny apartment so I didn’t feel like I was talking to myself. But he was downstairs in his crate in Harriet’s guestroom. I’d spent most of the day down there with him, the composition book, and a stack of library books. I’d officially made zero progress. I’d started cycling though the alphabet in the hopes that it was a basic substitution cipher, but it was a painstaking process.
And while my code cracking was going horribly, at least Huck was doing amazingly well. Dr. Richelieu hadn’t lied about the plate in his leg easing his recovery. He might’ve looked a bit like a hobbled horse when he padded around with his weight unequally distributed, but I was so damn glad to see him on the mend.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 6:49. I paced my room, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Calm, I thought. You can do this.
“I can’t do this.” I flopped onto my bed beside the dress and stared out the skylight to the blue and white expanse above. My thoughts wandered back to this morning. Lying on the bed, watching Simon as he stared me down with desire … and something else. I’d never wanted anyone more, and I’d never deserved anyone less. Was I going to humor his simple—albeit caveman-like—request?
What if he took me to some fancy Michelin Star restaurant? With the impression I’d given him so far, Simon would probably think my nerves stemmed from not knowing which fork to use. Little did he know that if I was so inclined, I could out-etiquette him any day. The girl who used to dine regularly at Per Se might’ve been buried, but she was still in there. Somewhere. But letting any hint of her out could put everything I’d built at risk. As it stood, my life might not be much, but it was mine. I looked over at the mini-dress and fingered the deep purple cotton voile. I pictured myself wearing it, walking hand-in-hand through the streets with Simon. I wanted that.
The rationalizations started to filter in: we weren’t in New York or L.A., Simon wasn’t a celebrity followed by the paparazzi, and unless he was at a public event, it was unlikely that his presence would attract attention.
“I can do this.”
I adjusted my strapless bra and matching black, lacy boy shorts and slipped on the dress. My hair hung in huge spiral curls I’d spent the last hour perfecting. Not that I would admit that l
ittle detail. I added dangling black and silver chain earrings that almost brushed my shoulders. They gave the outfit just enough ‘Charlie’ flare to make it acceptable. I slipped on a pair of vintage red leather peep-toe platforms Yve had let me borrow out of the inventory at the Dirty Dog and fastened the straps around my ankles. A check in the mirror, another dab of red lip stain, and I was ready. Which was damn good timing on my part because the intercom—which I’d reconnected—buzzed.
I crossed the room and pushed the button. “I’ll be right down.”
“Can’t wait, babe.”
Simon let out a wolf whistle as I strode, hips swinging, toward the gate. If I was going to wear this outfit, I was going to own it.
“Dayum, woman.” He slapped a hand over his chest. His white linen shirt was light and airy, and his slacks were much more casual than I’d anticipated. “Step out here so I can see you.” Simon moved away as I walked out onto the sidewalk. I spun, giving it a little extra oomph, and the skirt of my dress flared. When I stopped my impromptu twirl, I couldn’t hold back a ridiculous giggle as I smiled up at Simon.
I expected to see his answering grin, but his expression was serious, almost … solemn. I looked down at my dress. “What?” I asked, confused the abrupt change in his mood.
He shook his head and reached out a hand to trail a finger down my jaw line. “That. That right there. I want to put that smile on your face every day, for as long as you’ll let me.”
I sucked in a breath and leaned in to his touch. My first instinct was to make some smartass remark to defuse the emotions bubbling up inside me. They were on the verge of spilling out onto the cracked sidewalk at Simon’s feet. But I held them down and focused on soaking up this moment. I gift wrapped it and tucked it deep inside so I could take it out later and relive it.
Relive it after I lost him.
Because reality was scraping away at the happiness I was just discovering. The more time I spent studying that damn composition book—the book of lies and ruin—the more I accepted the fact I’d never make it out of this unscathed. I was naïve to think I could escape my past. Losing Simon would be my penance. And when that happened, memories of moments like this would be all I had left.
I opened my eyes, determined to live in the now and not worry about the future. At least not for tonight.
I pulled myself together and asked, “So, where to?”
“You want me to answer that question when all I can think is ‘This woman is a goddess, and I can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard who gets to take her out’?”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “You’re all charm tonight, Mr. Duchesne.”
“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be tonight.”
This time I trailed my finger down his freshly shaven cheek. “How about just a guy showing his girl a good time.”
“Done.” He offered his arm, and I took it.
The sun was setting, and I was confused as hell. Simon waved to a guy at a security checkpoint, and we cruised into a large lot surrounded by barbed wire fences. Hundreds, or maybe thousands, of shipping containers—gray, black, tan, red, orange, and blue—were stacked in rows and awaiting transport to their destinations.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Patience.”
Simon drove until we reached a seawall holding back the mighty Mississippi and parked in front of a barge. It was secured to the wall with ropes thicker than my arm. Except for a small section toward one end, it was completely covered with shipping containers. I scanned the empty space for a table and chairs. Candles. Champagne on ice. The kind of setup that I expected a guy like Simon to pull together, especially after he ordered me to wear a short dress and high heels. But there was none of that.
Simon climbed out of the car and was opening my door before I could gather my wits to do it myself. He helped me out onto the asphalt.
“Wait here.”
He popped the tailgate and retrieved a blanket and a large soft-sided cooler.
My scattered thoughts regrouped, and I realized what he had planned. “A picnic?”
“Yup. Just you and me and the river.” I was dumbstruck as he took my hand, led me over the ramp, and onto the barge.
I grabbed a corner, and we spread the thick stadium blanket out over the scarred and rusted steel of the deck. Simon helped me sit before kneeling on the blanket beside me. From the cooler, he produced round aluminum take out containers with inset cardboard lids and a six-pack of Abita.
I shook my head. He never did what I expected.
“Do you do this on purpose?”
He looked up from uncurling the aluminum edges of a container. “Do what?”
“The exact opposite of what I expect?”
He grinned and continued, revealing olives, two different kinds of hummus, flatbread, wedges of red and green pepper, slices of cold, rare tenderloin, chunks of cheese, and grapes. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I gestured to my dress and the shoes I’d already unbuckled and tossed aside. “You told me to wear a dress. And heels. I expected a fancy restaurant or some trendy club. Not a barge and a picnic and beer.”
His grin faded. “Is that what you’d rather do?”
My eyes widened. “No! Not at all. This is … perfect. But … how did you know? I mean … hell, I don’t know what I mean.”
His smile reappeared, dimples flashing. “You don’t give me much to go on, Charlie. I just have to guess. But I like surprising you. You get this look, like you can’t believe I’d go out of my way to do something special for you. I get the feeling you haven’t had enough special in your life. And the dress … well, I just wanted a chance to stare at those gorgeous legs of yours.” He shrugged, as if to say I’m a guy, deal with it.
I reflected on his words for a moment. My life had been ruthlessly organized, everything handed to me before I could even think to ask for it. But that was just it. I hadn’t asked for any of it. Not the designer clothes or the riding lessons or the schedule cluttered with suitable social engagements. I’d been given, and had done, whatever my parents had deemed appropriate for me. And I had to wonder if they had given those choices remotely as much thought as Simon had in planning this picnic.
I reached for an olive and popped it into my mouth. “How come some smart Southern belle hasn’t snapped you up already?”
He smirked. “I’m trying to get a sassy Yankee to, but she’s not catching on as quickly as I’d hoped. I’m starting to wonder if she’s not as smart as I thought.”
I threw an olive at his head, and he caught it in his mouth. He popped the tops off two beers and handed one to me. He held his out, the neck of the bottle angled toward me.
“To an unexpected night,” he said. I clinked my bottle with his and nabbed a slice of tenderloin.
I chewed and swallowed it. “Holy crap, that’s good. Where did all of this come from?”
“My kitchen.”
I was glad I wasn’t still chewing because I would’ve choked. “Are you serious? You cook too?”
“I’d say yes just to keep that look on your face, but it’d mostly be a lie. My parents’ housekeeper is jetting off on a two-week vacation tomorrow and asked if there was anything she could do for me before she left. I shamelessly begged her for help.”
He reached for a piece of flatbread and scooped up some hummus. I pressed a hand to my chest and made a poor attempt at a Southern drawl. “Well, thank the Lord for that; I almost swooned.”
I took a swig of my beer as he finished chewing. “Oh, you’ll swoon, I have no doubt. After all, I am devastatingly charming.”
We lingered over the food and talked about everything and yet nothing of substance. I loved that he didn’t push for more than I was willing to give, but I wondered if it would always be that way or if at some point he would lose his patience with me and demand answers. But I didn’t want to think about that right now. Not on such a perfect night.
We’d just popped the tops off t
he last two beers as fireworks burst over the river. I jumped at the thunderous percussion, and Simon pulled me against him. I followed him down until we lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the exploding blues and reds and glittering whites against the cloud-covered night sky. This was one more thing I loved about New Orleans. You never knew when there’d be fireworks. The masses of partiers would pause a moment from downing their Hurricanes and stare upward to enjoy the simple pleasure.
Simon threaded his fingers through mine as vibrant colors continued to flare across the sky and the acrid scent of black powder hung in the air. He toyed with my fingers, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss each one. He moved on to my palm and nipped the base with his teeth.
I knew exactly how this picnic was going to end.
Twenty-Five
Simon
I started to sit up as Charlie rolled and threw her leg over my hips. She pinned me, hair blowing in the river breeze, and shoved me back down. Her face was cast in shadows, but I could still make out her determined expression.
“Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”
I reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. “That so?”
“Yep.” The word popped from her lips. “You’re going to pay up on all this teasing hand crap.”
I chuckled. I loved her no-bullshit, straight-to-the-point attitude. It was something that was lacking in all other aspects of my life. “Teasing hand crap, is that what that was?”
She shifted against me, and her dress inched up her thighs. “Call it whatever you want, the consequences are still the same.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I’d rather show.”