by Angie Fox
The sunshine warmed her face as they strolled past the people and shops that crowded Royale Street. Two- and three-story buildings lined the way, topped with wrought-iron balconies and rich with flowering plants and vines. Amie breathed deep. Mmm…jasmine and roasted almonds.
And dead rat?
The acrid odor touched Amie's nose a second before she spotted a red Kongamato tail disappear into The New Orleans House of Wax.
A muddy brown rat flew out of the door behind him, very dead and sporting a necklace of white Life Savers breath mints.
"Isoke!" she hissed, as the rat slid across the pavement.
She zigzagged around the festooned rodent as she barreled through the door.
What was he thinking?
No Kongamato went out during the day. Isoke would be seen. She didn't want him hunted, hounded…or worse.
Amie closed the door of the wax museum and almost tripped over the stack of free tabloid newspapers and coupon books at the front. She breathed a sigh of relief as she spied Isoke in the front entryway, posed next to a life-sized statue of voodoo queen Marie Laveau. The Kongamato's teeth shone in rows of white and his face and body contorted into a giant snarl.
"What are you doing?" Amie hissed, glancing around the small front room.
Isoke dropped the pose. "I am helping you fall in love. Did you get my rat?"
Amie squinched her nose. "Yes," she said, peeking out the door. "Dante is cleaning it up right now."
Isoke brightened. "Good. Lots of love magic in that one. And breath mints! You know, for before you kiss."
"Stop it. Go home now. You know this is against the rules."
A teenager in a House of Wax polo shirt stepped out from the main lobby. "Can I help you?"
Amie jumped. "Err…" She eyed Isoke, who had fallen down dead dragon-style at Marie Laveau's feet.
"Ticket sales are this way," the girl continued.
Isoke refused to budge, except the edges of his mouth seemed to tip into the start of a smile.
Amie hesitated. What was she supposed to say? I can't leave without my bullheaded-pain-in-the-neck-better-go-home-if-he-knows-what-is-good-for-him Kongamato?
And now she couldn't even look at him because she sure as heck didn't want the ticket girl noticing anything.
"You behave," she said to the Marie Laveau statue before turning on her heel and leaving the Kongamato to obey—or not.
Outside, the dead rat had vanished and Dante leaned against a streetlamp as if nothing had happened.
"I told him to go home," Amie said.
He raised a brow. "You think he will?"
"No," she said, glancing back, "but he's going to keep hiding in plain sight until we leave."
"Then come," Dante said, offering his arm, "let's oblige the little monster. Isoke has to handle things his own way."
That's what worried her.
Amie fought the urge to glance backward as she and Dante continued down Royale Street.
She wished she knew more about her own city. Truth was, she didn't leave the neighborhood much. "I can suggest a few things to do," she said, enjoying the tingle of excitement as she leaned against his hard frame. They did need a plan.
"No," he said, his fingers lingering at the top of her pink silk skirt. She sucked in a breath as he found the warm skin just above her waist.
"We could go to the information office," she said quickly.
"No." His fingers drew lazy circles on her skin.
"Tour guide?" she suggested, ending in a squeak.
Rat or no rat—in a minute, she was going to have to drag him behind Ed's Oyster Stand or run straight home.
He laughed at that, delighted. "No." He took her hand in his, not bothered at all by the people who had to walk around them. It was as if he was carving out a little piece of New Orleans just for them. "I think we will do quite well on our own." He nudged her. "Relax."
"I'm relaxed," she said too quickly.
He wrapped an arm around her and they began walking again. "Why is it so hard for you to simply let good things come to you?"
"I like to know what to expect." She trailed one hand over a sculpted guitar outside Manny's Jazz Club.
They wandered past vendors and street musicians and mimes. Soon they came upon St. Louis Cathedral, where his youngest sister had married. He steered Amie over to the spot just to the right of the church, where his sister's wedding party had fled after guests pelted a beehive with rice meant for the bride and groom.
He smiled as he told her the story. "You have to understand the dresses back then," Dante said, holding his hands wide.
"I have some idea," Amie said, trying not to laugh.
"For a moment, we believed a bee had gotten up there. I certainly wasn't going to check. And my sister's attendants were scattered everywhere. I told Antonio it was his job," he said.
"Another brother?" she asked.
"The groom," he corrected.
Amie gasped. "He didn't."
"He escorted her directly behind that wide oak for a quick inspection."
Amie gave an exaggerated gasp. "The morals of the eighteenth century."
"Scandalous," Dante agreed.
He leaned in to kiss her and Amie was about to close her eyes when the tree above them shook. A giant black rat hit every branch on the way down and thwumped at their feet.
"Isoke!" she shrieked.
Then she noticed the gold band tied to the rodent's tail.
"My apologies." The Kongamato flapped his wings as he settled on a high branch. "I saw you heading for the church and wanted you to be ready!"
Amie opened her mouth for the lecture of the century when Dante touched her arm. "Don't."
A crowd had begun to gather, murmuring questions.
Two boys rushed up. "It's a rat!" they yelled, to a chorus of eeews!
Amie kicked the rat's tail until the ring came loose and Dante—bless him—pocketed it. No telling where Isoke had found the gold band, but he would return it.
"Come with me." Dante took her hand and led her over to Café du Monde.
"The little beast is going to get himself captured," she muttered. Or killed. And dang it, she really would have enjoyed that kiss.
"Let him be," Dante said, pulling back a chair for her. "Maybe he'll give up."
He didn't know Isoke.
At least the crowd hadn't noticed the red Kongamato waving to Amie and Dante from the high branches of the ancient oak.
Amie introduced Dante to caffe lattes as they watched the small mob disperse.
"I swear that monster has nine lives."
Dante's gaze slid over her, warm and sensuous. "Let's just hope I only need two."
Afterward, they kept an eye out for rats bearing gifts as they wandered to the Farmers Market. There, Dante completely lost his mind over the variety and flavors of hot sauce. Amie bought a bottle of Gib's Bottled Hell and he rewarded her with an utterly blissful shrimp jambalaya upon their return home.
She pushed back from the yellow table, unable to eat another bite. "Amazing."
Dante leaned over her to take her bowl. "Don't thank me." He nodded to a book open on the countertop. Smiling crawdads holding forks and knives danced over the cover of The Rajun Cajun: Recipes from New Orleans. It had been a gift from Oliver. Naturally, she'd never cracked it open.
Dante rinsed the bowls and poured himself another cup of coffee—his third since they'd returned. Then he leaned against the counter and smiled for no reason at all.
It made no sense, but she found herself smiling too.
She could almost excuse the last twenty-four hours as something that had been done to her. He'd showed up at her door. He'd suggested a date. He'd asked permission to court her. She flushed, remembering the purple cone flower he'd picked for her from a planter box along the way. She'd tucked it behind her ear and felt every inch the lady.
Maybe it was time for her to treat him back. She'd been thinking about kissing him all day and now was her ch
ance. Amie stood.
"Querida?" he asked, setting aside his coffee mug.
Amie drew close to him. Their first kiss had been mind-numbingly intense. She'd waited, expected him to kiss her again today. He'd held her hand, touched her side, laughed close. But aside from the near kiss under the tree, he'd never taken the next step. She couldn't believe she was actually going to be the one to make a move.
He was so beautiful, so alive. After her dull dating history and nine dry years, she'd earned this. Amie practically sighed in anticipation. She knew just what she needed—and just how much she was willing to give.
Amie slid her arms around Dante's neck, warm and strong. "Thank you," she said. "This has been a wonderful day."
She raised her lips to the long column of his throat and was delighted when he let out a soft groan. She licked his ear and he shuddered. She touched her lips to his and he pulled away.
"Amie, wait," he whispered against her.
"It's just a kiss," she said, nuzzling him. A small thing, really.
They'd done it before. They'd almost done it this afternoon. Nothing had changed.
"You don't mean it," he said quietly.
"Yes, I do," she coaxed, nibbling at his lower lip.
He gathered her into his arms. "No," he said, touching his forehead to hers. "You don't."
She could feel him—all of him—pressed full against her. He wanted this.
Dante rubbed his hand along her back. She could feel the tension in him, and the longing. "It has to be real," he said simply, quietly. "This either means you want me, that you're willing to at least try to love me. Or it doesn't." His eyes flicked to hers and held. "You tell me which."
"Dante," she protested. This was a big step for her. Besides, what did he expect? He was leaving soon. "I'm out on a limb here as it is."
He caressed her cheek, ran his thumb along her chin. "I don't want you out on a branch. I need you to jump."
She drew back, hurt. "You know I can't do that." This was her first date in nine years. She'd closed her shop. She'd shared the whole day with him. She'd dodged rats bearing gifts. She'd told him what to expect from the start. This had to be enough.
Amie saw the pain in his eyes. "I can't settle for less than the real thing," he said. "Not this time."
"You've got to be kidding." She'd just tried to give him more than she'd given anybody and he somehow needed more? "What do you want from me?"
He gave her a penetrating look as his hands snaked up her back, leaving ribbons of pleasure in their wake. "You know."
Love magic. Amie closed her eyes. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to share love magic with a man like him. It would be passionate, explosive. It could eat her alive and leave her with nothing.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She couldn't do it. She couldn't risk it. Not in a million years.
Chapter 8
Dante was still hard as a rock when he woke up twelve hours later. His shoulder throbbed. Well, what else was new? He pushed the thought aside and shoved his way out of the La-Z-Boy.
He heard Amie in the kitchen and smelled a fresh pot of coffee, French roast if he wasn't mistaken. The cargo shorts dug into his waist. They'd been uncomfortable as hell to sleep in, but he'd been too tired take them off.
The fatigue had come on quickly last night, and he'd slept in today. The spell was wearing off. He'd better make today count.
He could hear Amie in there talking to herself. The woman was trouble—more so than he'd imagined.
Dante ran a hand through his hair. It had all seemed so simple. A powerful woman, truly meant for him would seek him out. He'd have a new life and a new love at the same time.
At last—someone who could love him back.
Amie could be that woman if she gave herself half a chance. Instead, she wanted to give him scraps of herself. Well, he wouldn't do it.
Dante tucked his shirt into his shorts, his gaze settling on the wedding ring he'd left on the top shelf of her bookcase. Amie needed to decide what she wanted. He'd already married one woman who didn't care enough. He'd rather die than go through that again.
"Latte?" she asked, as he made his way into the kitchen. Amie wore an orange sheath dress that accented her curves. For a moment, his focus lingered only on her. Then he saw she'd been busy while he slept.
The woman had not only bought a cappuccino maker, she'd laid out jeans and a dark green button-down shirt over one of the kitchen chairs.
"Thanks," he said. He would have been embarrassed if he'd let himself think on it too long. He couldn't remember anyone, save his mother, buying gifts for him.
He leaned against the counter and watched her make foam.
She gave him a sideways glance. "Four cups a day keeps the zombie away."
"Then you'd better stick to three," he said, as Amie handed him a fresh latte.
He took a long sip, savoring the sweet warmth. He took her delicate hand in his and squeezed it.
If he did die again and if he had to go away for good this time, he'd know he had this moment.
"Come on," she said, "let's try to get out before Isoke wakes up."
Dante showered and dressed before they headed downstairs.
Amie's shoulders dropped slightly when they spied the empty perch at the back of the store.
Dante touched the top of her arm. "I'm sure Isoke is fine."
Amie sighed. "I just wish we knew where he was."
Dante opened the door for her, as had become their habit, and Amie hadn't even hesitated today when she left the Closed sign on the door of the shop.
"Why VooDoo Works?" he asked, admiring the display of love charms in the window.
She glanced at the industrial sign that she'd commissioned. "Because it does." She laughed. "Sure the spirits can be unpredictable, but the everyday practice of voodoo is quite practical."
"You don't have to convince me," he said as grave dust wafted down on the other side of the door.
"You can't always determine exactly what results you're going to get," she clarified, slipping her hand into his, "but you usually get what you truly need."
Indeed.
Amie got her wish when they boarded the St. Charles Streetcar and spotted a Kongamato roof ornament. Dante could hear the beast's claws clattering against the tin roof the entire way from Canal Street and into the Garden District.
Dante pointed to a corner of Audubon, which was packed with neat, modern homes. "I used to live right about there."
She leaned against him. "Do you miss it?"
"No," he said, surprised. Rather, Dante found the new houses most intriguing with their wraparound porches and big yards, perfect for raising a family. His old life was a thing of the past. Amie was his future. "Although," he said, leaning close and breathing in her honeysuckle perfume, "I do miss the crawfish."
Amie wrinkled her nose. "I never cared for them. Too ugly."
He leaned back, his arm slung over the seatback behind her. "Well, you would have loved our crawfish. We used to catch them in the freshwater stream out back. The most handsome crustaceans you'd ever meet."
"I am a sucker for a handsome face," she said, leaning into him.
They reached the end of the line—twice. Each time, the streetcar tracks ended, the driver would flip the shiny wood bench seats in the opposite direction. They'd pay a dollar twenty-five and continue on their way.
Dante laughed out loud when she described the young girl who'd bought a love potion for her two turtles.
"I didn't have the heart to tell her she had two boy turtles."
"Well what's wrong with that?" he asked.
"She wanted babies."
"Ah," he said, delighting in it. "I can see where that could be a challenge."
She grinned up at him, radiant.
For the first time, Amie understood just why her mother could want a relationship like this. She couldn't remember a time when she felt so good. Dante brought out the best in her. It was invigorating and elect
rifying, and addicting if she wasn't careful. Luckily, Amie was always careful.
He toyed with a curl of hair at her shoulder. "Speaking of creatures, tell me about Isoke."
She gave him a sideways glance. "He's a pain in the rear, that's for sure."
"Watch it," she heard a faint voice from the roof.
"And he has supersonic Kongamato hearing."
His claws dug through the metal roof. "Aye mambo! They have spotted me!"
Amie clutched the edge of the window as Isoke shot up into the sky.
"By Ghede's ghost!"
"At least he's gotten away," Dante said, as a confused group of tourists ranted to a nearby police officer and pointed toward the empty blue sky.
Amie leaned back against the bench. "He'd better behave." She'd grown more accustomed to that Kongamato than she'd like to admit. He was, in essence, the last of her family. "I've only had him since the holidays," she said. "He came to live with me after my mother passed."
"Is your father still with you?" Dante asked.
Amie gave a brittle laugh. "My mom didn't even know who my dad was. She wasn't what you'd call picky." She paused, swaying against him as the streetcar rattled over the tracks. He waited, as if he understood she needed time to gather her thoughts. He really was a gentleman.
She took a deep breath and let it out. "Mom dated. A lot." Amie frowned hard, remembering. "If she didn't go for a loser, she went for a drunk. If they weren't stealing our grocery money, they were cheating on her. Every one of them crushed her on the way out the door."
It had hurt so bad to watch it happen, over and over again. Every time her mother wept, Amie had lost a piece of herself too.
She stared at the window, focusing on the breeze. It was a welcome relief from the heat of the day.
Dante watched her carefully. "You are afraid of dating men like that."
"Of course not," she said, shaking off his concern. "I'd never do that to myself." She let out a small sigh. "If you'd have seen how she looked when one of them left—like he'd stolen a part of her."
