The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  “Brady.” She might have intended his name to be said as a warning, but it came out like a plea. A benediction.

  He liked it. A lot.

  He liked hearing her beg for him.

  “Say it, sweetheart.” Another kiss. “Where’s that brave girl I used to know?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut like she wanted to block him out, to pretend this whole scene was a dream—or a nightmare. Then, her lashes fluttered open and her gaze latched onto his mouth. “Kiss me.”

  Thank God.

  “I couldn’t hear you—what was that?”

  Shaelyn gave an unladylike snort and muttered, “Don’t push your luck, Taylor.”

  Just like that, Brady was transported back to when he was seventeen years old and completely in love with the woman before him. “My luck’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?”

  “If by ‘luck’ you mean ‘delusional attitude,’ then yeah, we can roll with that.”

  Without giving any warning, Brady’s hands went to her waist and he lifted her onto the kitchen table.

  “Brady!” she shrieked, her hands falling to his shoulders in a tight grip. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll be honest, I prefer the way you said my name the first time around.”

  “What, when I was getting ready to shove you away?”

  She was baiting him and he knew it. He eliminated the distance between them, stepping into the cradle of her thighs as his hands slowly traveled up to the nape of her neck. “You aren’t pushing me away right now,” he murmured huskily.

  “You aren’t giving me a choice now, are you?”

  Brady paused in their bantering. “You always have a choice,” he murmured soberly, noting the way her gaze shuttered at his words. As much as he wanted to push for information, to make her reveal her secrets, he held his tongue. End of the day, he wasn’t one of those guys who got his rocks off on forcing a woman to be with him. They were both consenting adults . . . and, Jesus, but he wanted her like nothing else.

  He stepped closer, and he knew the minute she felt his erection press up against her stomach because she released the faintest of whimpers and her head tipped back into the cradle of his hands. Her shuttered expression disappeared under a wave of desire.

  “Am I being delusional?” he asked, his lips hovering near the curve of her ear.

  He felt the quick shake of her head as her loose curls teased the side of his face.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  His hands went to the tops of her thighs and squeezed, silently encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. When she did, a rough shudder rippled down his spine. After a small hesitation, feminine hands went to the waistband of his jeans and yanked him closer. His mouth skimmed her cheek to press a small, barely-there kiss to the corner of her mouth.

  “Shaelyn?”

  One of her hands left his waistband to brush over his abs. “Yes, Brady?”

  “For the record, I prefer to hear my name from your lips when you’re begging.”

  And then he did what he’d wanted to since he saw her kissing her fake fiancé—he claimed her lips with his and staked his claim.

  13

  Just before Brady’s lips descended, Shaelyn experienced a fleeting sense of panic. Not because she didn’t want this—whatever this was—but because she worried what their let’s-rip-our-clothes-off attraction meant for the future. Would they have a one-night stand and go their separate ways? Was she okay with casual sex?

  She hadn’t done casual anything in years. No dating. No kissing. Nada. She’d existed in a bubble unto herself, safe in the knowledge that as long as she held the opposite sex at arm’s length, she was okay. There was no judgment or worry. No fear or anxiety of groping hands or crude words.

  Her lungs seized, and the threat of submerging beneath the gray clouds of worry nearly did her in.

  Then their lips met, fused, and the only coherent thought after that was more.

  Because even though this was Brady, the man who had once ripped her heart out, she knew, strange as it was, that she didn’t have to fear him. Not physically, anyway.

  With his hands cushioning the back of her head, his lips feasting on hers, she felt like a buffet ready to serve up his every need and desire. She locked the back of her legs around his trim waist, whimpering when she felt the hard ridge of his erection press against the center seam of her jeans.

  His mirrored groan signaled that he was just as needy as she was, and that knowledge spurred her on.

  Her hands greedily wandered over the expanse of his broad chest as she nipped at his bottom lip, demanding entrance. He chuckled against her mouth, muttered something along the lines of “oh sure, now you want to be in charge,” before returning the favor with a soft bite to the center of her bottom lip.

  She pulled back, just far enough to make eye contact. “You realized you just started a war, right?”

  “Is that so?” he drawled, his mouth curving into a naughty grin.

  Shaelyn pressed a kiss to the under side of his jaw, dragging her mouth down until her lips found the fast pulse racing at the base of his throat. “Mhmm.”

  His breathing audibly hitching, Brady’s hands released her head to smooth down the curve of her spine. They paused at the twin dimples just above her tailbone, curling around to her front before slowly lifting. The sensual upwards glide dragged her blouse up and over her belly. He paused at her rib cage, thumbs resting on the underwire of her bra.

  “What are the terms of the war?” he whispered huskily.

  “Give me more,” she answered, before wrapping her hand around the back of Brady’s neck and yanking him down for another scorching kiss.

  “More” was a word that he knew quite well.

  His mouth latched onto hers like she was the only sustenance he needed for survival. The kiss was anything but gentle; it was a battle for control with consumed sighs, clashing tongues, bruised lips. An exchange of unspoken sentences that started with please and ended with take whatever you need.

  Shaelyn couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so utterly absorbed by a man, long before she started working for Carla, and it was more than a little shocking to realize that it was Brady Taylor who had turned her into this desire-driven mess. He left her no choice but to feel. Feel in a way that she hadn’t in years, to allow her mind and body to be connected in the present.

  Brady pushed and prodded and played with her until she had no choice but to give as much as he was offering. Her hands eagerly sought out the ridge of his abs, the tips of her fingers dipping and sliding over the hard-earned grooves.

  As his mouth moved deeply over hers, his thumbs caressed back and forth over her diaphragm, as if waiting for permission to continue further. She gave in by moving her hands to her blouse and sliding each button from its hole. When she finished, the light fabric billowed out around her torso. Brady silently slid the material from her shoulders until it pooled around her elbows, trapping her arms by her sides.

  She moved to shrug it off, but Brady shook his head with a quiet order. “Keep it on.”

  His gaze went to her breasts, cupped in a nude demi-bra. The bra was plain, her still-concealed panties even plainer. She could practically hear Meme Elaine’s warning that Brady was up to no good.

  But Shaelyn had come to his house, and he’d waited until she told him exactly what she wanted before making a move. She’d asked him to kiss her, told him to give her more. Whatever his motivations were, she had asked for this.

  The sensation of his thumbs brushing the soft skin along the underwire of her bra teased goosebumps to her flesh. She glanced at his body. His hips were still encircled by the tight clutch of her thighs, but it was the determined look in his blue eyes that caught her off guard.

  He wasn’t going to make the next move until she asked for it, Shaelyn realized. From the rigid set of his shoulders, it appeared that he was prepared to wait out a possible stalemate for forever.

  Shaelyn wasn’t su
re what she wanted for the future, but she knew what she wanted right now.

  Emboldened by the heat in his gaze, Shaelyn leaned back and propped her weight upon her bent elbows. The position tightened the blouse across her back, pushing her breasts up for his perusal.

  She warned herself not to think about the other times she’d been in this exact same position while in Carla’s employ; forced herself to watch Brady’s blue eyes as they raked over her body like he had all the time in the world; forced herself to remain mentally in the present.

  “Touch me.”

  “Where?” Brady’s gaze flicked up to hers. “Here?” His finger went to the fabric bridging the bra cups together.

  Shaelyn let out a choked laugh, even as she was fully aware that her belly was on open display, and she may or may not have—okay, she had—stopped by for some delicious pastries at her local bakery before driving to his house. Then again . . . Brady seemed to have no trouble with the fact she was, at the end of the day, a curvy girl.

  “You still there, sweetheart?”

  Her breath caught as he traced the edges of the bra cups, teasing her with the inevitability of more.

  “Here I am thinking about where you want me to touch you,” he murmured silkily, “And you were where?”

  All thoughts fled the moment his palms slid directly over her breasts. Sure, it was through the cotton material. Sure, he hadn’t done anything more than cup the girls. But the fact that it wasn’t a false alarm pretty much rendered her speechless.

  “Now I’m wondering if I’m not doing enough to keep you entertained,” he added casually.

  “Oh, you’re doing enough!” Shaelyn’s toes curled in her cheetah-print pumps. Oh yeah, you’re doing just fine.

  At his bark of laughter she realized that the admission had been voiced out loud. Embarrassment was out of the question when his pupils dilated and his breathing turned shallow, signaling that he’d more than appreciated her honesty.

  Not that he was done teasing her, because right then he grinned smugly. “I think I’m gonna have to try harder.” Leaning down, he softly captured her lips with his. It was barely a caress, more tantalizingly sweet than anything else. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, and all you have to do is say yes or no. Okay?”

  He brushed his lips over hers again, completely scattering her thoughts.

  “Shae?”

  Her hands wound around his neck. “Sure, I’m down.”

  Shameless hussy, of course you are.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, Meme Elaine had always said.

  He pulled back, taking hold of her wrists and stretching her arms above her head. She felt the length of his cock against the seam of her jeans, and she wiggled her hips to get a little more of that downstairs action. Immediately he yanked his hips back, denying her the relief that she desperately craved.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said gruffly. One large hand went to her bra and shoved the material up, masculine lips covered her nipple, and he flicked his tongue against the sensitive peak. “Yes or no?”

  He expected her to form coherent sentences? She couldn’t even remember her own name. Somehow, she managed to yell out “yes!” but only because he’d done something delicious with his teeth.

  Brady took her response for all the encouragement that it was worth, and Shaelyn had no doubt that when it all was done and over, he was going to have to carry her limp body to her car.

  Locked down by his weight, her hands curled into tight fists against the table. She wanted to touch him the way he was touching her, give him more pleasure than he’d ever conceived possible. To know that she’d made him feel that way.

  “You like that?” he whispered as he flicked his tongue out against her nipple.

  She found the strength to whimper a pathetic “yes” as she arched her back. His free arm slid under her, supporting her upper body with just his hand. He nipped, teased and suckled, clearly determined to drive her mad.

  Leisurely he retreated, letting her slowly come back down to rest on the table as he released her captive arms. His lips were wet, full; he looked like something out of an erotic dream. Her erotic dream. She subtly pinched herself to check if this was real.

  It was.

  That naughty smile of his reappeared when he dropped his hands on either side of her hips and glanced up at her face. “I think you’ll like what I do next even more.”

  Shaelyn couldn’t help the sassy remark that slipped past unchecked. “Do you really think you’re God’s gift to women?”

  He shrugged, his tattooed shoulder lifting. “Only for you.” And then he rocked back on his heels, dropped his hands to her thighs and ordered, “Hold your knees for me.”

  “What?”

  “Do it, sweetheart.” The lopsided, carefree smile he gave her juxtaposed the gruffly given demand. Shaelyn snapped into place, holding her knees with her hands as she rested back on her elbows.

  “Are you ever going to let me touch you?” she asked. “Because I’d really like to, obviously. I want to lick your tattoo.”

  “Later,” was all he said before his finger went to her jeans. And then he proved he was indeed God’s gift to women because that seam was oh-so-appropriately placed over her clit, and Shaelyn had no control over the unbidden moan that escaped her.

  He applied pressure to just the right spot, circling his finger, prolonging the sensual moment until she thought she might come. Damn you, Brady Taylor.

  “Do you like that?” His eyes were dark with lust. “Yes or no, sweetheart.”

  Shaelyn never had the chance to answer. Her cell phone starting howling, Sir Mix-A-Lot’s one-time classic, “Baby Got Back,” sounding off as her phone vibrated under her butt.

  Brady’s brows furrowed like he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for him to laugh. “That’s your ringtone? Seriously?”

  She threw him a dirty look as she scrambled off the table. “Julian’s handiwork, I’m guessing.”

  “And here I was hoping that you’d done that just for me, in honor of all the good times we’ve shared.”

  With that remark, the reality of what they’d been doing—what they had been about to do—came crashing down. She’d almost had sex with Brady Taylor, who had cheated on her and dated her because his grandmother had forced him to. Had she lost her mind?

  Her gaze flicked to the heavy bulge in his jeans. Yes, yes she had.

  Shrugging her blouse onto her shoulders, she held the fabric closed over her chest after she yanked her plain bra into place. With Brady’s blue gaze settling on her like he wasn’t done with her yet, and Sir Mix-A-Lot still rapping about big booties and anacondas, Shaelyn did the only thing a desperate girl could do in a moment like this.

  She evaded the situation and answered the phone.

  “Why, hello, Shaelyn darlin’!” came Carla Ritter’s Southern Belle drawl. “I sure wasn’t expecting you to pick up the phone. It must be my lucky day, sugar.”

  14

  It was a truth universally acknowledged that being properly clothed lent an air of confidence.

  Or not. Shaelyn felt no more confident with her blouse buttoned to her neck than she had with it trapped around her elbows. South-Carolina-born Carla Ritter had that effect on people. Probably because she was, despite her flame-colored hair and Bohemian-chic style, the supplier of Doom and Gloom.

  A great white shark in a maxi skirt, thong sandals, and a loose-fitting blouse.

  Curling a trembling hand around the phone, Shaelyn mouthed “sorry” to Brady, and then forced herself to walk calmly into the living room. Like all was well. Like it was just any other phone call.

  Like her head didn’t feel on the verge of splitting open, and the urge to disappear wasn’t dogging her heels.

  “Stop calling me,” she hissed as soon as she was camped out by the couch and out of earshot. “I quit, remember?”

  Carla made an tsking noise with her teeth, and Shaelyn could all but see the middle-aged woman shak
ing a manicured finger, as if Shaelyn were an errant toddler prone to misbehavior. “Now, Shaelyn Magnolia, is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

  Were they old friends? Shaelyn had never thought so, not when she’d been hired off a Craigslist Ad and not when she’d finally handed in her notice almost five years later. Chalk it up to rediscovering her self-worth, but Shaelyn wanted to be as “friendly” with her former employer as she did with a sharp-toothed barracuda.

  And if all of Carla’s other faults didn’t annoy Shaelyn enough, what between the weird word emphasizing and the overall belittlement, the fact that Carla preferred to use Shaelyn’s middle name drove her straight up a wall.

  “Anyway, darlin’, I’ve got some crazy news and I’ve called to share. You sittin’ down?”

  Nothing said “difficult conversation ahead” more than asking if a person was already seated.

  Her butt sank into the plush couch cushion with a sigh of the springs. When Carla Ritter delivered bad news, it wasn’t an exaggeration. Sometimes Shaelyn had wondered if the other woman thrived on the drama. It was why she was so ridiculously successful—without drama, without infidelity, her entrepreneurial skillsets would never have received their glistening polish.

  “You seated, sugar?”

  She was seated, but she had nothing to say. Nothing but that she had left and no part of her life in New York was supposed to have followed her to Louisiana. But here she was, her perfectly coiled emotions rapidly unraveling at a much faster rate than she had ever learned to stitch them up. The urge to throw something was strong; the urge to cry even stronger.

  She reminded herself that New Orleans was temporary. Carla Ritter couldn’t follow her everywhere.

  “Listen, sugar,” Carla exclaimed. “Some bad stuff has gone down, and I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

  Shaelyn snorted. Only Carla could liken “bad stuff” with, say, a “colonoscopy” with just the tone of her voice.

  “Remember those two new girls? They up and quit. One decided to hop on that damn Trevor Fulk, who has been cheating on his wife for at least three years. No standards, I tell you. Then the other said she was tired of me! Me, Shaelyn Magnolia. I don’t know where she gets off, speaking to me like that.”