He’s every fantasy she’s ever had...

Betsy Mouton knows that easy doesn’t last forever. She’s working her butt off to launch the Last Call Café so her family can leave the

New Orleans bar business—and its heartaches—behind forever. That is, until the hottest one-night-stand of her life shows up next door,

twice as uncompromising and two million times hotter, offering to buy the bar and send the Moutons to Easy Street.

Hotelier Quinton James has never forgotten the unbelievably hot night he and Betsy shared. Never forgotten how beautifully she

submitted to him, or how he found the only peace he’s ever known in her arms. Now that Betsy is the only thing standing in the way of

his new hotel, she’s the one in control. But there’s more at stake than her cafe or laying their past to rest—Quin wants a future. With

her. All he has to do is convince her...one sensual command at a time.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

living or dead, is coincidental.

or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact

the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at

www.entangledpublishing.com

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit

www.brazenbooks.com

Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Heather Howland

Photography by iStock

ISBN 978-1-63375-156-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition December 2014

For my big sister, Mindy Shryock, who took a second chance at love and made pure magic. Sis, you

inspire me—more with every year that passes. Our shared history is precious. It’s true—nobody

knows you like a sister, and I’m so lucky to be riding shotgun with my…buckeroo!

Chapter One

Quinton James stepped out of the doorway of his New Orleans hotel and glanced left and right for the

nearest bar. He paused, making way for a woman leading a boy down the busy sidewalk. The boy

was young, probably just old enough to keep up with her, and he dragged his feet, looking in the hotel

window. The woman laughed, pulling on his hand like they were playing tug-of-war, and Quin

chuckled. Her gaze darted to him. As their gazes met, shock froze him in place. Red hair, dark eyes,

freckles.

The woman scooped up the boy in her arms, struggling a bit with his weight, and hurried down the

street. He stared after them, perplexed, and glanced at his reflection in the window. He looked a little

spooked, but not threatening. Why had she raced away from him? And why did he feel like he’d just

seen a ghost?

Maybe I did. Perhaps that had been the ghost of his mother, shepherding his young self through the

French Quarter before she’d overdosed. Not likely. He couldn’t remember anything about her, but he

doubted his heroin-addicted mother had been the playful type.

He took a step forward, and the stench of cigarette smoke, hot garbage, and ketchup smacked him in

the face. God, I hate New Orleans. Too many memories. Not that he could actually remember any of

them, not his mother dying, even though he’d reportedly found her body, nor his sister running away

and leaving him alone. He didn’t recall a damn thing until his seventh birthday, the day Peter and

Maeve asked him to be part of their family. He supposed that was for the best, but they were gone

now, too, and this damn city was conjuring ghosts.

He expelled a harsh breath, wishing he hadn’t agreed to keynote the summit, but a shot or six of

bourbon would help. Then he could go to sleep, get up, give his speech, board the plane tomorrow,

and go back to Chicago. He wasn’t a kid anymore, alone and at the mercy of a capricious system. He

was in control of his life, and there was no reason for the panic clawing at his throat. No reason at all

—and no goddamn memories.

He spotted a bar right next to his hotel. The one good thing about New Orleans—it was always

happy hour somewhere. He stepped through the door and made a beeline for the whirling rainbow of

daiquiri machines, hoping there was straight liquor, too.

As he slid onto a corner stool, he looked around for the bartender. It didn’t take him long to spot her

talking to a customer at the other end of the bar. Her bare shoulders and lean curves were proudly

displayed in a low-cut tank, her lean legs showcased in a sexy denim skirt. Anticipation curled

through him as he raised his hand and cleared his throat. She acknowledged him with a wave but

turned her back, obviously in no hurry to serve him. Irritation brought a prickle of heat to his skin. He

was in no mood to wait, no matter how hot the bartender.

After a minute, she moseyed toward him, but when she finally stopped he’d half decided to leave.

There were plenty of other bars in the French Quarter. But then she met his gaze with smoky gray eyes

the color of banked coals, and another kind of heat flashed through him. He noted silky blue-black

hair, a lush mouth, and prominent cheekbones, but it was her pale gray eyes, bright against her toffee-

colored skin, that kept him in his seat.

Unmistakable interest flared in her eyes, a tight, hot connection. Her pupils widened, nearly

eclipsing the gray, and when she licked her lips, he nearly groaned.

“What can I get you?” Her sweet Southern drawl was a potent accelerant to the heat building

between them.

He sucked in a hard breath and then released it as a laugh. “Ice water, I think.”

Her gaze became coolly professional. The glass was in front of him, precisely centered on a bar

nap, before he could catch another breath.

And then she was gone.

He stared after her for a few seconds and then settled into a more comfortable position on his bar

stool and took a sip of the water. It didn’t cool him. If anything it made him hotter. He still wanted

liquor, but he wasn’t going to pass the evening in a drunken stupor, not if he could score a better offer

from the gorgeous bartender. That split second of shimmering attraction was a challenge he couldn’t

resist. He drained his water and waited for her to come back. Bourbon was good, but sex was better,

and he didn’t need to sleep tonight.

…

Betsy ignored the suit’s empty glass as long as she could. The guy was obviously on the make, and she

stayed away from the rich ones, the men with enough power and money to have plenty of practice

abusing it, leaving that hopeless territory to her ever-optimistic mother. No suits. Her father had been

a rich player, and her mother might as well own a T-shirt with a picture of Last Call that said, “I gave

him my heart, and all I got was this lousy bar,” a parting gift from a man who could afford it. I don’t

need a man to change my fate.

A sudden vision of what a man could do for her washed over her, leaving her knees weak, her skin

tingling, and a sigh trapped in her throat. How long had it been? She couldn’t remember. Too long.

Desire ripped through her, but that suit was trouble—and she was in a dangerous mood tonight. Best

to ignore everything but the next order, which she screwed up because she was wondering what he

smelled like, kissed like, felt like… What the hell was wrong with her?

“On the house.” She poured the correct drink and gave the customer a weak smile.

The suit was still staring at her, blatant lust in his expression, and she couldn’t summon her

customary indifference. Her nipples tightened under her tank. Oh, hell no. He held up his glass, and

she sighed, slowly moving toward him, feeling a rabbit hole open up under her feet as she returned

his steady gaze.

His eyes were light brown with gold flecks, and his hair was the color of mahogany, rich with

reddish highlights. It brushed his shoulders in expensive-looking waves. He wore his Armani as

comfortably as an athlete might sport Adidas, like he lived in it. Even sitting at the bar, he looked tall,

powerful, exuding a confidence that spoke to her on her deepest level, the one that wanted to lie down

and let someone else figure it out, for once. But it was all up to her. It always had been.

Her mother would be content to sling drinks forever, but Betsy wanted an easier life for all of them.

She’d seen the toll the bar life had taken on her mother, and her sister Kate was headed in exactly the

same direction. No one could work as hard as they did and not want some comfort at the end of the

night—

He tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Bakers, a double, with a little ice. Then water with

lime until your shift ends. Unless you can leave now?”

She tried to roll her eyes, but scorn was hard to pull off when lust exploded inside her like he’d

tossed a cherry bomb and hit dead center. “Aren’t you going to wink?” She was proud her voice was

steady.

“What?”

“If you’re going to say something that cheesy, you have to follow it up with a wink. It’s a rule.

C’mon, pretty boy, show me your wink. I know you’ve got one.”

“If I show you mine…” A slow smile started in his eyes then traveled southward. By the time his

lips formed a full curve, she was staring at his mouth. She jerked her gaze up to his eyes just in time

to get blindsided by a sexy wink.

“Not interested,” she said.

“Me neither. Now that we’ve gotten the lies out of the way, what time do you get off?”

It was better not to think about how long it had been since she’d gotten off. “Whenever I want, but

not with you.”

“Why not?”

“Too rich for my blood.” She pumped derision into her tone as she swept her gaze over him. “Nice

suit. Bet it cost more than I make in a month.”

“I’ll go back to my hotel and change if that will give me a shot.”

“Did you pack anything but suits? I doubt it.”

He gave her that slow grin again. “Busted. But the offer to take it off still stands. Better yet, you do

it.”

Her entire body clenched with need, and she froze, trying not to betray her response. “Your crappy

lines aren’t getting you anywhere.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Honest doesn’t have as much practice picking up women as you clearly do. I’m guessing you’re in

town for a convention?” Tourists didn’t wear suits.

“Hotelier summit.”

“Since you’re here for something as fancy as a summit, I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you

own more than one hotel.” She waited for his nod. “And given the way you just tried to pick me up as

casually as you ordered your drink, I’m also going to assume the technique usually works for you. In

fact, I bet you’ve got women waiting for you in hotel bars all over the country.” He held her gaze and

said nothing, but she saw the answer in his eyes. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the daiquiri

machines. “If you want the flavor of the night, order the Banana Rum.”

“Flavor of the night—I like that. I could make you like it, too. I have all that experience,

remember?”

“We’re not having this conversation.” She set his bourbon in front of him.

He picked up the bill he’d dropped on the bar and held it out to her. “Women enjoy the things I have

to offer.”

“Let me guess, sex and money?”

His nod both irritated and aroused her. “I don’t want either. Enjoy your free drink.”

What an asshole. She walked away, automatically pulling beers and pouring daiquiris for her other

customers. But her thoughts stayed focused on the man watching her as if she were a meal he planned

to savor. Her rejection seemed to have no impact on him. Of course, if he had as much experience as

he claimed, he could probably read her body language. Even as she’d forced her lips to say no, her

body had swelled under his taut regard. Goddamn suit.

Was it her fault the women in her family had a congenital weakness for business attire?

After watching her mother get her heart broken by rich jerks, never hooking up with random suit-

wearing strangers was a point of pride…but her mother had already left for the night, and Betsy was

leaving for culinary school tomorrow. She’d be long gone before anyone could tease her about her

hook-up. Oh my God, am I actually considering this?

She worked faster, trying to escape the temptation, but every time he took a sip of his drink, her

gaze flashed to his hands and then his mouth, cataloging the sensuality of his movements. She couldn’t

help but imagine what kind of a body was under that expensive jacket. Soft from living the good life?

Or hard from expending the energy that seemed to swirl around him? She’d guess hard.

He caught her eyeing him, and he gave her that slow, sexy grin again, the one that said resistance is

futile. Every part of her trembled. Her hard nipples brushed against her shirt, and her panties

dampened. She marched over and slammed another glass down in front of him, filled it with ice and

water, and then squeezed a lime in it like she was squishing a bug. She left his damn money right

where it was. “I close the bar at two.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

She stalked away.

Rinse and repeat all night. He got up once to use the restroom. The rest of the time he watched her.

Well after midnight, Kate nudged her with an elbow. “Lucky bitch.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Plausible deniability, for the win. Betsy was the closer

tonight, and she doubted her little sister would stick around a minute longer than necessary.

“Oh, please.” Kate’s grin was far worldlier than it should be, considering she had just turned

eighteen a few months ago and was barely old enough to work in the bar. “Leaving town with a bang,

huh? Good for you.”

Betsy flushed. “Last call.”

Kate giggled and hurried toward her big table to take an order for one more round.

Betsy watched her dodge groping hands and laugh off suggestive comments. I’m so glad I’m not

going to have to put up with that kind of bullshit for the next two years. And as soon as Betsy

graduated from the Culinary Academy, her sister and mother wouldn’t have to endure it either. They

were going to turn this place into a restaurant and get out of the bar life forever. Betsy intended to

work her butt off at school to make sure her family would have a better life.

But tonight, she was going to have a little fun.

She felt his gaze caress her and couldn’t wait for her last official shift as a bartender to be over. It

hadn’t been as bad as usual tonight, not with the suit keeping an eye on her. No one had dared step out

of line after he deflected the hand of an overly friendly patron reaching for her ass on one of her trips

out from behind the bar. There had been leashed aggression in his voice as he’d issued a low

warning, “Control your impulses, buddy.” But the wink he’d aimed at her had been full of humor.

Warmth filled her at the memory. If she hadn’t been so anxious for the night to end, it might have been

kind of fun to have a protector.

She sucked in a startled breath and focused on pouring drinks. She didn’t need a protector. That

was the kind of thinking that led to heartbreak. One night. A good time. That was all she wanted.

Slowly, the bar emptied.

Betsy dealt with the money while the cocktail servers set the bar to rights, ignoring their smirks as

the man stayed put at the bar. Kate shot her a thumbs-up and blew her a kiss before she slipped out the

front door and locked it behind her. Heart pounding, Betsy closed the shutters, and then dimmed the

lights.

He stood when she stopped in front of him. “Quinton James.”

“Betsy Mouton.”

When he took her hand, a spark shot between them. Ridiculous. That shit doesn’t happen in real

life. He raised her hand to his lips, and goose bumps broke out all over her body. Her eyes dipped

shut, and a wave of longing washed over her, so intense she locked her knees to keep them from

buckling. “This is nuts. I don’t do this.” The words stuttered from her lips.

“Neither do I.”

She frowned at the obvious lie, and he chuckled. “I’ve never sat in a bar for six hours waiting for a

woman.”

“Why did you?”

“Because every time you walked by I wanted to do this.” He cupped her chin with a sure hand and

slowly leaned toward her. The time he took bridging the distance between them underscored her

consent.

He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her tight. They fit, and his low sound of

enjoyment echoed the flood of pleasure sweeping through her. There was no reason on earth this

should feel right, but it did.

He took her lips. His mouth was soft, moving with skill, and his breath was scented with lime from

his water. His tongue stroked fire through her veins, melting her against him, and she clutched his

broad shoulders, feeling dizzy from fighting arousal. A moan rose in her throat, and she tried to

swallow it—and failed.

She wasn’t herself tonight. That was the only explanation. Betsy Mouton would never hook up with

a cocky player like him. She didn’t do one-night-stands, casual sex, or irresponsibility in any way,

shape, or form. But Quinton James didn’t know that. She could be whoever she wanted to be tonight,

do whatever she wanted to do. She’d never see him again, and the freedom was intoxicating.

Tomorrow, responsible Betsy would get on the plane to New York and set about changing her family’s

destiny, but tonight she was going to embrace the spirit of New Orleans. Let the good times roll.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Right next door.”

He kept kissing her, his hand cupping her ass, moving her up and down on his thigh. She dug her

fingers into his shoulders, trying to brace herself against the waves of hot bliss that knocked the

words from her mouth. Second thoughts crowded her brain. Just because they’d been eye-fucking each

other all night and he had the patience to wait her out didn’t mean this was a good idea. “Can I

assume you have condoms and no means no, just in case I change my mind?”

“I like your use of the plural as it relates to condoms, and I have plenty. But we both know no

means maybe or you wouldn’t be kissing me.” When she tensed, his grip tightened. “Before you

flounce off with your feminist principles in an uproar, let’s make a deal. Stop means stop, but I

consider no a challenge. I’ve been sitting here all night thinking of things I’d like to do to you, and I

want to make you say yes.”

“Make me?” She searched his eyes, seeing determination and so much lust she quivered. He gazed

back at her with equal absorption. What did he see in her depths?

But she knew.

Softness to his hardness. Give to his take. Surrender. He was every fantasy she’d ever had and

denied she wanted. She’d never met a man strong enough to make her do anything. She didn’t want to.

She had her own plans for her future, but she was fascinated with the way he made her feel. She

wasn’t going to say stop. “Just for tonight.”

“That’s all I’ve got.” That slow smile spread across his mouth. Oh dear God, that smile was lethal.

Carnal. It ought to come with a warning. He trapped her against the bar and pressed his hardness into

her hip. I guess the smile is the warning.

“Six hours gives a man a lot of time to think about every imaginable way to make a woman come.

Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded and led him to the side door, keyed the alarm code, and followed him into the alley,

locking the door behind them. He put his arm around her as they walked to the street, and she leaned

into his hard body. The scent of his warm skin mixed with his spicy cologne and the scent of her

arousal made her tighten in anticipation.

Neither of them spoke as they entered his hotel, but her breath caught at the beauty and luxury of her

surroundings as it always did when she stepped into the neighboring hotel. She studied him while he

watched the numbers on the floors drop, amused by his obvious impatience. On a normal night, she

wouldn’t be caught dead with a rich suit like him. Everything she was wearing probably cost less than

one of his shoes. She made a bet with herself during the elevator ride and won it when he opened the

door to his suite. It was as big as her apartment and then some. She stood in the doorway, taking it in.

“Impressed?”

“Nope. Lots of money usually means no scruples, soul, or conscience. I absolutely can’t stand guys

who think they can get whatever they want by paying for it.”

His chuckle tickled the back of her neck as he nudged her into the room and locked the door behind

them. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m making a one-time exception.”

“Lucky for me.” He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall, kicking open the door of

a dark bedroom. He dropped her onto the bed and followed her down, stretching out beside her. His

tongue traced her lips in a teasing kiss while his hand cupped her breast. Her skin tingled, coming

alive at his touch. She held her breath as his hand moved downward, catching the hem of her short

skirt and pulling it to the top of her thighs. He slipped his thumb under the crotch of her panties, and

the hot slide of his touch made her moan.

“You’re soaked.” His voice was rough. “Soft and smooth, like you’ve been wanting this as much as

I have tonight.”

She bit her lip, trying not to tremble, on fire from his touch. He wasn’t doing anything complicated,

just moving his thumb back and forth, but the pleasure was sharp, intense, almost too much to handle.

Her head thrashed against the pillows as his mouth whispered over her breasts, tonguing her nipples

through her tank. His teeth grazed her neck, and she strained against him as his thumb sank into her

body.

Suddenly, he rose to his knees and pulled her hips into the center of the bed. He thrust her skirt up

to circle her waist, and yanked her panties and her sandals off at the same time. He settled between

her thighs, and she lost her breath on a ragged moan.

His lips were firm and relentless, no tentative exploration, no slow discovery of what she liked. He

seemed to know, ravaging her with his tongue while his hands held her hips in place. A flash fantasy

of him on top, driving into her, his fingers manacling her wrists, made her eyes slam shut and her

mouth fall open in a raw gasp. She wanted him inside, in control, driving her wild, and he seemed to

be on exactly the same page. The thought of him taking her every way he’d imagined made her

whimper, and she fought the urge to beg him to hold her down. Then she remembered she’d never see

him again. Why did she care if he knew her secret desires?

“Hold my wrists,” she whispered. “Make me.”

His grip on her hips tightened, and a thrill shot through her. She writhed against his lips, close, so

close. She needed him to lick her again, right there, hold her tighter, just a little harder…

She screamed when he took his mouth away.

“Easy, sweetheart. Hang on. You’ll like this even better.”

He moved her feet to his shoulders and grabbed her wrists, using them as leverage to pull her back

to his mouth. Her legs were trapped between their bodies, knees bent in a deliciously confining

position. His tongue speared deep inside her, fucking her in short strokes, and then his mouth fastened

over her clit, sucking, and then rubbing with his tongue, all the while pulling her closer, tighter,

harder, until she had nowhere to go. Every muscle tensed, and then ecstasy slammed through her. She

howled against the onslaught, unable to move, yet needing to ease the pressure somehow. She thrust

against him with her heels, but he crowded closer, trapping her hands against her hips, holding her

captive.

His tongue slowed but didn’t stop, tracing leisurely patterns, until she collapsed on the bed, taking

deep, shuddering breaths and blinking away the spots dancing before her eyes. Her scalp prickled

with sweat, and every inch of skin burned. She sighed as he slid up to spoon her, feeling like every

bone in her body had melted. “That was…oh my God…um…” She searched for the right words, but

her brain couldn’t move either.

His warm breath brushed the back of her neck as he chuckled. He pulled her hips into the curve of

his, and his cock rubbed against her ass. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. Impossibly, she got

hotter. He might be the opposite of everything she usually liked in a man, but she wanted him so badly

she shamelessly ground her ass against him, lost to the fire building between them. Not me. This is

not me. Just for tonight.

He yanked her skirt down over her hips and threw it off the bed. As she pulled her shirt over her

head, she heard the muffled sound of his jacket hitting the floor, a zipper, more fabric rustling, and the

sound of plastic ripping.

“Condom is all set.” He slid back into place behind her, and the sudden warmth of his hard body

made her groan in pleasure. She felt his teeth nip her neck as he rolled on top of her, pressing her

face-down into the bed. She imagined him taking her from behind, and arousal slammed through her in

a sizzling rush. As if he’d read her mind, he lifted her hips, tenting her body over the bed and then

shoving pillows under her.

“Are you comfortable in this position?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“One more taste.” His breath whispered over her, making her quiver, then his tongue was inside

her. She pressed her face into the comforter to muffle her moans. Without the pillows, she would have

collapsed from the hot pleasure of his tongue teasing her up to the edge, the cool arousal of saliva on

her skin when he pulled away. She felt his cock against her opening and thrust back, hard, seating him

deep, and gasped, nearly climaxing just from having him inside her. She bucked her hips back and

forth, wanting to feel that invasion again and again.

He fell forward, pinning her. “Oh no, you don’t. Be still. You want me to make you, remember? I

want to make you.”

He caught her arms and held them over her head with one hand. He thrust the other hand beneath

her, finding her clit and circling it with his fingers while his cock slid in and out. Each slow glide

pushed her closer to the peak, but she was helpless, pinned by his hips and hands, unable to reach for

it. She scrambled for purchase, wanting to increase the friction, change the angle, anything that would

take her higher, but she couldn’t get her knees under her, and the sense of helplessness was the most

erotic thing she’d ever known.

His fingers rubbed harder, and his hips moved faster. She stopped fighting and pressure built, as if

everything inside her was waiting while the storm gathered. She held her breath. Faster, harder,

tighter.

And then he stopped. “Tell me you want me.” His voice was harsh in her ear. “And I’ll make you

come.”

Was he serious? “Get moving, you jerk.” She nearly sobbed.

“Ask nicely.” He resumed a lazy rhythm.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She groaned. His silence told her he wasn’t. Was he kinky? Did he

want to hear her beg? She took a deep breath, tempted to tell him to stop. She could finish the job

herself, right in front of him. That would teach him. However, the words bubbled into her head and

the thought of saying them made her shudder with need. Why not just say it? She’d never see him

again.

“I want you,” she whispered. “Please…please make me come.”

He hammered into her, and stars burst behind her eyelids as her body detonated. One spasm set off

another, and she quaked beneath him. She heard him groan, felt him tense, and she chanted the word

please over and over again as she exploded with him.

Chapter Two

Betsy woke with her heart pounding. She curled into the pillow with her eyes closed. Her body felt

heavy and hot, and her thighs were slick with sweat. She moaned softly and realized her own sighs

had awakened her.

Two years away at school. Ten months back home in the French Quarter. And she still woke up wet.

Ridiculous. One night with Quinton James had ruined her. That was not part of my plan.

Of course, neither was discovering the restaurant business was even more punishing than the bar

business. Lila and Jenna, her BFFs from culinary school, had warned her opening a restaurant wasn’t

easy, but her hard work, both now and the two arduous years at school, would be worth every second

when her mom and sister didn’t have to sling drinks until dawn, wrangling drunks and dodging pick-

up lines from married men looking for more than a heavy pour. The bar life was no life at all, and

Betsy would work herself to the bone, to her very marrow, to give her family a better life.

She rolled out of bed and into her clothes, still exhausted but already running late. She’d

underestimated the amount of work it would take to turn the bar into a café, but she was this close to

showing her mother and sister that the Last Call Café could be as profitable as the bar. If the lunch

business stayed steady for the next two months, her mother had promised to close the bar and let

Betsy open for dinner. Of course, that would mean more work for her, but she had a plan.

Caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine.

Betsy hustled into her clothes and out the door. If she hurried, she’d have time to stop at Café du

Monde. Her mouth watered, and she could almost taste the powdered sugar and café au lait drizzle

she would stir up in her saucer, smell the hot burst of steam exploding from a fresh beignet, and feel

the heat of a sweet coffee buzz. She pulled cash from her pocket as she approached the Café.

“Hey, pretty lady, can I sing you a song?” The elderly minstrel wore a tuxedo, even though it was

barely eight o’clock in the morning, and his guitar case lay open on the sidewalk in front of him.

She swallowed a groan as the smell of coffee nearly made her swoon and smiled at him, dropping

the bills into the purple velvet-lined case. She could make coffee at work. “No time for a song, but

thanks.”

“Thank you, pretty lady. God bless.”

She walked faster as she cut around Jackson Square, wincing as she always did when she turned

onto her street and caught sight of the under-construction hotel next to Last Call. Many things had

changed for the better while she was gone, but the gorgeous building next door had morphed into a

plate-glass monstrosity painted a dull shade of gray. Other French Quarter hotels were owned by

chains but managed to incorporate the unique charm and grace of the region into their signature

facades. Not this one. It was going to be a Keystone Hotel, identical to the dozen or so across the

country, the best-of-the-best, ultra-modern, an exquisite travel experience according to the buzz, but

every one of them looked exactly like the others, taking branding to ridiculous levels. She would

rather stay in a one-of-a-kind bed-and-breakfast with no wifi than spend a single night in soulless

luxury.

The only good thing about the change was it kept her from thinking about the night she’d spent there

with Quin. On cue, her skin tingled as she hurried past the hotel. Or not. Knowing she’d never see

him again had eighty-sixed her inhibitions that night. She’d done things with him she’d never do if she

had to maintain a relationship in the light of day, and he’d been right there with her, insatiable,

shameless, anticipating her desires, especially when it came to taking control. A small groan of

longing built in her throat. Until that night, she’d categorized multiple orgasms with unicorns, the Holy

Grail, and free parking, but he’d proved her wrong. Repeatedly. She’d had to force herself out of bed

the next morning and had left without waking him up to say good-bye because she’d feared he would

tempt her into another round of the best sex…ever. Even without making more memories, forgetting

him was turning out to be a challenge.

She glanced into the window of the building on the other side of Last Call before she unlocked the

gate. The candy store had been empty for months and still showed no sign of life. Things didn’t stay

empty for long in the Quarter, and curiosity was killing her. Time would tell, but she sure as hell

wished it would tell faster.

She tugged the padlock free and shut the gate behind her, but before she’d taken ten steps, it swung

open again. She whirled, startled, and then she stared. Her skin flushed hot, and her heart hammered.

Could lack of sleep and caffeine withdrawal cause hallucinations? If so, this was a beauty. He looked

as if he’d stepped out of her morning dream: sexy dark suit, gleaming golden-brown eyes, and wicked

grin. She blinked rapidly—no, he was definitely real. There were faint lines around his mouth, and he

looked weary. In her dreams, he was never tired.

“Quin,” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Opening my new hotel and making plans for expansion.” His slow smile wreaked havoc on her

already taxed heart as he jerked a thumb at the building next door. He stopped in front of her, broad

shoulders seeming to span the width of the narrow alley. “Just got into town and saw you walk past

my office window. How are you?”

“You’re the new owner? You own the Keystone Hotel?”

“I own all of them. Hotels, remember?”

She nodded, trying to shake her brain into action, but she felt like she’d walked into a time warp.

They were standing in the alley in broad daylight, more than two years after their night together, but

her body remembered him—instantly, intimately, and inappropriately. Her mouth watered at his scent:

spicy cologne, crisp cotton, and warm skin. Her hands clenched into fists, fingers itching to touch the

luxurious still-too-long layers of his hair. When he held out his hand, her nipples peaked, and she

went hot and wet at her center.

She slid her hand into his, and a lightning bolt of lust shot through her. Her head fell back, and her

gaze caught his, seeing the reflection of her desire. His grip tightened.

“Oh, fuck it,” he said roughly, closing in. His lips slanted over hers, stealing her breath. She buried

her hands in his hair, and he lifted her up, pinning her against the alley wall, arms cushioning her

back. He rocked against her, turning her bones to butter, and she arched into him, wrapping her legs

around his waist. They fit together perfectly, no space between them, every part of her welcoming his

touch. Alarm shot through her.

“Whoa…hey. Wait. Stop.” The magic word whipped out of her mouth.

His arms hardened, squeezing, but then he set her on her feet and stepped back fast. She

straightened her clothes and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. One night. She’d allowed

herself to surrender to him for one night because she’d never see him again. Now he’d bought the

hotel next door? And she was making out with him in the alley like they were going to pick up where

they’d left off? That wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t that woman, never had been.

If he was looking for more of what had happened between them, he was flat out of luck. She wasn’t

spending more than one night with a player who had women stashed in cities all over the country,

every one of them hoping for more than she was ever going to get. Betsy had already gotten what she

wanted from him.

“Sorry.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s good to see you.”

She nodded, struggling to hide the evidence of how good. Her body was a traitor. “I can’t believe

you bought the hotel next door.”

“Yup—we’re neighbors. Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I can’t… I don’t…” She stammered, trying to think of a polite excuse until she realized he hadn’t

asked it like it was a question. Why should she be polite? She glared at him. “No.”

“You know how I feel about the word no.” The gold gleam in his eyes kindled her memory. “Lunch,

then. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“I don’t eat lunch—I make it. And we have nothing to discuss. I’m late for work.” She hurried for

the door to the bar before he could guess her thoughts were taking a turn for the naked.

“Leaving without saying good-bye? Again?” His voice was teasing but it also held recrimination.

There was no way she’d tell him she’d been tempted to wake him up for more, not when that

humiliating urge had sent her fleeing. “You were asleep, and it’s ancient history.” She turned when she

got the door open and found him right behind her. She released her pent-up frustration in a deep sigh.

“Fine—good-bye, Quin. Good-bye twice.”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t planned to discuss this in an alley, but you aren’t giving me much

choice. The new hotel isn’t the only French Quarter property I own. I also bought the candy store on

the other side of Last Call. My architect has drawn up gorgeous plans for a courtyard, and I’d like to

talk to you about buying the bar.”

For a minute, she thought she’d misheard him. “You want to buy Last Call?”

He nodded, smiling. “I spoke with your mother a few months ago, and she’s willing to sell if you

are. She didn’t mention my offer?”

That betrayal turned her ice cold. “I’ve worked my ass off to turn Last Call into a café, and we

open for dinner soon. I’m not selling.”

“Your mother and sister seemed to be all for the idea when I met with them last night, but let me

make myself clear. I don’t need to buy your bar. I want to buy it. I can build around you, or I can buy

the property behind you. But if you keep the bar, it’s going to look like a sow’s ear stuck on a silk

purse when I’m done with renovations. Or Last Call can become the entrance to the most beautiful

courtyard in the French Quarter, and you can set up shop somewhere else. Or work for me.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, but she forced a laugh around it. “Your arrogance is astounding.

I’m not sure which part of that is the most ridiculous, but I think it’s you calling your hotel a silk

purse. I’ve never seen a more butt-ugly building in my life. Having Last Call next door is the only

thing keeping it from total disaster. I don’t even know how you got permission to rebuild in a historic

district. Did you have to get a special permit? An ordinance? A divine dispensation from the mayor of

Orleans parish?”

“That stuff is easy.” He didn’t say when you have money. He didn’t have to.

“We’re done here.”

“I’m offering a half-million.”

“I don’t want your damn money. The answer is no.” She shut the door in his face and locked it.

…

Everybody wants money. Quin opened the door on his side of the alley and entered the hotel, shaking

his head. She couldn’t get rid of him that easily. The lust that made him want to take her against the

nearest surface, dive straight inside, and never look back was still there, even stronger than it had

been two years ago. If she’d have let him, he would have stripped her in the alley and shown her

exactly how happy he was to see her again. Anticipation buzzed inside him, just as it had ever since

he’d learned her family owned Last Call. He was here to put the past behind him, to make New

Orleans a Keystone city, and to shake off the hold it had on him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy

himself.

After his visit two years ago, his nightmares about the city had become so frequent they felt like

memories, so he’d decided to handle the situation the way he handled everything else—by owning it.

New Orleans wanted a piece of him? He’d take a chunk out of it, a big bite right out of the middle of

the French Quarter. Unfortunately, thanks to the good-ole-boy network down here, it had taken over

two years to put his plan into action, and the nightmares hadn’t stopped. It was only after he’d

reluctantly admitted his New Orleans roots that the owners of the hotel where he’d stayed had

accepted his outrageous offer. But buying it hadn’t given him any peace. As soon as he’d made it a

Keystone Hotel, his disturbing dreams of the courtyard had started.

After seeing Betsy, he knew New Orleans wasn’t the only thing that had a grip on him. He hadn’t

been able to shake his memories of her anymore than he’d been able to stop having nightmares about

the city. It wasn’t a coincidence he’d bought the hotel next to her bar. He’d been hoping to see her

again. In fact, he’d engineered a way for them to meet, and he’d expected her to jump at his offer.

What was Betsy’s problem? He’d offered a fortune for their tiny bar, and she’d looked at him like

he was something she wanted to crush under her shoe. He vaguely remembered her taking shots at his

wealth the night they’d hooked up, but he’d thought she was just playing hard-to-get. Who didn’t like

money?

Things were going to get complicated if Betsy didn’t change her mind. He’d already bought the

candy store, and he’d been bluffing about building around her. He’d also lied about her mother saying

yes. Mrs. Mouton had said no…unless both her daughters agreed. The sister had been thrilled by the

idea, and Mrs. Mouton had given him the impression Betsy would be equally excited. Had he heard

what he wanted to hear? Her lunch business had to be cramped in that small space, and he was

offering enough money to buy a bigger, better location anywhere she wanted.

He looked around the empty lobby, taking in the sleek leather furniture, chrome accent tables, and

modern art, running his hand over the black marble front desk as he walked behind it to reach his

office. Butt-ugly? Not even close. His new hotel was gorgeous, and soon it would be teeming with

staff bringing it to life. The only thing it needed was a courtyard. None of his other hotels had one;

this one shouldn’t have one either, but his compulsion could not be denied. He needed a goddamn

courtyard. Then the nightmares would stop.

Determination hardened inside him. He couldn’t believe she’d shut him down without even

considering his offer. When she’d pushed him away, he’d wanted to hold her tighter and kiss her

deeper. Now that he wasn’t looking into those hot gray eyes and smelling that sweet, creamy toffee

skin, he knew why.

She’d left him.

Waking up alone when he’d expected to find her next to him had been disappointing, but stopping

by her bar the next day only to discover she was gone had been infuriating. They’d agreed on one

night, but he’d always been the one to do the leaving first. He hadn’t liked feeling abandoned at all.

Icy dread gathered in his gut, and he forced the unfounded anxiety back down deep where it

belonged—in the past he couldn’t remember. His mother had been a drug addict, and his sister had

abandoned him in foster care, but those facts didn’t define him. His life—and his memories—began

when the nicest couple on earth adopted him. Peter and Maeve had given him everything he’d ever

wanted, safety, security, love, food, clothing, cars, an Ivy League education, an amazing job, and his

life had been perfect until they’d died in a car accident five years ago. They’d left him a fortune, and

he was well on his way to tripling it, but making money wasn’t enough to stop the nightmares

anymore. He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he sensed building a courtyard would bring him

peace.

Betsy’s rejection today stirred dark places inside him, rousing predatory instincts and sharpening

his desire to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Everyone had a price; he would find hers. She

couldn’t declare they were done and lock a door between them.

A grim chuckle huffed out of his chest. The woman ran a café. They were having lunch together

even if he was the only one eating.

Several hours later, his stomach rumbled, but he forced himself to finish his paperwork before he

ventured back outside. This time, he went out the front door, admiring the huge, sparkling clean

windows and the high-efficiency doors that kept the cool air in and the humidity out. He’d taken an

antiquated mess and turned it into a paragon of modern elegance. When he opened for business, he’d

show New Orleans how to do first-class hospitality the Keystone way.

As he turned toward Last Call, he caught a flash of multi-colored skirts and scarves as a woman put

an open sign in the window of the tea-leaf reading shop across the street. He turned his back and

hurried toward the café. The woman, with her gypsy garb and elaborate turban, gave him the creeps,

as did the musty thrift shops, antique stores, and other odd establishments throughout the Quarter.

He’d passed a shop yesterday that proudly displayed desiccated bones in the front window. He could

only hope the Keystone would set a trend for more forward-thinking establishments on the street.

He walked into the café and looked around the room. The only thing that had changed were the

specials chalked on the wall. His mouth watered. Deliberately, he chose to sit at the bar in the same

spot where they’d met while he waited for a server.

“Be right with you!” A familiar voice called from the back.

When Betsy appeared, her welcoming smile turned into a glower. “What do you want?”

“Lunch. What do you recommend?”

“Leaving. I’m short-staffed today, so your service is going to suck. You should go somewhere

else.”

He shook his head. “I have fond memories of this place, so I’ll take my chances. Why don’t you

join me?”

The front door opened, and he stood when he saw Betsy’s mom and sister. “Mrs. Mouton, Kate,

nice to see you again.” He could feel Betsy’s stare burning holes in his back as he smiled at the two

women who looked enough alike to be sisters. With their blond hair, pale skin, and dark eyes, he’d

never have guessed they were related to black-haired, gray-eyed Betsy.

“Hello, Mr. James. You don’t waste any time,” Mrs. Mouton said.

“None to waste, and call me Quin.” He was grateful she didn’t seem to remember the first time

they’d met, two years ago when he’d come looking for Betsy.

“I assume you’ve been talking to my daughter about your offer?”

“He has.” Betsy’s voice was sharp enough to cut diamonds. “I don’t want to sell Last Call, and I

wish you’d warned me Mr. James was interested. He ambushed me in the alley this morning.”

Mrs. Mouton cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, darlin’. I said no.”

“What?”

He gave her his best innocent look. “She said yes…if I could convince you. So that’s why I’m here.

I hope you’ll reconsider having dinner with me. I’d love to catch up.”

“Do you two know each other?” Her sister asked, eyes wide and blinking with feigned surprise,

telling him she had a better memory than her mother. After seeing her last night, he’d been pretty sure

she’d been working the night he met Betsy; now he was certain.

Betsy gave him a murderous look, and it was all he could do to stifle a chuckle as he realized her

mom had no idea they were acquainted. Obviously, she didn’t want her to know, either. He

acknowledged her warning glare with a flick of one eyebrow and a meaningful glance of his own.

He’d play along, but he expected payback. “I meant catch up on my French Quarter research. I’ve

only been here once, and I’d like to hit all the best restaurants before I leave town. The last time I was

here I only had time for one meal.” He kept his eyes on Betsy. “Where would you like to go?”

Mrs. Mouton grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her toward the back. “We’ll leave you two alone to

figure it out.”

Quin waited until they were out of earshot. “Your mother doesn’t know about us?”

“There is no us.”

“If you say so, but maybe I should mention what happened a few years ago and this morning in the

alley and see if she agrees.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then dinner? Seven o’clock in the Keystone lobby? My chef has been dying to try out his new

tasting menu.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, breathing in the sweet scent of

her skin. The tightening in his groin made him painfully aware Last Call wasn’t the only thing he

wanted. It had been so damn good between them. No matter how hard he’d tried he hadn’t been able

to forget the hours they’d spent together. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, remembering how

she had come apart beneath him. He felt her pulse pound under his fingertips and watched her eyes

darken as her pupils widened to nearly cover the pale gray of her irises. “Give me a chance.”

A loud crash from the back made her jump, and she jerked away from him. “I’ll have dinner with

you, but only to make damn sure you understand no doesn’t mean maybe when it comes to Last Call.

Now do you want a sandwich or not?”

“A sandwich is a good start.” Anticipation rolled through him, making him harder. “Surprise me.”

…

Betsy slammed through the door into the kitchen. She’d totally caved, but if she’d stayed out there any

longer with Quin looking at her like he wanted to eat her for lunch, her mother might have found her

on the bar in front of him. What was it about the man that made her want to say yes? Not just yes.

Hell, yes. Please, yes. Anything you want, yes. She was not a yes girl. She had her own agenda, and

it was time she made that crystal clear to Quinton James. Dinner would give her the perfect

opportunity.

Kate collapsed into the chair at the tiny desk, fanning herself. “That man is fine. Rich, gorgeous,

and hotter than the Quarter in August. Did you see the way he was looking at you? I think Mr. James

wants to relive some memories.”

“You’re imagining things.”

Today her mother and sister came in early? That hadn’t happened in the history of forever, and

she’d been totally unprepared to face them while Quin sat at the bar in the exact spot where he’d

waited for her all night. Her mother draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek,

trapping her with the cloying scent of her sweet perfume. “We felt bad about last night, darlin’. Sorry

about the mess.”

The place had been a freaking wreck this morning. Had they thrown an after-hours party to

celebrate selling the bar? Not gonna happen. Her mother had promised her another two months to hit

her profit margin, and Betsy was holding her to it. “No big deal, but I was completely screwed when

Ali didn’t show up to cover the front this morning.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

Hours later than she’d needed them. She’d already taken care of the bus tubs full of dirty glasses,

the empty potato-chip bags littering the floor, and the sticky counter tops, but she supposed something

was better than nothing.

She smiled at her mom, noticing she looked tired. “Was it a super rough night?”

“You know how it is.” Her mother bent to grab an apron. “I never close the doors when the money

is flowing into the register, but I’m not as young as I used to be. We would have been here sooner, but

I forgot to set my alarm.” She made a face at Kate. “And your sister slept through hers.”

“It’s all good, Mom, really. Thanks for coming in to help.” Once the restaurant was open for dinner,

her mom wouldn’t have to work all night and then turn around and work all day. They’d all be able to

keep reasonable hours. But thoughts of their brighter future didn’t keep her from feeling guilty as her

mom headed up front to work the bar.

Betsy heard the low rumble of Quin’s laugh as she spread her special olive mix on bread for his

muffaletta. Heat pulsed through her as she recalled the wicked glint in his eyes when he’d said,

“Surprise me.”

Her sister was right. The man was a walking panty dropper.

She could imagine him walking down Bourbon Street, melting the elastic on the underwear of every

woman he passed. Probably a few men, too. They would stagger after him like pheromone-infected

zombies, leaving a trail of rainbow lingerie in their path, just as she had the night they hooked up. In

her hurry to leave the next morning, she’d left her favorite pair of underwear behind…

She made his sandwich to go. “Take this out to him, will you?”

“No way. Get your tail out there and snag yourself a rich man. Maybe he’ll fall in love with you and

take you away from all this. Working is for the birds.” Of course Kate would encourage her, and her

mom was probably out front putting a rush order on a voodoo love charm right now. Hopeless, both

of them.

“How would you know about work?” Betsy eyed her sister who lounged with her feet on the desk,

fiddling with her phone.

“I do plenty at night. Or have you forgotten what it’s like to run a bar, now that you’re a fancy

chef?”

Betsy’s hand clenched the bag. “I opened the café so we could get out of the bar business. Have you

forgotten? In two months, you can stop serving hurricanes to drunk married guys hitting on you and

start serving Mom’s famous gumbo to a dining room full of happy couples and nice families.”

Kate looked up from her phone. “If I wanted to serve food, I’d work in a restaurant.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument, but she’d thought Kate would come around once

things got rolling in the café. A gulf had grown between them while she was at school, and no matter

what she said or did, she couldn’t bridge it. Why couldn’t Kate see how much better it was going to

be?

Her sister pushed to her feet. “If you’re really going to shut down the bar, I’d rather take Quinton

James’s money and eat in his stupid restaurant. But Betsy knows best, as always.”

She gritted her teeth and ignored the familiar gibe. “You seriously want to give up Last Call? It’s

our history.”

“Last Call is a bar, not a restaurant, so don’t talk history to me when you’re erasing ours.” Kate

snatched the bag out of her hand and stalked toward the door.

A few seconds later, she heard Quin’s voice and Kate’s giggles and recognized the emotion for

what it was: jealousy. What was wrong with her? Kate could flirt with Quin all she wanted. Betsy

had no claim on him. They didn’t even know each other, not really. Not clothed, at least.

She pressed her hand to her forehead, but it didn’t stop the mental image of him naked. Powerful

chest, hard arms, tan skin, tight waist…stop! They’d spent more time together naked than clothed,

more time not talking than talking. They didn’t know each other, but she couldn’t deny their physical

connection. Just looking at him made her want to take her clothes off and not talk some more. Judging

by the way he was acting, he felt the same way. How on earth was she going to get through dinner

with the man? And day after day of him right next door? By remembering he wants to put you out of

business, dumbass.

She’d focus on that instead of her melting panties. That’d work.

She closed her eyes and sagged against the counter. I’m so screwed. Why didn’t other men turn her

on like he did? She’d dated a few times at school and gone out since she’d been home, but none of the

guys had tempted her past first base. She’d been primed and ready for a home run after a few minutes

in the alley with Quin. Why did she lose her mind around him? Was she as cursed as her mother and

Kate?

She didn’t expect anything from him. She didn’t want his money, and she certainly didn’t want him

to fall in love with her. She just wanted…what? To spend another night as a sex zombie?

The thought of being with him again made desire roll through her so fast and hard, her knees

weakened. She braced her forearms on the counter and took long gulping breaths, waiting for the lust

to pass. Her nipples tingled, and her breasts ached. She pressed her thighs together and bit her lip.

The sharp pain reminded her of Quin, nipping at her lips in the alley this morning, which made her

think of his mouth doing other things, the things she’d been dreaming of this morning.

Not gonna happen.

He’d blackmailed her into having dinner with him because he wanted Last Call, and she’d bet

anything he planned to use her attraction to him as a bargaining chip. Quin might remember her as a

yes girl, but she wasn’t—not even close—and tonight she’d prove he couldn’t push her around.

Chapter Three

Betsy ransacked her bedroom. Jeans were too casual, and a little black dress was trying too hard. A

skirt? Two years spent living in uniform and ten months in the café didn’t give her much to work with.

She reached for her phone to shoot a group text to Lila and Jenna.

Going out to dinner, and I need to look invincible. What should I wear?

Her thumb hesitated over the send button. She’d never mentioned Quin, and didn’t have time to

explain, especially since she was already running late due to her wardrobe challenge. Plus, it was an

hour later in New York and New Jersey, and Lila and Jenna were likely right in the middle of the

dinner rush. She hit delete and went back to her closet.

Finally, she unearthed something perfect.

It was a thrift-store find, dark green crushed velvet, funky and fabulous, with spaghetti straps and

seed pearl buttons up the front. It made her feel bold and confident, exactly as she wanted to appear.

She twisted her hair on top of her head and secured it with a few pins. It was too hot for much

makeup, so she swiped gloss over her lips and mascara on her lashes and then headed out the door.

Excitement prickled her nerves as she walked toward the hotel, but she ignored it. This isn’t a

date. It’s a business meeting. Business, as in he wanted to ruin hers, just as he’d destroyed a

beautiful building and built the monstrosity in front of her. No way would she bow before the

Keystone machine. The glass doors whooshed open, and she saw Quin waiting for her in the lobby.

“You look lovely.” He bent to kiss her cheek, and she held her breath until he moved out of sniffing

distance. Just in case her panties melted.

“This isn’t a date.”

“Of course not.” He guided her into the restaurant with a hand on her lower back. Warmth radiated

from the point of connection, so she focused on her surroundings. The sleek, smooth, minimalist décor

in the dining room had a distinctly cooling effect.

The art on the muted gray walls was modern, mostly line drawings. The seats were made from

metal with black leather padding. The floor was tile. There wasn’t a touch of the warmth or old-

world elegance that had characterized the former establishment. If this was what he had done with the

restaurant, she shuddered to think about the plans his architect had drawn up for Last Call and the

empty candy store. More of the same, no doubt.

He led her to a table for two in the corner where a bottle of champagne was chilling. After he

pulled out her chair and helped her into it, he took the seat across from her and poured the champagne.

“Thank you.” She picked up her glass and took a sip. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but it was crisp

and refreshing. She glanced around the empty dining room. “No staff? I expected servers fawning

over every crumb.”

“The restaurant isn’t officially open, so my chef will be serving us.” He handed her a menu. “Other

than him, we have the whole hotel to ourselves. Whatever are we going to do with it?” He arched a

devilish brow.

She ignored him and looked down at the menu. Images of all the places they could have sex played

through her brain, but she wasn’t going to cave this time. After a few seconds of sightless staring, the

words stopped crawling across the page, and she read through the five-course tasting menu. Given the

Keystone’s reputation, she assumed the food would be amazing, but she wasn’t surprised to find the

menu matched the hotel: contemporary and soulless. She looked up to find him watching her.

“What do you think?”

She hesitated. She’d shared her opinion of the hotel in the alley, but they weren’t arguing now.

There was no call for being downright rude. “You have successful hotels all over the country, so you

must be doing something right. Who cares what I think?”

“Just curious. Aren’t you a recent culinary school graduate? You must have learned something about

food.”

His patronizing tone made her bristle. He wanted her opinion—fine. She tossed the menu on the

table between them. “I don’t get it. There’s no soul. At all. With so much rich New Orleans culture to

draw on, I can’t believe you didn’t incorporate some of it into your menu. You don’t have a single

Cajun or Creole dish. It’s almost like you set out to deliberately snub traditional New Orleans

cuisine. Do you have something against our fair Crescent City?”

“Of course not.” It was like watching a gate close. His eyes became guarded, and his lips tightened.

She got the feeling he was lying.

He cleared his throat. “Consistency is the key to Keystone success. All of the Keystone hotels are

identical, and the restaurants serve the same menu. If you’ll remember, I have plans to build a classic

French Quarter courtyard. Give your mother permission to sell Last Call, and I will.”

“Not gonna happen. You’ll have to work with what you’ve got. Why don’t you expand into your

museum-like lobby instead? Food carts and a jazz band would give it some New Orleans style.

Beignets to order? Maybe a cocktail kiosk? Roving performers? Add some fairy lights and wrought-

iron furniture, and this place might actually look presentable.”

He grimaced. “Not in a million years. We don’t need any of that—you’ll see. The hotel will be

packed in two weeks. Give people what they want and expect, and they’ll keep coming back for

more. I operate on the same principle, by the way. Can you guess what I want from you?”

The sexy gold gleam in his eyes took her breath away. She shook her head. “You caught me off

guard this morning, or you’d never have been able to blackmail me into having dinner with you. I’m

not selling Last Call, and if you want to tell my mother what happened between us, go ahead.” But

please God, don’t.

“Would you have had dinner with me if I hadn’t forced you into it?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “You left me no choice. We have unfinished business.”

“Wrong. We have zero business. Nothing you say or do is going to change my mind about Last

Call.” Her heart pounded, making every pulse point throb. The words swelled inside her, a dam ready

to burst. This was her chance to set him straight. “Men like you, with money and power, think you can

get whatever you want, but you can’t. I know you think I’m a pushover because of what happened a

few years ago, but I’m not. I made an exception because I was leaving the next day, and I thought I’d

never see you again. I was living out a fantasy. The woman you met that night is very different from

the woman I really am.” She met his hot gaze squarely. “I don’t give up. I don’t give in, and I’m sure

as hell not going to roll over and sell the business I’ve worked for my entire life just because I let you

fuck my brains out for one night almost three years ago. It was an anomaly. Are we clear?”

He nodded.

Triumph roared through her.

Then he grinned. “We’re clear about Last Call—for now. But I have to hand it to you. That’s the

best rationalization for a one-night-stand I’ve ever heard. How long did it take you to come up with

it?”

Her breath sailed out of her lungs. “It’s not a rationalization. It’s the truth.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not even close to the truth, but nice try. You’re delusional if you think you aren’t

the same woman who kept me up all night begging for more. Getting naked is like getting drunk. It

makes you honest. Maybe you did things you wouldn’t normally do, but don’t think for a second you

didn’t want to do them…or that you don’t want to do them again.” His eyes glinted with gold. “I know

you still want me.”

His words started a chain reaction in her core that made her dizzy as it swept outward. “Your

arrogance is unbelievable.”

“Or maybe I just know what I want, and I’m not afraid to admit it…or take it. I think that’s what you

like about me. You enjoy being taken, don’t you?” His hand closed over hers on the table, warm and

firm.

Her body tightened in expectation. “You don’t know me at all.” She could barely get the words out,

and when she did, her heart pounded out the lie.

He stroked the racing pulse at her wrist. “Yes, I do. Better than you know yourself, apparently. How

long do you think it would take me to make you beg? I haven’t forgotten a single thing that drives you

crazy. I bet if we went up to my room, and you let me touch you, you’d be begging within fifteen

minutes.”

She wanted to flee, but instinct told her if she ran, he’d chase and chase hard. Plus, bolting would

give her zero chance of convincing him to leave her and Last Call alone. He’d never believe she

wasn’t a pushover.

Guys like him were accustomed to getting everything they wanted handed to them on a silver

platter. She’d certainly given him everything two years ago—but she thought she’d never see him

again.

Now they were neighbors, and denying the attraction between them was like denying it was hot

outside. She couldn’t do it anymore, but maybe she could turn it to her advantage. He thought she

couldn’t last fifteen minutes? She would do better than that.

“I’ll take that bet.” She drew her hand from beneath his and laid it on top. “But when we get

upstairs, the only one begging will be you.”

…

Surprise rocked through him. The steely determination in her gaze was a challenge he couldn’t resist,

but he hadn’t expected her to say yes so fast. “What’s the catch?”

Her fingers drew distracting patterns on the back of his hand, and the fire in her eyes mesmerized

him. Gray eyes, banked coals, and memories of her burning for him made him impatient for her

answer.

She licked her lips and swallowed. “When you start begging, Last Call is off the table. You leave

my business alone.” Her voice was husky, and it sent vibrations straight to his cock.

He didn’t for a second believe this was about business, but he wasn’t going to waste the

opportunity. He’d never ask her to sell the bar on the basis of a sexual bet—this was personal—but

he could get something else he wanted. “I want the entire night when I win. You’ll be the only one

begging, well within the fifteen minutes, but I don’t want you sailing out the door and leaving me high

and dry when you do. I want to fuck you until we’re both exhausted, and then I want to wake up in the

morning and say a proper good-bye.” He’d end up with blue balls for a week if she said no, but it

wasn’t in him to accept a deal with uneven terms. He wanted to replace the memory of waking up

without her with its exact opposite: waking up inside her.

His chef opened the door to the kitchen.

Quin squeezed her hand. “What’ll it be, sweetheart? Dinner here or room service?” The air felt

charged with electricity, snapping and crackling between them.

Luc arrived at the table with two bowls of soup, but before he could place them on the table, she

said, “Room service.”

Relief and anticipation brought him to his feet, pulling Betsy with him. “Change in plans, Luc.

Could you pack everything up and leave it outside room twenty-seven twenty?”

“I live to serve.”

Quin gave him a sharp look. His smartass chef had camped it up to play his role tonight, towel over

his arm, black shirt and dress pants instead of his usual jeans, white T-shirt, and stained chef coat. His

hair was combed instead of hidden under a baseball cap, and his tattoos were covered. He looked

almost presentable, and the change was startling. Quin felt guilty for Luc’s efforts for a half-second

before he remembered how much he was paying the guy to work overtime.

He led Betsy out of the restaurant. Déjà vu smacked him hard as they reached the elevators. The

last time they’d ridden an elevator together, the best sex of his life had followed. Sometime in the next

fifteen minutes, he had to figure out a way to get her to stay, and he didn’t see any reason they couldn’t

both win. Just because she didn’t want to sell Last Call didn’t mean he couldn’t have his courtyard.

He’d just have to figure out a deal she would accept. Or maybe she’d change her mind…tomorrow.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. He hit the button for his floor. As soon as the door

closed, he pressed her against the wall. “This doesn’t count toward my fifteen minutes.”

She grabbed his wrist and twisted it so she could see his watch. “Yes, it does.”

He held her hands above her head, bending his knees so he could press against her. He knew this

woman. She couldn’t help surrendering to him any more than he could help his driving need to get

inside her. “In that case…”

He dropped her hands and held her against the wall with his body while he caught the bottom edge

of her dress and lifted it. He saw a flash of black lace panties and thrust his hand between her thighs,

cupping her sex. The bet gave him no time for finesse. He didn’t think she’d hold him to the fifteen

minutes if she was about to come, but he needed to make the most of every second and elicit the

quickest, rawest response from her he could. She was hot and damp, making his fingers curl.

The elevator door opened, and she pushed him away. “The clock is ticking.”

She pulled him into the hall, but he took the lead, guiding her to his suite and opening the door. He

locked the door behind them and followed her into the bedroom, sucking in a choked breath when she

climbed on the bed, kneeled, and began unbuttoning her dress. He’d suspected she wasn’t wearing a

bra, and as she shrugged her shoulders and shimmied out of her dress, his suspicions were confirmed.

Her breasts were the perfect small handfuls he remembered, and her pale brown nipples were tight.

He bent to suck one into his mouth, caressing her other breast with his hand. She reached for his belt,

unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and pushed him flat on the bed. She grabbed the waistband of his

pants, yanked, and then swiftly eased his boxers over his erection.

His heart pounded, and his breath felt harsh in his throat. She straddled him, leaving his clothes

around his knees, trapping him, and her smug smile told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

He’d been so sure he’d have the upper hand, but she’d swiftly wrested control from him. Maybe she

had changed, but this take-charge Betsy was just as hot as the version he’d met two years ago. Under

other circumstances, she probably could make him beg, but he couldn’t beg now. If he did, she’d

leave. Think, you idiot.

He decided to take a page from her book and taunt her with naked skin. He jerked the knot from his

tie and unbuttoned his shirt. When her eyes followed his fingers, he stifled his own smile of victory,

but as soon as he bared his chest, she bent to rake her teeth over his nipple. He bucked beneath her,

groaning as she licked and sucked his stinging flesh. So much for that tactic. Plan B?

He reached for her, rolling her under him and holding her there while he threw off his jacket, shirt,

and tie. She squirmed to the side when he lifted his leg to shuck his pants. When her hand grasped his

cock, he froze. Stars shot in front of his eyes as she slowly worked him up and down. She was

merciless, thumbing the wetness at his tip and cupping his balls with her other hand. He blinked,

clearing his vision just in time to see her wicked smile.

“I know you want me to suck you, so I don’t know why you’re putting up such a fight.”

If she took him into her mouth, he could not be responsible for the words coming out of his. He’d

beg. In seconds.

As she scooted forward, he tugged her hands from his jewels, instantly missing her touch. “Nothing

on earth I want more, but this is my fifteen minutes. The bet is for me to make you beg, so it’s time for

you to lie back and start thinking of whatever it is women think of when they’re trying not to plead for

mercy.”

Her mouth fell open, and he took advantage of her surprise by kissing her. She tasted of champagne

and her own sweetness. He toppled her to the bed, momentarily losing his focus as their bodies

aligned. Her nipples were hard points against his chest, and her hips cradled him. He was frantic to

be inside her, but he glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

“Do your worst.”

He chuckled softly as he drew her lacy panties down her legs. He pressed her thighs wide and

settled himself between them, inhaling deeply and blowing softly over her curls, watching her clench

and quiver. He loved seeing evidence of a woman’s desire. There was nothing hotter than knowing

you were wanted.

“Nine minutes.”

“Just enjoying the view.” He looked up, caught her gaze, and winked. Her eyes slammed shut. He

teased her inner lips apart with his tongue. She was drenched, slick beneath his lips, and her salty-

sweet musk made him grind against the bed. He swept through her folds, reacquainting himself with

the territory for a few minutes before he went in for the kill. He chased her clit, then trapped it with

the tip of his tongue, sucking and nibbling. She swelled beneath his mouth. Her thighs tensed against

his shoulders, and when he thrust his hands beneath her to grip her ass, he found her muscles flexed

and straining there, too.

“Five minutes.” Her voice was faint but determined.

He glanced up to see her staring at the clock on the bedside table.

He eased one finger inside her and began to thrust in sync with the movement of his tongue. She

was clenched so tight around his finger he knew she was fighting the pleasure with everything she

had. He also knew her muscle tension would work against her, pushing her closer to orgasm. He

varied the rhythm of his tongue and curved his finger, seeking a spot he remembered well. When she

began to rock against his hand, he knew he had her. Her eyes were clamped shut, every muscle tense

enough to shatter.

She made a choked sound and broke, fluttering against his hand and mouth. Her taste intoxicated

him. He licked and sucked, drawing her sweet pleasure into his mouth, drinking her in until the last

aftershock trembled against his tongue. Then he glanced at the clock and slipped another finger inside

her. She was wetter, even hotter, and his cock throbbed painfully against the bed. Easy boy, we’re just

getting started. He was going to win the bet, all right. Just not the way she expected.

She grabbed a double handful of his hair and tugged, lifting his head away from her. “I didn’t beg.”

She was breathless.

“I didn’t expect you to. Your orgasm was a given.” He pumped his fingers in and out of her body

and shifted his grip so he could flick the tip of her clit with the fingers of his other hand. He felt

tension building in her body again and loved watching her fight it. “But I’ve still got three minutes.

Before my time is up, you’ll beg me to stop—or admit you don’t want me to.”

…

She came again, even harder this time, and a loud moan ripped from her throat. Every time his fingers

hit that spot inside her, it took her a little higher. She wanted his cock, bad enough to freaking beg for

it, but she wasn’t going to do it. How had this happened? She’d been doing so well. It hadn’t been

nearly as hard to be aggressive as she’d thought it would be, but then wham, bam, she was on her

back, and he was doing that thing, and she was coming.

Satisfaction coursed through her, thick and hot, as his fingers glided over her clit.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re fucking amazing, and I want to be inside you the next time you come.

Just say please. You know how good it is between us. I can tell you remember.” His fingers were

everywhere, sliding, circling, and thrusting. She took deep breaths, trying to force calm into her

fevered body. She wasn’t going to beg him for anything. She ground her clit against his fingers. So

close…

His fingers slid out of her, drawing a long, low groan of protest from her chest. A second later, his

heavy, hot body pressed her into the bed, and her thighs opened. He took his weight on his arms and

moved his hips so that the heavy length of his cock stroked the top of her sex. She couldn’t think,

could hardly breathe, couldn’t do anything but want him inside her, but she’d be damned if she’d say

the words.

“One minute.” His face was pure sensuality as he rubbed himself against her. “Once I get you

started, you go all night. Let me go with you. I promise I won’t tell anybody, and I won’t try to buy

your bar, either. Let me spend the night inside you, and we both win. Just say the word, and I’ll give

you everything you want, any way you want it.”

It took a second for his words to sink in. I won’t tell anybody, and I won’t try to buy your bar,

either. Need pulsed and pounded, making it hard to remember the terms of their bet. Was he

conceding? “That sounds like begging to me.”

“Just stating the facts.”

He pressed her into the bed. His body was hot and hard, his motions rigidly controlled. His

deliberate slide took her to the edge and held her there, pinned. She was burning for him, had been all

day. That kiss in the alley had started a fire. His hands and mouth had fanned the flames. Now she

wanted him inside her, taking her in all the ways she remembered, and he’d thrown the bet, giving her

what she needed to say, “Yes.”

Chapter Four

She arched her hips, wanting him to rub against her again, but he shifted away. Her gaze darted to the

clock and saw he’d won. Her heart dropped. Had he just played her?

He reached into the bedside table and withdrew a box of condoms. Extracting one, he opened it,

and covered himself. Relief blasted away her uncertainty as he kneeled between her legs and gazed

down at her. The sight of his erection, so straight and hard, made her tighten, soften, and get even

wetter. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her and feel the mindless ease of their sexual connection

again. “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“We’ve got all night now. What’s your hurry?” He reached to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples.

Flames licked lower, and she clenched, unable to articulate why she wanted him inside her right now,

just knowing she did. He caressed her belly and hips, and then dragged his fingers through her folds.

She pressed into his touch. His gaze was intense as he followed his fingers with the tip of his cock,

rubbing, spreading her wetness before he sank into her inch by slow inch.

She writhed, bucking her hips to bring him deeper.

“Exactly as I remember.” His chuckle was hoarse. “So fucking hot. So tight. Don’t worry,

sweetheart. I know what you want. It was unforgettable for me, too.” He sank to the root and rubbed a

circle around her clit before he rose up and fed her his length again, even slower this time. She

throbbed around him, feeling full, swollen, liquid, and ready to scream if he didn’t pick up the pace.

He caught her wrists and drew them straight down the sides of her body, holding them in place with

his elbows and cupping her shoulders with his hands. He trapped her legs, too, bracketing them with

his and holding them closed around his cock, which felt like it was growing bigger every second. She

gasped as everything compressed, and then moaned as he shifted forward, getting deeper. She

couldn’t move anything except her forearms as he made shallow thrusts into her body, lighting her up

from the inside, so she grabbed his ass and held on.

“You know what I like to hear.” His voice was a rough whisper. “Do you remember how much you

enjoy saying it?”

Oh God.

His arms banded her sides and his legs held her immobile. The concentrated movement of his hips

drew helpless whimpers from her throat. Her entire being was focused on the connection between

them getting tighter, stronger, and more explosive every second. Relentlessly, he drove her toward her

peak, holding her gaze as he thrust into her. His intent regard was as erotic as the quickening

movements of his hips hitting every pleasure zone inside her. She had nowhere to go but up. She let

him take her.

“Please.” Her voice was as ragged as his, barely recognizable. “Make me.”

Ecstasy burst inside her in sharp, almost painful spasms that he stoked with tight thrusts. Fire

radiated from her clit through her belly, breasts, thighs, and extremities, a conflagration getting hotter

by the second. He moved his legs between hers, thrusting them apart with his knees, and she grabbed

her thighs, opening wider for him. He used her shoulders for leverage, pulling her closer, until she felt

the tip of him reach the end of her. His back arched, and a low groan rumbled from his chest. She

watched his features grow sharp, his eyes bright, and his lips press tightly together. Her breath caught

at the raw beauty of his desire.

Pleasure washed through her again as he released in a series of hard thrusts, and she knew why

she’d wanted him inside her so badly. She’d needed to see him lose control and know he was as

powerless to resist the attraction between them as she was.

He collapsed on top of her, squeezing the air from her lungs, and then rolled, taking her with him.

She felt his hand grasp the condom as he slid out of her. They were both breathing heavily, and sweat

slicked their bodies. She lay on top of him, listening to the wild pounding of his heart and feeling its

echo inside her.

A loud knock on the door made them both jump. “Room service.” The words rang out in the silent

hotel.

Quin’s arms tightened around her. “He better be gone by the time I get to the door or I’m going to

kill him.”

She eased to the side, and he rolled off the bed, heading for the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second and

then I’ll grab the food.”

She sat up, very aware of her nakedness. Where had she thrown her dress? She found it on the other

side of the bed just as he came out of the bathroom wearing a robe. He handed another one to her, and

she took both into the bathroom and locked the door.

She stood, clutching the dress and robe, and stared into the mirror, unsettled and confused. Her hair

was everywhere, and the small amount of mascara she’d applied had landed beneath her eyes. Now

what?

She didn’t have her cell phone, so she couldn’t text Lila or Jenna for suggestions, even if she was

willing to explain the events that had led her to this point. Her friends had drunk the fairytale Kool-

Aid within months of each other. Lila was so in love with her fiancé Jack, her eyes looked like

cartoon hearts, and Jenna had just gotten engaged, too. No help there.

How had she gotten so far off course? She’d planned to show Quin she wasn’t a pushover. Instead,

she’d begged him to fuck her before the last minute of their bet had elapsed, an epic fail. But, wait,

there’s more. Now that there was a locked door between her and Quin’s panty-melting sexual

magnetism, her brain was working again. Or perhaps multiple orgasms had dulled her raging desire

for his body enough to let reason shine through. Either way, the humiliating truth was making itself

known.

She’d set herself up to fail.

On purpose. In the most basic way a woman can. I shaved my bikini line and wore my best

underwear.

She shrugged into the thick, white terry-cloth robe and sank down into the padded chair next to the

vanity, covering her face with her hands. She’d subconsciously engineered a bet to get them into bed,

and it had been easy to be aggressive because she’d wanted to touch him. She’d been thrilled when

he’d conceded, not because he’d leave Last Call alone, but because she wanted to have sex with him.

A wave of arousal swept through her, leaving her tingling, hot, and excruciatingly aware of the

extent of her self-sabotage. That fifteen minutes had been hers as much as his, but as soon as he’d

offered to take control, she’d gone flat on her back with her arms open and her legs spread wide.

She slumped in the chair. I’ve got to get out of here. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she

knew damn well she wasn’t going anywhere. If I wanted to leave, I would have put on my dress. The

thick terry-cloth of the hotel robe embraced her.

Why pretend to resist if she was going to sabotage herself? Even though he was the embodiment of

everything she hated in a man, an unapologetic player used to getting his way through brute force of

money, she wanted to spend tonight with him. So what if he had women across the country waiting for

him to call when he was in town? She wasn’t going to become one of them. Maybe she hadn’t set

herself up to fail; maybe she’d set herself up to win. She’d made it clear he wasn’t going to get his

hands on Last Call and found a way to get his hands on her, guilt-free, all night.

She looked around the bathroom and saw multiple showerheads in a glass-and-marble stall, a

sunken tub, a stunning array of toiletries, and a mountain of soft-looking towels. Sounds from the next

room told her he was setting up the room-service cart in the bedroom. She heard music playing. What

was waiting for her at home? An empty apartment.

His world was so far from hers, it was like another galaxy. She worked twelve-hour days trying to

keep the café profitable, losing sleep, eating leftover sandwich prep, and barely taking time to shower

each day. Quin lived in luxury with five-course meals delivered to his suite and a water park in his

bathroom. Since she’d technically won the bet, why not enjoy the spoils of war? The other half had it

pretty good; she might as well take advantage of it.

She hung her dress on the back of the door and used the bathroom. After washing her hands,

smoothing her hair, and arranging the robe to show the maximum amount of her minimal cleavage, she

opened the door.

…

Quin released a silent sigh when he saw she was wearing the robe. He’d figured the odds of her

staying were fifty-fifty, no matter what she’d said ten minutes ago, so he’d begun laying out a feast to

entice her.

“What on earth is that?” she asked, pointing at the room-service cart.

“Half warming oven, half refrigerator. It keeps the hot stuff hot and the cold stuff cold. I hope you

don’t mind me starting without you. I’m starving.” He tipped a raw oyster into his mouth.

She made a face. “The oysters are all yours.”

“You don’t like oysters? How can you not like oysters?” He’d been in love with them since his first

taste. Complex, salty, lush on the tongue, like a cool breeze blowing in from the Gulf. “Try one of

these.”

“Hell, no.” She shuddered. “Slimy, snotty, and nasty.”

“Sex in the ocean,” he countered. “And proof of a regional dish on the Keystone menu.”

“No self-respecting local chef would serve raw oysters with mango-habanero Jell-O.”

“Aspic.”

“Whatever.”

Luc had said the same thing. In fact, his Cajun chef agreed with many of the points Betsy had made

about the menu, and he was sick of hearing it. He watched her take an empty bowl from the cart and

fill it with carrot bisque from a heated pitcher. She sat cross-legged on the bed next to him where he’d

put the tablecloth from the cart and dipped her spoon into the soup, blowing to cool it. He wanted to

lean across the bed and trace her pursed lips with his tongue. When the spoon slid into her mouth, he

wanted to follow it. So he did, putting one hand on her bowl to steady it.

“What was that for?” she asked when he let her go.

“For not putting your dress on and leaving.”

She flushed, and he wondered how close she had been to doing just that. He was going to make her

glad she’d stayed. He tipped another oyster into his mouth. After he swallowed, he licked his lips and

found her watching him. “C’mon, you’ve got to try one.”

A calculating gleam entered her eyes. “I’ll eat an oyster if you tell me why you don’t like New

Orleans. I saw the look on your face when we were talking about the menu. What gives?”

“It’s not an interesting story.” And he didn’t talk about it, ever.

She took an oyster off his plate and held it a few inches from her lips. Her tongue emerged, dipped

into the liquor, and then traveled over the moist, curved surface of the fat oyster. He went hard as a

rock, imagining his hand wrapped in her silky black hair while she tongued him just like that. A puff

of air hissed out of his lungs. “Do that again.”

“Start talking.”

He watched her lick her lips, surprised to discover he wanted to tell her. “I was born here.”

Surprise flared in her eyes. Then she smiled and tipped the shell straight into her mouth. He

watched her throat as she swallowed. A pulse beat strongly, and he wanted to trap it under his fingers

while he licked the strong column of her neck, enjoying the salty taste of her sweat.

“Go on,” she said, looking at him from under dark lashes.

He shook his head. “There are only a handful of people who know, and you just sucked it out of me

like…an oyster.”

“Is it a big secret?”

“The past is irrelevant.”

“The past is the good stuff. The things that make us who we are.”

“I don’t consider a junkie mom who overdosed on heroin and abandoned her kids the good stuff.”

He saw pity in her eyes and hastened to add, “Don’t feel sorry for me. I was adopted by an incredible

family, and I don’t remember anything that happened when I was living here.”

“Nothing?”

He shook his head. “The past isn’t even a memory to me. I’m all about the future. What about you?

How about a little quid pro quo? Tell me why you don’t want your mother to know about us, even

though there is no us. Most women consider me a catch.” Not that he’d allow himself to be caught.

Marriage was the first step toward divorce, and there was no way he was going there.

She snorted. “My mother definitely considers you a catch, which is why I don’t want her to think

I’ve succumbed—however briefly—to the family curse.”

He tipped another oyster into his mouth and swallowed. “And the family curse is…?”

She began to hum a vaguely familiar tune, but he couldn’t place it.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard Someday My Prince Will Come?”

He shook his head.

“Fitting, I suppose, since you’re not exactly a prince.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Only if your desire to get me naked is rooted in the need to find a suitable wife.” She rolled her

eyes. “Do you want to marry me and fill your hotel kingdom with babies?”

His stomach turned, and his horror must have shown on his face because she laughed. “Exactly. I

don’t have any illusions about you, and I don’t want to put up with the load of crap I’ll get from my

mom if she finds out we hooked up. She’ll think it means something it most certainly does not.”

Was he so easy to peg? A psychologist would probably have a field day with his reasons for

avoiding long-term relationships and not wanting children, but who could blame him? Everyone he’d

loved had left him, one way or another. He considered that while she finished her soup and explored

the room-service cart. Her robe gaped as she bent to reach into the refrigerated compartment, and his

cock stirred. She made a sound of triumph as she pulled out the half-empty bottle of champagne and

poured two glasses.

When she handed one to him, he said, “I guess I don’t believe in happily ever after, but I’m a big

fan of happy-right-now.”

“Preaching to the choir, buddy. That’s why I put on the robe.” She clinked her glass with his and

then moved the other plate of oysters in front of him on the bed. “You’re going to need these. The

aphrodisiac properties of oysters are well-documented.” Her naughty smile sent more blood rushing

south.

“They’re already working for me.”

Her gaze dropped to his lap, and her eyes glazed. He patted the bed right next to him. For a second,

he’d been tempted to suggest accepting his offer to buy Last Call was a brilliant example of happy-

right-now, but business could wait. He was glad she’d put on the robe, and he wasn’t going to do

anything that would jeopardize his chance to get it off of her. “Why don’t you grab a plate and sit a

little closer? I’m an excellent multi-tasker.”

She uncovered a filet and gave him a prim smile. “I bet you are, but I’d like to concentrate on my

steak, thank you very much.” She sat on the edge of the bed with her plate on her lap, picked up her

fork and knife, and cut a piece of meat.

“The food will keep. I’d rather eat you right now.”

“Hush, I’m having a moment over here.” She moaned, chewing.

“You could have that moment with me inside you.”

“Technically, the steak belongs to you. Does that count?”

“Not even close. Eat faster.”

“No way, it’s amazing. The meat is a perfect cool rare, and the sauce is like velvet on my tongue

—”

He groaned. “Now you’re just taunting me.”

“—your chef does not mess around with his demi-glace, and don’t even get me started on the herb

and goat-cheese crust. There’s got to be bread around here somewhere…”

This time when she leaned forward, he caught her around the waist and hauled her into his lap.

While she struggled, he cleared a space for them on the bed. “I’m glad you approve. It’s my favorite

dish, and I was going to lose respect for you if you didn’t like it.”

“There’s irony in that statement. I would think a few other things I’ve done might make you lose

respect faster.”

“You don’t understand men at all.” He was glad she was enjoying the meal, but he saw no reason

not to combine pleasures. He slipped his hand between her legs and found her wet, so he urged her to

her feet. “Put your plate on my chest, and I’ll introduce you to the culinary equivalent of snorting coke

off a stripper’s ass.” He grabbed a condom, covered his cock, and stretched out on the bed.

“Who can resist an offer like that?” She climbed onto the bed.

Chapter Five

Betsy jerked awake. A hand caressed her hip, sending shivers through her body. Quin’s hard arm was

wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his warm body. His chin scraped her neck and

then soothed her skin with a lingering kiss. Adrenaline raced through her body, and she fought the urge

to scramble out of bed.

She forced herself to relax, feigning contented sleep while his hand roved over her body, stroking

her arm, waist, thigh, and then finally settling on her breast. She heated under his touch, nipples

tightening, core tingling, and felt him stir against her ass. The urge to take him inside almost

overpowered her. All she would have to do was lift her leg, reach down, and…

No condom.

There was a chilling thought. So was the fact she’d been so crazy to have him inside her last night

she’d completely forgotten that golden rule of casual sex. Thank God he’d remembered. His hand

relaxed on her breast, and he sighed, asleep again.

She slipped out from beneath his arm, inch by inch, until they were no longer touching, and sat up.

She watched a frown settle between his brows and wanted to smooth it. He was the most beautiful,

powerful, dangerous creature she’d ever seen. Shame crushed her in a tight fist. She’d judged her

mother and sister so harshly for the exact same emotion she felt looking at him—desire mixed with

hope. She wanted him to wake up and make love to her until dawn, take her out to a magnificent

breakfast, and then give her a tour of his kingdom where they would live happily ever after.

Not gonna happen. She acknowledged the ridiculous fantasy, and then banished it. She didn’t need

or want a man to interfere with her life. She tried to remember the thought process that had led to her

saying yes last night, but couldn’t, probably because it hadn’t involved reason at all. Straight-up

naked lust had taken over her decision-making processes, and she’d caught a tiger by the tail, not only

in him, but in the treacherous urges he aroused in her. Wake him up this time. Give him a chance.

To disappoint her? No, thank you.

Clearly, she hadn’t completely escaped inheriting her mother’s idiocy, but thought and action were

different, thank God. She might want more, but that didn’t mean she believed she could have it. Now

that she knew she wasn’t immune to the foolish optimism that infected her mother and sister, she was

so out of here. Wanting things you couldn’t have put you on your knees, and she would never let a man

make her crawl.

Helplessness, fury, and grief tangled inside her, and a tear splattered on her sandal when she bent to

gather her clothes. More tears fell as she dressed. She moved quickly, determined to get out as fast as

possible, leaving her weakness with the man who inspired it. Still, after learning about his childhood,

she couldn’t bring herself to leave without saying good-bye.

She scrawled a note on the hotel stationery and left it by the bed. She paused at the door to take one

last look at his ridiculously sexy hair, now even more tousled. She lingered over the beauty of his

powerful shoulders and the breadth of his chest, remembering how strong he had felt when he

embraced her. Her fingers curled at the sight of his bare thighs, remembering how his muscles had

shifted beneath her palms as she crouched over him, steak forgotten.

I’m such a fool.

This was not her world and never would be.

She looked around the room. The muted gray walls, sleek furniture, and ultra-modern décor

reminded her Quin had planned the same fate for Last Call. Thank my lucky stars he has other

options. Otherwise, she had no doubt he’d continue trying to get her to sell, and every time he got

near her, she ended up saying yes. It had been a mistake to stay tonight. No amount of pleasure was

worth giving up control to someone like him, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted when she was

so close to securing a better future for her family.

She shut the door of the bedroom behind her and walked out of the suite. It was time to get back to

work.

…

Quin woke drenched in sweat, sitting up straight in bed, clawing the air in front of him. His jaw was

locked tight, keeping him from shouting. Sunlight streamed in the window.

He gasped for breath, looking wildly around the room. Hotel. New Orleans. Betsy. He sank back

onto the pillows, sensing he was alone in the suite and wondering how long she’d been gone.

Seriously, what did the woman have against saying good-bye? It was simple common courtesy.

Sweat chilled his body, and he rolled out of bed, spotting a note on the bedside table.

Let’s call it a draw. Thanks for…dinner. Betsy

He crumpled the paper and dropped it in the garbage on top of the condom wrappers, trying to

decide if getting a lame note was better or worse than waking up alone. On the bright side, at least she

hadn’t been around to witness his nightmare.

He headed for the shower. It had been a long time since he’d slept through the night. He couldn’t

remember much about his dream, but it didn’t matter. It had either involved finding his mother dead,

discovering his sister was gone, or learning about Peter and Maeve’s car accident. Typical

abandonment-issue crap. His subconscious was a sadistic bastard.

He turned on the water, checked the temperature, and stepped into the hot spray. They’d started

their night early and passed out by midnight after having sex on nearly every available surface in the

suite. His morning erection stiffened, and he stroked himself, imagining her hand wrapped around

him. Fantasy wasn’t nearly as good as reality, but it would get the job done. His thoughts paused on

her, wide open, taking him in, and he closed his eyes, remembering how her eyes had glowed when he

pushed inside her. After a dozen more strokes, he pulsed into his hand, intense spasms that left him

groaning. He slumped against the tile, wishing he could collapse onto her soft body.

She’d left him wanting more again, and when he wanted something, he found a way to get it, on his

terms, for as long as he needed it. Usually he confined his desires to properties, businesses, and the

occasional head-hunted employee, but this time, it was personal. As he stood under the spray, a

snippet of his nightmare came back to him, filling him with urgency. It was the courtyard again. He

couldn’t explain why he needed it. He only knew that he did, and this time Betsy was standing at the

gate, blocking his way.

His cock had derailed his business plans last night, but he was going to get back on track today.

Otherwise, this city would never stop haunting him. Bet or no bet, he wasn’t giving up his courtyard.

He had two more weeks to spend in this godforsaken city, and somehow, he’d find a way to change

her mind.

Breakfast first, though.

He turned off the water and dried himself. After dressing, he packed up the room service cart and

wheeled it down to the kitchen.

Luc greeted him with a smirk. “Enjoy your meal?”

“It was exquisite.” He’d struck up a friendship of sorts with the chef who didn’t like to take no for

an answer any more than he did. Luc had offered to regionalize the Keystone menu so many times,

Quin had threatened to fire him if he brought it up again, but after talking and eating with Betsy, he

thought Luc might have a point. “Write me a New Orleans-style menu you love. I’ll consider it.”

A grin leapt across the Cajun’s face. “Hot damn.” His slow drawl gave the words twice as many

syllables as they possessed.

“And get me a cup of coffee.”

“Fancy machine’s on the fritz. Maintenance is on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Café du Monde is that way.” Luc pointed. “You might find a half-dozen other excellent options on

the way.”

Quin got as far as the alley before he acknowledged his intention. He knocked on the door of Last

Call. Sounds within told him someone was looking through the peephole, and the door opened slowly.

“Good morning.” Hunger slammed through him at the sight of her. It might be morning, and they

might be dressed, but nothing had changed. Heat connected them, making him hard. “Am I coming in

or are you coming out?”

She glanced over her shoulder and stepped into the alley, shutting the door behind her. He took note

of her crossed arms and guarded expression. “So we’re back to this, are we?” he asked.

“What did you expect?”

“More than a note. It would have been nice to wake up with you, kiss you good morning, and start

the day off right, but there’s always tomorrow for that.” He reached to stroke a finger across the faint

red whisker burn on her neck, stifling a smile when she pushed his hand away.

Her eyes were dark. “What do you want, Quin?”

“I want you back in my bed tonight. Or this afternoon.” She’d shut him out, but he knew how to

reach her.

“You don’t always get what you want.”

“I do when you want me, too. Let’s dispense with the preliminary round of ‘will we or won’t we’

so we can get down to the when will we.”

She rolled her eyes. “How about never?”

“Haven’t I warned you about saying no? Denial is dangerous. Deny what you want, and your

subconscious will fuck you ten ways to Tuesday making it happen anyway. Life is much easier if you

figure out how to get what you want on your terms. State your terms. What do you want?” If he knew

that, he’d be in.

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“Really? Because you’re leaning toward me, and your lips are parted. I think you want me to kiss

you.” He trapped her against the alley wall with one hand on each side of her body. “I think you want

me to do more than kiss you.”

She stiffened. “I’m working. I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m working, too, but the coffee machine is broken. Help a neighbor out?” He bent to kiss her,

opening her mouth with his lips and stealing inside. He growled in pleasure as her tongue met his

with greedy strokes, and she lifted her hips against him. Just as fast, she broke their kiss. He grasped

her ass before she could pull away and rubbed against her, watching her eyes. When her pupils

dilated, he stayed right where he was and rubbed harder.

“If I give you a cup of coffee, will you leave me alone?” Her words were slow and ended on a

moan.

“Until later.”

She broke his hold. “Then find your own damn coffee.” Her back was poker straight as she stalked

toward the door.

The sight of her walking away filled him with steely determination. “I planned to stay in town until

the grand opening, but I could arrange to stay longer. How many weeks of us crossing paths in the

alley every day and me eating sandwiches in your café would it take to get you back in bed?”

She turned to glare. “Blackmail only works once with me.”

When she slammed the door, he laughed. She didn’t know much about blackmail.

…

Thank God she had help in the kitchen today. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had time to lock herself in

the employee bathroom and take deep, gulping breaths until the lust abated. If he’d raised her any

higher on his body, she would have been in convulsions, coming on his cock, fully clothed. Her body

roused to him instantly, and his strategy was pathetically effective.

How many weeks would it take to break her? What fraction of a week was one minute? Doing the

math shifted her concentration from the raging inferno inside her, and she finally took an easy breath.

After a dozen more, she felt like she could leave the bathroom without embarrassing herself.

Tuesday was her busiest day in the café, and her to-do list was so long, she dared not waste another

minute. As she passed the alley door, another knock sounded. She ignored it, assuming it was Quin.

He knocked again. And again. She wrenched it open. “I said no—”

The owner of the tea shop across the street gave her a tentative smile and held out a measuring cup.

“But I haven’t even asked yet. Can you spare a cup of sugar? I’ve emptied every sugar bowl in the

shop and I don’t have enough to make cookies. If I take the time to run to the store, they won’t be

ready in time to open.”

Betsy sagged. “Sorry, sure. Rough morning. C’mon in.”

The tea shop had opened right before Betsy left for the Culinary Academy. She’d given it six

months to go under, but apparently it was possible to make a living selling tea. In fact, it seemed to be

thriving.

“Thanks.” The woman stepped inside.

Betsy took the measuring cup from her and crossed to the sugar bin. She dipped the cup. “Sure you

don’t need more?”

“A cup will be plenty—thank you. By the way, I’m Linda, also known as Madame Rousseau.” She

held out her hand.

Betsy’s palm tingled as she shook it. A sense of familiarity made her look more closely at the

woman. Her hair was secured by a gypsy scarf, only showing a hint of flaming red at the hairline, and

her eyes were a rich, dark brown. Her flowing skirt had bells tied to the hem, and the scarf around her

waist was shot with silver thread. Betsy wouldn’t have forgotten such a striking woman if she’d ever

come into the café.

Linda cocked her head to the side, and Betsy realized she was staring. “Sorry—I’m Betsy. You look

really familiar.” She handed over the cup of sugar.

“We’ve crossed paths a few times in the morning.”

“Then I apologize for not saying hello. I’ve been pretty preoccupied with getting the café off the

ground.”

“Business good?”

“Getting there.” They shared a smile.

Linda turned for the door. “Thanks again for the sugar. Come by for a cookie when you can. Or a

tea-leaf reading.”

Betsy followed her out. “I’m more of a coffee girl.”

Linda’s warm brown eyes lit with mischief. “I’ll make a tea believer out of you. Got any life

problems you’re trying to solve? Puzzles? Quandaries? Conundrums?”

Betsy snorted. “All of the above?”

“Look no further. The path lies in the leaves.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” she said to be polite.

Linda waved over her shoulder as she walked down the alley. “You crossed my palm with sugar.

Let me return the favor.”

Betsy didn’t believe in psychic nonsense, but it was tempting anyway. If the leaves told her more

hot sex was in her future, she’d have no choice but to enjoy her fate, right?

She washed her hands, donned gloves, and went back to slicing meats, making neat piles for the

sandwiches. Quin had hit the nail on the head when he’d accused her of rationalizing. Her mind was

busily thinking of ways to justify hooking up with him again. Maybe if I don’t spend the night, I won’t

want more. Maybe if we have as much sex as humanly possible until he leaves town, I’ll get sick of

him. Maybe this thing between us just needs another night to burn itself out. All equally ridiculous.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and her lunch server walked in. “The dining room is set, bar

prepped, and bathrooms cleaned.”

“Thanks, Ali.” The waitress had been quiet this morning, probably expecting to be reprimanded for

her no-show yesterday, but Betsy wasn’t in the mood to play bad cop. She was glad Ali had shown up

for today’s shift, and prepping the bar had been next on Betsy’s list. Now she’d have time to create a

special sandwich for lunch. She surveyed the reach-in, which was full of odds and ends left over

from the weekend.

After rejecting several combinations, she thought of something perfect. Fried oysters, garlic-

marinated roasted red peppers, pickled vegetables, and remoulade. She’d call it the Happy-Right-

Now Po’boy in honor of mistakes worth making…she hoped. Regardless, the fatty fried oysters and

remoulade would be delicious with the piquant vegetables, making the certainty of deadly garlic

breath totally worth the eventual suffering.

As expected, service was wicked busy, and orders piled in. Ali kept everything running smoothly

out front, but Betsy bungled ticket after ticket. Every scent, taste, and texture somehow reminded her

of last night, and her thoughts kept drifting to Quin. The harder she tried to focus the worse it got. It

wasn’t until her stomach growled a protest while she was remembering how it had felt to orgasm with

buttery steak clenched between her teeth that she realized she’d skipped breakfast. No wonder she

had food on the brain.

In between orders, she whipped herself together a special sandwich. At least if she ran into Quin

again, he wouldn’t dare get near her mouth. Nope, he’d take one whiff and put me on my knees

instead. She stuffed her mouth with a too-large bite of po’boy, but it didn’t stop her from

remembering what it had felt like to kneel in front of him in the shower. Her eyes slid shut, and she

went liquid, mouth watering and core heating, feeling hot water cascade over her back and shoulders.

She tasted salt, smelled soap, and heard Quin’s deep groan. Deny what you need and your

subconscious will fuck you ten ways to Tuesday making it happen anyway.

“So how was your date?” Kate’s voice snapped her eyes open.

Betsy held up a finger and chewed slowly until her mind cleared. She swallowed. “It wasn’t a

date.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, which always drove Betsy crazy even though she knew Kate had picked

up the obnoxious gesture from her. “Oh, really? What time did you get home? I didn’t see any lights on

in your place last night.”

“Were you stalking me? You could have just called my cell.” And not had her call answered, but at

least Betsy could claim the volume had been off. Guilt heated her cheeks.

“That good, huh? He looks it.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. We had dinner.” Naked. While having sex. For hours. Her face got

hotter, but thankfully, Kate’s attention had shifted to the sandwich.

“Can I have a bite?”

“Have the rest.” As long as you stop asking questions.

“So where’d you end up going for dinner?” Kate asked with her mouth full.

“The Keystone.”

Her sister grinned. “It isn’t open.”

“It was for us. Want me to recite the menu?”

“I sure do, especially if it’s six-foot-two, with dark brown hair, eyes like a tiger, and half a million

dollars.”

Betsy crossed her arms, facing her sister squarely. “Oysters on the half-shell with mango-habanero

aspic, carrot bisque laced with Armagnac, beef tenderloin with burgundy demi-glace and an herbed

goat-cheese crust, really freaking adorable micro-greens with lemon vinaigrette and tiny grilled

vegetables, and lemon tart with raspberry coulis, chantilly cream, and gooseberries.”

“Damn, really?”

Her sister looked both envious and chagrined. For a second Betsy wanted to tell her the rest, but

she fought back the urge. Dishing the details would make it feel like something special.

Another flurry of orders came through, and Betsy washed her hands, replaced her gloves, and

started cutting bread for more sandwiches.

Kate reached into the cooler and popped the top off a beer.

“Seriously? It’s the middle of the day.” Since when did her barely twenty-one year old sister drink

beer with lunch?

“I don’t have to be up front for hours, and this sandwich could kill a vampire faster than a stake

through the heart. A glass of water ain’t gonna cut it.” Kate took a long swig. “So…how about that

half a million dollars?”

“We’re not selling. I told you that.”

“I thought Quinton James might talk some sense into you during dinner, but I guess I should have

known better since you’re still in here making sandwiches.”

“That’s the plan. Sandwiches, soups, and salads. Then we’ll open for dinner and serve étouffée,

jambalaya, blackened chicken, and…”

“And who cares what the rest of us want, right?” Kate cut her off.

Not this again. “I want what’s best for all of us—”

“You want what’s best for you. And it’s bullshit.” Her sister set her beer down hard on the counter,

making foam overflow the bottle. “Selling the bar would give us enough money to do whatever we

want. You want to make sandwiches? Make sandwiches. But don’t ruin the easy money for the rest of

us.”

“Easy doesn’t last forever. How can you possibly think giving up our livelihood and cashing a

check is our best option?”

“Your livelihood, not mine. I’m not going to work in a restaurant. If you close the bar and start

serving dinner, I’ll quit.”

Kate would leave? Betsy felt a crack open up inside her, a deep crevasse filled with righteous fury

and frustration. She’d been five when Kate was born, and as soon as Betsy was old enough, her

mother had left them home alone while she tended the bar. Betsy had babysat constantly so Kate

wouldn’t grow up at Last Call like she had. She’d been everything but a mother to Kate, shielding her

from the drunks and the worst of their mother’s broken hearts, and making sure she never walked in

on a scene like the one that had painfully etched itself on Betsy’s heart. She’d worked her whole life

to keep Kate safe and happy. As soon as she’d graduated from high school, she’d taken a second job

in a kitchen to make sure running a restaurant was actually doable. Then she’d worked her ass off at

culinary school so she could come home and make it happen. How dare Kate threaten to quit?

The crack widened, heated, but she pulled herself away from the edge. Kate was the hot-head, not

her. Her sister built up steam and blew it off. In ten minutes, she wouldn’t be mad, but Betsy would

simmer for hours, days, maybe even weeks. In all likelihood, the things said today would stick with

her for years. “You don’t get to quit. This is a family business, and we all agreed. Running a

restaurant will make our lives better.”

“That was before I spent two years working in the bar while you were off at school. It’s wild at

night. Dirty, crazy, and totally fun. I love it.”

“Working in a restaurant is fun, too.”

“Maybe for you, although I don’t see how. You haven’t done anything but cook and sleep since you

got home. You hardly go out. You don’t spend any time with Mom and me. You didn’t used to be like

that. You’ve changed, Betsy, and I don’t like it.”

She forced calm into her voice. “I haven’t changed, honey. I’m just trying to make things better.”

Kate drained what was left in her bottle and set it on the counter where spilled beer was soaking

into the leftover sandwich. “Oh, yeah? Guess what? Things were better for me when you were gone.”

Betsy caught her arm as she moved toward the door. “Let me get this straight, you don’t want to

close the bar anymore, even though Mom promised, and we all agreed.” She held up fingers and

ticked them off. “I’m no fun, you don’t like me, and things were better when I was gone. Does that

cover it?”

Her sister’s gaze wavered. Then she shook off Betsy’s hold, lifted her chin, and nodded.

Betsy felt dizzy, as if someone had given the floor under her feet a good spin and then ripped it out

from under her. “I don’t even know what to say to that. We’re family. We work together.”

Kate crossed her arms. “Don’t start with that blood is thicker than water crap again. You left, Betsy.

You were gone for two years, and then you came home and started changing everything. And give me

a break—we don’t work together. We never see you. I’m a good bartender and a good manager, which

you might notice if you ever spent any time with your family—but probably not. You’re too busy

putting your goddamn one-year plan into action. Maybe the bar isn’t the problem, sis. Maybe you are.

Did you ever think of that?”

The unfairness of the attack split her wide open, and she wanted to strike back. She knew her

sister’s weak spots as well as Kate knew hers. But what good would that accomplish? It was going to

be hard enough for them to move on from this fight. If Betsy joined in the mayhem instead of trying to

repair the damage, they might never recover.

She tried to think past the hurt. What was really going on here? Was Kate testing her as she had

when they were growing up, seeing how far she could push her? If so, Betsy wasn’t budging, not this

time. “Mom gave me a year to get the café running smoothly, and it’s going to be great when we open

for dinner. You’ll see—”

“Don’t take that tone with me, all calm and reasonable, like I’m the fuck-up and you’re the sensible

one. I’m not a child anymore.” Kate put her hands on her hips and glared. “You think you’re so smart,

don’t you? Well, guess what? Mom gave you a year because she thought you would fail.”

Betsy turned to ice. “What?”

“Fail.” Kate enunciated the word clearly. “She doesn’t want to close the bar, either.”

Betsy didn’t stop her from walking out the door this time.

Her hand shook as she tucked the bottle into the recycling bin, swept the remains of the sandwich

into the trash, and wiped up the beer. The bitterness in Kate’s voice echoed inside her, ugly and deep,

as she cleaned up the mess. Was Kate telling the truth? Was her mother’s support a big lie? Had Betsy

worked so hard for nothing? Her eyes began to sting. She bit her lip and wrapped her arms around

herself, trying to hold it together.

The machine printed out another lunch ticket, so she reached for it. Then she dropped oysters in the

fryer, sliced more French bread, and began to assemble sandwiches. The orders multiplied as she

worked, making it seem like she’d never reach the end of them, and she fell farther and farther behind.

“Hey, what’s the hold-up?”

Quin’s voice made her flinch. “What are you doing back here?” she asked.

“I told you I was coming in for lunch, but I don’t have all day. Are you harvesting the oysters for my

sandwich yourself?”

“Damn it.” She pulled the basket out of the fryer. The oysters had passed golden brown and were

on their way to burned to a crisp. She shook the basket into the trash can, where the heat promptly

melted the liner. “Fuck.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He took the basket out of her hand and set it back in the fryer. “You’ve got tears pouring down your

face, and your hands are shaking.”

“I’m in the weeds.”

He pulled her into his arms. Comfort enveloped her. He smelled like the two best nights of her life,

and she couldn’t make herself push him away. She gritted her teeth and clenched every muscle in her

body trying to hold back the sobs. He was the last person she should be crying on. She didn’t trust him

not to see her tears as a sign of weakness.

He rubbed her back. “Let me help.”

“I think you’ve done enough.” If he hadn’t waltzed in with his offer to buy Last Call, things would

have been fine. But even as she thought it, she didn’t believe it. This thing with Kate had been

brewing for a while. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it. She didn’t know what she was going to do,

but she had to knock out the lunch orders and get the hell out of here before her sister came back or

her mother showed up. She didn’t want to see either of them until she’d turned the mess of her

emotions into a plan of action.

He tilted her face up and brushed tears off her cheek. “I haven’t done half as much as I’d like to.

You left early.”

His eyes gleamed, and even in her demoralized state, she responded. “Could you please have some

respect for my meltdown? Sex is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“I can fix that.” He bent his head and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. It was sweet, the last thing

she’d expected, and she clung to him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered against his lips.

“Because I want you.”

At least somebody does. She slid her arms around his waist under his suit jacket and opened to

him. His tongue tangled with hers in a lazy caress that quickly turned urgent, and she held him as tight

as he held her, reveling in the fierce clasp of his hands in her hair, the evidence of his desire pressed

into her belly, and the harsh demand of his mouth on hers. She couldn’t feel sad when he touched her.

It was impossible to feel anything but him, hot, hard, and sure, taking her right back up to where he’d

left her in the alley this morning, wet and aching.

Her legs began to shake, and he pulled her against him, effortlessly taking her weight. She felt

herself moving backward, and then he pinned her against the counter, moving into her with growing

hunger. She met him thrust for thrust. Denial is dangerous. State your terms. His words swirled

through her mind.

Last night proved she’d find a way to have him even if he didn’t blackmail her or muscle his way

into her kitchen. He’s leaving in two weeks. If they agreed on the terms, it could be as simple as that.

She gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning when he lifted her higher,

held her tighter, and rubbed his cock against her aching core. He was a distraction she couldn’t afford

when things were so volatile with Kate and likely to explode with her mother. Just two weeks. He

made her want impossible things, but she could have a taste, couldn’t she?

He buried his face against her neck. “Say yes. Just fucking say yes, and put us out of our misery.

Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I’ll prove you wrong right here if I have to.”

“No need.” She gritted her teeth as he rocked into her and focused on the sharp edge of the counter

digging into her back. Not here. Not yet. He had to agree to her terms. She wouldn’t become another

notch on his belt, another woman pining for the unattainable. Hope was insidious, and she’d seen its

devastating effects on her mother. “I’ll say yes on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“When you leave in two weeks, we’re done. Never contact me again.”

…

Quin froze, pierced by a hauntingly familiar emotion. Then his brain kicked back into gear. “You’ve

got a deal.” Two weeks was ideal. Plenty of time to sate his desire for her while changing her mind

about selling the bar. There was no reason for the cold sweat breaking out over his body. No cause

for his cold fury. No explanation for why his usually excellent instincts were screaming in protest,

making him feel like a guitar string about to snap. What was happening to him?

He stepped away from her and looked around the tiny kitchen, getting his bearings and locking

down his emotions, including the lust that hijacked his brain every time he saw her. He’d come back

here to keep the pressure on, but something had shifted inside him when he saw her crying, making

him want to help instead. No matter what his intentions, whenever they touched, he forgot them.

He shrugged out of his suit coat, tossed it on the desk, and then rolled up his sleeves. “Got an apron

for me?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to help you. I’m assuming ‘in the weeds’ has something to do with all those tickets up

there. Tell me what to do.” Her gaze was suspicious, so he smirked. “Clearly, I’m not going to get my

lunch until you’re caught up.”

“Or maybe never.”

He laughed at her menacing tone. “What’s so hard about making sandwiches?”

Her eyes narrowed. She reached under the counter and thrust an apron at him. “Wash your hands.

Then lay out four plates. Put chips on them. And a pickle. Wear gloves, and don’t get in my way.”

She turned her back to him, washed her own hands, and dropped more oysters into the fryer. He did

as she had ordered. The chips were Zapp’s Cajun Craw-taters, locally made, and delicious. The

pickles looked homemade. His stomach rumbled. He watched her slice bread and fill sandwiches at

lightning speed, wondering how she had ever fallen behind if she worked this fast. She called out

commands as she worked, and he scrambled to figure out what she wanted and get it to her when she

asked for it. They fell into a rhythm, and he began to anticipate the next thing she would need.

His shirt was pasted to the middle of his back by the time she said, “Stop.” They’d put at least three

dozen sandwiches in the window. He’d watched her fry, heat, slather, slice, grill, and do things he

couldn’t name. At the server’s request, she’d also baked a tray of the most sinful-looking cookies

he’d ever seen. When he’d asked what they were, she’d said, “Lagniappe,” and kept moving.

Out of curiosity, he peeked into the dining room and saw the server putting the cookies on plates

and delivering them to the tables. The dining room was full. Where was the rest of the staff? No

wonder she’d been sobbing in the kitchen. He caught the server’s eye as she tucked warm cookies

into wax paper sleeves and put them into the takeout orders. “What does lagniappe mean?”

“A little something extra. This week it’s cookies.”

He went back into the kitchen where Betsy was wiping down the counter. “I didn’t get a cookie

yesterday.”

“You didn’t deserve one.”

“Do I deserve one today?”

She thrust a bag into his hands. “I gave you two. Thanks for your help—now will you please get out

of here?”

Quin bent to kiss her cheek, inhaling deeply. Her scent reached deep inside him, unlocking the

peculiar emotions he’d felt earlier. Now that he’d seen her in action, his attraction to her had

increased tenfold, and his craving for one of her special sandwiches was acute and painful. But his

desire to close down her café? Barely a memory.

A new plan took shape in his mind, so clear he suspected it had been there for a while, waiting for

him to pay attention. He dug in his heels as she pushed him toward the door. “Pick you up at seven?”

“Huh?”

He didn’t dare tell her what he was thinking, not when she was so damn determined to limit their

association. He thought fast. “You claim there’s a lot to love about New Orleans. Show me.”

“What, you want a tour?”

“Anything, as long my night ends inside of you.” He felt heat flare through her, caught her rising

scent in his lungs, and watched her throat as she swallowed hard. The printer churned out another

ticket, and she turned away. He made fists to keep from reaching for her.

“Text me your address.” He tossed his business card onto the counter and forced himself to walk

out of the kitchen and out of the café, nearly out of his head with hunger.

Chapter Six

The sandwich bag was a warm, heavy weight under his arm, but he needed to burn off some energy

before he could eat. He checked his phone as he walked, skimming e-mails from his managers,

contractor, architect, lawyer, human resources, and the fifty other people who’d had questions for him

during the past hour. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he’d eaten lunch and calmed the tornado inside

him.

Jackson Square appeared ahead, and he hung a left and headed for the steps across from the park.

He sat and opened the bag, laying aside the cookies and unrolling the paper-wrapped sandwich. He

took a bite. Richness exploded in his mouth, chased by the acidic burst of crunchy pickled vegetables.

The sauce caressed his tongue, creamy, full of garlic and spice, awesome with the crusty bread and

the crispy fried oysters. He plowed through the sandwich without stopping, losing himself in the

simple satisfaction of good food.

When he was finished, he had just enough room for the cookies. Maybe. It was going to be tight.

Sugar flowed over his tongue, dissolving as he chewed chunks of pecan and soft dough. He was

reminded of the pecan praline his manager had left on his desk as a welcome gift, but the cookie

somehow took it to another level. He was glad he had two. He popped the last bite into his mouth,

tucked his trash back into the bag, and took aim at a basket near the steps.

Just as he landed the shot, the sound of a trumpet split the air. It was only a few notes, but every

hair on his body stood on end, recognizing the melody. The compulsion to join in was so strong his

fingers itched for his guitar. Quin looked around for the source of the music and spotted the trumpet

player standing under the shade of a tree. The same eight notes beckoned, and he rose, walking until

he found himself in front of the old man.

His dark skin was lined and his grizzled beard was shot through with every color of gray from

gunmetal to cloud. His hair was pure snow, and he cut a striking figure in his vintage tuxedo. The old

man broke off with a merry laugh and lowered the trumpet. “Baby Q, back at last. I thought I felt

something coming.”

Shock rippled up and down his spine. “Do I know you?”

The old man cocked his head to the side but said nothing. A purple velvet-lined trumpet case lay

open on the sidewalk between them. Was he waiting for a handout? Quin reached for his wallet. The

man shook his head, grinning. He tugged a guitar case out from behind the bench. “Spare change is

always appreciated, but I’d rather have a song, Q.”

“Why are you calling me Q? Do you know me?” he asked again. “And how do you know I play

guitar?”

The man bent to lay his trumpet in the case on the sidewalk and cracked open the guitar case.

Quin’s full stomach flipped and rolled, rising into his throat. He reached out to stroke one finger

across the Gibson archtop acoustic, somehow already knowing exactly how smooth the wood would

be.

The old man’s dark eyes gleamed as he looked at Quin. “Thought you might remember the guitar,

even if you don’t remember the old man who taught you to play it.” Quin stared at him, but felt no

glimmer of recognition. As far as he knew, he’d learned to play guitar from a private instructor hired

by Maeve. Could this man help him unearth earlier memories? Did he want him to?

His throat convulsed, and he could barely get out the words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, boo, but I been missing your Mama somethin’ fierce. That musta been why I was

playing her song. Frankie and Johnny got her moving, fo’ sho’. Let’s bring her back for a spell.”

“I don’t remember her. Or you. Or anything.”

The man’s gaze pierced deep. “No, I can see you don’t, not yet. But you will.” He pulled the guitar

out of the case and held it by the neck. Quin took it and sat on the bench, feeling like he’d stepped into

an alternate universe. Everything, yet nothing, was familiar, and it made his skin itch. The man picked

up the trumpet and bounced through the intro again while Quin strummed his fingers across the strings,

finding the guitar in perfect tune.

The trumpet led, and he followed, the song ripping out of his soul as if it had been there forever,

waiting to be called. He didn’t think; he just played. He strummed back-up, supporting the melody,

then jumped ahead, picking lead until the old man whipped out in front of him again. Joy soared

through him, the simple peace he always felt while playing music. A breeze blew, rustling the dollars

that passing tourists tossed in the trumpet case. The words filled his head, and the voice singing them

spread goose bumps all over his body. A cool hand caressed the back of his neck, and fingers ruffled

his hair. Jazz filled the air, weaving through his memory, tightening, tangling, and filling his stomach

with knots. His fingers ached, and his head began to pound, but he played on. He couldn’t have

stopped if he wanted to.

Suddenly, the trumpet cut out mid-note, and the old man reached over and plucked the guitar out of

his hands, a furious expression on his face. “What are you doing? Git outta here! Go on! We’ve got

enough ghosts.”

Quin sucked in a rattling breath. The gleam in the man’s eyes was gone, and he looked one step

away from bashing Quin over the head with the old guitar.

Quin rose to his feet. “Sorry.”

“It don’ madda.” The old man dropped the guitar into the case and put it out of sight behind the

bench.

When he looked up again, he gasped. “Baby Q? Is it really you?”

“No.” Quin backed away, shaking his head. His heart pounded, echoing the ache in his skull. He

fumbled in his wallet and dropped a wad of bills into the trumpet case.

“God bless.” The old man smiled at him. “Tell yo’ sister not to be a stranger.”

Quin hurried down the street. What did he mean? Was Melly in New Orleans? Did the old man

know her? Or did his memory weave in and out of time? He walked faster, not sure what had thrown

him most about the encounter, the man remembering him or the sucker punch of being forgotten in a

heartbeat, but one thing was clear. The past wasn’t going to leave him alone. Had he really thought

building the hotel would be enough? Or a courtyard? That he could come down here and the

nightmares would end instead of get worse?

He didn’t slow until he reached the Keystone and caught sight of himself in the window. The

expression on his face mirrored the churning in his heart. He nodded at his manager and continued

into his office where he slumped into his chair, sucking deep breaths until he was certain he could

speak with no sign of his inner turmoil. He dragged his cell out of his pocket and dialed his assistant.

“Hey, boss. I’ve got the property information you wanted.” As usual, Kyle answered in the middle

of their last conversation. “Last Call is mortgaged to the hilt, and you would not believe the interest

rate. A total nut crusher. Did you say the Moutons launched a lunch business? The guy at the bank

wouldn’t say much, but it sounds like they’re in the red. Keep pushing.”

Was a hefty mortgage the reason Betsy worked alone in the kitchen? No capital for payroll? He

cleared his throat. “I have a new project for you. Dig up everything you can on Melinda Johnson.” He

spelled the last name. “Start in New Orleans. Make it top priority, and get anybody you need on it.”

“Is that all you’ve got? A name? I bet there are a million Melinda Johnsons.”

Quin took a deep breath. “She’s my sister.” The rest of the air left him in a sigh.

“Holy shit.”

“No kidding. Start with my adoption records and trace it back through the system. She was fostered

with me, but ran away shortly after we were placed with the James. My parents have a file open with

Trenton and Hart. Does that give you somewhere to start?” Peter and Maeve’s ongoing search for her

had died with them, but he was sure there was plenty of information in the file. Twenty years’ worth.

“Absolutely.” The silence was loud. “You need any help down there? I haven’t been to New

Orleans in years. One big party, right?”

The joviality in his voice was obviously forced, and Quin was touched. “Find her, and I’ll fly you

down for the grand-opening masquerade ball.”

“Seriously?” He heard what sounded like two feet hitting the floor.

“You better not be sitting in my office with your feet on my desk. I have security cameras

everywhere, you know.”

“Then I recommend you review the footage of me screwing your intern after the New Year’s party.”

“Maddie has more sense than that.”

“Unfortunately.”

Quin snorted and ended the call. Kyle liked to joke, but he was the perfect man for the job. He

would leave no stone unturned looking for Melly.

Anger and grief, the toxic mix that poisoned his dreams, swept through him. When Peter and Maeve

were searching, he hadn’t wanted them to find her, not for him. She’d left, abandoned him in foster

care. The James’s had turned out to be amazing people, the answer to an orphan’s prayers, but Melly

hadn’t known that when she left. She hadn’t cared what would happen to him. Tell your sister not to

be a stranger. The old man’s words galvanized him. Now that Quin wanted answers, she wouldn’t be

a stranger for long.

He dug into the work waiting for him on his desk, counting the hours until seven, when he could

tackle his other problem. He’d warned Betsy about saying no. Hearing that word aroused his instinct

to crush, control, and consume. It had been that way for as long as he could remember, and now that

he had a clue to how he must have spent his early years, it made sense. Busking and counting up spare

change at the end of the day would create a powerful craving to hear the word “yes” all the time.

He wanted a courtyard, and Betsy wanted a restaurant. Their goals weren’t mutually exclusive, but

it would take a hell of a lot longer than two weeks to make them happen. He’d taken a good look

around the dining room today. Updates were needed. More than updates, the ceiling was stained,

some of the baseboards had buckled, and tiles had come loose on the older flooring behind the bar.

The place was falling apart. She needed help, that much was clear, but she kept pushing him away.

How could a woman be so perfectly receptive, even greedy in the bedroom, yet completely

intractable out of it? What made her determined to limit their association? He planned to find out

tonight.

…

Betsy stared at her phone. She had all of Quin’s numbers typed in, but she couldn’t bring herself to

send him her address. The thought of getting ready to meet him while waiting for the doorbell to ring

made her heart flutter, so she gave him the name and location of the restaurant instead. This was a

sexual arrangement, and it was better to keep some distance between them.

At the sound of her mother’s voice in the bar up front, she slipped out the alley door. Undoubtedly,

her mom had already heard Kate’s version of what had happened this afternoon, and Betsy wasn’t in

the mood to talk yet. Her mother never took sides, but what was Betsy going to do if her mom really

did want to keep the bar open?

She emerged from the alley and noticed a sign in the tea-shop window advertising a special on

candied cranberry scones and gingerbread tea, reminding her the holiday season was over. Business

was good while everyone was in the celebratory mood, but she was going to be in a world of trouble

if everyone had spent their lunch money on Christmas presents. It was crucial to turn a profit over the

next two months. She looked at the sign again. Madame Rousseau’s invitation had been in the back of

her mind all day. Sure it was nonsense, but it would be nice to hear the stars were aligned in her

favor, considering everything that had happened today.

She darted across the busy street before she could change her mind. The door was lighter than it

looked, and she flew into the shop. A bell announced her precipitous arrival, but the dining room was

empty. She shut the door and looked around, charmed by the antique-looking tables with spindly

chairs. Colorful tapestries decorated the gold walls. The earthy scent of incense and black tea hung

heavily in the air, a comforting presence. She walked toward the pastry case, belly growling.

The sound of a beaded curtain being drawn back made her look up from the mouthwatering array of

cookies, scones, and muffins. Madame Rousseau greeted her with a wide smile. “Change your mind

about tea?”

“I couldn’t resist your sign.” Before she could chicken out, she forced herself to say, “And I’d like

to take you up on that reading.”

“Fantastic. I have just enough time before my next appointment.”

“Oh! I didn’t even consider that you might have other obligations. It always seems so…tranquil

over here,” she finished, hoping Madame Rousseau wouldn’t recognize she’d been about to say dead

quiet.

The other woman laughed. “It’s okay. The tea doesn’t pay the bills, but you’d be amazed how many

people want divine guidance.”

No, I wouldn’t. “Usually I’m more of a stick-to-the-plan girl, but…”

“Say no more. Green, black, or white tea?”

“You pick.”

“It’s not my choice.” Her smile was firm but kind.

“Black,” Betsy finally said, figuring it would have the most caffeine.

“Pick a table. I’ll be right over.” A few minutes later, Madame Rousseau set a teacup next to her

and an enormous dark chocolate cookie studded with milk chocolate chunks and white chocolate

chips in front of her.

“Thank you.” Betsy glanced down, surprised to see the cup only held an inch of liquid. “Where’s

the tea?”

Madame Rousseau’s pale red eyebrows shot up. “Did you really want to drink a cup of tea? You

said you were a coffee person, so I put a fresh pot on to brew. You don’t need to drink the tea for me

to do the reading.”

Betsy smiled ruefully. “I was going to make an exception. But no, I didn’t really want the tea.”

“I know.” She grinned back. “Coffee will be ready soon.”

“You’re taking awfully good care of me.” She guessed Madame Rousseau was in her early thirties

and wondered if she had children. She seemed like the motherly type, and it was easy to imagine her

baking cookies for kids getting off the bus, enfolding them in her arms and flowing skirts. Betsy stifled

a sigh. Her school bus had dropped her off in front of Last Call, and she’d done her homework with a

Shirley Temple and bar fruit in front of her.

“I do have a son,” Madame Rousseau said.

Betsy blinked. “Was I thinking that loudly?”

“I can sense thoughts if they’re tied to strong emotion and the desire to share.”

Betsy shook her head. “I’m not much of a sharer.”

“But you’re here, which means you’re planning to share something. Let’s see what it is.” She

motioned at the cup. “Wrap your hand around it, close your eyes, and ask the question of your heart.”

Betsy wanted to know if Last Call would open for dinner. But in the darkness behind her eyelids,

all she could see was Quin.

“Now open your eyes and spin the cup three times, full circle.”

“Clockwise or counterclockwise?” she asked, wanting to get it right.

“You choose.”

After three clockwise spins, Betsy sat back, and Madame Rousseau placed the saucer upside-down

atop the cup. “Flip it. Carefully,” she admonished, although Betsy would have been cautious anyway,

not wanting to wear the brew.

“Three more turns. Mind your question. Now lift the cup.”

She did, watching tea gather in the well, stranding loose leaves on the edge of the shallow saucer.

Madame Rousseau laughed softly. “I knew this was going to be interesting.”

“What do you see?” Betsy saw nothing but tea and soggy leaves.

“We’ve entered the new year. See that?” She pointed at a break in the leaves. “Big changes for

you.”

Despite her inherent skepticism, Betsy felt anxiety stir. “Good change or bad change?” It didn’t

matter. She didn’t like any kind of change unless it was part of her plan. “I hate surprises.”

“I see a man on a horse. Royalty. A celebration.” A teasing smile tilted Linda’s full lips. “Perhaps a

handsome prince is headed your way?”

Betsy choked on the bite of cookie she had just shoved into her mouth, remembering her discussion

with Quin last night. She swallowed hard. “More likely it’s one of the four horsemen of the

apocalypse. Death, Famine, War… What’s the other one? Pestilence?”

“Conquest,” Madame Rousseau said absently, staring at the leaves.

“Well, I’m planning on turning Last Call into a successful café if it kills me, so pick a horse, any

horse, I’ll ride it.” She heard the nervousness in her voice but Madame Rousseau didn’t appear to be

listening.

“Big, big changes…not changes coming down on you. You’re making these changes. Great

opportunities. A new job, maybe?”

“I want to close the bar and open the café for dinner at night. That kind of job?” Betsy asked

hopefully.

Linda glanced back into the empty tea cup, as if looking for backup. “I see two people dancing in

the bottom of the cup. There’s a wedding in your future.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Only a fortune teller would see a wedding in two leaves

stranded in a teaspoon of weak tea. “There is. Both of my best friends just got engaged. I’ll be

dancing at a wedding in a bridesmaid’s dress before too long.”

Linda tapped the saucer. “It’s your party. Royalty is coming. I see lions standing on their hind legs

and doves flying overhead.”

Betsy shook her head. Why had she come here? Lions and birds? Seriously? “Are you sure you

don’t see ’gators and ducks? At least I could put them in a gumbo,” she joked.

Linda stood, making the bells ring on her skirt. “I’ll get your coffee.” She walked behind the

counter and Betsy considered making up an excuse to leave. There was no wedding in her future, and

the last thing she needed was subliminal fuel for her stupid fairytale fantasies. Quin was leaving, and

she wasn’t going to wait around hoping he’d come back for a booty call. She scooted her chair away

from the table, but the rich scent of roasted coffee beans wafted across the room. A cup of coffee

would be delicious with the rich, gooey triple-chocolate cookie. She wavered long enough for Linda

to return with two cups of coffee. The one she placed in front of Betsy held a touch of cream, exactly

as she preferred.

“A storm is coming.” Linda sat and pointed at a swirl of leaves at three o’clock. “Will you batten

down the hatches, shutter the windows, and stay? Or will you run?”

“I’m not leaving my family.” But she already had once, hadn’t she? Kate’s accusations burned. Her

two years at school had been bliss, but she was paying for them now. She’d be paying for them for the

rest of her life. Leaving New Orleans had given her a craving for adventure that could never be

satisfied at Last Call. She shook her head to clear it. Her family needed her. Was she actually buying

into this load of crazy talk about change? She wasn’t going anywhere.

Linda pointed at the top of the saucer. “Let’s review—big change.” She moved her finger down and

to the right. “Storm.”

Betsy nodded, trying not to betray her agitation.

Linda gave the tea cup a swirl, making the leaves dance. “Love.”

“Enough with the love.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended. “What I’ve got going on

right now is the opposite of love.”

Linda chuckled and pointed at the empty left half of the saucer.

“There’s nothing there.” What would Madame Rousseau make of that?

“Unusual, but not necessarily bad. Separation. Safeguarding. But you aren’t alone. Remember that

when the storm hits.”

Not alone? Since when? It was up to her to be responsible.

The bell on the door rang and several people entered the shop. Linda squeezed her hand and then

stood to greet them. She directed the crowd into a private room in the back and then turned to Betsy.

“Stay as long as you like, and please come back soon. I enjoyed talking with you, and we should do

this again soon. Maybe we’ll be able to see a little further out next time.”

“You’ve terrified me enough, thank you, but I’ll be back.” Betsy gestured at the chocolate crumbs

on her plate. “I may have a new addiction. That cookie was exquisite. Come into the café, and I’ll see

if I can hook you on my sandwiches.”

“I’d love that. I heard a rumor you’ve turned the muffaletta into a religious experience.”

“Really? Spread that rumor, will you?”

Linda gave her a brief hug that smelled like tea and chocolate. “I’ll tell everyone.”

Linda disappeared into the back, and Betsy left the shop, feeling as if she’d been spun as thoroughly

as the leaves in the cup.

Chapter Seven

Betsy stared as Quin walked toward her. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything but a suit, and

he was just as attractive in casual wear, maybe even more so. His blue T-shirt looked soft, and his

jeans were well broken-in, fitting him like a second skin. He moved like he owned the restaurant,

maybe even the Riverview hotel it sat in, or at least like he could buy it if he wanted it. He probably

could. Even in jeans and a faded T-shirt, he looked like what he was—a man who ate businesses for

breakfast and had women waiting for him in every city.

She felt a pang of jealousy, but squashed it. She was his New Orleans woman for the next two

weeks, and she didn’t have to fight her desire for him anymore. In fact¸ she could enjoy it to the

fullest. Her heart pounded, and a thrill shot through her. Her body tensed, bringing her upright in her

chair at the bar just as he reached her side and kissed her cheek, giving her a good whiff of his warm

fresh-from-the-shower skin. His hair was wet at the tips, curling slightly as it dried. She wanted to

touch it, but her arm felt heavy, reluctant to betray her desire. You made a deal. He’s not going to eat

your business. You have nothing to lose.

Reaching for him made her heart pound with anxiety. She brushed his hair with her fingertips.

His gaze caught hers, arrested, aware, and as hungry as she felt. A soft growl rumbled from his

throat, and satisfaction poured through her in a honey-sweet slide, soothing her fear. She pressed her

hand to the warm skin of his neck and felt his pulse beating against her palm. She dragged her hand

over his shoulder and then his chest. His shirt was as soft as it looked, but his muscles were steel

under her hand.

“You should have let me pick you up at your place. I could be kissing you right now.” He caressed

her waist, and the desire to wrap her arms around him was overpowering. So she did. Their bodies

curved together, aligning instantly, filling her with heavy contentment. She rested her head on his

chest.

“I was afraid you might have changed your mind, and I’d have to convince you all over again.” His

voice was a husky murmur.

She lifted her head. “You agreed to my terms. There’s no reason to deny myself the pleasure of

touching you.”

“No reason at all.” His lips curved in the slow smile that made her burn. “Too bad you didn’t come

to that realization a little earlier today.”

She eased out of his arms and gave him a rueful smile. “If I had, we’d have missed dinner, and

you’re going to love the oysters here.” She’d picked Drago’s, home of the original charbroiled oyster,

after seeing how much he’d enjoyed them on the half-shell last night.

“I thought you hated oysters.”

The tips of his fingers flirted with hers, and the small touches made her want to lead him right out

of the restaurant and back to his hotel. “I don’t like raw oysters, but if you drown them in butter and

garlic, and then roll them through the fires of hell, I’ll eat three dozen.”

“Sounds great. Is our table ready?”

She nodded, and he escorted her to the hostess station. When they reached their booth, he slid in

beside her. Just sitting next to him, arm to arm and thigh to thigh, made her wet. Another pair of

panties bites the dust.

She glanced down at his crotch and saw a telling bulge. “We’re a fine pair.”

His gaze touched her breasts. “Uh-huh.”

She laughed and swatted his arm with the back of her hand. When he caught it and placed it on his

thigh, she couldn’t resist. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then slid her

hand over his erection, squeezing lightly before she casually picked up her menu and opened it.

“Two can play that game, you know.”

His words made her squirm, and her pulse raced as he reached across her to point out something on

her menu. His arm brushed her breast and his fingers swiftly flicked her stiffening nipple as he leaned

back. Shock sent sparks to her clit.

He unrolled a napkin with a flourish and winked at her, settling it carefully over her lap and

smoothing it into place. She felt his hand slide beneath her short denim skirt, and she nearly shot

straight up into the air. She didn’t know whether to squeeze her thighs together to trap his hand or

spread them. She did neither, trying not to draw attention to what he was doing. Her belly clenched

uncontrollably as his fingers stroked her thighs, creeping closer to her throbbing center.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. “I love that you don’t wear a bra,” he said softly in

her ear, drawing her attention back to her tingling nipples.

“Too hot.” And her small breasts didn’t really need one, but if she said that it would sound like she

needed reassurance. Small was fine with her. His heavy gaze told her it was fine with him, too. His

finger stroked her swelling clit, and she clenched her teeth on a groan, forcing herself to breath as

normally as she could while fire melted her from the inside out.

By sheer force of will she remained upright, shielding his actions from the room with the oversized

menu he was pretending to study over her shoulder. His finger fluttered against her, hitting the exact

same spot over and over, a maddening, too-light, barely-there flicker that super-sensitized her clit.

Intense pleasure made her limbs feel heavy and her skin tingle. Her heart raced with urgency. He

couldn’t possibly intend to make her come. He was just teasing, right?

His finger flirted with the rim of elastic on her thigh, and every muscle in her body seized. There

was no doubt in her mind what would happen if his finger dipped beneath the edge. God help me. If

he slid his finger into her panties and touched her clit with his bare finger, she was going to come,

right here, right now. Just the thought took her to the edge.

She throbbed, holding her breath, afraid one more touch would take her over.

“You kids know what you want to order?”

Betsy couldn’t have answered the server if her life depended on it. She looked helplessly at Quin,

who ordered water for both of them, his hand motionless under her skirt. “Could you give us a couple

more minutes to figure out what we want?” The server nodded, moving on to the next table.

Betsy took a gulping breath, and Quin chuckled, easing his hand away from her. She glared at him,

almost wishing she had come. Just a little bit. The embarrassment might have been worth getting rid

of the tension that now made her feel desperate, slightly sick, and crabby as hell. “You’re an evil

tease. We’ll be lucky if she comes back anytime in the next hour. This place is crazy busy tonight.”

“Putting that expression on your face would be worth waiting hours for dinner.”

“What expression is that?”

“Hungry. Are you ready to order now?”

“Yes.” She gave him a filthy glare that only made him laugh. He lifted his hand and the server

appeared at the table less than a minute later. Of course she did. Women couldn’t resist him. Betsy

forced a smile to her face and ordered charbroiled oysters for them both, even though she was certain

she wasn’t going to be able to eat a bite, which was a damn shame. Charbroiled oysters were her

favorite. She’d longed for them while she was at the Culinary Academy and had even tried to make

her own version for Lila and Jenna. She’d never gotten them quite right and had been looking forward

to eating at least a dozen of the rich treats tonight. She growled under her breath.

Quin nudged her leg. “Oh, settle down. You started it. At least you don’t have to walk across the

room with a hard-on.”

“Where are you going?”

“The men’s room. Think there’s any chance our food will arrive while I’m gone, so we can eat and

get the hell out of here?” He wasn’t smiling anymore. A muscle in his jaw jumped, and his nostrils

flared. His visible tension mollified her. Slightly.

“Are you hungry, too?” she asked, not talking about food.

“Absolutely fucking starving.”

His savage expression sent a burst of heat through her, but she schooled her features into an

expression of sympathy. After what he’d just done to her, she was going to enjoy this, despite her own

frustration. “Oh, dear. That’s going to be a problem.”

“Why is that?”

“You wanted a tour of the city, so I booked one after dinner.” She batted her eyelashes. “The

Midnight Special will take us through the French Quarter, an above-ground cemetery, and Bayou St.

John. Then we’ll finish up along St. Charles, so we can appreciate some fine New Orleans

architecture. Sound good?”

He looked appalled. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

She gave him a sweet smile and trailed her hand down his short sleeve. “Blue looks good on you—

blue balls, that is. You know what they say…if you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. That

will teach you to torture me in public.”

He snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind, God help me.”

When he left the table, she picked up her water glass and drained it. It didn’t quench the inferno

inside her. Three unsatisfying encounters with him today made her ready to combust. The last thing

she wanted to do after dinner was tour the city, but she’d called in a favor for the last-minute

reservation. There was no way she could ditch. Visions of them having sex in a cemetery, then on the

Bayou, and then riding the St. Charles streetcar paraded through her head, leaving her breathless. It

had all been done, she was sure, but not by her, and she didn’t have any favors she could call in if

they got arrested.

As she watched Quin walk back toward their table, the devilish light in his eyes tempted her to risk

it.

…

Quin took Betsy’s hand as their guide deposited them in front of the Keystone. Their private tour had

given him no opportunity to continue what he’d started at the restaurant unless he wanted to turn it into

a threesome. He hadn’t been able to do anything but hold her hand and occasionally put his arm

around her, and she’d tormented him all night, sliding her fingers against his, snuggling closer, smiling

up at him like there was no other place she’d rather be. He was losing his mind waiting for Betsy to

finish saying good-bye to their guide.

He thrust a few bills into the guy’s hand. “Amazing tour—thanks.”

They’d tramped over what felt like half of the city, and he’d learned more about New Orleans

history than he’d ever wanted to know. His nightmares had plenty of fuel now. He wrapped his arm

around Betsy and hauled her into the hotel.

“That was rude.” But she was grinning, making him wonder if she’d been dragging out the good-bye

on purpose just to torture him some more. If so, she was in so much trouble. He waved at the front-

desk clerk and guided her toward the elevator.

“How much did you give him?” Betsy asked, looking over her shoulder out the front window where

their guide was staring after them.

“I have no idea. I only have hundreds in my wallet. Two, maybe three? Not enough?”

“More than enough. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t follow us thinking you made a mistake.”

“He better not.” He punched the button and steered her into the elevator, hitting their floor and

taking her straight to the wall. “Tell me after all that roaming around you haven’t forgotten how I want

to end our night.”

Her eyes were paler than he’d ever seen them, lit from the inside, all smoke and fire, telling him

she hadn’t forgotten. “You want to be inside me,” she said.

“I do.” He licked into her mouth.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. He hauled her into the air, still kissing her, and she

wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He pressed her against the wall

again. The doors shut. Her lips tasted of the souvenir candy the tour guide had given them, but the feel

of her embrace was even sweeter. She wiggled closer, perfecting their fit. Her skirt bunched around

her hips, and the only thing separating them was her panties and his jeans. The need to get inside her

pounded in his blood so hard, taking her against the wall seemed logical, but if the elevator got called

to the lobby, they’d be interrupted. One more cock-block today would kill him.

He stabbed the control panel with a desperate finger. When the doors opened, he carried her down

the hall. With every step, she ground against him. “I hope you aren’t looking for a slow ride,

sweetheart. I’ve been hard for you for hours, and I am about to lose my fucking mind. It’s gonna be

fast.”

She clutched him tighter. “Hell yes.”

Somehow, he found the right door, fumbled his key card out of his pocket, and got them inside. He

kicked the door shut, locked it, and headed for the bedroom, dropping her on the bed and yanking his

shirt over his head. By the time he stripped, she was naked, and his fingers shook with impatience as

he rolled on a condom. He climbed onto the bed and settled himself between her bent knees, grasping

the base of his cock and dragging it across her slick entrance. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

His vision went dim as he sank to the hilt, catching his weight on his forearms. The warm clasp of

her body sent shivers through him, and he buried his face in her neck and held on, luxuriating in mind-

numbing ecstasy. Utter heaven. Pure hot bliss.

As he slowly rubbed against her, he changed his mind. There was no fucking way he was going to

do this fast and hard. He was going to make it last as long as possible. Her hips shifted restlessly

beneath his, seeking movement, and she clutched his back in unmistakable hurry-the-hell-up motions.

He smiled against her neck. “Sorry, but this is too good to rush.” He lifted up so he could watch her

expression and slowly withdrew until his head nearly left her. They both gasped as he slid back

inside, a half-inch at a time. Her eyes drifted shut. “Uh-uh. Eyes open.”

There was hesitation in her gaze, and he wanted to erase it. They’d been together all night, building

the fire between them with light touches and casual contact, and he burned for her. Sexual pleasure

was one thing, but what gripped him right now was something else entirely, terrifying and arousing.

He needed her to feel it, too. “I thought I wanted to have an orgasm. God knows I want you.” He

pulled back again, seeking her clit with his tip, stroking outside her body. Color rose in her cheeks.

She dragged her teeth across her lower lip, arching her back, but not breaking their gaze. She looked

luminous, needy, and so fucking sexy his balls drew tight, and his cock jerked against her. He tilted

his hips and sank into her again. “But I think I just needed to be inside you. I feel so much better now.”

She whimpered, and he bent to taste the sound of her need. Their kiss was slow, tongues dancing in

languorous strokes, moving in rhythm with his hips. He pressed a trail of kisses over her cheek until

he reached her ear. “When our bodies slide together, you get hotter, wetter, and when you clench

around me, I know I’m in exactly the right place.” She gasped, muscles tightening. He stared into her

eyes and stroked inside her again. Her walls fluttered, and she softened, taking him deeper.

He groaned. “Oh, sweetheart, that feels amazing.” He pressed her knees wide with his thighs,

unable to keep from driving inside her for a couple of hard, fast thrusts. Her moan brought him back to

his task, and he slowed. She was panting now, gaze locked on his. The desperate plea in her eyes

made him move even slower.

“Please,” she breathed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

He shook his head. He sought to drive her up, not with force, but with desire. Was that possible?

She’d reached for his hand tonight as many times as he’d reached for hers. Usually when women

clung to him, he ended it, but Betsy’s touch made him want more. He didn’t want to make her climax

this time; he wanted her to give it to him, freely, wholeheartedly.

The air between them grew heavy. She grew tighter or maybe he swelled. Her sweet, warm breath

on his lips made his mouth water, and every beat of her heart made his pound faster. She throbbed

around him, and he echoed her pulse, feeling her everywhere. The moment stretched, the connection

between them growing stronger. He held his breath, seeing raw need in her gaze, erotic and painfully

intimate. He stopped moving entirely, transfixed.

With a low cry, she broke, drawing him deeper. Heat rolled up his spine. Exquisite, excruciating

pleasure flowed through him, intensifying with every second, but he held himself in check, not

wanting to come yet. He thrust slowly, coasting in and out of her while she gasped and moaned.

Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him down for a searing kiss. “Oh my God,” she whispered

against his lips. “Don’t stop. I’m still…I can’t…”

“I’ve got you.” Every heartbeat took him closer to orgasm, but he wasn’t going to give in until he

was absolutely certain she was done, not when she was gazing at him with undisguised ecstasy, not

when she lay open beneath him, wet and welcoming, not when she held him so close he couldn’t

imagine being alone.

He pried her hands out of his hair and pinned them over her head, moving his hips a little faster.

He’d loved watching her climax from the slow build of heat between them, but that didn’t mean he

wouldn’t also enjoy forcing her over the next ledge, screaming as she fell.

He felt her ripple around him again and began to thrust harder, racing his climax, watching her

breasts shake and her eyes glaze, hearing the slap of their hips. He felt a rush of heat, and her body

gripped him hard. Stars exploded in front of his eyes. He blinked to clear them.

“Come with me.” Her hoarse whisper freed him. He let go of her arms and poured himself into her

with a groan. Intense spasms racked him, made sharper by her soft hands caressing his back and arms.

He felt her lips on his neck. The sharp nip of her teeth on his chest sent another shudder through him,

and he arched, driving into her and staying deep.

When his muscles finally unlocked, he collapsed onto his forearms, still pulsing inside her. She

looked as shattered as he felt, so he kissed her, and the tension he’d felt all day vanished, leaving him

boneless, exhausted, and barely able to frame a coherent thought. He reached for the condom as he

fell to the side, tied it off, and tossed it in the trash can blessedly close to the bed. He sighed, pulling

her on top of him.

“Do you want to get under the covers?” he asked.

“Can’t move.”

“Good.” He flipped the edge of the comforter over them, and then wrapped his arms around her

waist and laced their fingers together. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Eight

Betsy floated in a haze of need. It was a familiar place. She woke up hungry every morning. Her hand

moved to ease the ache and hit something warm and firm. She gasped. Arms surrounded her, and

something hard slid against her hip. Her arousal increased tenfold as she realized where she was.

With Quin. Not dreaming of him.

He’d rolled her on top of him before she fell asleep. She’d meant to slide away, but he’d felt so

good, and he hadn’t seemed to mind her weight, so she’d dozed, all night, apparently. Now she was

awake, and so was he.

“Lift up a sec.”

“Huh?”

“Condom.” One of his arms thrust the covers aside, and searched for something on the side of the

bed. She clutched him for balance when he jacked her forward, over his shoulder, and then eased her

back into place—right onto his cock.

He settled the covers over them and closed his eyes.

“Umm…”

“Quiet.”

His hands gripped her waist, adjusting their position while he rolled his hips back and forth. He

inched her forward so her pelvis rested above the curve of his, crushing her clit against his pubic

bone while the head of his cock moved in and out of her body. She collapsed on top of him, pressing

her face into his neck, wondering if she’d been talking in her sleep. How else could he have guessed

this was her favorite early morning fantasy? Except it wasn’t early morning. The light streaming in the

window was bright, too bright. What time was it? “Umm…”

“Hit the snooze, Betsy. Five more minutes.”

She moved her hips in counterpoint with his, and he groaned. Satisfaction poured through her. She

thrust faster, and he caught her hips, taking charge again.

“Nice try,” he whispered into her hair.

She tightened around him, helplessly aroused by his control. His low sounds of pleasure rippled

inside her, carrying her up. The climax was gentle, a slow slide into heaven as opposed to the tornado

that had her ripped her out of reality and made her black out last night. His deep groan ended in a

sigh. He cradled her atop his big frame, and she started to drift again.

“Let’s stay in bed all day.” The rumble beneath her ear startled her, and when his meaning sank in,

she wanted to say yes.

She rolled to the side and sat up.

“I’m late for work.” She scrambled for her phone and discovered it was almost ten. She opened in

an hour. Panic drummed. If today was anything like yesterday, losing two hours of prep time was a

catastrophe. Ali was scheduled at ten-thirty, but if Betsy hauled ass home right now and got changed,

she might get there first…

“Want some help in the kitchen today?”

“Huh?” She glanced up, taking in his indolent pose in bed, arms above his head, knees bent,

watching her. He hadn’t bothered to pull up the sheet she’d knocked off, and he lay naked. Glorious.

Dangerous. She missed a button on her shirt and had to start over.

“Since I’m the reason you’re late, can I give you a hand? I don’t want to find you sobbing into the

fryer again when I come in for lunch.”

He wanted to help? A flash of warmth shot through her, and she wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t

dare. Everything about him beckoned, and she’d never leave the bedroom if she touched him. His rich

soapy scent was on her cheeks and lips where she had slept on his chest. If she closed her eyes she

could still feel him, moving inside her.

She forced herself to shake her head. “Don’t you have big hotel stuff to keep you busy? A

masquerade ball to plan? Checks to write? A kingdom to run? Surely you have important things to do

today.”

“Nope—that’s why I have staff.” He stretched out on his side and propped his head on his arm,

looking every inch the wealthy hotel playboy. “You should consider hiring some.”

“I would if I could, but I can’t afford it.” She jammed her feet into her shoes and threw her phone in

her purse, not quite as sorry to leave this silver-spoon incarnation of Quin.

“Because of the mortgage?” he asked.

“What mortgage?” She looked up and saw the same shuttered expression he’d worn the other night.

“What mortgage, Quin?”

He stared back at her, impenetrable, and then stood, grabbing a pair of boxers from the drawer.

“Last Call is mortgaged. I assumed you knew. Isn’t that why you’re killing yourself to get the café off

the ground alone? A hefty mortgage payment?”

She shook her head. “Last Call belongs to my mother, free and clear. It was a gift. You don’t know

what you’re talking about.”

He stepped into a pair of khakis. “I must have gotten my facts wrong. Check with your mom.

Meanwhile, I’m happy to help out for a while. Will you put me to work?”

A trickle of unease rolled down her spine as he finished getting dressed. She doubted a man in

Quin’s position got his facts wrong very often. Had her mother mortgaged the bar without telling her?

She searched his expression, but his easy grin hid as much as his impassive stare.

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep our association strictly unprofessional, if you don’t mind.

I’ll see you later.” She turned toward the door.

“I do mind, actually.” He caught her arm. “I know you don’t want to sell Last Call to me, but I could

do a lot to help you get the café running more smoothly. I hate watching you struggle when I have the

resources to help. Would you consider letting me invest?”

His tone was all business, and it was the exact opposite of what she wanted from him. There were

lots of things she could do better if she had help, more money, and time to spend on details, but she

didn’t have any of those things. Her heart twisted, and she sucked in a tight, shallow breath. She

couldn’t afford to take what he offered, but she was tempted for the first time in her life, and the

realization made her angry. “That’s how it starts. Little things. Nice things.”

“What starts?”

She wasn’t aware she’d spoken aloud. His hand stroked her arm, and it felt so good she jerked

away from his touch. Given the way she acted around him, she shouldn’t be surprised he thought she

needed help. “You can’t barge into my business and take over.”

“I don’t want to take over.”

“You don’t know how to do anything else.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take over in your kitchen yesterday. I followed your orders, and we

were a great team. Let’s do it again. Let’s do more together. It’s clear you’re great at your job. In fact,

if you ever change your mind about working at Last Call, I’d hire you in a heartbeat. I’ve got

restaurants in hotels all over the country and plans to expand internationally soon. You could work

anywhere you wanted.”

She straightened her spine and put her hands on her hips, claiming her space and putting more

distance between them. The attraction between them made it easy to forget their worlds were

completely different. What was it like to have power like his? Money to make tempting offers?

People to do his bidding and keep his kingdom profitable? She couldn’t imagine, but just for a

second, she let herself think about what it would be like to work for him. His restaurants probably ran

like clockwork, no scrambling around for ingredients, no shoestring budget, and no skeleton crew.

Her heart skipped a beat, and then began to pound so loud she could barely think through the riot.

“Earth to Betsy.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.

She stared up at him and felt something turn to ice deep inside her.

Impossible things seemed like genius ideas when he touched her, but even if she were willing to

leave her family, she would never work for him. If she did, he could fire her whenever he wanted. Or

worse, leave her toiling to make money for him while he traveled the world meeting other women. He

was a force of nature, a hurricane, a perfect storm. If she let him, he would leave devastation in his

wake. Her devastation. Not gonna happen.

She pushed him away. “I’m sure you’ve already got women waiting for you in all those hotels. You

still want that courtyard, don’t you? I can’t imagine you’d make me such a sweet offer out of the

goodness of your heart.”

Something dark flickered in his gaze. “I won’t lie—I want a courtyard next to my hotel, but I don’t

have to own it. I’m perfectly happy to compromise. Invest. Partner. Whatever you want. Think about

it. It’s a good idea.”

Panic surged through her, and she yanked the door open and threw herself out of the room.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he followed her into the hall.

“Coming with you.” His voice was hard. “You were swamped yesterday, and now you’re late. You

can’t handle that much volume alone without falling behind.”

“Bullshit.” She hurried down the hall. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I can or

can’t handle. I appreciated your help yesterday, but in the future, I’ll handle it myself. I don’t want

your help—or your money.”

“You’re understaffed, the dining room needs repairs, and the kitchen needs major updates. You’ve

got dark circles under your eyes, and you’re at least ten pounds thinner than you were two years ago.

You’re strung so tight, you feel about five seconds from snapping like a rotten rubber band—”

She punched the button for the elevator and crossed her arms to keep from taking a jab at him as

well. “That’s a very flattering and accurate description of me, but some of us actually have to work if

we want to make money.”

“Not if I give it to you, but you don’t want my money. Why is that? Why won’t you let me make your

life a little easier?” The elevator doors opened, but he pressed her against the hallway wall before

she could step inside. “Answer the question.”

Caught between the wall and his hard body, she should have felt trapped, but she didn’t. She felt

secure, and the effort of not melting into his arms made her tremble. “Easy isn’t better.” She meant to

spit the words, but they sighed from her lips. Her anger deserted her in a hot rush, and she clutched at

the memory of her mother sobbing on the floor, hoping it would help her stay strong, but it made her

feel weaker instead. Now she understood how a man could bring a woman to her knees. Her heart

rose into her throat as he bent to kiss her.

His lips moved softly, seducing, beseeching. Reluctantly, she opened to him. Her walls had come

down last night, and he knew it. He’d watched it happen. Her surrender had been unmistakable—just

like his—but it didn’t change anything. Crushing sadness made it difficult to breathe, and she turned

her head, gasping. As incredible as it felt to share this accord with him, it wouldn’t last, and she had

to make him stop pushing her. It wasn’t in his nature to take no for an answer, and the only way she

could be with him was if he did. “Please don’t ruin this.”

He gathered her against his chest and stroked her hair. “I don’t want to ruin it. I want to make it

better. Why is helping you such a bad thing?”

She tilted her head, resting it against the wall so she could look up at him. He didn’t get it. Why

would he? And she wasn’t sure she could express it, not in a way he would understand, but she

wanted to try. She stared at him for several longs seconds, breathing in and out of her nose with her

lips pressed tightly together while her thoughts whirled. His hair flopped over his gold-flecked eyes,

and she wanted to smooth it back so badly her fingers twitched. His jaw was shadowed by deep red

stubble, and she wanted to touch it and taste it. She just wanted…him. This man could make me

crawl.

Suddenly, she knew exactly how to begin. Her heart clenched, and she took a deep breath. “Once

upon a time, there was a beautiful fresh-faced barmaid who fell in love with a wealthy man. She gave

him everything and believed they would live happily ever after. But in time, the wealthy man grew

tired of the barmaid, who wasn’t as much fun when she was pregnant with his child. So he bought her

a bar and left her there. Brokenhearted. Until the next wealthy man came along. And the next child.

And the next unhappily ever after.” She paused. “My mother’s romanticism is eternal, and my sister’s

defies all logic. But mine is non-existent. This former barmaid doesn’t want a wealthy man to give

her anything. She wants to make her own happily ever after.” She held his gaze and gave him a tight

smile. “Does that answer your question?”

He reached to grip her arms. “Except sex. You want two weeks of sex from me.”

She nodded slowly. “And I don’t want you to ruin it.”

“What if I sent someone over from the Keystone? Some lovers buy clothes and jewelry. I could

help you with payroll.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Not if you want to get laid. If you interfere with my business in any way, I will end this.” They’d

reached another standoff, but this time she couldn’t afford to yield. She wanted two weeks with him

badly enough to beg, but that was as far as she could go. Would it be enough?

“Then I’ll see you tonight.” He pressed her against the wall, staking another claim on her mouth.

His kiss went deep, stroking into her, filling her with relief, swiftly followed by a hollowing stab of

despair. He’d given up; she should be happy. Instead she felt the prickle of tears because the

tenderness that had grown between them last night was gone, leaving only the heat. That’s all I want.

She opened her mouth, abandoning herself to the kiss. Her lips burned from the scrape of his

stubble, her breasts ached for his touch, and her sex felt heavy with need. Just that fast, she was ready

for him again.

She heard the sound of his hand slapping the wall, and the elevator doors opened. He carried her

into the elevator, set her on her feet, and stepped back. She staggered slightly before she caught her

balance on the wall.

They rode to the lobby in silence, not looking at each other.

“I’ll text you later,” he said.

Her eyes began to sting, but she pasted a smile on her face and held it until he walked away.

…

Quin headed for his office. Betsy didn’t want anything but sex from him. Paradoxically, he wanted to

give her a whole lot more, and the irony wasn’t lost on him. Her taunt about him having other women

was right on target, but he couldn’t remember a single face or name at the moment. All he could think

about was her—and the way she kept pushing him away.

The lobby stretched out before him like a foreign land, and it seemed to take forever to cross it. He

had a ton of work on his desk, but instinct propelled him out the front door.

He looked over his shoulder as he stepped outside, and the sleek facade of the Keystone looked flat

and plain to him after seeing the ornate mansions and hotels along St. Charles Avenue last night. What

he had once thought was stylish and elegant now seemed cold and sterile. Boring. Unremarkable.

What was the word Betsy had used? Soulless.

He crossed the street and sank onto a bench to stare at his hotel. Consistency was the key to

Keystone success, but maybe it was time to change more than the menu. The idea took hold inside

him, growing fast. He could add New Orleans grace notes to the existing hotel structure fairly easily.

What was that word again? Lagniappe? Not quite that, but something like it. The wrought-iron fence

surrounding Jackson Square served as an impromptu art gallery every day. If he replaced the modern

art in the lobby with canvasses purchased from local artists, it would help. He could also switch the

classical music in the elevators and restaurant to jazz. The song he’d played with the old man

vibrated through him, and he sucked a hot breath of noon air into his lungs to fight off a shiver. Yes,

that would be perfect.

He pictured the monochromatic lobby, the severely elegant guest rooms, and the contemporary

restaurant and dropped his head into his hands. What had he been thinking? But he knew. He’d wanted

to replace the past with something that didn’t give him nightmares. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked.

He still woke up in an ice-cold sweat every morning.

Not this morning. He’d woken up with Betsy, warm and rested. Something had changed last night.

But only for him. Betsy might have stayed the night, but she’d disappeared again this morning. His

heart lurched, so he forced his mind back to the hotel renovations. What would it take? How hard

would it be? The grand opening masquerade ball was in two weeks.

For the first time, he noticed how out-of-place the enormous windows of the Keystone looked in

comparison to the smaller, more protected windows of the surrounding buildings. Many of the

businesses even had wooden shutters that could be closed and locked with hooks. He growled under

his breath as he remembered how many times his architect had said the word hurricane. He hadn’t

wanted to hear it then, but a storm ripping through the Quarter could wipe out most of the first floor.

He typed a quick search on his phone, and was relieved to discover he had months before hurricane

season started. Plenty of time to shore up the windows and make a whole lot of other changes, too.

Certainty grew inside him as he looked up and down the street, noting paint colors and trim styles.

Betsy’s main complaint about the hotel was its lack of New Orleans charm, but he was going to

remedy that. Once he did…would she change her mind? I need that courtyard. He couldn’t explain

his certainty, but he knew his nightmares would continue without it. He could see it so clearly:

shutters and gates, wrought-iron furniture, tiny lights, vines overhead and bricks underfoot. His head

pounded, a paralyzing throb that nearly knocked him out of his seat. Darkness rose, swirling around

the edges of his vision, and fear constricted his throat. He clutched the bench, fighting the bizarre urge

to crawl under it.

The chime of his phone sounded like a clap of thunder, and he flinched, then reached into his

pocket. The shadows dissipated as he saw how many new e-mails awaited him. His gut tightened

with anticipation at the thought of the now even larger pile of work awaiting him, and he tapped the

screen, relaxing into the morning routine he usually started in his air-conditioned office. Most of the

time he avoided being outside, but today the heat and lazy bustle of the French Quarter at lunchtime

fueled his imagination. He wasn’t the only one; Luc’s new menu was already in his inbox. It figures.

The cocky bastard had probably had it finished for weeks, waiting for him to come to his senses. Let

him gloat. Quin didn’t know how to cook, but he loved to eat, and he was drooling over every item.

Blackened chicken on a stick, fried green tomato poppers, charbroiled oysters casino…his stomach

growled, but he ignored it, working his way through his messages.

Ideas churned in his mind, and he tapped notes into his phone and rescheduled his day, making

appointments with his contractor, architect, and interior decorator. He had no idea what it would take

to make changes so fast, but that was why he hired experts.

A food truck rumbled down the street, and he paused mid-text. What had Betsy suggested the other

night during dinner? It came back to him in a rush, and he laughed aloud. The woman was a genius,

and Luc would likely have the right connections to make it happen. Between the interior decorator, his

event manager, and the prominent party planner she’d insisted on hiring for the grand opening, they’d

have New Orleans soul absolutely covered.

He stood, waiting for cars to pass so he could cross the street to Last Call and share his plans with

Betsy, but then he sank back down on the bench, remembering the expression on her face when she’d

told him her mother’s story. She’d looked haunted. Gutted. At her limit.

His certainty that she would walk away if he kept pushing had been as strong as his desire to keep

her close. Screwing this up was not an option, and she’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t want to

talk business with him. He wasn’t willing to risk losing the next two weeks with her by bringing the

subject up again, but he also wasn’t going to disappear into thin air when his time ran out. How could

he show her how good a partnership between them could be without actually saying it?

An idea leapt into his mind, and everything went still and dark inside him while he weighed the

risks. Betsy would definitely consider it interfering in her business, and he’d have to keep it a secret.

But now that he’d thought of it, he couldn’t deny it felt like the right thing to do. A spark of excitement

flared inside him, burning away the darkness. She might not want him, but he knew what she wanted

more than anything else in the world, and he had the power to give it to her.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Kyle.

He answered immediately. “Hey, boss, I’m making headway. As it turns out there are only five

hundred Melinda Johnsons in the—”

“Pay off the mortgage for Last Call.”

“What? Pay it off? Why not acquire it and raise the payments? I thought you wanted—”

Quin cut him off again. “Get it discharged in full. And get your ass down here. Keystone

renovations just became a 24/7 job, and I need my nights free.”

“Renovations?” Kyle’s voice peaked on the last syllable. “I thought we were done.”

“I’m just getting started.” The sound of a door opening and the tinkle of bells made him look to his

left, and a familiar flash of colors sent goose bumps racing across his skin. He stood, keeping his gaze

low so he wouldn’t have to meet hers as he hurried down the street, away from the tea shop and the

too-sweet scent of sugar and incense. Cold sweat glued his shirt to his back and he tugged at the

fabric, pulling it away from his skin. “Make it happen, Kyle.”

“I’m on it.”

Quin ended the call and kept walking, following his instincts. Urgency built inside him, a desperate

thrum, and he walked faster, scrutinizing the shops, alleys, bars, and restaurants, and making more

notes. When his growling stomach could no longer be ignored, he veered into a decent-looking

restaurant and ordered lunch. The sandwiches couldn’t hold a candle to Betsy’s creations, but he was

starving and had no idea how long it would take to make his way back to the hotel. His phone buzzed

just as his lunch arrived.

Kyle’s name flashed across the lock screen. Quin swiped and saw one word. Done.

His tension eased. No matter how it played out between Betsy and him, her dream was safe. No

one could take Last Call away from her now, and he had two weeks to convince her to let him be a

part of it. He checked the time and dug into his sandwich, eating quickly so he could get back to the

hotel and get his meetings finished. He wanted to be ready and waiting in the alley when she got off

work.

Chapter Nine

When the lunch rush ended, Betsy’s gaze strayed to the kitchen door for the umpteenth time that day.

“He’ll come,” her mother said.

“What?” She jerked out of her daze and began chopping parsley.

“Quinton James. Isn’t that who you’re waiting for?”

“No! God, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the truth hollowed out her chest,

making her feel empty. She’d waited for his text all day, but her phone had remained stubbornly silent.

Her mood, not good to begin with, soured even more. This whole day had been a clusterfuck from the

minute she’d walked in and found her mother in the kitchen making gumbo instead of out front in the

bar.

Betsy should have had the whole day alone to figure out how she felt about what Kate had said

yesterday and, more important, what to do. Instead she was stuck pretending to be grateful for the

extra help while wondering where her mother stood on the subject. Lunch had come and gone and she

wasn’t any closer to making a plan. Her mom was right. She couldn’t stop thinking about Quin, and

she couldn’t shake the sense she was making a huge mistake.

Her mother laughed, and Betsy looked up, startled by the happy noise. “What?”

“You never could lie to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about Quinton James.” Heat spiraled up from her center and buzzed in her

cheeks. She set her knife on the cutting board and wiped her hands on a towel. The tears she’d

banished in Quin’s lobby threatened again, and her throat tightened. She forced a deep breath past the

lump in her throat, filling every space in her body with air and leaving no room for tears. She was not

going to lose it in front of her mother.

The subject of Last Call hung between them like an invisible barrier, one she hadn’t been willing to

cross this morning when she was feeling guilty for being late for work, but she couldn’t avoid it

forever. Where to start? Quin’s low voice vibrated in her head. Isn’t that why you’re killing yourself

to get the café off the ground alone? A hefty mortgage payment? In her mind’s eye, she saw his

expression slam shut, hiding his thoughts.

Betsy knew exactly where to start; she was just afraid to ask the question. She exhaled slowly and

turned to her mother. “Did you take out a mortgage on the bar?”

Her mom looked at her for a long second before she lifted her chin and nodded, looking so much

like her younger daughter it made Betsy flinch. Her mother and Kate really were two peas in a pod,

and where did that leave her? The towel in her hand slid to the floor.

Her mom picked it up and tossed it in the direction of the bin. “Did you think culinary school was

going to pay for itself?”

Betsy shook her head. “I got student loans. I pay them every month.”

“Uh-huh—and the rest of the bills came to me. I called the school and set it up with the financial

aid office.”

“But you said it was fine. I never would have gone to culinary school if I’d known it would

jeopardize Last Call. You said we could afford it.”

“We can—just barely, and I didn’t think it was necessary to burden you with the details.”

Betsy’s stomach twisted. “Really? You didn’t think you should tell me going to school to be a chef

meant risking the business I eventually wanted to run? That seems like pretty crucial information to

me.”

Her mother shrugged. “Being honest wasn’t an option. If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have gone.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t have gone.” Familiar frustration surged through her. “There were other

ways to learn what I needed to know without risking our family business. That was the whole point—

I wanted to make things better for us.” Remembering her sister’s words, she felt like puking into the

garbage can next to the counter. “Or were things better for you when I was gone, too?” Maybe her

mother had wanted her out of the way.

“What? Kate and I missed you like crazy, and we’re so glad you’re home.”

“That’s not what she said yesterday. She said both of you wanted to keep the bar open and if I

closed it, she’d quit.” She hated that her voice broke on the last word.

To her shock, her mother burst out laughing. “Oh, my—that girl really ran her mouth, didn’t she? No

wonder she took off.”

Even though she was furious and hurt, Betsy felt a sharp stab of worry. “Took off? Where?”

“Just gone. I’m sure she’ll be back, tail between her legs before too long, but if she said all that it

might be a while.” Her mother sighed. “One mess at a time. Let’s worry about you first, sugar.”

Betsy lifted a brow. She didn’t make messes. She cleaned them up.

One corner of her mother’s mouth curved, as if in acknowledgment of the irony. “I’ll keep my

promise, if that’s what you’re worried about. If the café continues to do well, you can open for dinner,

even if Kate gets a job somewhere else.”

Betsy felt the crack inside her open again. Instead of relief, she felt the ground under her feet

shaking. If Kate left, what was the point? Betsy wanted a better life for all of them. She felt herself

slipping closer to the edge and gripped the counter to help her hold on to her temper. Losing control

wouldn’t help the situation. “You have to make her stay. What’s she going to do? Get a job in another

bar? Do you really want her slinging beers and breaking her heart every night for the rest of her life?”

Like you?

Betsy didn’t say it, but her mother clearly heard it anyway. Her dark eyes flashed. “Not every

night.”

“It sure looked like it to me.”

“You’re not talking about Kate, are you?” Her mother took several deep breaths. Her eyes shined

with tears, and Betsy was ashamed.

After this morning, she knew how temptation felt. “I’m sorry, Momma.”

Her mother lifted one hand and let it fall. “You’ve got good cause. You can’t possibly know how

much I regret making you a part of my mistakes. It took me a long time to learn how to be a single

mother. I didn’t know how attached a small child could get in a short period of time. I wanted my

boyfriends to understand I was a package deal, so I let them meet you, and I’m sorry for that. Once I

saw how hard it was for you to let go, I stopped introducing you. I did a better job with Kate. It

helped that you were old enough to stay home with her.”

“You think you did a better job with her?” That really stung. “She hooks up all the time.”

“People are different. She’s not as sensitive as you are.”

Betsy crossed her arms. “Sensitive? I’m not the one who took off after a fight.” Of course her

mother would side with Kate. Why had she expected anything else?

“That’s not what I meant.” Her mom gazed around the kitchen for a minute and then pointed at a pot

on the stove. “That’s you.”

“I’m a cast-iron pot?”

Her mother nodded. “Heats slowly and evenly, but if it isn’t exactly the right temperature, every

damn thing sticks.” She pointed at a Teflon sauté pan, the only one in the kitchen and reserved

exclusively for making crêpes. “That’s Kate. Heats in a flash, and everything slides right off, all the

time. Both are great—just different.”

She stared at her mom. “So you think it’s fine that Kate wants a hot, rich guy to walk in the door of

Last Call and sweep her off her feet?”

Her mother nodded slowly. “But you know how the song goes. She might not get him—I didn’t, at

least not forever. But I did get what I needed. I got you, and I got Kate.” She gestured around the

room. “And I got Last Call. It’s enough.”

And I want to take it away. Betsy’s heart skipped a beat. Could Kate be right, after all? Would

closing the bar erase their history? Betsy wanted a better life for them, but according to her mother,

better was subjective. If opening for dinner was only better for Betsy, she’d done all this work for

nothing. “If Last Call means so much to you, why are you letting me close the bar?”

Her mother grasped her shoulders tightly. “Because you are made of my blood and bone, and I’ve

watched you nearly every minute of your life, trying to protect you, care for you, give you everything

you needed to be happy. And you have resisted me for just about that long.” Betsy stiffened, and her

mother squeezed her tighter. “I’ve read all the books, trying not to screw this up worse than I already

have. I learned that kids grow up, become independent, and create their own separate identities. I

know you’ve got big plans, sugar. They’re good plans, and I wanted to finally be able to do something

to help you. I mortgaged Last Call because I believe in you.”

For a fraction of a second, Betsy wanted to throw her arms around her mother and sob with

gratitude and relief, but the seed Kate had planted yesterday had embedded itself in her soul and

grown instant, seething roots. She twisted out of her mother’s grasp. “That’s not what Kate said. She

said you wanted me to fail.”

Her mom cocked her head and frowned. “Of course I don’t want you to fail, honey. That was just

Kate…being Kate. You know she’s sorry she said it already.”

Betsy picked up her knife and started chopping to hide her reaction to the unfairness of that

statement. Kate got a free pass just for being herself? Betsy was just supposed to let it go? “What

about Kate? Don’t you believe in her?”

“My faith in my children is not mutually exclusive.” Her mother’s enigmatic smile made Betsy feel

like she was missing something. “So get on with building up that lunch business, sugar. You’re gonna

be a hotshot superstar chef, and I know you’ll pull us out of debt in no time.”

No pressure. Betsy wanted to scream. The stakes were so much higher now, and it was just like her

mother to expect everything to work out fine. What if the bank foreclosed? They wouldn’t have the

money, not for a very long time. Or worse—what if the bank sold the mortgage? Some hungry

corporation could come along, make the bank an offer, and ruin everything. Her heart thumped, and

sweat prickled on her forehead. If Quin knew about the mortgage, he knew Last Call was vulnerable.

He’d given his word to stay out of her business, but how long would that last?

“How much, Momma?” She kept her voice calm. “How big is the mortgage?”

“Three hundred thousand.”

“And how much is left?” Her schooling hadn’t cost that much.

“Ten grand.”

Betsy couldn’t stifle a hiss, and her mom shrugged. “It cost more to open the café than I expected.”

My tuition, my café, my fault—and my responsibility. “Is that why you want to sell?” For what

Quin had offered, they could pay back the mortgage and set up shop somewhere else, just as he had

suggested in the alley the other morning, a fact he undoubtedly knew. Betsy’s stomach rolled, and she

swallowed the harsh taste of metal in her mouth.

“I don’t want to sell—I just want my children to be happy, and that means not making decisions for

them. Quinton James put a hell of an offer on the table, and I thought you girls needed to hear it.” But

her mother hadn’t thought they needed to know about the mortgage. Betsy didn’t have to ask if Kate

knew. She didn’t—or she would have used it as ammunition yesterday.

Her mom popped the top off a beer like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Can we get back to

why I know he’s coming back?”

“No,” Betsy said darkly, picking up her knife and attacking the parsley again.

“Hard to forget a man like Quinton James.” Her mother ignored her. “I know I didn’t.”

“What?” Betsy’s knife slid sideways and clunked against the cutting board, narrowly missing her

thumb. A double shot of adrenaline surged through her. “What does that mean?”

“The day you left for the Culinary Academy, a man came into the bar looking for you. Well-dressed.

Obviously wealthy. Sexy. So compelling he turned every head in the place.” One look into her

mother’s eyes told Betsy her mom knew everything.

She sagged against the counter, pressing her cool, wet, parsley-scented hands to her hot cheeks as

her mother continued. “When I told him you were gone and not coming back for a long time, the look

on his face made every hair on my body stand on end. He was furious, and for a second I thought he

was going to make trouble, big trouble, but he just thanked me and left.” A satisfied smile spread

across her mother’s face. “I got the story from the staff, of course. I wasn’t at all shocked when he

walked in the door again the other night. I was just surprised it took him so long. You’ve been home

for months.”

Betsy gaped at her. “You knew? When he offered to buy the bar? When he blackmailed me into

going out to dinner with him, you knew?”

Her mother nodded.

“Does Kate know he came looking for me?”

“Kate didn’t get out of bed the day you left for culinary school, so she didn’t see him come in.” Her

mom took a swig of beer. “I know she fusses at you, but I think it’s because she misses you.”

Betsy turned back to her cutting board. She’d been hurt when Kate hadn’t come with them to the

airport that morning. Really? She hadn’t gotten out of bed all day? Betsy took a deep breath. “She did

say something about me never being around, but I’ve been working my butt off.” It sounded lame. It

was lame. Her heart dipped. “Damn it.”

Her mom patted her arm. “Your baby sister did a hell of a job tending bar while you were gone.

You should come in some night. See her in action.” She paused. “Before we close the bar and all.”

Betsy nodded, thoughts swirling and heart skipping every other beat as she scraped the chopped

parsley into a container. What was her mother getting at? “Why are you telling me this now? About

Kate…and Quin?”

“Because you need to loosen up a little, sugar. It’s good to have a plan, but you’d get further faster

if you let people help you.” She drained the bottle and set it on the counter. “Have a little faith.”

Betsy bit back a smartass retort. Faith wasn’t going to make the mortgage payments, and in her

experience, letting people help gave them the opportunity to disappoint. It was difficult to believe her

mother hadn’t learned the same lesson.

Betsy stole a sideways glance. Her mother looked as beautiful as ever, but there was gray in her

ash-blond hair. The skin around her eyes was smooth but delicate-looking, and it crinkled when she

smiled. There were tight shadows in her dark eyes that hadn’t been there before Betsy left for school.

Betsy had blamed the bar for her mother’s recent weariness, but now she had to wonder. “Do you like

working late nights in the bar?”

“I love working in the bar.” Her mother’s eyes sparkled, all shadows gone. “But I love you more.

Don’t you worry about me.”

So it was the money worries, not twenty-five years of running a bar that had worn her mother down.

Betsy could relate. After ten months of running a restaurant, she’d already noticed the beginnings of

frown lines on her forehead and one or two gray hairs. If they closed the bar, how would Betsy

weather the years with the weight of the mortgage payments squarely on her shoulders?

A vision of working alone in the kitchen made her pause. If she closed the bar, Kate might leave,

for good this time, not just until her mad wore off. Both are great—just different. “Quin wants to

invest in the business.” The words flew from her lips before she knew she was thinking about saying

them. “He wants to be partners.”

Her mother’s pleased smile made her jaw drop.

“You think that’s a good idea? Of course you do.” Betsy answered her own question. Her mother

believed in white knights and happily ever afters.

“He owns one of the most lucrative hotel chains in the country. We could use an influx of cash.”

Betsy rolled her eyes and resisted pointing out they’d have more money if her mother hadn’t

allowed Betsy to sink them in debt. “But he’s…” She trailed off. Powerful? Driven? Relentless?

Those were all plusses when it came to business and had nothing to do with the reason Quin’s offer

terrified her. “Dangerous. I said no.”

“Of course you did.” Her mother’s voice was gentle but definitely mocking.

“What does that mean?” Before her mom could answer, a knock sounded on the alley door, and

every nerve in her body zinged to life. She couldn’t stifle a gasp.

Her mother chuckled.

“Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Whether it was Quin or not, she was finished with this

discussion. She didn’t want to hear another word.

“Hang on, sugar.” Her mother caught her arm and lifted a clean towel to Betsy’s face. “You’re

covered in parsley.”

She held still and let her mother wipe her face. Her touch was delicate, and her dark eyes were

warm with affection. Betsy didn’t doubt her mother loved her, but they were just so…different.

Her mother met her gaze. “I know you aren’t in the habit of coming to me for advice, and I don’t

blame you. There were too many times I wasn’t around when you needed me, and you had to figure

things out for yourself. You did a good job, sugar. You grew up strong, and I’m proud of you. But I

want you to think about why that man came back here. Does he really need another hotel? Or a bar or

a candy store? Think about why he might be willing to make an investment.” Her mother untied

Betsy’s apron and tugged it over her head. “Find out what he’s made of before you turn him away.”

Silently, she shook her head. Her mother would never understand why she couldn’t give Quin a

chance. Another knock banged, but Betsy lingered, struck by a sudden thought. “You’re Teflon, too,

aren’t you?”

Her mother smiled. “Stainless steel, sugar. No matter what, I stand the test of time.”

Betsy blinked, surprised, and then nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

Another knock made her hurry to the door. She opened it.

It was a few steps down into the alley, so they stood eye-to-eye for a hot, breathless second before

Quin swept her off her feet and into a hard kiss. She closed her eyes and threaded her fingers through

his thick hair, welcoming the rough bite of the brick wall against her back. No more talking. No more

thinking. Just heat and the weakness that poured through her every time they touched. Quin’s strength

made her want to give up her own. She already knew what Quinton James was made of, and she

shouldn’t be doing this, not when her strength was what she needed the most.

“Your place or mine?” he murmured against her lips.

Wordlessly, she led him to the door across the alley.

Chapter Ten

Quin backed her up against the elevator wall and took her mouth. She’d been a constant presence

while he’d hurried his managers and staff through the changes they needed to make over the next two

weeks. Forcing him to knock on the alley door three times had been cruel, making him wonder if she

would open it and tell him she had changed her mind even crueler.

He had no idea what he would have done if she’d tried to send him away. And when her gaze had

met his and he’d seen doubt in her eyes, he’d acted on instinct, just as he was doing now. He lifted her

into the air and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing into her through their clothes.

He didn’t need words; she didn’t want them. Who needed to talk? Her breasts were at head level,

and he had much better things to do with his mouth. He sought her nipple through her shirt, and she

moaned.

He wanted to possess this woman, to show her the command he held over her body, but he also

wanted her to trust him. It was easier to remember that fact when they were apart because as soon as

he touched her, he wanted to make her explode over and over until she couldn’t put herself back

together without him. Even the walk down the hall was too long to wait. His cock was so stiff he was

surprised the head hadn’t risen above the level of his pants. It seemed intent on finding its way into

her, straight through the fabric if necessary, right here in the elevator. He wondered if she was wet, as

ready for him as he was for her. The thought made him pause, but it also gave him an idea. What was

the point of owning a nearly empty hotel if he couldn’t do as he wished?

Balancing her weight against the wall, he pulled the “stop” button.

“Everything all right in there?” Security answered immediately.

“All good,” he called back. “I’m just testing elevator operations. I’ll start it back up in ten

minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

He maneuvered Betsy’s shirt above her bare breasts and tongued her nipple while she squirmed.

He loved the needy noises she made when he used his teeth and the way she ground against him,

crushing his jacket in her fists. He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor and stepped

back, putting space between them. Fierce joy arced inside him when she clutched his forearms and

tried to heave him back to her. He resisted, transferring her grip to one of his hands and lifting them

over her head, pressing her wrists against the wall. His other hand cupped her breast and pinched her

nipple between his thumb and finger.

Her eyes glazed, pupils going dark, her irises a ring of pale fire. He leaned down to lick her lips,

tracing them with his tongue. “Last night was amazing. I want to make tonight even better. I want to

start now, right here.” Could he make her come without touching anything but her breasts? “And then

I’m going to take you to our room and get inside your body every way you’ll let me.”

She whimpered, lifting her hips toward him. With her feet on the floor, he towered over her. He

bent his head to her breast and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, applying suction with his throat

while he rubbed his palm over the tip of her other breast. He lifted his head to take a breath. “Let me

hear you, darling. I love knowing you enjoy my hands on you, my mouth on your breasts.” She groaned

and the sound caressed him. It was tempting to drop his hand between her legs. He knew he could

make her come fast and hard that way, but he resisted. This was fun, and he wanted to break down

another barrier between them.

He widened his lips, taking most of her small breast into his mouth. Still sucking, he moved his

tongue over the sweet lower curve. She gasped and then exhaled a stuttering groan. He looked up to

find her watching him, cheeks flushed and lips parted. He smiled around her breast and then pulled

back slightly, switching hands, switching sides, flattening her more firmly against the wall. He nipped

her neck and lifted his gaze to her dazed eyes as he whispered, “I love your body and the way you

respond to me. I can’t wait to get inside you, but I’m not going to do it now. I’m not going to touch

anything but your breasts until you come for me.” Her body tightened against him as comprehension

dawned. Her eyes widened. “So if you’re holding back, you should probably stop. The faster you

come right now, the faster you’ll come again.” He ducked to take her nipple between his teeth. He bit

gently but firmly, and she jerked. “And again and again.” He pinched her other nipple. “There are so

many things we can do together.”

He began a tandem pressure, using his teeth and fingers, pinching and then biting. He licked his

fingers and started again. She writhed, pushing toward him, and he used his whole mouth, his tongue,

and his teeth on her breast, being careful not to harm her, but not holding back on sensation. Her hips

pumped, and he imagined her clit, swollen and seeking pressure.

He thought about stopping her motion with his hips. She’d probably get off on being frustrated and

restrained in that way, but as much as he wanted to make her come, he was too close himself. If she

thrusted against him, he’d go off in his pants like a teenager.

For a second, he considered it.

But tonight wasn’t about him, it was about her, and any recovery time he needed would be too long.

He kept his distance and continued to push her. Her nipples were dark and her chest was flushed. A

fast pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. He moved her shirt higher and traced circles around her

breasts, avoiding her nipples now. She moaned a protest. “You want me to touch your nipples?”

Her nod was desperate and it made him smile. “Okay.”

He stroked a feather-light caress across the tip of one breast and then the other. She shuddered and

made a frustrated sound. Her jaw clenched, and her lips pressed into a thin line, but he bet her pussy

was clenched just as tight. He was counting on it.

He kicked her feet together and stretched her arms as high as they could reach. “Ask for it.”

“Please,” she whispered.

He touched her again, a little harder. “Like you mean it.”

“Please,” she said louder, rubbing her thighs together.

“Keep going.”

Every time the word broke from her lips, he gave her more. Each time he pinched her nipple, she

made a choked sound of pleasure that kept him right on the edge with her until she climaxed, groaning

his name and shaking so hard he had to let go of her hands and wrap both arms around her to keep her

from falling. When she calmed, he tapped the red button on the control panel.

The elevator jerked and began moving. Her body was lax and she had a dreamy smile on her face,

but he was drawn tight as a strung bow, desperate to shoot straight into her. The brush of his pants on

his cock was nearly unbearable. Walking was going to be a challenge.

The elevator dinged and then the door opened.

He pressed his keycard into her hand. “Naked. Waiting. Go.”

…

Betsy unlocked the door and flipped the latch to keep it open. She shed her clothes on the way to the

bed, pulled the covers back, and then collapsed onto her back. He’d scrambled her brain. Her body

buzzed, pulsing with need. What had he done to her? She’d just had an orgasm yet she wanted him

more now than ever. She heard the door open and shut. The click of the bolt was loud. It made her

sensitized body throb. She closed her eyes and waited, listening to his clothes hit the floor.

The bed dipped under his weight. His fingertip touched her nipple and she flinched. They were

deliciously sore and her breasts felt hot all over. By treating her so roughly, he’d assured she would

be thinking of him, probably for days, and getting warm and tingly every time.

She opened her eyes to see him frowning. “Did I hurt you?”

She cupped her breasts and explored her nipples with her fingers. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me.”

His somber gaze made her uncomfortable, so she lifted her hand to his chest and traced a path

down. Wetness pearled at the tip of his cock, and she spread it over him with her thumb, wrapping her

hand around him and squeezing. He was hard and hot as she moved her hand up and down, watching

his face.

His features grew taut as he gazed at her hand. His head fell forward. The perfect waves of his hair

gleamed red in the late afternoon sunlight, obscuring his expression. She reached up to brush it aside

with her other hand. “Your hair is ridiculous, you know. You must spend a fortune on haircuts to keep

it looking so perfectly wild.”

He groaned, and she moved her hand more slowly. “Do you? Spend a fortune on weekly haircuts?”

He took a breath and let it out in a deep sigh. “You want to talk about my hair right now? Mean. Just

mean.”

She grinned, releasing him.

He put her hand back on his cock. “I get my hair cut four times a year but I missed my last

appointment. That’s why it’s so long. I have no idea how much it costs.”

She resumed her slow stroking, enjoying the hard roll of flesh under her palm. “I kind of like

imagining you having spa appointments. Getting the works. Massage. Hot stones. A happy ending.”

A harsh laugh barked from his throat. “I’ve never had a massage in my life. Sorry to ruin your

fantasy of me as a pampered playboy.”

“Well, at least the pampered part. You can’t deny you’re a playboy.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like to get attached.”

“Why is that?” she asked, suddenly curious. “I told you why I don’t believe in happily ever after.

But why don’t you?”

“Mean, just mean,” he repeated. He peeled her fingers away from him and pressed her hands to the

bed on either side of her face.

“Hey, I was doing something there,” she protested.

“Not anymore. I had previous plans, remember?” A wicked grin made his eyes gleam gold and then

she was in the air, twirling around. She yelped, scrambling for purchase as she fell on top of him. His

chuckle puffed hot against her inner thigh a second before he lifted her hips over his face.

“Feel free to continue.” His voice was muffled as his mouth moved against her. The heat of his

tongue pressing into her made her gasp and arch. Arousal slammed to the forefront of her

consciousness, making her as desperate for stimulation as she had been in the elevator while he

tormented her breasts. A rush of liquid bliss poured through her. He groaned, lapping at her core, and

she pressed into his mouth, riding the edge of orgasm but not giving in to it.

Not yet.

She braced herself against the pleasure and leaned forward to take him in her mouth. The smooth

taste of salt shot sparks through her breasts and belly. Swirling her tongue around him made it

possible to take more of him. She moved lower, balancing him on her tongue as she inched forward.

His strangled groan encouraged her to sink until her lips nearly reached the base of his cock. He got

harder, reaching farther down her throat, and she felt him fill. The thought of how close he was to

climax drove her to the peak. Focusing on him had made it easier to hold back, but he renewed his

assault on her clit. The fluttering, flickering motion was delicious, and she felt herself swell, growing

heavier, as if honey poured through her veins. She lifted her head, lost to pleasure as he fastened his

mouth over her clit and sucked. Waves of ecstasy whipped through her, and she came, rocking back

and forth against his lips.

Her arms and legs felt like water, and she began to sink. He flipped her onto her stomach. She felt

his knee at her core, anchoring her. His mouth brushed her ear. “Did you like driving me crazy?”

“Yes.” She could barely get air into her lungs.

“I love making you wild, too.” His hands were smooth and strong, touching every inch of her back

and shoulders. If he was seeking knots he was going to be disappointed. That orgasm had left her

feeling like taffy, but somehow the long, sweeping strokes of his hands were arousing her again,

especially when his hard, warm cock nudged her thigh. She arched her back, lifting her ass toward

him. He squeezed her buttock and then slowly traced the curve where it met her leg, moving from one

thigh to the other, never dipping between her legs to touch the folds that were swollen and waiting for

him.

He made an appreciative noise. “So sexy.”

You make me feel sexy. The words almost broke from her lips, but she choked them back. His ego

didn’t need fuel. She squirmed when his hands slid down the back of her thighs. She felt him shift

closer to the end of the bed. His lips tickled the backs of her knees for long moments, discovering

nerve-endings she didn’t even know she had, before he slid down her calves to her feet.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “Feet are not sexy.”

“Yours are. But I don’t have a foot fetish. I just want to touch you everywhere, including your feet.”

He grasped her right foot and rolled his thumb across her arch in a firm massage.

She groaned at the pleasure. “I take it back. Do whatever you want.”

“I intend to.”

She shivered and gasped as he worked on her feet, releasing the last vestiges of tension in her body.

It was a different kind of pleasure, not sexual, but very physical. She felt heat rising in other areas of

her body. A fizzing awareness surged through her as he worked his finger in between her toes, giving

each one a gentle tug before he set her foot back on the bed.

He had sensitized every inch of her skin. She was warm and tingling, ready, waiting—willing. She

wondered what he would do next. The bed dipped under his weight as he made a place for himself

between her legs again.

His shoulders nudged her thighs, forcing them wide. She pressed her face into the pillows as his

broad hands warmed her ass, rubbing wide circles. When his finger traced a line between her

buttocks, she caught her breath, wondering what he intended. No one had ever taken her there, but the

thought of it inflamed her. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.

She was almost disappointed when his thumbs parted her folds…until his mouth latched on to the

exact spot that had been aching for him. She whimpered. His strong tongue speared inside her.

It wasn’t enough, but somehow he knew.

The bed shook as he launched himself to lie beside her, snatching a condom from the floor and

ripping open the package. He rolled it into place. His body heat was a shocking inferno, his arm a

hard band around her waist as he hauled her up onto hands and knees. She reached between her legs,

arching to guide him in, and they both groaned as he slid home, stretching her.

His hips pressed forward, pinning her to the bed. She rested her head on her arms and let him take

her. His hand gripped her hair, tugging, demanding. She couldn’t move. Resistance was impossible.

His hard thrusts made surrender imperative as he bucked his hips, forcing pleasure through her. The

hand on her waist moved between her thighs, and his fingers found her clit. His other hand tightened

in her hair, and the power in him took her to the edge and hurtled her off, screaming.

His hips drove her on while his fingers urged her toward another peak.

She gasped. “Can’t.”

“Of course you can.” He trapped her clit between his fingers and rubbed. Urgency built deep inside

her, and she began to whimper. He pressed harder, and she ground back against him, unable to get

away from the pressure that made her feel like she was going to explode. He let go of her hair and

thrust his arms beneath her to cup her breast, fingers unerringly finding her tender nipple.

She felt her walls squeeze him, heard him groan, saw sparks dance across her vision.

He was still moving inside her.

“I need to be on top of you.” He flipped her onto her back, levering himself between her thighs. She

almost came yet again when he slammed into her, the ferocity of his thrust inspiring a matching fury in

her. She lifted her hips, met each punishing thrust, determined to make him lose control. Instead, he

eased back.

His gaze was almost black and the intensity of his expression made her breath catch. He licked his

thumb, drew it into his mouth, and pulled it out. Then he reached beneath where they were joined and

pressed it firmly against her ass.

Her vision caught fire.

Ecstasy tightened every muscle, including the ones he was teasing with the tip of his thumb. Her

pussy clenched so tightly, his eyelids dipped shut, but that didn’t stop him from bouncing his hips

against her in the shortest, most intense thrusts she’d ever felt. Tears poured down her cheeks. She

didn’t know what it was going to take to ease her. Another orgasm felt impossible.

“Please.” She was open to him in every way, vulnerable, pleading.

“You said the magic word.”

He pulled his thumb out, and the friction made her burn. The tiny bite of pain made every nerve-

ending sizzle. He made a slick circle against her ass and pushed in again. She detonated, screaming

her relief, and he fell forward, driving inside her and shouting. She clung to him, clutching his back

and holding tight as he shuddered. Aftershocks ricocheted between them, triggering more waves of

bliss as he continued to pump slowly inside her.

Finally, she went limp. The decrease in her muscle tension made him heavier, forcing air from her

lungs in a whoosh.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, easing to the side.

He rolled away and she lay with her eyes shut, feeling lethargy invade her entire being. Her limbs

felt heavy; her thoughts were dense. She had to get out of here before she fell asleep, but she couldn’t

move. He rolled back and nudged her onto her side, spooning her, with one arm under her pillow and

the other wrapped around her waist.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

“Can’t.” She could barely form the single word and thought felt impossible, but she didn’t need to

think to remember how difficult it had been to leave this morning. “I have things to do, and I’m beat. If

I fall asleep, I’m afraid I won’t wake up until tomorrow. I don’t want to be late again.”

“I’ll set the alarm.”

He caught her arm as she inched toward the side of the bed. Her back felt icy without him, and she

wanted to burrow back into his arms. She nearly gave in. Fear speared through her, giving her the

energy to resist his warm strength and the weakness it inspired in her. She had to get out of here. “Just

sex.”

She didn’t know whether she was reminding him or herself, but it had the intended effect. He let her

go.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

“What question?” She snatched her clothes from the floor and slid into them with relief. She’d

made it out of bed, which was a damn miracle. Hopefully, putting a few layers between them would

get her out of the hotel room.

“About why I don’t believe in happily ever after. People always leave when I want them to stay.”

…

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but she was dressing like a firefighter, racing

for a five-alarm blaze. Bringing her to nearly a half-dozen orgasms without losing control hadn’t been

as difficult as watching her get ready to leave. Abandonment issues, much? If he was going to get

pissed every time she left, this was going to be complicated. She hurried into the bathroom and shut

the door before he could think of a way to make what he’d said sound like a joke.

He rolled out of bed on a wave of edgy energy, post-orgasm buzz gone. He’d promised to stay out

of her business—a promise he’d already broken—and he’d also agreed not to contact her after their

two weeks were up. He didn’t plan to keep that promise, either, so the least he could do was respect

her desire to keep it simple for now. Just sex. Nope. That wasn’t going to work. He had a two-week

deadline and couldn’t afford to lose an opportunity to change her mind.

He waited for her to come out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry for being an ass. That wasn’t fair. Can I

buy you dinner to make up for it?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I have plans.”

“Gotta wash your hair?” he asked dryly. “See a man about a dog? Save the planet?”

“I need to find my sister.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Is she lost?”

“Not exactly. We had a fight yesterday, and she took off in a snit. I have to hunt her down and drag

her back.”

“Why?”

She looked startled. “Because that’s what you do.”

A painful laugh chuffed from his chest. The urge to confide in her surprised him, but he didn’t resist

it. “I have a lost sister, too.”

“Really?” Her gaze shot to his. “How long has she been lost?”

“Over twenty years.” He met her curiosity head on. “We were fostered together and then she ran

away. They never found her.”

“I’m sorry.” She took his hand. “Do you remember her?”

“No.” His fingers curled around hers. At least not when I’m awake. “I told you—I don’t remember

anything about that part of my life.”

She looked shocked. “Not anything?”

“Apparently I have dissociative amnesia brought on by traumatic events.” The understanding in her

eyes made him want to share more. He remembered plenty about the night two somber policemen had

knocked on his door and told him Peter and Maeve were gone. But he didn’t want her to think he was

guilt-tripping her again.

He pulled his hand out of her grasp. “Hold on a second. I’ll leave with you.” He ducked into the

bathroom and stared at his reflection until he got a grip on himself. He didn’t want her sympathy—or

her pity.

After washing his hands and splashing water on his face, he dressed quickly. He grabbed his

wallet, key card, and phone, and joined her in the sitting-room of the suite. “Ready?”

He opened the door for her, and they headed down the hall. They were both silent as they waited

for the elevator. As they stepped inside, her gaze darted everywhere but at him. Was she remembering

their last elevator ride? He was pretty sure he’d think of it in every elevator for the rest of his life.

The doors opened to a flurry of activity in the lobby. The walls were already bare and he assumed

the cool gray paint would be covered by a warm, dark red tomorrow. Anticipation built inside him as

the strains of jazz swirled through the air. He glanced sideways to see if Betsy noticed the new music.

She seemed preoccupied, intent on reaching the door, and his pleasure dimmed.

It was just starting to get dark when they emerged from the hotel, and the air was heavy with

moisture. The sound of a trumpet from a bar across the street struck chords in his bones, and a shiver

vibrated across his skin. He rubbed his arms.

“Ghost walk over your grave?” she asked.

Every day. His gaze drifted toward the bar. “Sure felt like it.”

“Great music over there,” she offered. “Good gumbo, too. Not as good as my mom’s, but good.”

“What makes hers the best?”

She laughed. “Three beers.”

“There’s beer in gumbo?”

“Nope—but it takes a long time to make the dark roux. Long enough to drink three beers. I’d say

theirs is a one-and-a-half, maybe a two-beer gumbo, but still worth the price.”

“I’ll save myself for your mom’s. Is it on the menu?”

Betsy nodded. “She made it today.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, lingering to

breathe in the scent of her skin mixed with the hotel’s citrus hand-soap. She smelled amazing, and he

decided to cover her in the scent at his next opportunity.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, tugging her hand free.

“You. Naked. In my bathtub,” he said casually. “I love this scent on your skin. I want to rub it

everywhere, so I can enjoy it. How does the idea of a bubble bath after work tomorrow strike you?”

She looked away.

“Followed by a massage, of course.” He stroked his hand up her arm, brushing his thumb across the

hollow of her elbow, traveling up her biceps to her shoulder, cupping it for a brief moment before

winding his hand in her hair. He tugged her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze, tightening his grip

until she gasped, no doubt remembering how he’d pulled her hair in bed, just as he’d intended. The

desperation that grated inside him every time she put distance between them edged sharper. “And

room service,” he added.

She blinked and nodded, softening as he hardened.

He pressed a light kiss on her lips. “I want you again,” he whispered. “But I can wait.” It was a lie.

If she said or did anything to encourage him, he’d drag her in the alley and show her every inch of his

impatience. But she pulled away, so he merely smiled. “Where do you live? I’m walking you home.”

She cleared her throat. “No need. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s getting late, and even I know the French Quarter isn’t all parties and fun. There’s a dark alley

every few feet. Let me walk you.”

“I grew up here, and I’m on a first-name basis with almost every bartender in the Quarter. These

are my dark alleys. No one is going to bother me.”

“Why don’t we argue while we walk? The faster we reach your door, the faster you can be rid of

me.”

She growled softly and walked away from him, so he followed. He caught up with her easily,

tempted to take her hand again, but he decided not to push it. They passed plenty of alleys and dark

corners before she slowed just outside the French Quarter proper and pointed up. “Home sweet

home.”

The ground floor of the building was taken up by tourist shops. It was a prime location, just a few

blocks from Jackson Square, and he was relieved.

“Good-bye, Quin.”

He shook his head. “Door-to-door service. Humor me.”

She rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door. He followed her into the hallway and up two flights

of stairs. She stopped in front of the second door on the left and turned to face him. Curiosity beat

inside his blood. He wanted to see her space, but she clearly had no intention of inviting him into her

apartment. “See you later, Betsy.”

As promised, he left her at the door.

He looked around when he reached the street. Unlike the French Quarter bars, the drinking

establishments on this street had a trendy feel to them. Gas lamps cast bright spots every few yards,

and the souvenir shops carried more expensive items. Underneath the scent of fried food and sticky,

sweet drinks, he could smell the river. He let instinct carry him around the corner and the scene

changed again.

This street was dark. The only lights were neon, advertising beers. The sounds of serious music

competed for his attention. His fingers began to ache, so he flexed them. There had to be an instrument

shop somewhere in the French Quarter. Tomorrow he’d buy a guitar, but tonight he’d find a bar with

live music—and good bourbon—and lose himself for a while.

The strum of a guitar beckoned, and he moved forward, stopping in front of an open door. The

bouncer looked him up and down. “Twenty.”

Quin put a bill into his hand, waited for change, and pressed forward, taking a seat right in front of

the small stage. The band occupied folding chairs and had no music in front of them, just their

instruments. Music weaved through the small room as they took turns improvising solos. He closed

his eyes and soaked it in, feeling strangely at home in the unfamiliar environment. As far as he knew,

he’d never been in a jazz bar in his life, and yet he felt something deep inside him begin to unfurl, just

as it had the other day with the old man. He knew these songs and this music. It was part of him, a part

he couldn’t reach.

As they shifted to jazz standards, he grew impatient with his memory. If he picked up a guitar right

now, he knew he could join in. The music grew louder, building toward a crescendo, and the tension

inside him tightened as he reached for the memories with everything inside him.

The music stopped.

Quin felt as if a rope had been ripped from his hands and he was falling. He clutched his chair,

drenched in sweat, every muscle straining as the band members tucked their instruments in cases,

either taking a break or making way for the next act. He stared hungrily at the guitar.

“Hey.” The guitarist lifted a pale brow and a silver ring caught the light. “Do you play?”

Quin nodded tightly, shocked when the man held out the instrument. “You look like you got

somethin’ just about ready to bust outta you. Let’s hear it.”

“Really?” Quin hesitated.

The man shrugged. “She’s been through just about everythin’. You’re not gonna hurt her.”

He stood and took the guitar, moving to sit in one of the folding chairs on stage. He tucked the guitar

into his lap, wrapped his arm around it, and fit his fingers to the frets. When he brushed the strings,

adrenaline surged through him. He closed his eyes and began to play, following the melody in his

memory, chasing it around blind corners and galloping through dark alleys, moving faster and faster,

picking up so much speed he dared not stop or his legs would fly out from under him and he’d lose

layer upon layer of skin on the street. He couldn’t slow or he’d stumble and spin through the air,

ricocheting against the hard edge of a nightmare.

The scent of incense punched through the darkness. Quin’s fingers hit a brick wall and slid down

the frets, lost. He circled for a minute, trying to find his place, but the cloying smoke covered

everything. Applause jerked his eyes open. Rich colors swirled along the edges of his vision, edging

out the shadows, and he forced a smile at the small crowd gathered in front of the stage.

Heart pounding, he returned the guitar to its owner. “Thanks.”

“Fo’ sho’. Anytime you wanna jam, you come right back here, brother. I’ll hook you up.”

Quin nodded and left the stage, stopping to buy a round of drinks for the band before he hit the door.

Shadows slipped through his memory. His chest was heavy with dread as he walked, and he knew

there would be no escape from his nightmares tonight.

He turned the corner and broke out onto the brightly lit street, stopping as a familiar figure caught

his eye. He watched her weave down the sidewalk, and then glanced at his watch, surprised to see

three hours had passed since he left Betsy at her door. Apparently, she’d had the same plan of getting

drunk he had, but she’d made better progress. She staggered as she pulled open the door of a bar and

disappeared.

What the hell was she doing? Bar hopping? Alone? Over his dead body.

With a sharp sense of relief, he headed across the street.

…

I should have said yes to dinner and no to the hurricane. Lianna poured them strong, and she’d

thought her sister’s friend might have a clue as to where Kate was hiding out. No such luck, and now

Betsy was on her fifth bar in two hours. No one in the neighborhood had seen hide nor hair of Kate,

but everyone had been happy to give her free drinks. Because they haven’t seen me in months. Some

of them haven’t seen me in years.

Another drink seemed like an excellent idea.

She headed straight for the bar, plunked herself down on a stool, and eyed the daiquiri machines.

Without even trying, she’d almost drunk the rainbow tonight. Why not finish it up? Red, orange,

yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet…sounded like a plan to her. It was good to have a plan. She loved

plans. What color was next? She thought back over the night. Hurricane, mango daiquiri, pineapple

fizz, and a Chartreuse martini that had tasted like a turpentine Twizzler. She could use something to

wash the taste out of her mouth.

“Can you make me something blue, please?” she asked the bartender.

“Coming right up.”

She didn’t recognize him, but she was a little farther down the strip than Kate usually strayed, not

that she knew where Kate went anymore. She rested her head in her hand and sighed. Her little sister

had become a stranger. She sensed a drink being placed in front of her, so she leaned forward the

necessary inches to capture the straw and took a deep pull. Instant brain freeze. She clutched her head

and groaned.

A deep chuckle added insult to injury. “Water, no ice, please.”

She glared at Quin as he placed a glass in her hand and lifted it toward her mouth, but she drank. As

soon as the tepid water hit the back of her throat, her head stopped hurting.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

His features tightened in the closed expression she hated. “I got lost one street over after I dropped

you off. I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been doing for the last few hours.”

“I told you I was going to look for Kate.”

“Any luck yet?”

“Nope. And I’m reaching the end of the rainbow.” She held up the drink and took a smaller sip.

He slid onto the stool next to her as she recounted her night. “I can’t stop drinking now. I’ve never

had a purple drink. No, wait—indigo comes before violet. Maybe something blueberry? Oh! I have

the perfect idea for violet.” Lila had told her about a cocktail made with blackberries, tequila, and

lemonade, and she’d been dying to try it. The thought of Lila filled her with regret for no reason she

could name. Thinking of Jenna made her feel the same way. But Kate…Kate was breaking her heart.

“You should drink the rest of that water and eat something or you’ll be seeing that rainbow again. In

reverse.”

Although she knew he was right, she rolled her eyes. “I’d say ‘Thanks, Mom,’ but my momma

would be back behind that bar working on indigo for me.” Part of her brain noted she was slurring her

words, so she tipped the water glass to her lips and drained it. “Happy?”

For a second, she was lost in the gold glints of amusement in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d go that

far, but I’m happy to see you.” He gave her that slow smile, the one that started in his eyes and then

traveled to his mouth, heating her everywhere. She stared at his lips for a long moment before she

dragged her gaze away. Unfortunately, it landed on his broad chest, making her want to touch him.

Yep, she wanted to run both hands over his firm pecs and maybe lean forward to nuzzle his neck and

see if he smelled as good as he had earlier. Probably not her best idea in her current state,

considering she lacked control around him even when she possessed all her faculties.

She felt a silly smile curve her lips. At least he’s not wearing a suit. If he were wearing a suit, she

might loosen his tie and start unbuttoning his shirt right here. She could—just—resist him in a T-shirt

and jeans, but she gave in to the urge to reach over to lay her hand on his thigh. She traced the seams

and creases of the soft material of his jeans from knee to groin. With a teasing fingertip, she outlined

his hardening cock. He caught her hand and pressed it flat against his thigh.

Undaunted, she slipped her hand free and slid into his lap. Warmth spread through her as she settled

on top of his erection. “I’m happy to see you, too.” She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek.

The intensity in his gaze stole her breath. His hands bracketed her waist, and she tugged his face to

meet hers. Satisfaction rolled through her as soon as they connected, but even though she’d initiated

the kiss, he took control of it. His mouth made a demand she instantly answered, and her hand

dropped to clutch his T-shirt, pulling him closer. Not the suit.

It wasn’t the suit that got her; it was the man, the power he had over her, the way he made her feel

secure when they touched. She’d given him that power the night they met, surrendered it because she

thought she’d never see him again, but here he was, still in control. Not for long. She spun to straddle

him and found herself in the air, neatly deposited back on her own bar stool.

“If I order dinner, will you stay and eat with me?” he asked.

He wanted food instead of her? Her stomach tipped and twirled, spiraling downward, and not only

with disappointment. She clenched her teeth as her mouth began to water and had to swallow a couple

of times before she answered. “I’m not sure eating is a good idea.”

“Trust me. It is.” He tugged a menu from the metal clip on the bar. “Gotta get you ready for indigo

and violet.”

The room spun in the opposite direction from her stomach. “That’s not a good idea, either.”

“Thank God.” He ordered sandwiches and then draped his arm around her shoulders, throwing her

into further upheaval. He’d just forcibly ejected her from his lap, so why was he hugging her now? It

made no sense, nor did the comfort his touch brought her, but she’d have to think about it later. Right

now her full attention was focused on taking shallow breaths to keep from throwing up.

“This is why I don’t drink,” she whispered, closing her eyes and then snapping them wide as the

spins got worse. “Why do people do this? It sucks.”

“It’s still early. If we run enough food and water into you, you’ll make it to work tomorrow. That’s

the most important thing, right?” His voice held a note of challenge she was so not up to deciphering,

so she just nodded slowly, shocked to realize she had no desire to open the café in the morning. It

must be the booze screwing with her brain because that couldn’t be right. The café was her dream, her

ticket to a better life. “I need to find Kate.”

“Not tonight, you don’t.”

She would have bristled at his autocratic tone, but even tipsy, she knew he was right. Her search

had hit a dead end for now.

He nudged her refilled water glass toward her hand. “Why is it your responsibility to find her?”

“Mom had a lot on her plate with the bar when we were growing up. I always looked after Kate.”

And she missed her like crazy. It felt like there was a hole in her heart. She took a long drink. “It’s

been different between us since I got home from culinary school. She loves working in the bar.”

“And you want to close it and open for dinner.”

Frustration flashed through her, contributing to her out-of-control feeling. She felt her filter

slipping. Why was she discussing this with him? But she couldn’t deny it felt good. “Kate thinks it’s

fun, but I hate it. That’s why I got a job in a restaurant after high school, and that’s why I went to

culinary school. I want more for us, a better future.”

“And you don’t want anyone interfering with your business.”

“Exactly.” Their food arrived, and her appetite returned with a vengeance at the sight of the

massive fried shrimp po’boy. She picked it up and sank her teeth into it. Lettuce, tomato, mayo, hot

sauce, the works. She wanted to rub her face in the sandwich like it was a beloved pillow beneath her

head. Steam crunched from a shrimp and she sucked air through her teeth to cool it down. Quin was

digging into his sandwich with equal fervor or she would have been mortified by her inability to

summon her table manners.

When the only things left on her plate were a few cold fries, she sighed and pushed the plate away.

“That was awesome. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Feeling better?”

“About a thousand percent.”

He picked up the check, glanced at it, and handed it back to the bartender with cash. “We’re all

set.” Then he took her hand and tugged her off the bar stool.

When her feet hit the floor, she fell against him, and the room tilted again. “Damn it.”

“Think you can sleep?” Since her ear was plastered to his chest, she both felt and heard his laugh.

She nodded, but sleep wasn’t what she wanted to do, not when his body felt so damn good and filled

up all the emptiness. Now that she wasn’t feeling sick anymore…

“Let’s go.” He guided her out of the bar. The night was warm, but she leaned against him, letting

him half-carry, half-drag her toward her apartment. The lights from the bars and restaurants seemed

too bright, so she closed her eyes and kept moving her feet, feeling as if she were floating through a

dream. Sound streamed around her in slow motion, and her body was hypersensitive to his. She

couldn’t wait to get him into her bed.

“Keys?”

Were they here already? She dug through her purse and handed them over. When he opened the

door, she pulled him into her apartment.

“Let’s get you settled. It’s not even midnight. Plenty of time to sleep it off.”

She laughed under her breath as he locked the door and nudged her forward. “Bedroom?

Bathroom?” he asked. He’d kept her water glass full, so she headed for the bathroom to take care of

business. He was waiting in the hall when she opened the door.

“Your turn,” she said cheerfully, walking past him into the bedroom.

She threw off her clothes and collapsed on her bed, grinning, naked, and waiting for the second

time today. The darkness swirled around her, and her skin tingled with anticipation. She cupped her

breasts, rolling her nipples to hard peaks under her palms and then sliding one hand over her rounded

belly to the wetness gathering between her thighs. She rubbed lightly, tracing a lazy path through her

center as Quin entered the bedroom.

She knew the exact moment his eyes adjusted to the dark because his low groan hit her in exactly

the right spot. She arched her back, showing him everything as she gazed at him from under heavy

lids. He had a glass of water and she’d bet anything his other hand held ibuprofen from her medicine

cabinet in the bathroom. An odd emotion swelled through her, putting a sharper edge on her arousal.

She wanted to take him deep inside her body and hold him so tightly…

“Take these.” He held out his hand.

His eyes glittered as she sat up and teased the pills from his palm with her tongue. His hand was

slightly wet and smelled of the vanilla-bean soap in her bathroom. The sweet scent on his skin made

her smile as she reached for the glass. Sweet man.

She swallowed the pills and placed the glass on the bedside table. As soon as it left her hand, he

was on her, tossing her to the center of the bed and pinning her with his hands on her hips. She parted

her legs so he could settle between them, astonished by how easy it was to allow him the intimacy. He

bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to her sex, and she sighed, the air rushing out of her lungs and

with it the anxiety she had carried all night.

At the first touch of his tongue, the warm heat flickering inside her flared into a raging inferno. His

hands clenched her ass, pulling her firmly against his open mouth. Sensation overwhelmed her, a

swirling darkness shot with bright sparks. She ground shamelessly against his face, seeking more, and

he gave it to her. She couldn’t separate her motions from his. Her body surged, straining, every

muscle tensing. He moved faster and harder, and she was rising out of her body, shooting high into the

sky, no end in sight. She reached for him, trying to drag him up her body and get him inside so he

could take this journey with her, but he resisted, holding her down, keeping her tethered while he set

fire to her center.

Pressure built. If she went any higher, she was going to fly apart. Every limb was shaking. She was

lost to his flickering tongue, thrusting fingers, and the teasing thumb flirting with her ass. So good. She

whimpered, begging wordlessly. He pumped faster, tireless and determined, and she knew he

wouldn’t ever stop. Her entire world was burning, and she exploded in the middle of it, held together

by his strong hands.

Bliss spread from head to toe, molten lava in her veins, melting her to the bed and then cooling by

infinitesimal degrees. Her body became heavy and dark, and she was vaguely aware of covers being

pulled back and her body rolling beneath them. Quin slid into bed behind her and wrapped his arm

around her waist. She roused enough to reach back to guide him inside, but was confused when her

hand landed on fabric. Why was he still wearing his boxers?

He grasped her hand and enfolded her in his arms. “Sleepy time.”

Exhaustion tugged at her. Every thought and muscle moved slowly, but she could feel his erection

throbbing against her ass. “Don’t you want to come, too?” she asked.

He didn’t move. Or answer.

A thought floated to the surface of her mind, and if she’d had the energy, she would have giggled.

“Um…is it because I’m drunk? Because I think it’s a little late for gentlemanly behavior.”

He kissed the back of her neck and nestled closer. “Whatever gave you the idea I’m a gentleman?

Go to sleep, Betsy. I have what I want.” His hand stroked her hip, spreading warm contentment, and

she relaxed against him, remembering the last time she’d been this drowsy and content: this afternoon

right before she’d crawled out of his bed.

A frisson of alarm spiked her buzz. “What do you want? To snuggle? I told you we’re just going to

have sex, remember? Snuggling is not sex.”

She felt him tense. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes.” But when he began to pull away, she changed her mind. She gripped his arm, holding it

across her breasts, and cuddled her ass more firmly into his hips. “In the morning.”

His chuckle sounded strained. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Not as crazy as you drive me. Every time you get near me, I let you take charge, just like you did

tonight. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

“There’s a difference between taking charge and helping someone, you know.”

“Not in my world. But thank you for saving me from indigo and violet.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sleep tugged at the edges of her thoughts, and she began to drift. “It’s back to just sex tomorrow,

okay?”

“Got it.” His arm settled around her waist and squeezed, holding her as she tumbled into darkness.

Chapter Eleven

A wall of sound made Betsy flinch as she opened the door of Last Call. The bar was packed. Energy

pulsed out into the street like a living, breathing entity. Music blared over the roar of voices. What the

hell was going on?

She saw a flash, and the noise spiked.

She spotted Kate behind the bar, and an arrow of relief shot through her. Then she noticed her sister

was pouring blue fire back and forth between two glasses. She stalked toward the bar. Flaming drinks

were dangerous, and Kate had no business risking the property or their customers that way. Her heart

pounded furiously in her ears, and every second she expected to see Kate’s hands falter, a glass

break, or fire streak down the bar’s surface on a trail of spilled alcohol, igniting every bar napkin in

its path. Instead, she saw Kate flip a silver shaker into the air. Cinnamon sparked as she caught it and

sprinkled it over the flaming glass. She spun a whipped-cream canister like a baton and topped the

drink, dousing the sputtering flames. Steam hissed as she poured the whole thing into a glass filled

with ice and added more whipped cream, blowing a kiss as she placed it in front of a grinning

customer.

Betsy slid through an opening and claimed a space at the bar. Her sister’s gaze flicked over her in

automatic acknowledgement and then narrowed in recognition.

Kate lifted her chin. “Want one?”

Because her sister expected her to say no, she said, “What is it?”

“A flaming iced coffee. A consolation prize for being cut off. He’s had enough.” Her sister’s voice

was sharp and defensive. “I don’t sell them.”

“That’s clever.” No one liked being denied another drink, and Kate had likely defused the man’s ire

and eased his pride by making him something special. The caffeine would help, too. “Will you make

me one?”

Her sister’s dark eyes flashed with surprise and delight, quickly hidden. “Sure.”

Betsy watched her sister’s hands, confident as they mixed and measured. Kate’s eyes were on the

crowd, nodding greetings, acknowledging calls, and occasionally jerking her head to urge a cocktail

waitress toward a restless table. When had her sister become such a pro? The room teemed with

chaos, and Kate glowed bright in the middle of it, eating it up.

As her sister grooved on the noise, Betsy’s nerves jumped and popped. There was no orderly

progression of orders. Every person stepping up to the bar felt entitled to instant service, and it made

her seethe with memories of her years trapped behind the bar. Kate winked at the latest arrival, and

tipped her glass toward the candle in front of her. “I’ll be right with you, sugar. I’ve got a fire to put

out.” The man grinned in appreciation as he watched her handle the flames.

With a twirl and a flourish, Kate placed a cinnamon-and-sugar rimmed, whipped-cream-topped

glass in front of Betsy. “On the house.”

Her sister spun down the bar, filling orders with a smile. Betsy wrapped her hands around the cool

glass, chilled to the bone, and sipped the coffee. It was bittersweet and creamy, with only a faint

reminder of the booze it held, a good thing because it had taken her three days to recover from her

rainbow-colored hangover.

She’d awakened to the scent of coffee and bacon that next morning, a sumptuous breakfast

delivered from the Keystone. Her humiliation at the way she’d thrown herself at Quin the preceding

night was only eclipsed by her confusion over why he hadn’t wanted sex. She’d struggled out of bed,

drawn by the lure of caffeine, and found him enjoying the paper, sprawled on her couch like he owned

the place. He’d laughed when she kicked him out.

After a punishing day in the café, he’d collected her in the alley and made good on his promise of a

bath and a massage, but not even his enormous bathtub could soak the pain from her throbbing head

and aching bones. Nothing could, not until she acknowledged the source.

She stared at Kate, feeling sorrow leach from every cell of her being and fill the space between

them. Her sister turned, as if drawn to her gaze. My baby sister is gone. Kate was her own woman

now, and she was rocking this bar on a Saturday night, in her element, luminous, running the business

as if she had been born to it. She had; they both had. But it was killing Betsy, and Kate loved it.

“How’s the coffee?” Kate asked.

“It’s perfect. Can I have a go cup?”

Kate’s lips firmed under their pink gloss. “I should have known you wouldn’t stick around for

long.”

“You’re one to talk.” Betsy searched her sister’s gaze for a hint of softness, an opening, a way to

reach her, but Kate’s eyes were dark, hard, and impenetrable.

Kate shrugged. “I covered my shifts.”

Betsy nodded and accepted the paper cup. If Kate wasn’t going to tell her where she’d been all

week, Betsy wasn’t going to ask. Her sister didn’t need a babysitter; of course she didn’t. Kate wasn’t

a kid with soft blond curls and enormous, melting brown eyes anymore. She was a sleek, capable,

sharp-eyed woman who wasn’t going to reach for Betsy’s hand and wait to be led. As Kate had

pointed out, Betsy had left her behind, and Kate was returning the favor.

Kids grow up, become independent, and create their own separate identities. Her mother’s words

hit deep now. Betsy kept her eyes on the coffee while she poured it into the paper cup, and when she

looked up, Kate was all the way at the other end of the bar, ignoring her again. She leaned into the

abyss, peering into the dark space between them and testing the width of the crack. Emptiness yawned

around her, staggering, sickening, too wide to jump, and she was going to have to get used to it.

The urge to hop over the bar and race toward Kate, scoop her up and cuddle her close, force them

back in time, twisted inside her. A sweat broke out on her forehead, scalp, and under her arms. Her

palms itched, and her heart pounded louder than the throbbing bass line of the music. If she wanted to

maintain any sort of relationship with her sister, she’d have to respect Kate’s independence, starting

now.

She left a hefty tip on the bar and turned toward the door.

Quin was waiting for her in the Keystone lobby.

His assistant had arrived this morning, so he hadn’t come in for lunch. He’d also begged off for

dinner. Being alone in her apartment had felt strange, so she’d come to Last Call to make sure Kate

had actually shown up for her next scheduled shift.

In the back of her mind, she’d been considering lending a hand behind the bar, but it wasn’t her

world anymore. Kate had clearly marked her territory, and Betsy was trespassing now. The rock

music became the sound of roaring flames as that other crack, the one inside her, exploded with

searing heat.

Her hands hit the door, and she punched outward, slamming it shut behind her. She pressed her back

to the brick wall and chugged what was left of the cold coffee in her hand, swallowing her hurt and

disappointment along with the bittersweet brew. What was she going to do?

Her original plan of opening at night wasn’t going to work, that much was clear. Could they

compromise? Did Kate really want to sell or was she merely dead set against closing the bar

entirely? The bar made more money than the café, and now that Betsy knew about the mortgage,

closing it seemed foolish. But the thought of keeping it open made her feel so tired she nearly sank

down to the sidewalk. She wanted a different life for them. She staggered the few steps to the

Keystone, leaned against the gorgeous new gilded shutter, and peered into the lobby.

Quin had made dozens of changes to the hotel over the last few days. He was taking her advice and

subtly asking for more every time they were together. Only an idiot wouldn’t notice her own ideas

popping up a day after making the suggestions, and Betsy wasn’t stupid.

When she’d read the new menu posted outside the restaurant, she’d nearly choked on her tongue,

but she hadn’t said anything. It felt good, damn good, to be taken seriously, even if Quin hadn’t

thanked her or directly referenced the changes he was making. Eventually, he’d have to say something,

and she was looking forward to that moment.

Somehow his belief in her ideas was different than her mother’s faith. Her mom was going along

with her plans, but she didn’t really want to close the bar and open for dinner. Quin adopted her plans

with no reservations and seemed eager for more. Movement caught her eye, and she saw him near the

elevators, gaze locked on her face. A burst of excitement hit her center and moved outward, firing her

muscles to move toward the door.

One week left. She knew it wasn’t real. It was a vacation. She’d never taken one, at least not if she

didn’t count culinary school. The Culinary Academy had been one big long break from Last Call, but

now she knew how much it had cost. Three hundred thousand dollars. My fault. My responsibility.

Resentment rose inside her, but for once that big crack inside her was useful. She shoved her

restless emotions down deep and entered the hotel, meeting him in the middle of the lobby, sealing the

crack just as his arms encircled her waist and his lips settled over hers. She leaned into him, burying

her hands in his hair, sensing his surprise and pulling him tighter, abandoning herself to his kiss. His

lips thrust her mouth open, making a demand, and weakness slid through her veins. She needed a new

plan, but she didn’t have to make it yet.

Until Quin left, she was on vacation, and she was going to enjoy every minute.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

…

She tugged him toward the elevator, but Quin had something else in mind. “Let’s go to your place.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

“Because tomorrow’s Sunday, and I figure the odds of you falling into a sex coma and spending the

night with me are better at your place. You don’t have to work tomorrow, right?”

Several expressions crossed her face. Wide-eyed surprise turned into narrow rebellion. Then she

lifted her chin. He knew damn well she didn’t have to work tomorrow; he’d checked the café hours

on the door, but her resolute expression told him she was going to say no anyway. He knew what to do

when she did—push—but instead of arguing, she relaxed against him and sighed. “No, I don’t have to

work tomorrow, and I can’t think of anything better than waking up with you.”

Surprise locked him in place as his arms automatically tightened around her. Was she finally going

to give him a chance? If so, he was glad he’d planned ahead. “Nothing better, huh? Not even the things

I’m going to do to you before we fall asleep?”

She lifted her head from his chest. “Are you going to do them again when we wake up?”

“Probably several times.”

“Then you see my point.” Her gaze paled, lighting from within.

They had the full attention of the front-desk staff now, so he stepped back just enough to keep

himself from getting a noticeable hard-on. Next week, the skeleton crew would be fully fleshed, and

they’d have to quit meeting in the lobby. He steered her to one of the new chairs and gave her a gentle

push. “Hang on. I need to grab something from my office.”

On his way out, he asked one of the girls to hand him the shopping bag under the counter. When he

returned to Betsy, she stared at the over-the-shoulder cooler Luc had packed for him and then stood on

tiptoe to peer into the big bag. “What on earth is all that?”

“Dinner, breakfast, a few snacks, and basic survival equipment. I saw your kitchen, and I don’t

want to starve.”

“I took most of my kitchen stuff to the café.”

“I noticed. Which is why I bought a French press.”

“Shut up.” The glee on her face made every sweaty, harried second of shopping while taking back-

to-back conference calls worth it. He just hoped she’d enjoy all of his purchases as much, especially

the ones that had necessitated him doing his shopping himself.

“I’m also going to make you dinner. And breakfast,” he added, gesturing for her to precede him out

of the hotel. “Don’t worry. Luc amateur-proofed everything. I’m pretty sure I can boil water and

scramble eggs.” She still wasn’t moving. Or smiling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She walked out the door.

“Seriously?” she asked when he steered her toward the waiting taxi. “It’s only a few blocks.”

He handed the cooler to the driver. “I’m saving my feats of strength for later.”

He slid into the taxi beside her and set the bag on the floor next to his feet. With Kyle in town to

handle details, there was nothing on his agenda except convincing Betsy that their association didn’t

need to end next week.

He took her hand and squeezed. She wants to wake up with me tomorrow. A dark drumbeat of

possession thrummed through him, tightening his grip.

They’d spent every evening this week in bed, but she’d stuck to her guns and never stayed the night.

His nightmares had returned, and he’d been tempted to get her drunk again, just to keep them at bay.

Instead, he’d put her in a taxi or walked her home and then explored the French Quarter. No matter

where he wandered, he never felt lost. Somehow, he knew these streets. Often, he’d find himself in

the jazz bar near Betsy’s apartment, eyes closed, listening for…something. Or in his room, chasing

memories with his new guitar and getting nowhere. Kyle had reported Trenton and Hart had no new

leads. It was driving him crazy.

He pulled her closer to him and leaned to inhale her scent. Oil, onions, clean sweat, and flowery

soap. He licked her neck, tracing through the salt, groaning softly as she leaned into him. The sweet

musky scent of her arousal rose above the others. He nipped lightly and then let her go as the taxi

pulled up in front of her apartment. Dinner first. She was always hungry when she got off work, and

he wanted to feed her.

Then he planned to get her naked and get inside her, deep, everywhere, and stay there.

…

Betsy shivered and pressed closer to him, groaning as his cock nudged her hip.

Emptiness howled. What was he waiting for? Was he trying to kill her with anticipation? He’d

spent an eternity caressing her breasts and teasing her nipples with his tongue, brushing kisses over

her collarbones and shoulders, nibbling, soft, wet trails that awakened every nerve-ending, and

nipping her neck, a sharp counterpoint to his gentle exploration that made her so frantic she didn’t

realize he’d pressed his knee between her thighs until she was writhing against him. Then he’d

flipped her and begun caressing her back, ass, thighs, and calves. She spread her legs wider,

wordlessly begging, arching into his hands, wanting more, wanting to give him more.

The urge went deeper than skin. It had started when he’d announced his plan to cook and sharpened

when he’d boiled water, cooked pasta, heated a spicy shrimp sauce, sliced bread, and tossed a salad.

It wasn’t like he’d spent the day in the kitchen. He’d simply put food on plates, but it was more than

any other man had ever done for her. Don’t get used to it. But another voice was just as loud and

even more insistent. Enjoy every fucking minute. That was the voice she’d listened to when she’d

agreed to let him spend the night. Would she have said yes if she’d known he was going to torment her

for hours?

He traced a line down the center of her back, teasing the crack of her ass and making her core swell

and ache. A moan gurgled in her throat as his fingers brushed her opening, once, and then again. Was

he going to…did he want to…

Did she want him to? Her ass bucked toward his hand when he stopped. Guess that answers that.

Even if her mind wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted, her body knew. Her breath left her mouth in

short raw pants as he pressed his finger against the ultra-sensitive flesh.

Pleasure made her writhe and then hold stock-still as his fingertip slipped inside her ass. A

mesmerizing feeling of powerlessness gripped her, focusing her entire being on one square inch of her

body, as he slowly pumped his finger out and then in. She hissed at the burn. It didn’t hurt exactly, but

it held the promise of pain. She stiffened, making a sound of protest, and his other hand dipped

beneath her.

A lightning bolt of ecstasy flashed as he found her clit. The finger in her ass inched forward again,

and it was all pleasure, tight, hot, and aching. She flew up and up, a fireball shooting skyward. Holy

fuck. She was terrified by the intensity of her response, and she struggled for control, arms and legs

seeking purchase on the bed. His fingers withdrew, leaving her body empty. She mourned the loss but

was enormously relieved at the same time.

He stretched out behind her, pulling her body into the warm curve of his as his hand slid over her

hip to delve between her thighs, sliding long fingers inside her. It felt good, but nothing like the fire

that had raged through her a moment ago. She lifted one leg and tucked it behind his, opening her

thighs wide to give him better access. His cock throbbed between her buttocks and she shifted,

rubbing against him, seeking more sensation.

He met her thrusts with steady pressure. If his cock slid down a few inches, he’d be poised to slide

inside her ass. The thought made her clench. Sparks shot behind her eyelids, and fire rose within her,

blistering and sharp.

His teeth nipped her neck, bringing her back down. “You like to be taken. You enjoy being pushed.”

His body was warm and strong, his voice, steady and sure. “Do you trust me?”

I don’t trust anyone. She gritted her teeth against the treacherous desire to feel control slipping

away and said nothing.

He chuckled and the sound tickled her ear. “Let me be more specific. Do you trust me to make you

feel good? I’d never hurt you, but I want inside you.” His cock slipped between her buttocks, made

slippery with sweat, leaving her in no doubt of where he wanted to get inside. An animal sound of

need flew from her chest. She couldn’t breathe. The desire was so great she felt it everywhere.

Thought slipped away, no match for the heat in her blood, and she struggled to find words. “Um…I’ve

never…I don’t know how…”

“I do. I’ll take care of everything if you trust me to take care of you.” His cock nudged her anus

while his fingers circled her clit. A groan slid from her throat. The sound was raw and greedy. Did

she trust him to take her that way? Yes. The answer burst inside her, further confusing her already

overwhelmed brain.

She struggled to focus, to give reason to the inexplicable trust she had in this dangerous man who

had dropped a lit match at her feet and forced her to realize she was standing on a powder keg. Her

hips moved, pressing back against his cock, and her body swelled, rising to meet him. Her doubts

were no match for her need. From the minute she’d seen him, she’d wanted him. Did it have to be

more complicated than that? She had him now. Since she only had a limited amount of time to enjoy

his company, why place limits?

She looked over her shoulder, twisting to see his expression as she nodded.

Hunger flared in his gaze. He sat up, flipping her onto her back and thrusting a pillow under her

hips, and then he reached over the side of the bed. Doubt chilled her as she saw a purple tube of

lubricant. He must have brought it with him. “Whoa, hey, slow down. Were you planning this?”

He held her thighs open as she tried to close them. “You liked it when I touched your ass the other

night.” He stated it as a fact. “You’ll like this even more.”

“You’ve done this before?” With other women, she wanted to add, but didn’t. The fact that she was

just one in a long string for him shouldn’t bother her. He stroked a hand down her thigh and she

squirmed. “That wasn’t the hand you…” she trailed off.

His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, gold glints absent. “I know my right from my left.”

Another thing that told her he’d had practice. Her breath caught in her throat as he pried her knees

open and kneeled between them. She was being ridiculous. Practice was good. But the arousal that

had burned hot enough to incinerate barely flickered.

“Hold still a second.” He flipped the cap open. She tensed as he squirted lube onto his fingers.

“Stop me if you don’t like it, but give it a chance. You like the edge. Let me take you there.”

He touched her ass. The lube was cold. She jumped and clenched.

“Relax.”

“That’s harder than it sounds.”

“Not harder than me.”

She looked at his cock. He was huge, distended, and engorged. “I guess you like this.”

He caught her gaze and held it as he slowly penetrated her ass with one smooth, slippery finger.

“Hell, yes. The thought of you letting me into places no one has ever been makes me insane. And I’m

not just saying that so you’ll let me fuck your ass. I want to get inside you so deep you can’t think, to

make you feel things you’ve never felt. To be there with you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

But it was there in his eyes, the same dark need she felt. She wanted to lose control; he wanted to take

it.

“Then that makes two of us.” He’d told her to relax, but the way he was touching her made

everything tense and hot, needy. Her entire body warmed, flaring to life around him, catching the

rhythm of his movements and matching them. He made a sound deep in the back of his throat, an

animal sound, and it pleased her. He was making her feel desperate and out of control. He’d admitted

he wanted to take her to the edge, but he wasn’t going to leave her there alone. His body was solid,

hard, a rock between her thighs.

She cupped her breasts, and he blinked rapidly, lips firming into a taut line. She had power over

him, too, and it was sweet. She smiled, and he smiled back, the slow one. Then he pinched her clit

between his fingers, and she gasped. It was so much more intense with his finger in her ass,

unbelievable, incredible, terrifying.

She tried to relax, but his hand moved. Was that another finger? She felt her world expand, contract,

and then steady again.

When he stroked her clit with a feather-light touch, her eyes drifted shut. Tighter, hotter, wetter. She

strained toward his magical hands. Control slipped away from her, and her eyes shot open. He was

watching her, a faint smile on his lips, looking completely in command.

I give up. She didn’t say it; she didn’t have to.

He stroked her folds. They tingled in a way she’d never felt, as if by stimulating certain nerve-

endings, he’d caused others to fire new sensations though her body. She hummed her pleasure, letting

go. His hands slipped away from her as he reached for a condom, rolling it over his cock. Her knees

fell to the sides as she watched. Then he caught them, pressing her feet to his chest. She barely

flinched as he spread more cool lube on her ass.

She shifted impatiently, bracing her knees with her hands, eager for what was coming next. He

pulled her tighter, moving her into position with her legs bent between them. “Not from behind?” Her

voice sounded far away.

“I want to watch your face. You’re beautiful when you come.”

Her breath got caught in her lungs. “Make me. Please make me.” It was so easy to say those words

to him now.

He nodded. “Tell me if anything hurts. Otherwise I’m not going to stop until you don’t know where

you end and I begin. Until you don’t ever want to stop.”

The light in his eyes made her clench and throb. “Almost there already.”

He leaned forward, setting the head of his cock against her ass, a faint smile on his lips. “Almost

only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades. You’ll understand in a minute. Or ten. Or twenty,

depending. I’m going to make you lose your mind.”

She already had, she realized as he pressed forward. Letting this man get so deep she wanted him

deeper. “Oh my fucking God.” It burned, but his fingers rubbed her clit as he sank into her ass,

tricking her body into processing the pain as pleasure. Pressure made her want to scream. Urgency

sharpened every nerve. She felt a pop and knew the head of him was fully inside her. He kept sinking.

Wetness ran down the crack of her ass. She was soaked everywhere. How much lube had he used?

“Gonna ruin this pillow.”

“Is it a favorite?” He stopped moving.

“No.”

He started again. “I’ll buy you more.”

More nerves awakened and began to sizzle as he reached bottom. Her head thrashed back and forth.

She was so full she was afraid to bring air into her body, yet she wanted more. He was right. Almost

wasn’t enough. Nothing was. She couldn’t imagine what it was going to take to satisfy the growing

hunger inside her.

Then he began to move.

Fire licked at her clit as his fingers plucked her. He pulled back and sank again, a relentless

invasion that made everything tight. She growled, wanting more.

“Hang on.”

The cool slide of more lube was unbearably arousing, and she wriggled against his hands and cock.

“Jesus Christ. You’re killing me,” he said.

She bared her teeth. “Don’t you dare stop.”

…

He had no intention of stopping. But he also wasn’t going to hurt her, and he was fast approaching his

point of no return. The need to come was getting more imperative by the second. Decreasing the

friction would buy him some time and give her some comfort. He stared at his cock, buried deep in

her ass, and groaned. “Not stopping. Not ever fucking stopping.”

Not gonna last much longer either, regardless of the half-tube of lube he’d just dumped between

them when she tightened around him and he lost control of his hands. How many times could he make

her come before he lost it?

Her clit was a tight little ball under his fingers. He kept his hips still and flipped it back and forth,

watching her body gather beneath him. When her climax hit, her empty pussy spasmed, and he silently

recited this morning’s stock quotes to keep from coming. Her eyelids fluttered, and she gazed at him,

looking confused. He bounced against her.

“A warm up,” he ground out.

Her eyes widened as he caressed her pussy lips and slowly slid the entire length of his cock in and

out of her ass. She was so tight and hot, his thought compressed to instinct. Take her, make her mine.

He pulled out and he could think again, just barely. Do it again. It went like that for a dozen strokes

before she began to whimper and shake. He picked up the pace, enough to make her come while just

barely retaining control. Her orgasm was harder this time, rippling through her ass, and making his

eyes cross. That’s it. I’m done.

He sucked air until his vision cleared, and he saw tears streaming down her face. “You okay?” he

asked.

She nodded, gazing up at him. The trust in her eyes wrecked him. He slid two fingers into her pussy,

palm up, and trapped her clit with his thumb. He pumped his hips in short, hard thrusts. Her every

exhale was a tight, breathless scream as his hand and hips worked in tandem, sometimes filling her at

the same time, sometimes alternating. She grew tighter and tighter until her ass became a vise around

his cock, and then her orgasm exploded in ripples that threw him over the edge with her, drowning

him. Her legs slipped to the sides, and he fell, catching himself with one hand, kissing her since he

couldn’t breathe anyway, pouring himself into her.

Her mouth opened, taking him in, and her tongue welcomed him with strokes that moved with the

flood inside him. He moved his other hand up so he could settle comfortably on top of her. They

drifted together, lips and tongues caressing. Peace blanketed him, and he would have stayed like that

forever, but they’d probably wake up stuck together. With a sigh, he slipped out of her.

Immediately, he wanted inside again. It’s never going to be enough.

She raised a hand to his face. “What’s the matter?”

He kissed her palm. “Nothing.”

He eased to his feet and padded to the bathroom to deal with the condom and start a bath. When he

returned to the bedroom, she’d tossed the pillow to the floor but otherwise hadn’t moved. He

chuckled, and she opened one eye and then closed it. It was satisfying to know she was as destroyed

as he.

He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. “Ready for round two?”

She groaned.

“Just kidding.” He set her on her feet. “We’ll sleep better if we get cleaned up.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Give me a second, okay?”

He nodded and stepped outside the bathroom to wait.

A few minutes later, she called his name. He entered the bathroom and saw she’d added bubbles to

the bath. The scent of flowers filled the air. He climbed into the tub behind her. He was going to smell

like a girl, but he didn’t care. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “That was incredible.”

Her chuckle dipped into a sigh. “I guess you’d know.”

He leaned forward to look into her eyes, but she turned her head away. He grasped her hair in his

fist so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. Her expression was guarded, trust gone, and fear sliced through

him. She closed her eyes, and instinct brought his lips against hers, hard. His other hand claimed her,

sliding inside, like it was his right.

She stiffened, but she didn’t fight him. “More than another week of this might kill me. Good thing

you’re leaving.” She looked right into his eyes as she said it.

The water around him turned to ice.

“Yeah, good thing,” he echoed, meaning no such thing. It would be so much easier if he could walk

away. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he rejected it. Betsy’s wet blue-black hair draped

over his chest, holding him in place as securely as ropes. Her coal-gray gaze set him on fire, and he

burned, gladly. No matter what they did together, he wanted more.

He’d never once considered a future with a woman, but he was considering it now, with her scent

all over him, her taste in his mouth, and his fingers inside her. This was not temporary. He wasn’t

giving it up, and neither was she.

“I’m not that guy anymore, not with you.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was true. Was that why

he’d paid off the mortgage for Last Call? Because he wanted to have more with her? His heart

stopped and then picked up beating twice as fast. “Do you believe me?”

“No.”

The word had its usual effect on him, but he didn’t give in to the urge to stroke between her legs,

grip her hair more firmly in his fist, and force her surrender. Instead, he let her go and reached for the

soap. “Why not?”

He pulled her against his chest as he slicked soap over her arms and shoulders. The only sound was

the water lapping against the side of the tub as he reached for more of her. He didn’t think she was

going to answer, but then she sighed. “Because I don’t want to believe you. I need you to be that guy.”

Her voice was soft and drowsy and when she tilted her head back, he watched her eyes flutter and

then close. “It’s the only way I can do this.”

“Why?” he asked again, the question barely more than a breath as a tight band of fear constricted

his lungs. He only had one more week to convince her.

“You know why.”

Gently, he rinsed the soap from her soft skin. “Because of what happened to your mother? With your

father—and Kate’s father? Or did someone break your heart, too?”

Her eyes opened, clear and cool. “I don’t let anyone get close enough to break my heart.”

“Neither do I.” He knew all about engaging in short-term relationships so he didn’t get attached.

People always left him, so he didn’t give them the chance to stay. It had made perfect sense to him for

years, but when Betsy made the same claim it sounded like bullshit. “What if we’re wrong about

happy-for-now? What if it’s worth the risk?”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.” She splashed water over the edge of the tub as she

scooted away from him and stood, reaching for a towel.

He stood, too, accepting the towel she thrust at him and wrapping it around his waist. He stepped

behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror over the sink. “What if

I’m beginning to change my mind?”

Her head jerked back and forth, a wordless denial. She turned and pressed her mouth urgently to

his. Her towel slipped, putting them skin to skin, warming all the cold, dark corners inside him. “Just

sex, Quin. That’s all there is between us,” she whispered, but she was wrong.

He needed her to understand this wasn’t just sex for him, that he’d never spent the night before,

never told anyone about his mother or sister, never mentioned his missing memories, and never, ever

wanted to talk about how his parents’ death had wrecked him, too. But she didn’t want to hear the

words. And he could tell by the hot, bright denial reflected in her gaze that she was nowhere near

ready to share her sorrows with him—or her joys—or any of the things that had shaped her into the

incredible woman standing in front of him. He couldn’t tell her how he felt—not yet. She didn’t want

to hear it. But maybe he didn’t need words.

“Get dressed,” he said.

“What?” She blinked. “I thought we were going to bed.”

“I’m too wired to sleep. I never go to bed this early.” He tugged her out of the bathroom and down

the hall. “Let’s grab a drink and listen to some music at my favorite bar.”

“You have a favorite bar?”

“What do you think I do when you leave me in bed every night?”

“I assumed you slept.”

“Not without having nightmares.” It felt good to tell her about that, too.

If he was lucky, the guy with the eyebrow ring would be playing tonight. Maybe he’d let Quin

borrow his guitar again. What kind of music would pour out of him in front of Betsy? Would it be the

soundtrack to his nightmares or something else? His urge to share his history with her no longer felt

like a play for sympathy. He wanted her to understand him, and he wanted to understand her.

They were so good together; he didn’t want this to end. But first he had to convince her to let him

into her world, her real world, not just a two-week fantasy. Judging from what she’d told him about

how she’d grown up with so many responsibilities, he had his work cut out for him. She didn’t want a

partner; she relied on herself. A thought hit him like an ice ball in the chest, and his heart sank. She’d

be furious if he told her about the mortgage right now. But he still had a chance, a week to convince

her they could have the fairy tale together—without the ending at the stroke of midnight thing.

An idea surfaced as he pulled on his clothes. It was over the top, but fitting. He wasn’t going to

hold anything back. “Ready?” he asked, watching her slide into sandals.

“Not quite. I need to do something with my hair.”

Which gave him another idea. And another. Until he knew exactly how he was going to tell her

about the mortgage. When the clock struck twelve, he’d give her his kingdom, or rather, hers. He just

had to work enough magic between now and then to make her believe.

Chapter Twelve

Betsy blinked the sleep from her eyes and peered through the peephole. A liveried footman was

standing in the hall. Wrong apartment for sure. She opened the door, and he bowed deeply, sweeping

his arm in a complicated and courtly gesture.

She spoke to the back of his head. “You can save the theatrics. I’m pretty sure you knocked on the

wrong door.” She admired his grace—and his quads of steel lovingly delineated by his tights—as he

rose to his feet and consulted the large envelope resting on the satin pillow balanced on his palm.

“Elizabeth Contessa Mouton?”

She nodded warily.

“The honor of your presence is requested at the grand opening of the Keystone New Orleans.” He

lowered himself onto one knee and raised the pillow toward her with both hands, presenting the

invitation. He wobbled a bit when she didn’t accept it. “Oh, for God’s sake.” She snatched it off the

pillow. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

He beamed up at her. “Your carriage will arrive at eight o’clock.”

She glowered. “What about my fairy freaking godmother? Got one of those for me?” She gestured at

her cut-off jeans and ratty tank top.

His eyes widened.

“Sorry.” She relented, trying to smile. He probably wasn’t used to sour Cinderellas giving him the

stink eye when he delivered invitations to the royal ball. Of course, he didn’t know how familiar she

was with those royal balls. She snorted, amused by the thought as he got to his feet.

“Hang on.” She left him in the hall and rummaged in her pants from last night, abandoned on the

floor of her bedroom, looking for a tip. What was the proper gratuity for a royal messenger these

days? When she returned to the door, she thrust a five-dollar bill at him.

“Not necessary, milady. Already taken care of.”

She stuffed it in his doublet. “Is Mr. James expecting you to report back to him?”

His nod was cautious.

“Tell him I was overcome with delight.”

As he skedaddled, she followed him down the stairs, curious how authentic his act was. Did he

have a royal steed double-parked at the curb? She watched him hop on a bike and peddle down the

street, puffy shorts filling with the breeze, and snorted. Would he return with a bicycle drawn carriage

at eight? Now that would be something to see, but she still didn’t belong at the grand opening.

She went up to her apartment and got back under the covers. Business in the café had been

slamming all week, and she and Quin had spent every night at her place, not sleeping, or at the bar

one street over, listening to music. To her amazement, Quin had sat in with the band a couple of times,

and those were the nights they’d stayed up the latest.

She was flat-out exhausted, and had come home from work today and gone straight to bed, but now

she couldn’t get back to sleep. She drifted in a dark place that wasn’t quite asleep but wasn’t awake

either, body humming with memories of Quin playing guitar like a man possessed by the very soul of

New Orleans.

She’d really thrown herself into the vacation mentality this week. If she wanted to do it, she did it.

If it felt good, she kept doing it. So many firsts, so much pleasure, and not just in bed, either. They’d

stuffed themselves silly in New Orleans’s finest restaurants, taken long walks in beautiful

neighborhoods, and she’d rationalized every single moment of uncharacteristic abandon by reminding

herself it was temporary. They’d had fun, and if any part of her was sad it was over and he hadn’t

pushed her to talk about the possibility of more between them again, she wouldn’t admit it, not now,

not ever, not even buried under three blankets with her head beneath a pillow.

Vacation over. Now it was time to get back to work. His party would go late and she wouldn’t see

him tonight. Maybe she’d never see him again, or at least, not all of him, not the way he’d been this

week, naked and hungry, and it was for the best, even if she felt like she had the worst hangover in

history.

Her phone signaled a text, so she slid it off the bedside table and opened one eye.

Earth to Betsy. Come in, Betsy. How are you feeling?

Another group message from Jenna.

Ever since Betsy had bailed on their weekly conference call last Sunday, Jenna and Lila had been

peppering her with concerned texts. They knew the café was closed on Sundays, so she hadn’t been

able to claim she was too busy to talk, and she certainly couldn’t tell them the truth. What was she

going to say? My plan has gone to hell so I’m avoiding making a new one by screwing myself

stupid? I can’t talk and orgasm at the same time? So she’d said she had the flu. It worked like a

charm, and she’d kept up the fiction all week.

Ironically, now that it was time for her to start getting better, she really did feel like hell. She was

so tired. It was impossible to come up with a reply that wouldn’t garner more questions, so she

dropped the phone on the bed and rolled over. Paper crumpled. She dug the envelope out from under

her shoulder and gave in to the desire to open it.

Her gaze immediately caught on the black handwritten scrawl at the bottom of the engraved

invitation. Your kingdom awaits. What did that mean? Was Quin finally going to acknowledge he’d

incorporated her ideas into the Keystone? A little of her exhaustion burned away. She had to admit

she was curious. The hotel had been streaming with people all week, but she hadn’t set foot in it.

They’d met in the alley and gone straight to her place every day. Maybe she should go check it out,

just for a little while. And wear what? Pajamas? It was a formal masquerade. She tossed the

invitation over the side of the bed and put the pillow over her head again.

Another knock on the door made her bury herself deeper. Whoever it was knocked again, harder,

pounding so loud she couldn’t ignore it without her neighbors calling the police. A weird feeling of

déjà vu settled over her as she struggled out of bed and walked to the door. It got worse when she

looked through the peephole.

“Oh, hell no.”

A woman stood outside the door with a garment bag over one arm and a suitcase on the floor next

to her. She was wearing a smock with the Keystone emblem, and she looked like an airbrushed super

model. Either she was moving in or she was, indeed, a fairy freaking godmother sent to make Betsy

presentable for the ball. A zing shot through her. She braced her hand on the door, holding it closed.

She’d experienced that sensation enough times over the past few weeks to know to pay attention to it.

Deny what you want, and your subconscious will fuck you ten ways to Tuesday making it happen

anyway. Is that what was happening? Had she secretly hoped for an invitation and been disappointed

when Quin didn’t ask her to come to the party? Is that why she’d gone to bed? Depression? Her

feelings were a tangle she couldn’t unravel, but she couldn’t deny she wanted to see the hotel now that

he’d invited her. One last night. Her stomach sank.

Oh buck up, Cinderella, it was your idea. She could play the role he’d cast for her tonight. All she

had to do was put on the dress, go to the ball, and disappear at the stroke of midnight. The urge to

crawl back in bed made her unlock the door and open it. “I hope you’ve got a magic wand in that big

bag. You’re going to need it.”

…

“What the hell is she doing here?” Every hair on Quin’s body stood on end as he passed the gypsy

woman sitting at a table with a guest. Her purple turban bobbed and her shawl clinked as she

gestured. The scent of incense mingled with the humidity of the impending storm. His stomach turned.

“We need to get a fan over here.”

“Chill out, boss. Everything is going great. That tea-leaf reader is almost as popular as the crawfish

pies.” Kyle gestured, but Quin didn’t look. “We’ve also got tarot by the kabobs, and somebody is

throwing the bones, whatever the hell that means, next to the beignets. It keeps the people in line

happy.”

“We’re serving kabobs?”

“Blackened chicken on a stick, whatever. Do you want a drink? The main bar is set up at the front

desk, but we have classic New Orleans cocktail carts in every corner of the lobby. How about a

Sazerac cocktail? That will fix you right up.”

“No.” He didn’t need a drink; he needed Betsy to return his texts. Was she coming to the party?

He’d expected more of a response to his messengers, and his nerves cranked tighter with every

minute that passed. The week had been as much agony as ecstasy as he forced himself to keep things

light between them while his emotions grew heavier and deeper, and his nightmares turned into

daydreams of them together.

A silver-painted mime fell into step beside him, mimicking his impatient stride, and Quin gritted his

teeth. The street performers roving the lobby were a nice touch, but he wasn’t in the mood. He

stopped abruptly, and the mime backed away on tiptoe. The guy was a good judge of character. Of

course, if he made his living on the street, he’d have to be. Quin’s chest tightened. Had his early days

on the streets shaped him, too?

He turned to Kyle. “Any news from Trenton and Hart?”

Kyle shook his head. “Expecting a call pretty soon, though.”

Thunder rumbled, and Kyle looked out the front windows where the sky was darkening, clearly

about to do a cloud-dump. “Glad we decided against the float.”

“No shit.” Quin had nixed the parade idea immediately. Too much clean-up, and God forbid the

female guests got tipsy and started flashing their tits. That wasn’t the vibe they were going for at all.

“Maybe some food would settle your nerves?” Kyle suggested. “Or a long look at the reservation

book? Full for six months. Relax—your work is done.”

Quin didn’t correct Kyle’s assumption that he was nervous about the success of the hotel. “Be right

back.”

He headed for the food cart parked at the front door, surprised to find it manned by Luc.

“Blackened chicken on a stick?” the chef asked, pressing a sizzling skewer into Quin’s hand.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thanks,” Quin said dryly. “I’d never have guessed.” He tore a hunk off with his teeth and hissed.

“Told you so.”

The chicken was tender and juicy, redolent with herbs, and had just enough kick to be addictive. He

polished it off in three bites, mouth watering for more. “Damn that’s good.”

“Thanks.” Luc handed him another. “The official blackener is taking a smoke break, of all things.

I’m just filling in.”

Quin nodded. He’d figured the chef had more on his plate tonight than blackening chicken. He kept

his eyes on the door, tempted to wait out front and search the street for an approaching carriage,

despite the impending downpour. Maybe he should have a drink.

The party had only been going on for half an hour, but his face was about to crack from smiling

when he wanted to snarl. Every time he shook a hand, he wanted to crush it. Each time “You’re

welcome—glad you’re enjoying the party” slipped from his lips without a growl, it was a victory

because he hadn’t planned this elaborate party for his guests. They would have been happy with

Keystone 1.0, perfect, soulless, and gray. He’d turned the Keystone lobby into a courtyard for Betsy,

damn it. Where was she?

Lights had been strung everywhere, rented wrought-iron furniture supplemented the new couches

and chairs, and lush, green ferns provided privacy for the seating arrangements. Near the elevators,

the Zydeco band was totally killing it, drawing a raucous crowd of dancers to the dance floor. The

guests wore masks, some elaborate, with feathers, jewels, and sequins. Others were simple bands of

black, but all seemed to be enjoying the masquerade, if the noise level was any indication. The warm,

brick-red paint on the walls gave the lobby an intimate feel, but the sky-painted ceiling opened it up.

It was everything Betsy had described to him and more, and he couldn’t wait to show it to her.

If she ever showed up.

A commotion drew his attention to the front doors. A mule-drawn carriage pulled up in front of the

hotel, and his heart shuddered to a stop. He stared, taking in every detail.

A soft chuckle broke his concentration. “Gives a guy hope, it surely does.”

Quin glanced at the chef. “What does?”

“If the likes of her will consort with the likes of you, there’s hope.”

“You know Betsy?” Jealousy flared in his reptile brain. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Luc shook his head, turning his gaze back to the smoking hot pan in front of him. “I know her sister.”

There were a lot of nuances in those four words, but Quin didn’t have time to interpret them now.

Betsy was out of the carriage and sweeping slowly toward the front door.

She glowed. There was no other way to put it. The iridescent, pale pink of her full-length gown

made her creamy caramel skin look even more lush and inviting. The dress was strapless, displaying

her strong arms and shoulders to perfection. The cleavage dipped to show a hint of mouthwatering

curves. A tiara sparkled in her hair, which was swept up in front and cascaded down her back. Her

mask was silver, glittering with rhinestones. She was breathtaking.

He walked to meet her. “You look stunning.”

“The royal treatment was quite a surprise. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” He bowed low, taking a moment to admire the sparkling heeled sandals on

her feet. When he rose, he carefully tugged the mask from her face.

“Isn’t it a costume party?”

“Not for you. I want everyone to see the face of the woman who gave the Keystone New Orleans its

soul.” It was the same reason he wasn’t wearing a mask.

“I was wondering when you were going to admit that.” Her smile was bright as she looked around

the lobby, and his anxiety vanished. “It looks fantastic, inside and out, even better than it did two

years ago. You did an amazing job.”

He could tell she meant it, and he was fiercely glad. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I

never would have done it without you.”

“No kidding.” She laughed up at him. “You would have bought Last Call and done it over there

instead.” He watched her gaze follow the twinkling lights, skip from food cart to food cart, and land

on the wrought iron furniture, growing speculative. “I guess you got your courtyard from me after all,

just not the way you thought.” She raised one arm and encompassed the lobby in a regal gesture. “This

is my kingdom tonight?”

For longer than tonight, but he’d get to that. He simply nodded. “Your wish is my command. Are

you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like to dance?”

“All of the above.” She tugged him toward the bar.

As soon as a drink hit her hand, she headed for the first food station and then the next, claiming she

wanted to enjoy every single thing. Seeing her in his courtyard smiling, holding his hand, and having a

good time was literally a dream come true.

He shook his head to clear a sudden wave of dizziness and put his drink aside. It was almost

midnight, and he should probably slow down. They’d made a dozen circuits of the lobby, eating and

dancing. She didn’t seem interested in the fortune telling, and he was glad because that meant he could

keep her on the dance floor in his arms. As they’d circulated, he’d introduced her to the staff, Kyle,

and the previous owners of the hotel as the mastermind behind the new concept, and she’d glowed

even brighter under the praise.

He took the plate from her hand, set it on a table, and pulled her back onto the dance floor. She slid

into his arms willingly, easily. They’d come a long way in two weeks, and his heart raced as he

thought about how much further he wanted them to go. The statement from the bank was burning a hole

in his pocket.

“Thank you,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

He put a few inches between them so he could see her expression. “For what?”

Her gray eyes were luminous. “For this. For everything.”

This is my moment. He’d never seen so much softness in her. Words fought to come out of his

mouth. I paid off the mortgage. Forgive me. Don’t leave me. I love you. He took a breath, but she

pressed her fingers to his lips.

“This was the perfect ending to a wonderful vacation.” A smile trembled on her lips, starting an

earthquake that leveled him as she stepped out of his arms.

Vacation? Shadows obscured his vision. Temporary. Not part of her real life. His head spun. He’d

known she didn’t want him in her life, but he hadn’t realized she was compartmentalizing their entire

relationship, stuffing him into a box she could neatly place on a shelf and forget.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

He nodded, automatically following her to the edge of the dance floor. He stood staring, thoughts

whirling, barely breathing, paralyzed by the loss, grief, and fury snarling inside him, hopeless knots

tying him in place while his heart caved inside his chest. A flash of pink by the kitchen caught his eye

just as it disappeared through the door. The restrooms were near the kitchen, but that hadn’t been the

door she’d chosen. Of course not.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind she was headed for the alley.

He cut across the lobby, ignoring everyone who tried to get his attention. Kyle caught his arms just

as he reached the front door. “Trenton and Hart—”

Quin shook him off. “Not now.”

Betsy wasn’t going anywhere, at least not without saying good-bye.

Chapter Thirteen

She kept her eyes on the floor as she walked past Madame Rousseau’s table, not wanting to see I told

you so in the woman’s eyes. Royalty. A celebration. Dancing. It was all here except the love, and she

felt mocked at every turn.

It had been a huge mistake to come tonight. I’ve made so many mistakes.

She ducked into the kitchen, dodging the staff and keeping her eyes trained on the door so she

wouldn’t count the employees, see their fancy uniforms, or notice the expensive equipment in their

hands. Too bad she couldn’t block the sizzling sounds and scents making her mouth water even though

she was stuffed to the gills. She put words to the fear that had grown inside her when she saw the

lobby. He’s going to put me out of business. She couldn’t compete with his delicious, adorable food

carts, now a permanent part of the hotel.

No one would come to Last Call for a cocktail when they could come here and get designer

freaking ice in a glass that cost more than the drink. Her own ideas were going to ruin her, and it was

all her fault. She’d been selfish, wanting to spend time with him, and he’d picked her brain of every

hope and dream she’d ever had for Last Call without her realizing he was doing it. He’d made her

grateful for the experience, for God’s sake. She’d thanked him and meant it. The past two weeks had

been amazing, even better than her culinary school respite, but she couldn’t hide her dismay for one

more second. If I’d said yes, he would have made Last Call as incredible as the Keystone.

But she’d said no, and now she’d be lucky if she ever saw another customer in the café…or the bar.

All my fault, all of it. Her mother wouldn’t have taken out a mortgage if she hadn’t gone to culinary

school, and if Betsy hadn’t been so dead set against selling, forcing Quin to turn the lobby into a

gorgeous courtyard, they might have had a fighting chance to pay it back. But now? With a mortgage to

pay back? Not gonna happen.

Bedrock splintered inside her, and she began to shake. Had that been Quin’s plan all along? Force

them out of business if they wouldn’t sell Last Call? Her lunch business would die with his food

wonderland next door, and they wouldn’t be able to afford to keep the café open. Her mother and

Kate would happily return to the old bar hours. The bar had less overhead than the café. It would

survive, but what would she do?

Maybe Lila or Jenna would hire her until she figured it out. She liked New York, and Jenna’s

family restaurant in New Jersey sounded charming. So…big city or small town? Gathering the

slippery layers of her skirt into one hand, she pushed the door open and hurried into the dim alleyway.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Quin’s low voice made her stumble, and she nearly lost a shoe. He must have gone out the front

door and circled around, cutting off her escape route unless she went through Last Call, which she

sure as hell wasn’t going to do. She didn’t want her mother or sister to see her like this. The

compassion in her mother’s eyes would kill her, and enduring Kate’s gloating would be hell.

“I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the desperation in her voice. It wasn’t

just one crack inside her anymore. Countless fissures boiled beneath her surface. There were too

many emotions to keep stuffed inside. Too much to contain. She couldn’t even look at him. If she did,

she was going to lose it. She’d wanted one more night with him; she’d thought she could play this

role. I can’t do it. I can’t do any of it.

A groundswell of despair snapped her tight control. “You’ve had your fun. Consider my nose

rubbed in your success. Your courtyard is going to kill my café. You must have been laughing your ass

off while you picked my brain. Well done, Quin. Good job.”

“Is that what you think?” He advanced, trapping her against the wall.

“What else would I think? You’ve got me surrounded, squeezed in the middle. What are you

planning to do with the candy store? Build another casino? Put Harrah’s out of business? God, I can’t

believe I fed you everything you needed to ruin me. You must have loved that. Just keep her talking

—”

“Talking? The talking isn’t what sticks in my mind.” His hands closed over hers, and he thrust them

behind her. His thigh pressed her legs apart. She turned her head to the side.

“Of course it isn’t.” She felt sick, even as her traitorous body heated to his touch.

“I want more than sex from you. You’re the one who put limits on our relationship—”

“We don’t have a relationship. We had a fling, and it’s over.” Did he still want Last Call? Her skin

went hot and cold, and every muscle in her body locked, resisting, but she couldn’t afford to hold on

to her pride, not with her family at stake. “You win. You can have the bar; I won’t stand in the way.

You were right about the mortgage. The café had a fighting chance before the hotel opened, but now

it’s doomed.” Each beat of her heart pulsed in her face and chest, and her skin felt thinner with every

throb.

“I don’t want Last Call anymore.”

Then they really were doomed. Her stomach twisted. “I’m out of here.”

“Of course you are. Staying would mean you might actually have to give me a chance, and you don’t

give anyone a chance, do you? You don’t trust anybody. Not even yourself. Especially yourself.”

Damn right she didn’t. Every time he touched her, she dissolved, forgetting all the important things,

like her family and her future. She lost her grip on reality and her responsibilities, and it was up to

her to keep it together. It always had been.

“What do you want, Betsy?” His grip tightened. “Tell me.”

His body was a long, hard line against hers, a perfect fit. She wanted him so badly she had to

squeeze her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. Two weeks of allowing herself the

pleasure had created an instant response, and desire was a fire beneath her skin. She felt herself

melting, and if he kept pushing, her weakness for him would ruin her. She forced the words out. “I

want you to let me go.”

“No, you don’t.” His gaze brushed her painfully hard nipples, beaded under the satin, paused on her

lips, open in a pant, and steadied on her eyes, which she knew were begging him to fuck her. “Not that

you’ll ever admit it, not unless I make you. Is that what you want?”

“No.” The lie opened more cracks. “We had a deal. The hotel is open. You’re leaving.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to disappear and leave you alone, like your

father did. Like Kate’s father did, too. That way you can go on believing that every guy will leave

you.” He plastered her up against him with rough hands. Every curve and hollow of her body betrayed

her, conforming to his as if they were two halves of the same whole. “I’m not that guy anymore. I told

you that, but you didn’t believe me. Remember the night you got drunk and I spent the night at your

apartment? You wanted to have sex, but I already had what I wanted. You—in my arms all night—

waking up with you, instead of being alone. You want me to buy Last Call so you can be right about

me, but that’s not the only solution. You’re just too stubborn to see it.” He captured her lips in a

bruising kiss, and the cracks widened.

She scrambled to hold herself together, but it was impossible. She was falling apart, and the only

thing she had to hold on to was him. She reached for him, winding her arms around his neck and

grinding her mouth against his until she felt teeth.

His hand gripped her throat, her breast, hot as a brand, and it kept her steady. He used both hands to

pull her against him, but there were too many layers, so she lifted her dress, holding the fabric. Her

brain emptied as he hauled her into the air, bracing her against the alley wall. Her vision went white

and clear, and when he ripped her panties aside, she was ready for him, had been ready all night.

She wanted him, deep, hard, and fast, filling the emptiness, making her feel safe.

“Fuck.” He stopped and buried his face against her neck, panting.

“Please,” she gasped.

“Tell me what you want from me.”

The air felt charged. She heard a crack, and lightning flashed. “Make me come.”

He lifted his head, eyes so dark they looked black, haunted, his mouth a grim line of

disappointment. “Not this time. Not if you only want me inside your body. I need you to let me into

your life, your real life, your whole life, not just two weeks you can pretend never happened. I thought

if I were willing to stay, to take the risk, then you would, too, but I was wrong. The only time I don’t

feel like you’re leaving me is when I’m inside you, and you’re right—I should just go.”

He peeled her hands away from his neck. Her legs slipped back to the ground, and she reached for

the wall, not sure her knees would support her. Her skin felt tight and hot. Her head spun, and her ears

buzzed. He was leaving; she should be glad, relieved, but she stared, mute and shaking, as the truth

blew her apart.

He had changed. He wasn’t a love ’em and leave ’em suit, a rich and powerful man looking for

distraction anymore. He was something much more dangerous, a man who didn’t want to leave, a man

who would offer her everything, a man who wanted more from her than she knew how to give. What

did she want? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t have it.

Someone had to be responsible. Someone had to have a plan. Every time he’d pushed her, she’d

pushed back harder, and now he’d given up on her. It was for the best. Somewhere in the distance, a

clock struck midnight.

He straightened his tie and popped the cuffs of his white tuxedo. “I guess Prince Charming isn’t a

good look for me, after all, but I gave it my best shot. God, I was so fucking stupid.” Sighing, he

shook his head. Rain began to fall. “How many times did you tell me you only wanted sex? I thought I

could make you want more. I wanted to show you how good life could be if we…” His expression

flattened, and his gaze grew distant. “Actually, I don’t know what I was trying to show you because

I’ve never seen it myself. But I wanted to—with you.”

She dug her nails into the bricks and held on, not trusting herself to speak. It was better this way. He

might not be a love ’em and leave ’em guy anymore, but she hadn’t changed—she couldn’t. The

cracks inside her splintered. Heat rose through her, harder to contain every second. The clock

continued to chime, striking her heart like hammer blows, breaking her apart.

She dug her heels into the ground and pressed her back against the rough bricks, determined to stay

on her feet until he was gone. The last chime echoed, but he remained in the alley, gazing at her with

an expression so full of pain, she had to turn away.

“Here.” Paper crinkled when he pressed something into her hand. “I know you don’t want my

money, but I had to do this. I wanted to be with you, and I hoped you’d say yes to more than two

weeks—eventually. But I know where your heart lies, and even if it isn’t with me, I wanted it to be

safe.”

“Quin…what is this?” Her fingers felt numb and nerveless. The paper nearly fluttered out of her

hand. “What did you do?”

His expression revealed nothing. “I paid off the mortgage for Last Call. It’s a gift. No strings. Do

with it what you will.” He turned his back and walked toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he

paused and looked over his shoulder. “Forgive me for not seeing you home safely. Honestly…I can’t

stand to watch you leave. I’ve seen enough of the back of your head to last a lifetime.” He opened the

door of the Keystone. “Good-bye, Betsy.”

She fell to her knees as the door shut behind him, staring at the paper in her hand. It was a copy of a

bank transfer for a sum of nearly three hundred thousand dollars. The numbers blurred, and she

crumpled. Pink satin made a puddle on the alley floor under her cheek, turning dark with rain and dirt.

I knew he’d put me on my knees. She tried to laugh, but grief boiled up from her center and the

sound that emerged was a scream, dry, painful, and endless. She clutched the fabric, pressed her face

into the folds, and cried for the five-year-old girl who had put her broken mother to bed. The teenager

who had wanted to escape. The woman who had planned to fix everything.

Her fingers caught on something in her hair, and she yanked the tiara from her head, heedless of

pins and pain, and hurled it at the garbage can. More sobs tore loose, and she felt something shatter

inside her. He’d stopped pushing. How could she have known that when he stopped pushing, she’d

finally break?

He paid off the mortgage. He wanted to stay, but now he’s gone. She twisted the sparkling shoes

off her feet and threw them too, screaming so hard her throat ached.

Sudden light spilled into the alley, and she curled into a ball with her hands over her face.

“Betsy? Darling, is that you?” Her mother’s voice made her cry harder.

“I’m fine.” But the words emerged as a choked whisper, and her mom rushed down the alley and

fell to her knees beside her. “You’re not fine, honey. Let me help. Did Quin do this?”

She shook her head. “It was all me.”

“Oh, honey.” Her mother reached for her, and Betsy surprised herself by burrowing into her arms.

“I hoped you’d finally fall in love, but I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“It’s not. I’m not. Don’t worry—I’m not in love. I’m just…” She didn’t want to tell her mom she’d

been having a fling. “It was…um…temporary. By my choice. He’s leaving… We were just…you

know.”

Her mother’s laugh sounded like a shower of butterflies landing in the dark alley. “Oh, I know, all

right. I know you can tell your heart not to love someone a million times, but your heart doesn’t take

orders from you. I can’t believe Quin agreed to a…what did you call it? A temporary arrangement?

Why? He is the loneliest man I have ever met.”

“Quin isn’t lonely. Far from it.”

“I know men. I’ve seen one of every kind come in the bar over the last twenty-five years. That man

bleeds lonely. Just like you. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

She looked at her mother on her knees next to her, and it took her back to the darkest time in her

memory. She could barely get the words out. “Do you remember when I was five? The night that…”

Her mother sucked in a breath. “I hoped you’d forgotten that.”

“How could I? He put you on your knees. He made you beg. I swear he looked like he was enjoying

himself, and you stayed there for hours after he left.” And she’d hidden in the hall, watching, waiting,

wondering if her mother was ever getting up again. She hadn’t moved until Betsy touched her. The

carpet had been soaked beneath her cheek.

“I got up, sugar. Stainless steel, remember?”

Betsy took a shuddering breath. “But I promised myself no man would ever have that much power

over me. I never wanted to fall in love. I thought it made you weak.” She shook her head. Her mother

wasn’t weak; she was strong. She’d had to be. But Betsy wasn’t. “It doesn’t matter if I love him. It

takes strength to get up. More strength than I’ve got.”

“More strength than anyone’s got alone, darling. You helped me get up, and I’m sorry it had to be

you…so, so sorry. A child should never have to help her mother like that. I think that’s part of why I

didn’t tell you about the mortgage. I wanted to be strong for you.” Her voice broke. Betsy looked up

and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “Back then you were all I had, and I was pregnant. Kate’s

father was not a nice man, not nice at all, even you could see that. I loved him, but I needed to send

him away. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done.”

Surprise jerked her upright. “You sent him away? I thought he left you.”

“No.” The word trembled in the air, full of anguish.

“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” How much of her inability to trust had been born in

that one misinterpreted moment? She’d spent all this time thinking of her mother as a victim, so many

years trying to keep from becoming a victim herself. It rocked her to the core to learn she’d been

wrong, that her mother had been protecting them, protecting her.

She shrugged away from her mother and held up the crumpled paper. “Quin paid off the mortgage

for Last Call.”

A dreamy smile tilted the corners of her mother’s lips. “Oh my—isn’t that romantic.”

“Are you kidding me? We’ve got to pay him back. He can’t just…” The pain on his face as he

looked over his shoulder flashed into her mind’s eye. She forced it away. Her mother’s revelation

didn’t change the way she was wired—it couldn’t. She wasn’t going to take Quin’s money. Not gonna

happen.

Her heart zinged a warning, and she clapped a hand over her chest before her subconscious could

kick any thoughts to the surface. I know where your heart lies, and even if it isn’t with me, I want it

to be safe. Her breath squeezed out of her lungs, and she couldn’t get any back in.

Her head buzzed, and her skin felt itchy and hot. The thought of a future without Quin made her feel

like crying again, but she couldn’t give him what he needed, even if she wanted to. She sagged against

the wall, defeated.

“My poor baby.” Her mother gathered her into her arms again.

The kitchen door opened and light filled the alley. “Betsy? Mom? What the hell?” Kate’s voice was

tight with shock.

“Mrs. Mouton? Is everything all right?” Even though the light was behind them, it was impossible

not to recognize Lila and Jenna standing in the kitchen door.

“What are you doing here?” Betsy struggled to her feet.

Jenna put her hands on her hips. “It sounded like you have a pretty serious case of the flu. We came

to make you some chicken soup, of course—whether you want it or not.”

…

Quin strode through the kitchen and into the thick of the party, making a beeline for the main bar.

“Bakers.” He made himself add, “Please.”

“You look like you could use a double.” The bartender was on the right track.

“I’ll take the bottle. Put it on my tab.”

“You got it.”

Quin accepted the bottle and stalked out of the hotel into the pouring rain, leaving the party behind,

a success, indeed, and all of it wasted. Broken. Lost. She thought he wanted to put her out of business.

How long would it be before she decided he’d paid off the mortgage to make her feel beholden to him

in some twisted way? She obviously hadn’t believed a word he said—or she didn’t care. Anger

burned a wall inside him straight to the ground, leaving a line of black ash. He stepped over it and

walked.

The cemetery was in a lousy part of town, and he sensed shadows around him, behind him, and in

front of him. He’d always known where his mother was buried, but he’d never let his midnight

wanderings take him there. He wasn’t sure why he was going now.

When he reached the cemetery gate, he sank down to the ground, cracked open the bottle, and let the

bourbon burn a path to his heart. It didn’t take the edge off his pain. Didn’t dull it. Didn’t blur it.

Didn’t even touch it.

He’d done everything but tell Betsy he loved her, and she couldn’t even admit she wanted him for

anything but sex. Defeat pounded through him, a sickening thud in his heart, throat, and chest. He’d

always sensed another loss would destroy him, but he’d opened himself up anyway. He’d thought his

nightmares were gone. He was wrong.

They were coming for him now.

He braced his hands on the sidewalk. Gravel stung his palms, and colors flashed before his eyes.

The wet smell of incense made him dizzy. He knew that scent. It never meant anything good, but the

wall between him and the past was gone. He couldn’t hide anymore.

He raised his face to the rain.

Red hair, dark eyes, freckles. His ghost, the woman he’d seen walking with the boy on his trip to

New Orleans two years ago, the one who had run away, was standing in front of him.

“Mind if I join you?” Her voice had sung him to sleep. She’d always stood between him and the

nightmares. Until she hadn’t. Now he remembered everything.

He shook his head, barely able to speak. “Melly?”

She sank to the ground beside him. “I’m so sorry, Quin.”

The vast inadequacy of that statement shocked his brain back online. “Sorry for what? For leaving

me to fend for myself when I was a kid? For running from me in the street two years ago? Or for

waiting two weeks to finally say hello?”

“I’m sorry for all of it.” Her eyes were ancient, holding as much pain as he felt. “You didn’t

recognize me two years ago.”

“Because I couldn’t remember. Until now, just this second, I couldn’t remember anything that

happened before you left me with Peter and Maeve.”

“I couldn’t face the past, either.”

But she hadn’t been alone, not like he had. He sucked in a breath that felt like a knife in his throat.

“Was that your son? Do I have a nephew?”

She nodded, and his heart seized. It was hard to contain the sudden, swelling joy, the hope. It could

so easily be lost. “Why aren’t you running now? What changed?”

“You,” she said simply. She reached for his hand, and her bracelet chimed. She gazed at his palm.

“You show up in the leaves like a storm in the Delta.”

“Mumbo-jumbo.” He tried to pull away, but her grasp was firm.

“So angry and hungry, changing everything in your path.” She traced lines on his palm. “You can’t

deny your destiny.” She met his gaze, and her eyes glistened. “I’m a junkie, Quin. I have the gift and

the curse, just like Mom.” Understanding punched a hole in his gut. All of the things he hadn’t

understood as a child fell into place. The tiny envelopes he wasn’t allowed to play with, the paper

plates when there was no food…the long naps…the constant fear. “Peter and Maeve were good

people, and I knew they’d take care of you. You were safe and so much better off without me. Look at

you.” She fingered the sleeve of his white jacket, now soaked with rain and smudged with dirt. “You

turned out great.” She was silent for a moment. “But I wasn’t gonna make it.”

“They looked for you. For years.”

“I didn’t want to be found. It’s easy to hide when you can see what’s coming down the pike, but that

day on the street surprised me. I saw the storm, but I didn’t know it was you until I looked into your

eyes and saw a man who had lost everything and was hell-bent on destruction. So I ran. I thought I’d

saved you, but I hadn’t. You were lost, and I was afraid. It wasn’t just me anymore. I had Quincy.”

“Quincy?” he asked, pierced.

A tear slid down her cheek. “I was high when I found out I was pregnant, and it was bad. I used the

drugs to block the visions. I think Mom did, too. It’s not always comfortable to know things.” She

took a breath. “Without the heroin, I knew it was a boy. I knew he’d look just like you. And every time

I thought about him, I saw your expression after you found mom. Blank. Frozen. Completely shut

down. I couldn’t save you, Quin.” She clung to his hand. “But you saved me. I never touched another

needle, and I named him after you.”

He looked down at their clasped hands and then turned hers over to trace the tracks on her arm with

his gaze. She’d been right to run. The man he’d been two years ago would have tried to take Quincy

the moment he learned about Melly’s drug addiction. He wouldn’t have cared that she was in

recovery. His breath shuddered from his lungs, and he gathered her into her arms.

“Can I meet him?” he asked when he could speak. He was holding her so tight he felt her nod.

“Let’s say good-bye, and then I’ll take you home.”

Home. He hadn’t had one since Peter and Maeve died. He’d lived in hotels. “Wait—good-bye?”

“To Mom. Isn’t that why you came?”

Was it? He stared at her, confused.

She stood. “C’mon, Baby Q. Accept the gifts your past gave you, and let the rest go.”

“Gifts?” How did a history of addiction, second sight, and denial qualify as gifts? He left the

whiskey on the ground and rose to his feet.

A mischievous smile curved her lips. “If I remember correctly, you can hustle Scrooge out of his

last quarter through sheer force of will.”

“How can you joke about it?” He didn’t see any humor in his now readily accessible memories of

being on the street, picking his guitar until his fingers bled, filthy, hungry, and wondering if their take

would be spent on anything but drugs.

She shrugged. “Practice.” She did something to the lock on the gate, and it swung open.

He followed her into the cemetery, past the above-ground vaults and crypts to a rectangular,

cement-lined plot near the back. A simple headstone proclaimed their mother’s name and her dates of

birth and death. He was surprised to see a single yellow rose on top of the grave. “Did you do that?”

She shook her head. “Eddie. Sometimes he comes and plays her favorite songs. They were a bit of

an item back in the day. He’s younger than he looks.” She began to hum, just a few bars, and his heart

ached. How many songs would he play and think of Betsy now?

“Tuxedo? Trumpet?” he asked, and she nodded. Quin felt another piece drop into place. “He asked

me to tell you not to be a stranger.”

Melly made a soft noise. “Memory is a tricky thing.”

He couldn’t agree more. “I’m not staying,” he said suddenly. “I just…I mean—I don’t want you to

think…” He pressed a hand to his chest and rubbed.

“It was a beautiful party tonight,” she said, seemingly apropos of nothing, but when he looked into

her dark gaze, so much like his own, he sensed she already knew.

“You saw us?”

“I’ve been watching you for weeks.”

And all the while, he’d been looking for her. “I thought I wanted a courtyard, but I think I just

wanted Betsy in it. I’m pretty sure I bought a hotel and a candy store and dreamed up a courtyard, just

for an excuse to see her again.”

“If it helps at all, you probably wanted a courtyard, too. It was where we slept, growing up. We

moved around. The gates were easy to unlock. Safer than the street.”

Another piece locked into place with an uncomfortable snap. How many pieces would it take

before he felt whole? “She doesn’t want me.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Fine—she doesn’t want me enough.”

Melly shook her head. “Try again.”

The only thing he had left was the truth. “I can’t be with a woman who keeps leaving me.”

She raised a pale red brow. “Oh? So you’re gonna take off and prove her right?” She tipped his

mouth shut with one finger. “You’re catching flies, Baby Q. Tell me, have your feelings changed since

she sent you racing from your hotel like a scalded dog? Did you suddenly stop loving her?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Did you break?”

“No,” he whispered, shocked to realize it was true. He’d believed one more loss would wreck

him.

“Accept that gift.”

This time, he knew what she meant. Strength.

He bowed his head over his mother’s grave and summoned the courage to let go of the past. A

strange sense of peace settled over him, similar to what he felt in Betsy’s arms. It was humbling and

empowering, and he’d fight for it. He’d wait for it. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Melly held out a hand and he took it, as easily as if he had a thousand times before, which maybe he

had.

He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Fourteen

Lila and Jenna rushed down the alley and hugged her. They straightened her gown, slicked rain off her

arms and shoulders, and led her into the kitchen.

“Jack and Roman are out front,” Lila warned.

“Oh dear God.” Betsy smoothed her hair, suddenly aware she was barefoot, soaking wet, and filthy.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Her mother shooed everyone out of the kitchen and began pulling the

remaining pins and jewels from Betsy’s hair and piling them on the counter. “I’m so sorry, darling. I

completely forgot they were here when I saw you in the alley.” She wiped the worst of the wet from

her dress and the dirt from her legs. Gently, she used a fresh towel to clean her face. Her dark eyes

were filled with an emotion Betsy couldn’t interpret. “So many people love you. Let us help.”

Betsy said nothing. She was the one who gave help, not the one who needed it. Her mother gave her

an encouraging smile and opened the door to the front where her sister was pouring shots. Five sets of

bright eyes looked up.

Jenna hopped off her bar stool and bounded behind the bar to embrace her, squeezing so hard Betsy

squeaked. “God, Bets, I’m so sorry. We knew there was something going on. Men are scum.”

“Hey,” a gorgeous blond man, who had to be Roman, protested. “Not all men. Some of us are just

misguided and need some time to figure shit out. You women do not make things easy.”

He stood and joined them behind the bar, prying Jenna off Betsy and tucking her into his side. He

held out his hand. “Roman Gallagher. A pleasure to meet you.” He was tall, blue-eyed, and as sex-

god-like as Jenna had described. Betsy could totally see how a man like him could inspire Jenna’s

epic crush and his previous reputation as the West Coast playboy.

“Betsy Mouton, and the pleasure is all mine.”

The other man stood and walked over to them. Jackson Calabrese had redeemed himself for what

he’d done to Lila in the culinary competition back at school, but Betsy hadn’t forgiven him quite yet.

She crossed her arms and glared. “I’m still mad at you.”

His green gaze was cool. “Since it was your bright idea to send Lila to work for that asshole Zane

Brampton, maybe I’m pissed at you, too.” His eyes filled with warmth, and he grinned. “Nah—life’s

too short to hold grudges when you’re as happy as I am.” He enfolded Betsy in a bear hug and

squeezed.

To her horror, a sob built in her throat. She lurched out of his arms.

Lila snapped her fingers. “That’s your cue, boys. Acme Oyster House, a few blocks that way.” She

pointed. “Eat all you want, but don’t get any ideas. We’re going to be too busy plotting the demise of

New Orleans’s newest hotelier to deal with you, all hopped up on raw oysters.” She shook her finger

in warning. “No hookers, either.”

Their men saluted and hit the door.

“You should go with them,” Betsy said before she could stop herself. “I’m fine—really.”

Her mother cleared her throat. Loudly.

Betsy grimaced. After coming all this way, her friends deserved the truth. She took a deep breath.

“No, I’m not. How did you know?”

Lila gave her a hug. “The flu doesn’t break your fingers so you can’t text.”

“Or give you laryngitis so you can’t talk, at least, not usually.” Jenna took her hand, and they led her

to the front side of the bar and pushed her onto a stool. “We’ve been worried about you for weeks,

and we’re not leaving until you talk to us and tell us how we can help.” Jenna snapped her fingers

with mock impatience. “Spill it.”

Betsy took another deep breath and started at the beginning, glossing over what had happened the

night she met Quin. And skipping the naked parts in the middle. Even so, by the time she reached the

part about the beautiful courtyard lobby next door and Quin paying off the mortgage, Jenna had both

hands pressed to her pink cheeks, Lila was grinning, and Betsy couldn’t even look at her mother or

Kate.

Lila squeezed her hand. “Feel better?”

Surprisingly, she did, unburdened, like maybe she could get on with life without imploding, even

without Quin. Misery squeezed her again. How had he become the part of her day she enjoyed the

most? A choked sound from her sister pulled Betsy from the edge of tears.

Kate glared at their mother, hands on her hips. “You mortgaged the bar to pay Betsy’s tuition? Are

you kidding me? I still can’t believe you let her open the café in the first place. It doesn’t pull in half

of what the bar makes on a slow night, and all that time, we were drowning in debt? Are you going to

give her the whole damn business and let her open for dinner now that Quin has conveniently paid off

the mortgage? Or are we just going to declare bankruptcy and get it over with?”

“No.” Betsy scrubbed a hand across her face and pushed away from the stool. She’d figured this

much out, at least. “I don’t want to close the bar. You’re a really good bartender, Kate. Better than I

ever was, and you’re right about the money. It doesn’t make sense. If we close the café, we can use

the money we save on purchasing supplies to pay Quin back. And I’ll get a job somewhere else. The

bar is all yours.” She turned to Lila and Jenna. “Either of you two temporarily hiring? I’ll work for

room and board until I can figure out my next step.”

“Absolutely,” Jenna said quickly. “But I’ll pay you.”

“I’ll pay you more,” Lila countered.

“You’re leaving? That’s just fucking perfect.” Kate’s voice was furious, but she bit her lip, the way

she always did when she was about to cry.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Betsy said.

“Yeah, you would think that.” Kate took off her apron and stuffed it under the counter. She stalked

out from behind the bar and disappeared into the kitchen. A few seconds later, the back door

slammed.

Her mother took off her apron. “I’ll go talk to her. Will you close up?”

Betsy nodded. “Of course. Text me later.”

“Nice to meet you, girls,” her mom said before she followed Kate out the door.

“What was that all about?” Lila asked.

Betsy shook her head, bewildered. “I have no idea.”

“Kind of makes me glad I have a brother,” Jenna said.

Lila snorted. “I bet he wishes the same thing.”

“Oh, shut up.” Jenna stood. “What do we need to do to put this place to bed?”

Betsy told them, and they worked in silence for a few minutes, stacking chairs on the tables,

sweeping, and mopping until Jenna started giggling.

“What’s so funny?” Betsy grabbed the broom and the dustpan and hit a spot they’d missed. Jenna

laughed harder, doubling over.

“Cinder-Betsy,” Jenna choked out, pointing. “Footman, makeover, carriage…that dress. Oh my

God, poor Quin. He just can’t catch a break. He picked the one Cinderella on earth who would smash

the glass slipper and cut off a few toes to keep Prince Charming from finding her. He never had a

chance.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Betsy tucked the broom out of sight behind the bar.

“I am, I totally am, but I still feel sorry for the guy. He lost his mother and sister at formative points

in his childhood, and his adoptive parents died a few years ago. Judging from the number of women

he’s dated, he can’t possibly have had many serious relationships, and now he’s smitten with you.

Poor bastard.” She giggled again.

“How do you know all this? Wait—what did you say about his adoptive parents?” Her heart went

into free fall.

“Car accident. And I may or may not have had a conversation with your mother earlier this week.

She told me all about Quin, and I Googled him.”

“You guys have been talking about me?”

“Duh—the people who love you most in the world are probably going to talk about you when you

won’t talk to them. My question is this: how can you not know all that about Quinton James? Google-

stalking is a twenty-first century necessity.” Jenna pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “Here,

read this.”

Betsy snatched the phone from her.

The Forbes Magazine article was objective, a story about how Quin had tripled the family fortune

after the death of his adoptive parents, but it was easy for her to read between the lines. The only time

I don’t feel like you’re leaving me is when I’m inside you. She sank onto a stool, put her head down

on the bar, and groaned. “I kept leaving him. And I pushed him away. He said I didn’t trust anyone,

even myself.” She thought of her mother sending Kate’s father away to protect them. Did she need

protection from Quin? He was a good man; she was the one who was broken. She covered her face

with both hands.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Jenna said. “Nobody’s perfect. I’m constantly fighting the urge to

leap before I look, and I know for a fact our little bolter”—she pointed at Lila—“had a fight with

Jack last night and almost took off to come down here without him. Falling in love doesn’t cure us of

our flaws. If it did, you’d have told us about Quin and the trouble with Last Call weeks ago.”

Betsy lifted her head. “You two had your hands full. I wasn’t going to saddle you with my

problems.” She frowned. “How did you get away from the restaurants, anyway?”

“By trusting other people to cover our backs. You should try it,” Jenna said gently. “Don’t you

remember Lila texting us after every fight with Jack? And you two propped me up for months when I

was working on Cooper’s and trying to forget Roman. Why would you think we wouldn’t be here for

you when you need us?”

“I wanted to solve my own problems.” Jenna, of all people, should have understood. She’d refused

to let Roman bankroll her family’s restaurant renovation and secured a loan herself.

“Of course you did,” Jenna scoffed. “You do everything alone. That’s no challenge for you. Why

don’t you try something difficult, like letting someone help? If not us, then what about that rich guy

next door who sent you a hand-delivered invitation to his kingdom? Don’t even try to tell me you’re

happy in this scullery. You never were.”

Betsy flinched at the truth. “Enough with the Cinderella references.”

“If the shoe fits…” Jenna looked down at the chef clogs Betsy had slipped on when they started to

clean and raised an eyebrow. “The man has hotels all over the country. Imagine all those kitchens.”

Betsy rested her head on her hands again. The last time she’d thought about working for Quin she

hadn’t wanted to leave her family or put herself in a position where he’d have power over her. She’d

known he could devastate her, and here she was, slumped on a bar, covered in alley scum. Jenna

wasn’t the first person to suggest she should learn to accept help. Her mother had said the same

thing…and so had Quin. “I’d say he’s done enough, wouldn’t you? At this point he’s paid for my

education and almost a year of running the café. Although by that logic, maybe I should go to work for

him as an indentured servant.”

“Call it anything you want. Just give the poor guy another chance.” Jenna slipped behind the bar,

grabbed a cup, and poured herself a daiquiri.

“You haven’t even met him. What makes you so sure he deserves it?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars.” Jenna raised her cup in a toast.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for that money.”

“Fair? Are you being fair?” Lila chimed in. “What makes him such a bad risk? Why can’t he be

more than a two-week booty call? Tell us one horrible thing the guy did, and we’ll never mention his

name again.”

Two sets of blue eyes gazed steadily at her. She looked down at the crumpled paper on the bar, and

the date leapt off the page. She swallowed hard. Quin had made the transfer two weeks ago, probably

the very day she’d forced him to agree to their bargain. For a split second, she wanted to believe he’d

paid off the mortgage as a power play, a way to make her feel grateful, and force himself into her life,

but she knew better now. After tonight, the truth was impossible to escape. “He didn’t do anything

terrible. He didn’t hurt me. He kept trying to help me, and I wouldn’t let him. I told him I didn’t want

anything from him except sex.” And he’d respected her wishes. He’d made it clear he wanted more,

but he’d backed off. Instead of trying to take control by forcing them to sell Last Call, he’d helped her

in the kitchen and offered to be her business partner. When she’d still refused to let him in, he’d

brought her ideas to life in his magical courtyard and given her full credit for the transformation. A

gift. No strings. Paying off the mortgage took a huge burden off her shoulders, putting her in a

position to make her dreams come true without him. “I’m an idiot. I ruined everything. He’s gone.”

“I doubt he went far,” Lila said. “Go after him.”

“I can’t.” But her instant denial rang false, and she knew Lila and Jenna didn’t buy it either. Why

couldn’t she go after him? The bar? The café? Kate and her mother? All the excuses she’d used to

keep from admitting her own desires so she could never be hurt or disappointed? The only thing

standing between her and Quin was her fear, and she was sick of it. Her world shifted, just slightly,

but it was enough. “Of course I can.”

“Atta girl.” Jenna and Lila cheered.

“But I can’t just go after him.” She pushed away from the bar and began to pace. “I’ll be lucky if

he’s still speaking to me. He told me I was everything he wanted, and I told him he was only a fling. I

have a lot to make up for.” He’d been wooing her during their dinners and long walks. He’d played

his heart out for her in that bar, and tonight he’d brought a fairy tale to life. “The royal messenger, the

carriage. Oh God…the courtyard.”

Lila and Jena flanked her. “What can we do? How can we help?”

She bit back her automatic refusal. Letting people help was going to be tougher than pushing them

away, but she’d learned the hard way she couldn’t do it alone. She didn’t want to do it alone. Alone

had put her on her knees in an alley. She took their hands and squeezed. “We need a plan.”

Chapter Fifteen

Quin woke to a buzzing noise, automatically reaching out to silence his alarm. He hit the floor with a

hard thud and remembered where he was: Melly’s apartment, not his room at the Keystone. The tea

shop was bigger than it looked from the outside, with a spacious apartment in the back. The whole

place smelled like tea and incense, but the scent didn’t bother him now. In fact, it was kind of

comforting. He stretched, enjoying the lingering peace of his dreams.

Meeting his nephew last night, even for one sleepy second, had been incredible, and he and Melly

had talked until nearly dawn. He’d stretched out on the couch, not intending to fall asleep, just not

wanting to leave, but he must have dozed off. He looked around for his phone to see what time it was,

and when he found it on the floor next to his head, he knew what had awakened him. The lock screen

was covered with text message alerts and missed calls. It started ringing again.

“Tea?” Melly’s voice was quiet, telling him Quincy was still sleeping.

He silenced his phone. Kyle could wait. Quin wasn’t ready to go back to reality. “Yes, please.”

“Scones just came out of the oven.” She nudged him with her foot. “Come into the shop when

you’re ready.”

He rolled into a sitting position, noticing she was wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing last

night, plus an apron. “Did you stay up all night?”

“Wasn’t worth going to sleep when I had to be up to get things going in the bakery.”

He opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry for keeping her up so late, but her smile stopped him.

She smoothed his hair. “I’d lose a million nights’ sleep to find you again.”

He caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “Me, too.”

He gathered his things and used her bathroom before he followed her up front to the shop. The first

sip of the steaming cup of tea she placed in front of him was like a punch in the gut. He hadn’t drunk

hot tea since he was a child. Memories flooded him. She said nothing, merely patting his shoulder, as

if she couldn’t get enough of touching him, and put a plate of warm pastries on the table. He savored

the tea and the treats while she bustled behind the counter.

His nightmares of the past were gone, hopefully for good, but his future felt dark and uncertain. He

missed Betsy already. The absence of her took up more space in his heart than he would have thought

possible. His old shadows were gone, but apparently he’d traded them for a great big new one.

He looked out the front window of the tea shop, surprised to see the front door of Last Call wide

open even though it was barely seven in the morning. A dark-haired man paced at the entrance of the

alley. A grin slashed his face when a produce truck pulled up to the curb. Quin watched them unload

box after box.

A van with ladders hanging off both sides pulled up behind the truck, and a blond guy strode out of

the front door of the bar to greet the men who piled out of the vehicle. After a short discussion at the

curb, the guy nodded, smiled, and went back into Last Call. The workmen strapped on utility belts and

began carrying building supplies in the front door. Betsy was nowhere in sight. Neither was her

mother or Kate. What the hell was going on?

He sucked in a sharp breath. Had she decided to spruce up the place since he’d paid off the

mortgage? Anger kindled inside him, getting hotter when a furniture delivery truck turned the corner

onto the street. He had a feeling he knew just where it was headed. Sure enough, it pulled into the spot

vacated by the produce truck. He clenched his teeth. When his phone buzzed, he snatched it out of his

jacket pocket.

Betsy. A few minutes ago, he would have been delighted, over the moon thrilled, to hear from her.

Now, the sight of her name made him furious. “Hello?”

“Hi, Quin.” Silence beat between them. “I wanted to say thank you. For paying off the mortgage.”

Her voice was tentative, as if she were feeling him out on the subject.

He wasn’t giving anything more away. “You’re welcome.”

More silence.

“Uh, I know it’s a lot to ask after what happened last night, but I’ve got some friends in town…”

She trailed off, and he wondered what she wanted. Did she need somewhere for them to stay? The

Keystone was full.

She cleared her throat. “I’d like to introduce you.”

Everything inside him went still. He closed his eyes, breathing through the crippling hope that shut

down his brain. He had no reason to expect her to have changed her mind overnight, but she’d called

to say thank you, and she hadn’t mentioned a lawyer, a bank, or a repayment schedule, as he had half

expected. She wants to introduce me to her friends. Was she going to let him into her life? His heart

leaped, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Why?”

“Because they’re important to me…and so are you. I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry about a lot

of things, actually, and I’d like to explain and maybe make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

Quin felt as if his foundation was shaking. Last night in the cemetery, he’d decided to stay, to keep

trying, to hope for another chance to become part of her life. Now that it seemed as if it might happen,

he realized how easy it had been to hope—and how hard it was to trust. Was this how Betsy had felt

every minute of the last two weeks? Like everything could fall apart in a heartbeat? If so, he had a

whole new understanding of her struggle. His hand rattled the cup in his saucer.

“Quin? Are you still there?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

“Great.” He heard a loud crash in the background, followed by a string of curses. Betsy gulped.

“I’ve got to go. Can you meet me in your lobby at three tomorrow?”

“What’s going on over there?”

“You’ll see. At three?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, wait—can I borrow a few servers tomorrow? I have a feeling business is going to be

booming, and Kate is MIA again.”

“Uh…sure.” Now that was unexpected, especially after what she’d accused him of last night, but

whatever. “Want me to send them over at ten?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you. I really appreciate the help.” He ended the call and stared at his phone

for a second, feeling his heart slam against his ribs. How the hell was he going to wait until

tomorrow? And since when did Betsy ask him for help? Another text from Kyle popped up on the

screen, so he tapped it.

Trenton and Hart found your sister.

Quin stood and walked over to the counter to snap a selfie with Melly.

She found me first. Anything going on over there you can’t handle?

Kyle’s reply was instant.

Nope. I’m all over it. And so damn happy for you.

As Quin heard a door open and saw his nephew enter the shop wearing pajamas, he knew exactly

how he would spend the time—with his family.

…

Betsy was breathless as she looked around the bar. Everything was exactly the same, but better. The

ceiling was repaired, the baseboards replaced, and the walls repainted. All of the wobbly tables had

been swapped out with new steady ones, and the chairs had been upgraded. “It’s too much,” she

whispered.

“Are you kidding me?” Jenna asked. “Roman loves working at Cooper’s, but he’s been itching for a

new project. He’s in heaven.”

“The money. It’s too much money.”

Roman popped up from behind the bar where he’d been examining the new taps. “You can pay me

back whenever or never. This place is awesome. Don’t take this the wrong way, but a French Quarter

dive-bar is pretty much the coolest thing ever. I’d give you three times what your very minor

renovations cost if you let me hang out at the bar whenever I want.”

“And before you start in about the food cost, I know Jack feels the same way.” Lila slung an arm

around her shoulders. “He’s having the time of his life in your kitchen. He inhaled three Cajun

cookbooks cover-to-cover on the way down here, and if you didn’t let him cook, he’d probably insist

on opening a new restaurant when we get home. You’re doing me a favor, honestly. I still haven’t

recovered from Inferno.”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Right—I’m doing you a favor.”

“So how does it feel?” Jenna asked.

“How does what feel?” Had she missed something?

“Letting other people help you, especially when it’s what they want to do? Not so bad, huh?”

Jenna’s smile was smug.

“We certainly enjoyed it.” Lila patted her hand. “We’d do anything for you, just like we know you’d

do anything for us.”

Just like she’d do anything for Quin. When you loved people, you helped them—and you let them

help you. She grinned at her friends. “I have to admit, it feels pretty darn good.” She threw her arms

around them both and squeezed. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue.”

“What are friends for?” Lila said. “Now, scoot. You don’t want to be late to meet your prince.”

…

Quin watched Betsy walk across the lobby toward him. She looked tired. And beautiful. And

determined as hell. She stopped in front of him. It was hard not to reach for her, but it was her move.

He might love her, but he wasn’t going to make it easy on her. Despite the powerful attraction

between them, they’d have to work for this, and he wanted to make sure they were on the same page

before he got his hopes up too far. He’d had a lot of time to think yesterday.

She held out her hand, and he took it. When their fingers connected, she shuddered and sucked in a

hard breath. Her gaze met his, banked coals, and his resolution crumbled. He pulled her into his arms

and held her tight. They stood, entwined. There was so much unsaid, but the pull between them was

so strong, he hardened. After facing the possibility of never holding her again, getting as close to her

as humanly possible felt imperative. Maybe they could talk later…in his room. They communicated

better naked anyway. He walked her backward toward the elevator.

She dug in her heels. “Not this time. You want more than my body, remember?”

His heart raced. “I do.”

She led him out of the Keystone and to the front door of Last Call. The room was half full of

smiling customers lingering over dessert. His servers hurried around, clearing tables and taking care

of checks. Betsy’s mother waved from the door to the kitchen, and two white-jacketed chefs sat at the

bar.

“Hey y’all, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Betsy led him toward the chefs. “Quin, this is

Lila Grant.” He shook the hand of a tiny blue-eyed strawberry blonde. “And Jenna Cooper.” Even

blonder hair and wider blue eyes. “Lila and Jenna are my best friends from culinary school.” The

kitchen door opened, and the two men he’d seen on the street yesterday morning piled out of the

kitchen and headed straight for the beer taps.

“Man, that was brutal. What a rush.” The dark-haired man took a long drink of beer. “You guys

ready to eat? I’m starving.”

“Jackson, this is Quin. Quinton James, this is Lila’s fiancé, Jackson Calabrese.” They shook hands,

and Quin tried not to stare. He’d heard about Calabrese’s new restaurant opening a few months ago

and had considered visiting the Keystone New York just so he’d have an excuse to eat there.

The other man, the surfer-looking blonde, held out his hand, too. “I’m Roman Gallagher, also

known as Jenna’s better half. Nice to meet you.”

Quin looked at Betsy. “Seriously?” The Gallagher family was famous for turning struggling

California restaurants into gold mines. Betsy shrugged as if having two relatively famous chefs in her

café was no big deal. No wonder she hadn’t needed his help. The cosmetic changes to Last Call

hadn’t escaped him, and the fact that she had apparently let four other chefs run her kitchen today was

even more obvious. His heart clenched. Had he misread her intentions? Had she brought him here to

show him she didn’t need him after all?

She slipped her hand into his, and he clutched her fingers. Longing flooded him. God, he hoped he

wasn’t wrong.

“We’ll be right back.” She waved at her friends and pulled him to a quiet spot at the bar.

She met his gaze. “My friends came down here to hammer home the point you’ve been making for

weeks. Apparently, I have trouble accepting help, even when I need it. When you asked me what I

wanted from you, I couldn’t tell you because I was afraid. I wanted to make my own future, to create

my destiny, and to never depend on a man for well, anything, but now I can’t even think of the future

without thinking of you. I can’t think of the next hour without thinking of you. I can’t eat a meal, walk

down the street, or go to bed without thinking of you. You’ve become a central point in my life.” The

band around his heart eased, and he could breathe again.

He pulled her against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I want you, Quin, but it’s

more than that.” She sighed, looking up at him. “I need you. I didn’t believe in happily ever after until

I met you, and I’m still afraid of giving someone else power in my life.” She bit her lip and then

continued. “But I’m willing to take the risk, if you’ll still have me. I want the rest of the fairy tale.”

He stared down at her, amazed, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “When I saw all the

changes, I was afraid you’d brought me over here to show me you didn’t need me at all.”

She shook her head. “I wanted you to see I could accept help when I needed it. Roman spruced up

the dining room, and Jack took over the kitchen.” She pointed at Quin’s servers, now sitting at a table

with a round of beer in front of them. “You helped me, too.”

“So I did.” He buried his face in her hair. “But I’m sorry I left you in the alley the other night. I

thought I couldn’t be with someone who might leave me. I thought it was a line I couldn’t cross, but I

was wrong. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

Her arms tightened around him. “You didn’t leave me. I pushed you away. I push everyone away. I

thought wanting you made me weak. God knows every time I got near you I ended up begging.” Her

breathless laugh shot straight to his groin. “I tried to pretend the way you made me feel was

temporary, that I’d go back to my real life when you were gone. The only time I could even admit I

had needs and desires was when you made me. I didn’t realize how much I was counting on that until

you walked out of the alley last night. Mom and Kate don’t need me to interfere with their lives, but I

needed them so I’d have an excuse not to take a risk on my own happiness—with you. I love you,

Quin. I want to be with you. Not because you make me, but just because I do.”

He kissed her, and the shadow in his heart disappeared. “For the record, I wasn’t going anywhere. I

was going to keep trying, but this is so much better.” Their slow tangle of lips turned urgent. It was

hard to pull back, but there was something he needed to say. He rested his forehead against hers. “I

love you, Betsy. In my twisted, fucked up, constantly-terrified-you’re-going-to-leave-me way, I totally

love you.”

“I’m not going to leave you. In fact, after this week, I’ll have lots of time to spend with you. We’re

closing the café. It’s exhausting, and I opened it for all of the wrong reasons.”

He stared at her, stunned.

She nestled closer. “I heard a rumor you’re opening hotels in Europe soon. You know all of those

ideas you used to create your courtyard next door?” He nodded, liking the way this was headed. “I’ve

got a million more. I don’t suppose you’re looking for a business partner?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. Are you looking for a job?” He leaned away, making space between

them so he could see her expression.

“I’d be willing to consider the right position.” She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “If we can

find one we haven’t tried.”

He went hard, and his temperature kicked up a few notches. He wished they weren’t standing in a

bar ten feet from her friends, so they could find one right now.

“Get a room, you two.” Her friends were grinning. Behind the bar, her mother beamed.

Quin cupped Betsy’s face between his hands and brushed a teasing kiss on her lips. “Oh,

sweetheart, I’m going to make you an offer so good, you won’t be able to refuse. I guarantee you’ll be

begging to take me up on it. Within minutes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her gaze heated, and her smile turned sly. “Make me.”

Epilogue

Betsy slipped into the tea shop. The others would be here soon, but she’d wanted a chance to talk to

Linda, or Melly as Quin called her, alone. Since the shop was nearly empty, it looked like she’d get

her chance. She smiled at a boy sitting alone at a table, playing with an electronic device. When he

smiled back, looking exactly like Quin but younger, she gasped.

“I know.” Melly came out from behind the counter. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Amazing,” Betsy echoed.

Linda led her to a table with a plate of cookies, two cups of coffee, one tea cup with a saucer, and a

carafe of hot water. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“How did you know?”

The other woman laughed and sat down. “Occupational hazard.”

Betsy stared at her. “You didn’t need a cup of sugar that day, did you?”

“I keep a hundred pounds on hand. I just wanted to meet you.”

“Why?” Betsy slid into the seat across from her.

“Because he was different when he was with you. I know it sounds crazy, but I wanted to help him.

I had so much to make up to him. I thought if I could influence you, nudge you in some small way, it

might put him on the path to happiness.”

“So my reading was a fake? Princes and storms…opportunities.” Betsy shook her head. “It seems

accurate, after the fact.”

“Not fake. I didn’t have to lie. It was all there in your leaves…everything except the ending. Want

to give it another whirl?” Gold gleamed in her eyes, and Betsy’s breath caught in her throat. She was

so glad Quin had found his sister, even though it made her acutely aware of Kate’s absence.

“I’m ready.”

Linda poured steaming water over the leaves. The scent of strong black tea rose from the cup. Betsy

clasped it, swallowing hard, feeling as if she held her heart between her hands. She asked her

question. Once, twice, three times, she swirled the leaves, and then she placed the saucer over the cup

and flipped it. Her hands shook, making it clatter.

“Three more times,” Linda reminded her, but Betsy hadn’t forgotten. She was thinking of Quin,

wanting her, pushing her, loving her. And it was enough.

She left the cup where it was and smiled. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

Linda didn’t look surprised. “You made it through the storm, safe and sound.”

“And not alone.” Betsy made a face and snorted as Linda’s other predictions came back to her. So

much had been on target, but she couldn’t stifle a giggle. “Lions and birds?”

Linda turned to look out the window. “It’s good to have brave friends fly to your side during a

storm.” Lila and Jenna stood across the street in front of the Keystone calling taunts to Jack and

Roman. Goose bumps rolled across Betsy’s arms.

The bell on the door tinkled, and her mother walked in with Kate. Betsy leapt to her feet, pulse

pounding. She didn’t want to screw this up; she needed to make peace with her sister, too.

She walked over to the door and stopped in front of Kate. “I was afraid you were on the run again.”

Kate shook her head, watching her warily.

“I’m not running, either,” Betsy said. “Last Call is yours, but I’m staying. I might travel with Quin,

but New Orleans will always be home. History is important.”

“Really?”

The cautious excitement in her sister’s voice made her smile with relief. “Really.”

Her mother and sister were happy at Last Call. Betsy was the one who needed a change, but she

hadn’t been able to admit it. She didn’t want to run a bar, but they did, and they had every right to

pursue their happiness. It wasn’t her responsibility to take care of her mother, and her sister didn’t

need a keeper anymore. Well, not quite as much. Betsy would probably never lose the desire to

protect her, but Kate was old enough to take responsibility for her own mistakes, to claim her freedom

while Betsy claimed hers. Both great—just different.

Her sister’s face split into a sunny smile, and Betsy caught a glimpse of the little girl who had

followed her everywhere. She pulled Kate into her arms, and the gulf between them disappeared.

“But I’m going to sit on the other side of the bar and get sloppy drunk every night so you’ll make me

those fabulous flaming iced coffees.”

“Good.” Kate cuddled closer. “Because I love working at the bar…but I really love my big sister. I

missed you, Bets.”

“I missed you, too.” Over Kate’s shoulder, she saw her mother sitting with Linda, carefully wiping

mascara from under her eyes. The door opened, and she and Kate shifted out of the way.

“Uncle Q!” The boy leapt out of his chair and raced toward the door. Quin swept him into the air,

and their joy lit up the room.

Betsy’s heart was so full it ached. How had she ever managed to hold herself together without the

help of her family and friends? Her heart swelled even more as Lila, Jack, Jenna, and Roman piled

through the door. She couldn’t wait to pick their brains about what to do with the candy store. Quin

seemed to think she needed to open a restaurant, after all. Oh, that man.

He’d thought of everything, and he wanted to share it with her.

Quin put his arm around her, and heat flashed through her, as it always did, as she hoped it always

would. She knew how she wanted this night to end…but first they’d have tea and pastries and enjoy

their friends and families. Lila and Jenna were going to go crazy for Linda’s triple-chocolate cookies,

and after that, they were going to go on a Voodoo tour, have dinner at the Keystone, and then hit the

jazz bars near her apartment. She hoped Quin would play for them tonight—she wanted to show him

off.

She grinned at her friends who were already swarming the pastry case, happier than she’d ever

been in her life. “Let the good times roll.”

Quin pulled her close and kissed her deeply. “Your wish is my command.”

Did you love this Brazen? Check out more of our steamy titles

here

And for exclusive sneak peeks at our upcoming books, excerpts, contests, chats with our authors

and editors, and more…

Be sure to like us on

Facebook

Follow us on

Twitter

Acknowledgments

I don’t even know where to start for this one! At the beginning? In that case, thank you to Jessica

Topper who made me do NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month,

http://nanowrimo.org/

). I

wrote Betsy’s whole story in November. It was an out-of-sequence-crazy-ass train wreck which had

to be completely rewritten, even after I chopped it up into little pieces of paper and put in piles on the

dining room table, but I had a book! Thanks, Jess! I love you, man.

And a really tight, smooshy hug to Liz Pelletier who asked for a different ending. (Endings…who

needs ‘em?) Of course all those things you said needed to happen had to happen! I just couldn’t figure

out how to make it work until you said all those things you said. Totally awesome. Next round of

daiquiris in New Orleans is on me! In fact, I’d like to extend that offer to everyone at Entangled, from

cover artist to formatter to publicists, who helped launch this book. It takes an army of enthusiastic,

creative, sharp-eyed, savvy book lovers to make books happen, and the Entangled staff is all that and

more!

I must also blow kisses to Veronica Vasquez and Karen McDonald for following my INTO THE

FIRE (Book One in the Hot Nights series) blog tour and winning. Veronica got to name Quin and help

characterize him. She suggested he play guitar and be sarcastic and sexy. Worked for me! (I hope it

worked for you, too!) Karen got to choose a dish to go into the book: blackened chicken. The recipe

is on my website, if you need a fun appetizer. Thanks, ladies!

I owe chocolate to Karen Stivali and wine to Natasha Moore for beta-reading this book in a flash. I

truly don’t know what I would do without my writer friends. My husband (Super Ben for those of you

who don’t know him already) keeps me sane. But my writer friends allow me to meet deadlines

without going crazy. You guys are the best!

And so is my agent, Nalini Akolekar, who reminds me not every silver lining has a cloud.

I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to Susan Spicer, who hired me to be her pastry chef at her

flagship French Quarter restaurant, Bayona, not long after I graduated from culinary school. It was an

amazing opportunity and an experience I’ve never forgotten. I had so much fun remembering my good

times in NOLA while I was writing this book!

And thank YOU, dear readers. There’s so much to do in this big, wide world, and I appreciate each

moment you spend reading my books. Thanks so much! Laissez les bons temps rouler!

About the Author

Amanda Usen

knows two things for certain: chocolate cheesecake is good for breakfast, and a hot

chef can steal your heart. Her husband stole hers the first day of class at the Culinary Institute of

America. They live in Western New York with their three children, one crawfish, two guinea pigs, a

tortoise, and a beagle. Amanda spends her days teaching pastry arts classes and her nights writing

romance. If she isn’t baking or writing, she can usually be found reading a book and trying to get out

of cooking dinner.

Sign up for our

Steals & Deals newsletter

and be the first to hear about 99¢ releases from Amanda

Usen and other fantastic Entangled authors!

Reviews help other readers find books. We appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.

Thank you for reading!

Discover the Into the Fire series…

NTO

THE

IRE

Heir to the Calabrese restaurant empire, Jackson Calabrese can buy whatever he wants, but if his new restaurant is going to succeed,

he’ll need help. There’s only one chef with the culinary creativity to reinvent their menu: former rival—and lover—Lila Grant. Seducing

her back into his bed—and his kitchen—should be easy. But after the way things ended between them, Lila wants revenge, and she’ll

take it served hot…one delicious bite at a time.

EDUCING

THE

LAYBOY

If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases…

IGHT

IRE

a Private Pleasures novel by

Samanthe Beck

Good girl Melody Merritt is ready to be bad. And who better to burn her sterling reputation to the ground than Bluelick’s sinfully sexy

new fire chief? Corrupting the prim and proper beauty is the most action Josh Bradley’s seen since transferring from Cincinnati to fast-

track his career, but he won’t let anyone—not even the delectable Melody Merritt—trap him in this Kentucky-fried Mayberry. Too bad

he’s started a blaze that’s completely beyond his control…

ORBIDDEN

ISK

a novel by

Tori St. Claire

Emily Gardner has returned to her hometown in Kansas to collect her things after her mother’s death. But the moment she steps back

into the town, she’s flooded with memories. But it’s her childhood crush who wakens something even deeper in Emily. Mitch Taylor

believes in a neat and orderly life. But with Emily’s return comes a desire so strong that Mitch can’t help but succumb to it. And with one

night of forbidden, sensual delight, all of Mitch’s careful control will come completely undone…

ISTAKEN

ATE

a Serve novel by

Katee Robert

With seduction in sight, fashion designer Ridley Ethridge arranges to meet her potential Mr. Almost Perfect anonymously at a club that

caters to erotic appetites. What happens next is both intense and satisfying—until Ridley’s blindfold comes off to reveal the twin brother

of Mr. Almost Perfect. The same twin who broke her heart eight years ago before he enlisted. Garrett Reaver will be damned before he

lets someone else have Ridley. They have some seriously unfinished business to take care of...and it starts now.

ARE

ESIST

a Wedding Dare novella by

Laura Kaye

Colton Brooks is in hell. Being trapped in a tiny motel room with Kady Dresco, the object of his darkest fantasies, will require every

ounce of his restraint. She’s his best friend’s brilliant little sister, not to mention his competition for a lucrative military security services

contract. Craving her submission is not allowed. But as her proximity and the memory of their steamy near-miss three years ago slowly

destroys his resolve, Colton’s not sure how much longer he can keep his hands off…or his heart closed.

ELT

FOR

a Fighting Fire novel by

Lauren Blakely

Megan Jansen has a rule—no firemen. So when she discovers that the brooding man who gave her the best sex ever is her brother’s

best friend and fellow fireman, she knows she’s going to get burned. Fire captain and bar owner Becker Thomas spends his nights alone

trying to escape painful memories from his past. Only Megan can make him forget, but she’s his best friend’s sister and off-limits. But

keeping their hands off each other is easier said than done.

OWN

NEES

a Dare Me novel by

Christine Bell

Detective Rafe Davenport makes Courtney DeLollis uneasy. She knows all too well what happens when a man has too much control,

but a deeper, darker part of her is fascinated by his need to dominate in the bedroom. So when Rafe dares her to try four scenes, each

designed to tease and torment, Courtney reluctantly agrees. But once he has her on her knees, Rafe realizes that she might be the one

woman capable of bringing him to his…

Document Outline

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover the Into the Fire series…
- Into the Fire
- Seducing the Playboy
If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases…
- Light Her Fire
- Her Forbidden Risk
- Mistaken by Fate
- Dare to Resist
- Melt for Him
- Down on Her Knees

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
[Make or Break 01] Make Me Amanda Heath
[Make or Break 02] Break Me Amanda Heath
Hot Nights 2 Seducing the Playboy Amanda Usen
Hot Nights 1 Into the Fire Amanda Usen
Make me wanna die
THE WAY YOU MAKE ME?EL
Usher Make Me Wanna
Aretha Franklin 05 You Make Me Feel
Amy Knupp Because of the List [HS 1748 Make Me a
Make Me Believe Shiloh Walker
(You make me feel like) A natural woman Aretha Franklin
You Make Me Weak (The Blackwell Juliana Stone
Make Me Sweat
Lost In Fanfiction Make Me Believe
Ashton, Avril Make Me Burn
Make Me Whole A BWWM Pregnancy Shanade White
Make Me Whole A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (Brothers From Money Book 3) by Shanade White
the way you make me feel
Make Me The Black Lilith Serie Hazel Jacobs

więcej podobnych podstron

Hot Nights 3 Make Me, Take Me Amanda Usen

Document Outline