She didn’t even know his real name, after all.
Still, he dreamed of the silkiness of her skin under his fingertips, inhaled the floral scent of her perfume, and admired the slim cut of her blouse as it tapered and swelled in all the right places. He noticed how the pale green fabric made her eyes glint with more light than dark.
Carter focused and asked Nana about the house, her family, and the B&B. After thirty minutes of conversation, the old woman began to fade, and Bri jumped to her feet.
“Okay, Nana. I’ll be out late, so I won’t bother you again tonight.” She hugged her grandmother and kissed her good-bye while Carter stood in the entryway. When they finally spilled from the house into the muggy evening, he released the nerves crowding the back of his throat.
“Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. Along with that flowy top, she wore a long, denim skirt. A bedazzled belt in white hugged her waist, giving her a curve Carter could admire for hours. With the wedged sandals she wore, she cut their height differential in half.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She threaded her hand through his arm. “And you’re taking me to Arnaud’s. Its Creole, in the French Quarter.”
He held her door open for her while she got in the car, closed it, and looked up at the sky. Tell her, tell her, tell her.
By the time he’d gone around the front of the car and opened his door, his courage had failed him. “Nana lives alone?” he asked instead.
“She has hired help for everything,” Bri said. “Always has, so yes, she still lives alone, though technically, there’s a chef or a maid with her most of the time.” She leaned back into the seat and sighed. “I visit her often in the evenings.”
He nodded and kept the conversation light, away from B&Bs, away from work, away from anything of consequence. He laughed at her childhood stories, ate more gumbo than any human should, and thought about kissing her nonstop.
When she suggested they go upstairs to the Mardi Gras Museum, he went. He probably would’ve gone to the moon had she asked. Though he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, he felt completely drunk. Drunk on Bri Arnold.
He couldn’t help slipping his hand around her hip in the tighter space upstairs. She sucked in a breath that wasn’t entirely silent but she didn’t move away. The costumes, so elaborate and extravagant, glittered under the bright lights, and Carter wondered how many women it took to dress a lady for the Mardi Gras ball.
They strolled down the aisles, pausing in front of displays, reading signs silently to themselves, murmuring a comment now and then. The atmosphere between them felt charged, like one of them had flipped a switch and was now waiting for the other to make a move.
Bri stopped in front of a lavish silver gown, and Carter sidled up beside her, pressing the side of his leg into hers. She turned to look at him, her expression open and inviting.
“These are intense,” he said.
“She was queen twenty-two times,” Bri said, like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
“Hmm.” Surprise—and absolute horror—shot through Carter as he realized he’d vocalized exactly what his father would’ve. He tightened his fingers against Bri’s waist, and she turned into him, lacing her arm around his back and tucking her cheek against his chest.
“Bri, I have to tell you something.” His words came out soft and full of emotion, something he hadn’t anticipated. Was that why his father had taken to humming? He didn’t want how he felt to be given away in words?
“What is it?”
Carter opened his mouth to tell her his real name. “I’m, well, I’m—” He couldn’t do it. The words simply weren’t there.
“You’re what?”
Because of his training in the boardroom and courtroom, words never failed him. And yet here, in this city he’d dreamed about, he’d found someone who rendered him speechless.
“Museum’s closing.” A guard came down the hall toward them. “Sorry, folks. Gonna have to ask you to wrap it up.”
“No problem.” Carter stepped toward the staircase, taking Bri with him. They moved out into the street, the river walk only a few blocks away. Part of him wanted to spend every waking moment with her, while another part simply wanted to get away from her before he blurted out the truth and lost her forever.
“So tell me about your boss,” she said. “You didn’t let me come near him while he was here.” Her voice carried a slight edge of teasing, hidden beneath the much more obvious curiosity element.
“He’s a…hard man to please,” Carter said. “Very demanding. It took most of the morning just to pacify him on the grand opening schematics.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a great party.” She wound her fingers through his. “Am I invited?”
“Absolutely,” Carter said, though a hot ball of coals settled in his stomach. If she came to the grand opening, she’d learn who he really was. Ticking sounded in his head—he was running out of time.
“Starts about eight on Friday night,” he forced himself to say. “We’re hoping to be booked that night, with local government and celebrities, as well as whatever guests we can get before then.”
“Maybe I’ll book a room. You have fourteen, right?”
Carter paused at the street corner, the feel of her hand in his sending a thrill through his body. “Fourteen rooms, yes. You want to stay at Hammond House?”
“I’ve only seen the one room….” She looked away as she spoke, and Carter detected a trace of embarrassment. “This time I wouldn’t have to feel bad about traipsing around wherever I want.”
“Sure, okay.” Carter grinned down at her. “I’ll put you in the Art Room. Fantastic pieces in there.” He shrugged back toward the museum. “You seemed to like those costumes, so….”
“I do adore art.”
“Really?” He peered at her to see if she was joking. “You don’t seem like the artsy type.”
She swung her gaze toward him, her eyes full of fiery passion. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m not cultured?”
“Oh, you’re cultured.” He started to lean in and kiss her smirking mouth, but pulled back. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—shouldn’t—kiss her again until she knew who he really was.
Too bad she didn’t have the same conviction. She lifted one hand to his face, guiding him closer, the look in her eye almost a need.
“Bri,” he whispered, his eyes drifting closed. “I really do have to tell you something.”
“Later,” she said, her breath floating into his mouth and dissolving any resolve he had.
Her mouth met his, and Carter forgot his own name at the feathery touch, the gentle exploration, the perfect chemistry between them.
Chapter Seven:
Bri woke in the morning alone, but with the strong, manly smell of Carter in her nose. She took the deepest breath she could manage, pulled the quilt to her chin, and smiled into the dawning light. Who knew she’d feel such a connection to a man she’d only met a couple of days ago?
And yet, every conversation felt easy, natural. He’d confided in her about his mother, his family, his boss. She’d told him about her parents, introduced him to Nana, and enjoyed playing tourist guide for him. And the kissing wasn’t so bad either. Not bad at all.
She arrived at work a half an hour earlier than usual, in time to schmooze with the early breakfast guests. Once her rounds had been made, her orders called in for the week, and the employee schedule complete, Bri settled behind her computer. Amanda Monroe hadn’t responded to her email, but it had only been one day. Bri didn’t need to panic yet. She admonished herself that she didn’t need to panic at all. June was completely booked, and the Fourth of July had just filled too. Hammond House didn’t serve the same clientele. Yet something gnawed at her gut, something she couldn’t explain and couldn’t dismiss.
Since it had been a while since she’d shadowed her housekeeper, Bri tied her hair back and went in search of Lanie. She found her in the
sunflower room, only named that because of the wallpaper Nana had chosen twenty years ago.
“Morning, Lanie.”
The maid looked up from the bed, where she tucked the corners into precise ninety-degree angles. A smile pulled at the corners of her eyes. “Bri.”
She gestured toward the housekeeping cart. “Can I note repairs?”
“Sure.”
Bri asked Lanie about her kids, her husband, their deli in northern New Orleans. Lanie could talk the ears off a deaf man, and Bri enjoyed the sound of her voice, so it was easy to check the walls, the doorjambs, the electrical outlets while beds got made and towels got switched out.
“What’s new with you, Bri?” Lanie asked as they moved into the final room, the butler’s lounge as Bri liked to call it. Their smallest—coziest—room, it had once housed her great-great-grandparent’s butler.
“Not much. Installed a new toilet in the main bathroom.” Her shoulders may have straightened when she said it.
“Yasmine told me.” Lanie threw the sheets into her laundry bag. “But I heard something else too.” The older woman cut a glance at Bri that made her heartrate triple.
“What did you hear?”
Lanie returned to her cart, though she’d already gathered the last set of clean sheets. “I didn’t really hear it. More like saw it. The same as everyone else in the city.” Paper crinkled and Bri’s throat seized.
The photographer.
“Who’s this handsome hunk of man meat you’re kissing?”
“He’s not that handsome.” Bri peered at the picture—about four inches by four inches, she could barely see Carter’s face.
“Oh, honey.” Lanie chuckled and started making the bed. “He’s the kind of man every woman looks at and fantasizes about what their babies will look like.”
Bri folded the paper in half, unable to dispute Lanie’s statement. “So maybe he’s handsome.” And the best kisser on the planet.
“So who is he?”
The sound leaking from Bri’s mouth sat between a sigh and a hiss. “He’s the lawyer for Hammond House.” Her last two words might as well have been another language, as mumbled as she made them.
Lanie paused in her work for the first time that morning. “I’m sorry. Did you say he works for Hammond House?”
Bri pretended the curtains needed her utmost attention, though they didn’t bear a rip or a smudge or anything.
“Wow, Bri. Are they even open yet?”
“This Friday.”
“You know when they open?”
Bri gestured to the closed newspaper. “It said so in the article.”
Lanie cocked her hip, her silence drawing Bri away from her mock inspection of the room.
“That article didn’t say when Hammond House opens.”
Bri’s brows creased. “I swear I saw that in the paper.” Carter had specifically mentioned there’d be an article about the grand opening in the newspaper. She didn’t have to read it—wouldn’t allow herself to read it—to know.
“Okay.” Lanie gathered a fresh set of personal care products and ducked into the tiny bathroom attached to the butler’s lounge. When she returned, she wore the motherly look Bri usually loved. “I trust you to know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Lanie.” Bri took her list of minor repairs and excused herself. She had no idea what she was doing with Jason Carter, but she could order a new screen for the window in the master suite and run to the hardware store for a pint of paint to touch up the walls in the queen’s room.
Later that afternoon, she scoured the Internet for Carter’s mother. She clicked and scanned, wrote down possibilities, and scanned and clicked some more. She had a nice list of cemeteries when Yasmine poked her head in the room and said all the guests for that night had checked in.
Surprised, Bri glanced at the time on the bottom of her screen. Nearly five. Where had the time gone?
“Thanks, Yasmine. See you tomorrow.” Bri took her notepad and headed to the registration desk so Yasmine could go home. She’d stay until six, when the night manager came in.
The smell of chicken and dumplings wafted down the hall from the kitchen, and Bri considered staying at Abbington House for dinner. She couldn’t name something she loved more than good Southern cooking. At least until her phone chimed and she saw a dinner invitation from Carter. She’d like that better.
She leaned over her phone like Nana stood behind her, watching. The giddiness galloping through her hadn’t been felt since high school when Lance Garry asked her to prom. Now, nearly a decade later, she felt sixteen again from a simple text from a not-so-simple man.
I’m free just after six, she texted back.
Great. Your house or Abbington?
Abbington.
Bri passed the next hour playing solitaire on the computer, taking a new set of batteries for the TV remote to the sunflower room, and suppressing her desire to eat at Abbington and at the restaurant with Carter.
Just before six, her phone chimed again, this time signaling an incoming email. She moved her hand from her mouse to her phone, her breath stalling with the name Amanda Monroe on the screen. She thumbed open the email with her heart flopping in the back of her throat.
Bri – thanks so much for sending these packages along! They sound really great. Something’s come up, and I need to talk to you. Can you call me?
The phone number glared back at Bri, and when she blinked, the numbers imprinted themselves on the backs of her eyelids.
Something’s come up didn’t sound good. The first inklings of desperation coated her tongue. She swallowed once, then again, before pressing her thumb to the phone number. She tapped the green phone icon and waited as the line rang.
“Amanda Monroe.”
“Amanda, hi, this is Sabrina Arnold down at Abbington House.” Bri pressed her eyes closed and inflated her lungs deliberately. She needed to speak slower, adopt a tone that sounded more Professional Bed & Breakfast rather than Panicked Owner.
“Bri, thanks so much for calling me back so fast.”
“No problem.”
“I’m sorry to email at the end of the day, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to book Abbington House.”
Amanda’s words took on a life of their own, echoing through Bri’s head, painting the walls in shades of black, and growing with every second that passed.
“I still want to have the wedding there, but I’m not sure if that’s allowed.” Amanda sounded sympathetic, sad even. “I didn’t see anything about just booking a wedding at Abbington House, but I love your gardens.”
Bri’s brain worked at double speed to keep up. “Well, we’ve never done a wedding without having the guests stay with us.” She grabbed her notebook and flipped to a new page. “It will be more expensive. We’ll have to charge you for the food and staff separately from the House guests.”
“Can you put together a package for me? Maybe a side-by-side comparison?”
“Of course.” Bri pressed the tip of her pen into the notebook, adopting a skin made of more bravery than she normally had. “Can I ask why you and your wedding party can’t stay here?”
Perhaps the House was too small. Maybe Amanda had called before she had a firm date. Any number of reasons would’ve satisfied Bri.
“A family friend owns a bed and breakfast, and when he found out I was engaged, he called and asked me to stay with him.” She cleared her throat, which only made Bri like her more. “I’m so sorry. I normally wouldn’t do something like this. They’re old, family friends….”
“I understand.” Bri impressed even herself with her Professional Tone. She started scratching her pen against the paper, putting items she’d need to check on a list. “I’ll put together a quote for you for the ceremony only.”
“Thank you. We’d love to keep the wedding at Abbington. My friend’s place is just down the street, but nothing compares to your gardens.”
Sourness stalled Bri in her frantic scribbling, despite t
he compliment. Her voice sounded like cobwebs when she asked, “Where are you staying?”
“Hammond House.”
Bri dropped her phone, her wide eyes staring into themselves as her reflection gaped back at her from the computer screen.
Chapter Eight:
Carter entered Abbington House, noting the perfectly cool temperature inside. The furnishings appeared comfortable, well-chosen, and classically New Orleans. He admired the lobby, which held several classic couches, a few end tables with coasters for sweet teas and coffees, a warm color palette, and a television playing the local news.
A sniffle met his ears, and every alarm Carter possessed went off. Sniffling equated to crying, and he’d rather deal with a five-hundred-page brief than someone in distress.
“Stupid Hammond House,” Bri said, far too loudly for her to know anyone else was in the nearby vicinity. The angry sound of ripping paper followed her declaration, combining to make Carter’s determination to tell her who he really was that night at dinner dissolve into nothing.
He stepped back, meeting the door behind him. The resulting bump could’ve been loud enough for Bri to hear, so he quickly knocked. “Bri?” He opened and closed the door, further adding to the illusion that he’d only just arrived.
“Coming,” she called, her voice higher than normal.
Carter clasped his hands behind his back in an attempt to look nonchalant, composed, confident. He pretended to admire the art hanging on the wall, but really he needed something to focus on so he didn’t spiral out of control.
“I just need to run to the bathroom,” she called, never coming into the entryway. He let her go, giving them both a few minutes to compose themselves.
His mind whirred with what he’d done to make her dislike Hammond House so much. He hadn’t even opened the door yet. He didn’t have many reservations yet—even Amanda Monroe hadn’t committed outright, claiming she’d already booked a place and needed to figure out a few things before she could move her wedding party to Hammond House.
Carter wanted to prove to his father he could make Hammond House successful without help from New York, without his father’s contacts and suggestions. But he’d called Amanda that afternoon just to get his father off his back.
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