Getting Off Easy

by Erin Nicholas

  “Let’s have a drink.”

  “It’s busy in here, too,” she said, looking around.

  “I have VIP status in here,” he said. “And so do you.” He put a hand on her lower back and nudged her toward the bar.

  “I do?” she asked, starting forward.

  “You’re the reason we’re starting the erotic book club. The guys love you.”

  She laughed. “That’s real?”

  “Very real. Our first meeting is in a couple of weeks.”

  “How’s it going?” Gabe asked, wiping the bar in front of two stools at the end.

  “Great. This is Harper. Professor Broussard,” James told his friend, with a wink.

  “Ah. Professor. So nice to meet you,” Gabe said, giving her one of the grins that was one of the reasons Trahan’s was incredibly popular with the female tourists.

  Gabe and his brother, Logan, owned the bar and ran it with the help of a group of friends. They were well known for their amazing drinks, incredible food, and the Louisiana charm they exuded even in spite of both being happily married. Their wives knew they couldn’t help it. It was, after all, exactly what had landed each of those ladies in their husband’s bed the first time.

  “You too,” Harper said. “Let me know if you need any discussion questions for the book club.”

  “Oh, I think I’d love to hear your discussion questions,” Gabe told her.

  “You would,” Harper told him. “But you’d like to hear my answers even more. Very insightful.”

  Gabe laughed and reached for a business card. He scrawled his email on the back and slid it across the bar. “Email me. You’ll make me sound incredibly smart.”

  Harper took the card and tucked it into the little handbag she’d been carrying. “And all it will cost you is a piece of brown butter pecan pie.”

  “Done.”

  “Every time I come in.”

  Gabe laughed. “Done.”

  Harper grinned at him, and James wanted to dip her back on her barstool and kiss the hell out of her. He didn’t know if she knew she was being flirtatious and fucking adorable, but she was, and he found the whole her-charming-his-friend move totally hot. For some reason. Maybe because he’d never imagined this scenario. He’d imagined plenty of scenarios of all kinds with Harper. Yeah, most of them involved her naked and on various pieces of his furniture. And hers. But a couple had involved them cooking dinner and taking the dog to the park. Normal things.

  None had, however, involved her hanging out with his friends.

  None had involved a baby.

  And now both of those had happened before the cooking and dog park stuff, and it was… awesome.

  “Okay, how about you back up and remember that you have a hot, amazing wife,” James told Gabe as he slid up onto the stool next to Harper and leaned in. “And how about you remember that you’re on a date with the hot guy from across the landing that you want to try showering with naked next time.”

  Harper’s cheeks got pink even as she turned her head to grin at him. “I can’t forget that.”

  “I won’t let you.” He said it with a gruff promise.

  Her pupils were dilated, and she wet her lips, and yeah, he wanted to take her straight home.

  Chuckling, Gabe made them two Pimm’s cups without asking what they wanted. “You eating?”

  “Definitely. Seafood pot pie,” James said.

  “Same,” Harper agreed.

  “You got it.” Gabe moved off to put the order in and help more patrons farther down the bar.

  Harper looked around, taking in the whole restaurant. “I love this place. It’s so authentic, and everyone seems so happy.”

  “It’s always packed,” James told her. “Everyone who’s been here even once makes a point of coming back.”

  She turned back to him. “So you grew up in New Orleans?”

  He took a draw of his drink, the lemonade, liquor, and soda mixed perfectly. “Yep. All my life. Only child. Mom and Dad left after Katrina. But I’ve got aunts and uncles, cousins, a grandmother all still here.”

  “Where did your mom and dad go?” Harper asked, sipping her drink.

  He watched her eyes widen and her take another bigger drink before setting her glass down. He grinned. “Baton Rouge. Not far. But Mom had a lot of anxiety after the storm.”

  “They lost their house?”

  He nodded. “Lost almost everything. I think Dad would have stayed, but he was happy to go, too. My grandma that’s still here is his mom, and they tried to talk her into going with them, but she’s never leaving. She’s actually a little pissed at them for going. It was tough on a lot of families.”

  Harper nodded. “I read all about it.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “We lived in Provence until I was about eight,” she said.

  “France?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My mother is French, my dad is American. We moved to Quebec when I was eight.”

  “You moved down here on your own, then?” He wanted to know all about her, he realized. He wanted to know what her fifth birthday had been like, what subject she had liked best in high school, what her favorite song was. And he was going to learn it on the piano if he didn’t already know it.

  “I did. We’ve traced some family lineage down here with the Cajun settlers, and I found that fascinating. So when the teaching position opened up, I decided to come find out more about this French heritage of mine.”

  “Do you miss Canada?”

  “It’s so much cooler there,” she said with a smile, picking up her drink again.

  He laughed. “I’ll bet.”

  “But yes. I miss my parents, of course. And home. But they’ve always been great about adventures and seeing the world, so they’re fully supportive, and they love coming to visit down here. The French culture here in Louisiana is so vibrant.”

  “Tout a fait.” James smirked as he lifted his glass as she registered that he’d said, “It sure is” in French.

  She looked at him quickly. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Tu connais le français?”

  He set his glass down. Yes, he knew French. He nodded. “Oui.” He was fluent. “Je parle couramment.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “My grandmother. Speaks French most of the time.”

  “Oh, it was your grandmother.”

  “Who?”

  “The person I’ve heard you on the phone with. Speaking fluent French.”

  He was sincerely surprised. “You knew I spoke French?”

  “Oui.”

  “Why didn’t you let on?”

  “Thought there was a reason you weren’t letting on.”

  He grinned. “You’re right. There was. You’re cute as hell when you swear in French, and I thought maybe you’d stop if you knew I understood.”

  She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but then shut it. “I might have.”

  James leaned closer. He was already sitting sideways, his knees on either side of her stool, one elbow on the bar, the other on his knee. Now he moved that hand to the back of her stool. Everyone in the bar saw in that body language that she was with him, but he wanted to make it very clear to her that she was with him. “Because you were trying to impress me in the beginning? With how sophisticated and upstanding and pure you are?”

  She licked her bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am all those things.”

  He gave her a slow grin. “Yeah. Which has gotta be why I’ve wanted to make you impure from the first time I saw you.”

  “Rebellious streak?”

  “Wanted you on my level.”

  “You’re impure?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Her eyes were hot but she grinned. “I might have an idea. You know what I read.”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Good point. A lesser man might have a little bit of insecurity about measuring up.”

  “But
not you?”

  He leaned in. “You realize that I’ve read your favorite erotic romance three times, right? I know exactly what you like, Professor. And I’m very willing and able to deliver.”

  She swallowed hard. “How do you know it’s my favorite?”

  “The spine is the most bent on that one, and it’s always in the top three on your stack. You reread it a lot.”

  Her voice was a soft whisper when she said, “Well, certain parts, yes.”

  James felt a jolt of heat shoot through him. “So I know some of your favorite dirty things,” he said. He lifted a hand and dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. “But I also think that you haven’t really done much of that—or maybe any of it.”

  Her tongue came out to trace the path that his thumb had just taken. Then she said, “I wanted you to think I was sophisticated and upstanding and pure so that you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “You didn’t want me to be interested?”

  “Not at first.”

  “Why’s that?” God he could look at this woman all night. Just look into her eyes, watch her mouth, study the length of her eyelashes and the sweep of her eyebrows and the line of her jaw.

  “Because I might have a little insecurity about measuring up.”

  Surprise hit him almost as hard as the desire did. Jesus, she honestly had no idea how tied up she’d had him for months just with her humor and intelligence and the way she gathered her hair up into a bun and the way she always stood in the doorway with her right foot on top of her left.

  “That is so not going to be a problem, Professor.”

  “I read a lot,” she said. “I don’t necessarily do a lot.”

  He took a moment to consider all the ways he could respond to that. He could say something dirty. He could assure her that he’d happily do all the work. He’d insist that coaching her through it would be his absolute pleasure. But in the end he said something that surprised him as much as it seemed to her.

  “You forget that I’ve watched you step up. Over and over. With the baby,” he said. “And Henry and Ami.” Yes, he’d used her name for the dog. Because he wanted her to know he meant this. “I know that when you care about something, you put your whole self into it. And that’s all I need, Harper.” He leaned in. “Your whole self into this.”

  Yeah, he’d used her first name, too. Because he wasn’t teasing here. He just needed her naked, willing, and eager in his arms. It was absolutely that simple.

  Her breathing was quick, and he could see the faint flush of pink move from her neck to her cheeks. She licked her lips. “I think we’re going to need to take our food to go.”

  6

  Gabe didn’t ask any questions when he brought their food out and James immediately asked for to-go boxes.

  In fact, Harper thought he knew exactly why they weren’t eating in the restaurant.

  They stepped out onto the busy street just off Jackson Square, and Harper’s heart started pounding. Fear, maybe. Not of James, of course. If he didn’t touch her soon—well, more than her hand and lower back, anyway—she truly might die. But there was a slight fear of what they were about to do. Because it was going to change everything. Which led her to the next strongest feeling. Anticipation. Everything had already changed, and she was ready for this next step. She’d been ready, but now with everything else going on, while it should probably feel like the perfect time and reason to pull back, she felt very much like getting closer. Very close. As close as she could be. To all of it, really.

  But to his naked body. Right now. For sure.

  They walked, again without talking, toward their building. Her mind was spinning with questions. Whose apartment would they go to? Should she ask him to take her straight to the shower because, yes, that had become a must-do fantasy, or should she let him take the lead? The book he was referring to didn’t have a shower scene, but her favorite scene, the one where the hero made the heroine come with his tongue before bending her over and taking her from behind could be reenacted in any room, really.

  Honestly, she didn’t care. She just needed his hands and mouth on her. Anywhere. As soon as possible.

  They turned up Chartres Street. There was a man on the next corner playing saxophone. The song was “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” James dug into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, tossing them into the man’s guitar case. Then he set their food bags down and turned to Harper.

  “Come here.”

  “Wha—”

  He pulled her in, and they started dancing.

  Dancing. On the street corner.

  He’d said they were going to.

  He grinned down at her as they moved together in a slow sway. “Love those curls.”

  She smiled then put her head against his chest. Where she’d wanted to have her head almost since she’d first met him. He was the perfect height for her to rest her ear right against his chest where his heart beat.

  They’d talked about dancing a day or so ago—was it really just a couple of days ago?

  “I can have more than one priority, Harper.”

  That’s what he’d said when she’d told him he had his hands too full with the baby to think about taking her dancing. It seemed maybe he was right. Of course, fathers did that all the time—juggled kids and wives and jobs and hobbies. People did that all the time—had lives that included children. But she’d thought he’d have to adjust, get used to it, figure things out.

  It turned out James Reynaud was an incredibly capable guy. He was caring, laid back, and dependable. He did what he said he was going to do, and he did it with humor. He’d asked for help when he needed it. He’d recognized when he needed someone else’s input. But he was the one getting things done.

  He was also a great dancer.

  The song ended, and the musician launched into another.

  They continued to move together in the shadow cast from the balcony overhead. It felt like they were in their own little bubble and that she was truly his only priority at the moment. She appreciated that he did that, too. He’d made sure the baby was cared for. He’d taken her word for it that Megan wasn’t the woman they were looking for, and he’d let it go. Now, at least for a little bit, they could just be together, the two of them.

  This was romantic. Sweet.

  She loved it.

  And now she wanted him to take her up to her apartment—or his—and prove that he could put her up against the wall the way he’d said he could when she’d gone to weigh herself with the baby earlier.

  She pulled back and tipped her head up. “James…”

  He lifted a brow.

  She blew out a breath.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m trying to channel one of my favorite heroines and figure out the best way to say this. But I don’t know if I should be romantic and sweet and tell you how much I like you and admire you and how glad I am that you knocked on my door with that olive tree…”

  With another guy, or even the guy she’d thought James was six months ago or so, she would have never thought that was the way to make him start taking his clothes off. But now she wasn’t so sure. He had a sweet side. No doubt about it. And it was as hot as his flirtatious side.

  “Or if I should be bold and dirty and tell you that I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, and I’ve never wanted to take my panties off more than I do right now. But—” she said, pausing for a breath as heat washed over her at the look in his eyes.

  He was letting her talk, taking it all in, but the waist of her dress was bunched in one of his fists, and his eyes were laser focused on hers, and his jaw was tight. He looked like he was fighting to stay still and quiet, letting her finish, and she appreciated it. Even while she really wished he’d just take over right now.

  She had no idea how to finish her thought. She gave a little laugh. “I don’t have anything else. That’s it. Just… I love our olives, and I really need to take my panties off.”

  James blew out a breath. “Da
mn, Professor.”

  She could tell that was a good damn, and a shot of satisfaction went through her.

  “You don’t have to channel anyone,” he said gruffly. “You’re a fucking heroine all on your own.”

  She would not go that far. But she wanted to be. That was something. She loved the dirty, fun sex in the books she read and the way the women owned their sexuality and openly enjoyed it. But she also loved watching people learn things about themselves and do new things that challenged them and made them more than they were before. She wanted that, too. She liked to think the books were one reason she’d let James and the parade of needs through her doorway.

  Including a baby boy.

  That was a big one. But she was going to try to be heroic. Or heroic-ish, at least.

  She was also going to take a chance at some dirty, fun sex with the hot firefighter-musician living across from her because, seriously? That was romance material for sure. Almost ridiculously so.

  And if she could make it an erotic romance, all the better.

  Harper gripped James’s arm and lifted a foot. She didn’t even glance around to see if there was anyone nearby. This was the French Quarter. No one blinked at things like a woman taking her panties off on a dark street corner. She reached up under her skirt and hooked the top of her panties. James watched. He surely knew what she was doing, and he definitely didn’t make a move to stop her. Harper drew the panties down her leg and over her shoe then stepped out of them with her other foot. She handed them to him.

  “Yeah, really needed to get out of these.”

  He crushed them in his fist, dragging in a deep breath. “Home. Now.”

  The firm almost growl, made her inner muscles clench, and she also sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

  They grabbed the bags of food and started up the street. They walked quickly and were climbing the steps to their apartments within minutes, Harper in front. She paused at the top of the steps, not sure which direction to turn. James didn’t hesitate. Didn’t speak. Didn’t ask a question. He headed straight for her door. He pulled her key from his pocket. She didn’t know if he’d brought it tonight with the idea that something like this might happen or if he always carried it—that wouldn’t surprise her, actually—but he inserted it, turned it, and pushed the door open. Then he reached for her, pulled her into the apartment, and kicked the door shut behind them.