Blue Bayou Final

by Kate, Jiffy

  “Not right now,” I reply with a low chuckle, my mind going straight to the gutter.

  Max dips his head in acknowledgement and flashes a quick smile at Carys who covers her glass and says, “I’m good too, thanks.” When he’s made his way to the next table, she gives me a lazy, slow grin that goes straight to my dick. “What’s so funny?”

  “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Try me.”

  I toss back the last of my drink and clear my throat. “I was just thinking about how this,” I say, holding up my now-empty glass, “has always been a lubricant for my mouth.” I can’t help myself, the last few words come out slow and pointed, dripping with insinuation.

  “Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect “o” as she stares at me for a moment before darting her tongue out and swiping it along her bottom lip. Draining her glass and setting it down on the table between us, she never takes her eyes off me and I know her mind is now floating down the gutter beside mine. Shit, we’re probably sharing a raft.

  Briefly glancing away, I contemplate slapping a few bills on the table and walking out, taking Carys and finding a dark corner so I can make the rest of her body turn the same lovely shade of pink as her cheeks. I refrain, though. My mama raised me to be a gentleman and I’m gonna try my hardest to be one until Carys gives me permission to stop. Besides, I’m starving and if this night ends the way I hope it does, I’m going to need my energy and so will Carys.

  For a long, charged moment we have a silent conversation. The way her eyes lock with mine and then travel down to my lips tells me everything I want to know. She wants me. I want her. She knows it. I bet the people at the table behind us know it and are probably getting off on the sexual tension permeating the air around us.

  Chapter 8

  Carys

  Holy UST, Batman.

  Thanks to Jules, I now know that “UST” stands for unresolved sexual tension and he says Maverick and I have it in spades.

  When he mentioned it earlier, I told him he was out of his mind but he swore he spoke the truth. Apparently, he has a gift for detecting sexual desires. Now, I’m no stranger to gifts and special powers, but his seem a little convoluted. But, sitting here, feeling Maverick’s stare like an extra set of invisible hands raking my body, causing my heart to race and my panties to melt, I’d have to agree with Jules.

  It’s a no-brainer that we’re attracted to each other. Incredibly attracted, even. But my dilemma is whether or not to act upon it. Do we keep the sexual tension unresolved, therefore, keeping our relationship platonic and uncomplicated, or do we give into the sparks and see what happens after the ashes have settled?

  Not gonna lie, I want to resolve the fuck out of this tension right here and now. Pun intended.

  Maverick will eventually figure out whatever sent him running for New Orleans. He’ll go back to Dallas, to his job and life. I don’t know if that’s a reason to pursue the sexual tension, or run from it.

  It’s been a long time since I had a fling. Actually, I don’t think any of my sexual experiences could count as a fling. Regardless of past experiences, this would be different. He’s staying at my hotel. So, do I pursue it for as long as he’s here? Then what? He goes back to Dallas and I forget all about him, going back to whatever it was I was doing before he showed up?

  Existing.

  Surviving.

  Trying to make it from day to day, keeping myself and my hotel afloat.

  That’s what I should be focusing on, right?

  Any time I ask myself that, I get the same tug on my heart. I think it’s from my grandpa. I think he would say the hotel is important, but not as important as the people inside. I remember one time, when I was about ten years old, I asked him if he loved the hotel more than me. He’d been working long hours in the office, probably putting out a similar fire like I’ve been doing on a daily basis since I took over. He stopped what he was doing and picked me up, sitting me on his desk, right on top of all the papers and ledgers he had spread out. He looked me square in the eyes and told me the hotel was part of him, but only because of what it provided for his family. He said if it all burned down tomorrow, as long as he had me and Mama and Mary and George that it would all be okay. He said the hotel is like a body and we’re all like the soul. We make the hotel.

  He wouldn’t want me to forget how to live. He wouldn’t want me to lose myself in the process of keeping the hotel afloat.

  “Deep thoughts?” Maverick asks.

  “Sorry,” I tell him, wiping at the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  We’ve both been working on making ourselves members of the Clean Plate Club. The food here is amazing and I can’t believe I’ve never tried it before tonight.

  “This is the best shrimp and grits I’ve ever had.” He sits back in his chair, letting out a content sigh.

  “How is everything?” a deep voice asks, causing me to look up.

  A guy dressed in a white button-down shirt and black jeans is standing there with a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder.

  “Great,” I tell him.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles, clasping his hands together in a pleased gesture. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Dessert, perhaps?”

  “Oh, I’m stuffed,” I say, looking over to Maverick who is looking as full as I feel. “Y’all don’t lie about the lagniappe.”

  The man chuckles, shaking his head. “That we don’t. If you leave hungry, we haven’t done our job.”

  “Well, job well done tonight, man,” Maverick says, offering him his hand to shake.

  Looking toward the back of the restaurant where two sets of large double doors swing constantly as the wait staff walks in and out, I ask, “Are you the chef?”

  “Owner,” he says, dipping his head.

  I offer him my hand. “I’m Carys Matthews. I own Blue Bayou around the corner. Dinner was great. I’ll be sure to send people your way.”

  “Micah Landry,” he says, taking my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Maybe we could do some cross promo. I didn’t even realize there was a hotel nearby.”

  “Funny,” Maverick says. “I’ve been telling Carys she needs to advertise more, maybe social media to get the word out.” He pauses, looking across the table at me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Carys is quite fond of antiques and struggles with keeping up with the times. Is, uh, Myspace still around?”

  Without thinking, I swiftly kick him under the table causing him to yelp in surprise or pain, maybe both. For his information, we have a Facebook page. It’s just seriously outdated and one more thing I haven’t kept up with since my mother died.

  Micah chuckles at the exchange. “So, how long have you been there?” The look he gives me says “are you even old enough to own a hotel?”

  “Since 1963,” I inform him with a hesitant smile, feeling the weight of this conversation sitting heavier than the food in my stomach. How is it that a business owner just around the corner from the hotel doesn’t even know it exists?

  Micah’s eyebrows go up. “Wow, 1963.” He nods his head, looking back over his shoulder. “Tell you what, drop off a brochure or something. We’ve got a bulletin board up front with local vendors. I always have people asking for recommendations, so I’d love to be able to tell them about your hotel.”

  “That sounds great,” I tell him, even though inwardly I’m cringing because we don’t have brochures. We used to, but I haven’t seen a box of them in a long time. This conversation is making me realize how badly I’m sucking at promoting the Blue Bayou. “I love supporting locals.”

  Micah smiles, nodding his head. “Me too. We’re already doing a lot of cross promotion with other businesses, like Neutral Grounds.”

  “Oh, I love Neutral Grounds. CeCe and I go way back,” I tell him with a nod.

  “Do you know my sister-in-law? Camille Landry, well, it was Benoit...I think she hyphenates now Benoit-Landry.”

 
“She’s an artist, right? I’ve seen her work in CeCe’s shop.”

  Micah shakes his head. “Yeah, she and CeCe have been friends for a while, since she was here going to school. She’s getting ready to open up a new art gallery down the street featuring local artists.”

  “Wow, small world, huh?” I ask, looking over at Maverick who seems to be taking it all in with a pleased expression on his face.

  “Definitely,” Micah agrees, clapping his hands together. “Well, Carys Matthews, I’m glad you came in tonight and I look forward to getting to know more about the Blue Bayou. Maybe my wife and I will stay there soon, get a first-hand experience.”

  “We’d love to have you.”

  Someone from the kitchen calls out for him and he dips his chin in departure. “Y’all have a great night.”

  “See,” Maverick muses approvingly when Micah’s out of earshot. “That’s what I’m talking about. It’s all about networking, getting your name out there. People need to know about the Blue Bayou. I like this.”

  I laugh, wondering, not for the first time, why this man is so invested in me—my hotel. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love that he is. I love that he seems to really care about the Blue Bayou. I wish everyone felt as passionately about it as Maverick Kensington. But you don’t usually find complete strangers who understand the importance of your business from the moment they stumble in the door.

  “Who are you, Maverick Kensington?” I ask, equal parts in awe and infatuation, but also cautious. I have to force the latter. My heart wants to jump in headfirst, but my head is putting up blockades, keeping me from pursuing what my body desires.

  How did I get so lucky that it was my hotel he sought refuge in? I’ve never had someone besides my family, George and Mary being included in that, who care about the well-being of the Blue Bayou like I do, but Maverick seems to fit the bill.

  He gives me a smile that is slow and easy and shoots straight to my core.

  How can he be so nice, so handsome, and so business savvy? That’s unheard of, some sort of magical trifecta. Usually, people are one or the other, maybe two of them, if they’re lucky. The ones who have it all are taken.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, leaning forward and placing a few bills in the black folder the waiter left at our table.

  “I don’t know. I just find it so hard to believe that all of this is just a serendipitous coincidence. You walk into my hotel at just the right time, fix my computers, and my door knobs,” I add with a smile. “Now, you’re taking me to dinner and putting me in the right place at the right time to make connections with people like Micah.” I pause, shaking my head. “It just all seems too good to be true.”

  With a wry smile, he asks, “So, you’re saying I’m too good to be true?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I try to keep the smirk at bay but fail.

  There’s mischief gleaming in his eyes as he leans a little closer, lowering his words to a near whisper. “So, you do or don’t think I’m good?” His gaze burns into mine, making me swallow hard. “I just need to know where I stand and how hard I’m going to have to work to change your mind.”

  I swallow, wanting to look away from his penetrable gaze, but being completely unable to. I’m under a spell, his spell. To answer my own question from earlier, I think I’m willing to take the risk—no expectations, just pleasure. If I’m not expecting anything, then there’s no chance of heart break, right?

  “Let’s get out of here,” Maverick says, standing and offering me his hand.

  As we walk out of the restaurant, I try to make my heart stop beating so fast. I try to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I try to ignore the electricity that seems to be transferring from his hand to mine and the way my hand feels in his.

  I fail.

  Half a block away from Lagniappe, I stop in the shadow of a darkened storefront and tug his hand until he stops. Turning toward me, his eyes find mine, and in them, they find the answer they’re looking for.

  I want this.

  I want him.

  Chapter 9

  Maverick

  Carys’ eyes flash with blazing desire. She swallows hard and then jumps off the proverbial cliff by grabbing the front of my shirt and pulling me to her.

  That’s the permission I’ve been waiting for all night. The green light I’ve been needing.

  Before my mind catches up with her sudden movements, her mouth is on mine and I’m groaning into her kiss. Wrapping one arm around her waist, my other cradles her head as my fingers tangle into her soft hair. I’ve spent the last few days wondering—what would she taste like, what would she feel like...is her hair as soft as it looks? Yes. Yes, to every question I’ve had about Carys Matthews.

  She tastes like sunshine after a rainstorm.

  She feels like heaven.

  I walk us backward to the side of the building, away from the people passing by on the sidewalk, and deepen the kiss. The moan that escapes her mouth reverberates in mine and travels to my chest and then my dick. It’s well aware a line has been crossed and there’s no going back. I hope she plans on being in my bed tonight. If not, I’m going to have a huge problem.

  Not that I mean to toot my own horn, of course. I’ll gladly let Carys judge and toot my horn any time she’d like. Toot, handle, blow...you get the picture.

  “And, now we come to one of the most famous stories of the French Quarter,” a voice calls out. “The story of the LaLaurie Mansion.”

  Carys and I release each other’s mouths and turn to see a large group of tourists heading our way.

  Realizing I’m about three minutes from taking Carys against the side of the building, I look at her and see she’s breathless. We need this distraction. “What’s going on?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

  Carys lets out a heady laugh, but then looks down the street and then up at the buildings around us, smiling as she gains her bearings. “Ah, yes, the LaLaurie Mansion. This must be a haunted ghost tour.” She points at the crowd. “Have you ever done one of these? They’re really good.”

  My cock is still telling me I want to do her and that she’s really good. That kiss was possibly the best kiss of my life. I’ve never been that worked up over a kiss. Making out and foreplay are all means to an end, but not with Carys. I could kiss her every day and never get tired of it. It’s both not enough and more than enough all at the same time.

  “You mean, we’re making out in front of a haunted house?” Thankfully, her information about the ghost tour is the exact distraction I need, because fuck ghosts. Not that I’m scared or anything. It’s just creepy.

  She giggles at what I’m guessing is a look of leery hesitation on my face. “Aww, are you afraid of ghosts, Mav?”

  Her teasing effectively changes the trajectory of the moment and I fight back a smile as I clear my throat, looking around me. “Of course not.”

  Carys just laughs harder before standing on her toes and whispering in my ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

  She could’ve whispered supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and my reaction would’ve been the same. Her breath on my skin makes my dick stand to attention and remind me of how good her lips felt on mine. Pulling her to me, I claim her mouth again, not only to stop her teasing, but because she’s so damn close, I can’t help myself. I wasn’t done kissing her. The way she immediately opens for me, swirling her tongue with mine, shows me she doesn’t mind and she wasn’t done either. Breaking away just far enough to get a few words out, I whisper, “Let’s get out of here,” before she starts walking backward down the sidewalk, pulling me by my waist.

  It’s hard enough to walk and kiss at the same time, but when you also add the bumpy concrete of the French Quarter, you’re just asking for trouble. Tired of all the stumbling, which causes our lips to be apart, I begrudgingly free my mouth from Carys’ and lift her up and over my shoulder. I probably should’ve just wrapped her legs around my waist, but carrying her that way would’ve still been dan
gerous due to not being able to see where I’m going. This way, I can see and keep a tight grip on her ass as I quickly walk us to the hotel.

  I’ve witnessed guys throw girls over their shoulders a few times in the past and the girls always squirm and pretend to hate the experience but Carys doesn’t do that. She simply laughs and allows me to carry her. I fucking love the sound of her laughter; it’s free and uninhibited and I have a feeling she doesn’t share this laugh very often. That thought makes me sad but also determined to make her laugh like this as much as possible. Carys’ laughter should be shared with the world but I’m perfectly fine if she only shares it with me.

  She’s still laughing when I place her feet on the ground outside the hotel door, and when she looks up at me with her bright eyes and beautiful smile, I don’t think twice. I press her up against the old wood door and kiss her once more. Eventually, she pulls back and catches her breath before reaching behind her and opening the hotel door. Her eyes never leave mine as she pushes the door open and slips inside. My thoughts turn dirty as I imagine what it’ll be like to finally slip inside her. I’m practically salivating at the thought.

  Unfortunately, as soon as we walk into the lobby, Jules cries out, effectively breaking our erotic spell.

  “Girl, PTL, you’re here!” He rushes from behind the counter to where we’re standing and grabs Carys by the shoulders dramatically. “I was just about to call you. The bathroom in room 201 is leaking and I’m freaking the fuck out. I’ve moved the guests to another room, but I’d already sent George home for the night and I didn’t want to wake him up at this hour to fix the leak. Can you do it?”

  It’s obvious Carys is caught off guard. Her head is probably still stuck in the haze of the kiss we just shared. I know mine is. Not knowing what to do, she begins stuttering, but I interrupt and answer for her. “I’ll do it.”

  They both turn to look at me like I just grew an extra set of eyeballs, so I put their worries at ease.