The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  She always wanted more, whether it came to the ThatMakeupGirl brand or her lesser-known photography business. She never allowed herself the chance to enjoy the moment.

  This was her chance to do just that, and she couldn’t be luckier. Opportunities to climb onto the lap of a man like Gage Harvey didn’t come around every day.

  Tapping her mug, she tipped her head to study him. “I’ll grab you a coffee. What do you prefer?”

  His tattoos rippled as he leaned forward, forearms landing on the table. His shoulders bunched, the muscles beneath his shirt shifting and clenching and warming her up like the coffee she inhaled every morning. “I don’t drink coffee.”

  A flaw, thank God. “You don’t drink it at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re a cop?”

  “Have been for the last fourteen years.”

  A lifer then, just like her brother. “What about donuts?” she teased, wanting to erase the tired shadows from beneath his eyes. “Fancy a powdered one?”

  He grinned slowly, sexily. “Don’t eat ’em.”

  Another flaw. “Tell me, Gage”—she mimicked him and leaned in—“are you human under all that ink?”

  “Debatable.” He winked, and Lizzie pressed her knees together under the table. “Honestly, I’m just not a fan of shit that will screw with my performance on the job. Coffee keeps me wired, but I can do the same with an energy drink.”

  “And donuts?”

  “They’re on a mission to grow my waistband. It’d be hard as hell to climb over a chain-link fence if I can’t even lift myself off the ground.”

  The image of him scaling fences was hotter than she wanted to think about. “All right, fine. On behalf of womankind, I support this decision. But, I have to ask . . .”

  He pushed up the brim of his hat with one finger. “I might have an answer for you, princess.”

  She lowered her voice to a purr. “How do you feel about cheese?”

  “Is this a make or break moment for me?”

  His husky baritone curled her toes, even as she replied, “Absolutely.”

  “Then I should probably let you know that I’m not a diehard fan. If it’s on a sandwich or pizza, we’re good. Eating cubes of cheese on the other hand? Not my thing.”

  Lizzie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—another cheese-hater. What had she done to deserve this? She placed her hands on the table and made an elaborate show of standing up. “Well, I guess we’re done here . . .”

  Twisting his ball cap around so that the bill shaded his neck, Gage stared up at her with a half-grin. “Quickest relationship I’ve ever had, fake or otherwise. Good thing we didn’t get to the marriage bit—we’d have a hard time splitting our assets.”

  His dark eyes dropped to her waist.

  Reaching across the small coffee table, Lizzie tapped his chin to command his attention. “One, my butt is doing just fine.”

  “Did I ask about it?”

  Her brows furrowed. “You mentioned assets. Pretty sure you were hinting at other things.”

  Gage folded his arms across his chest, his expression turning serious. “If we’re going to do this, you should probably know that I’m a straight-shooter. Beating around the bush in my line of work can get someone killed. So if you want to know exactly what I mean when I say something, just ask.”

  Lizzie’s butt collided with the seat.

  A bad boy who didn’t speak in riddles? Who knew such a magical unicorn existed?

  “All right,” she said, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms, “then I want to know why you agreed to date me. You accused me of trying to embarrass you, and then you mentioned that you would never cross my brother. Yeah, you mentioned the one night stand, but honestly?” Lizzie met his gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t trust it. You caved way too easily.”

  “You want honesty?”

  She nodded, and her heart cranked up its thumping tempo.

  Drawing off his ball cap, he tossed it on the table and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “It was the fear.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t look away, and Lizzie didn’t either. “When she was still alive, my grandmother used to go on and on about airs. I had no fucking idea what she was talking about—not a single clue. I’d look out at the blue sky and think to myself, the sky don’t look a damn bit different than it did earlier. Drove me insane to think that she knew some secret language neither Owen or I could decipher.”

  The words wrapped around her, a soft rasp with that subtle not-quite-New Orleans drawl, and Lizzie was sucked in. Did his twin sound exactly the same? He hadn’t said much the other day at the tattoo parlor. Or had their life experiences individualized the cadence of their speech, turning Gage’s voice husky and seductive, though his phrasing was hard, jaded, like the handcuffs he locked around wrists and the gun she’d noticed under his shirt when he’d sat down.

  “When I finally got it,” he went on, “I felt like the biggest idiot. Airs—she meant the sort of uppity attitude a person shows to the world.”

  Lizzie’s shoulders twitched at the implication coating his words. “Are you saying that I’m uppity?”

  “I’m saying that you put on airs, princess. Bubbly airs, flirty airs. But when you talked of your business, of losing it all, I saw past all that to the fear. And that’s why I agreed, because your job is clearly who you are . . . and I’m the exact same way.”

  Well, hell.

  Lizzie blinked.

  And then blinked again.

  And then opened her mouth to say, “I don’t know what to—”

  “Doesn’t mean you won’t be filling your brother in about all of this.”

  Her mouth fell open, snapped shut, and then gaped again like a fish’s. “But you already said that . . .”

  Gage picked up his hat and settled it on his head, cutting his gaze from view. “You want my help? That’s my one stipulation. Your job means enough to you that you’ll agree, I know that. Well, my job is everything to me. It’s who I am. And I’m sure as hell not going to let your scheme interfere with everything I’ve worked toward during the last fourteen years. It’s your call.”

  Did she really have a choice? He’d verbally and mentally worked her into a corner, backing her so far in that there was little chance for escape.

  Shifting in her seat, she eyed Gage Harvey and plotted out her next step. He was too headstrong to browbeat into the direction she wanted to take, that was clear to her now. Still . . . “How well do you know Danny?”

  Gage didn’t bat an eye at hearing the nickname she’d given her brother as a kid, instead of his real name, Nathan. “I see him weekly. Last time I ran into him out in the field, his beloved dog tried to hump my leg.”

  Lizzie grinned at the hilarious visual. “Rocky is a little horny. It’s sort of his thing.”

  “Didn’t think he was going to let me go.” Gage shook his head, as though dispelling the memory. “Anyway, it’s up to you. Are you so desperate to go through with this that you’ll fess up to your brother?”

  Was she? Danny knew how much ThatMakeupGirl meant to her, and the fact that her phone had yet to quiet since the whole showdown had happened proved that her fans were rabid for more information. They wanted updates and, thus far, Lizzie had a whole lot of nada to give them.

  She eyed the man across the table, tracing his muscular arms and the way that his T-shirt dipped down into the smallest V to reveal more ink on his chest. “You’re not at all what I imagined,” she said.

  While he had the arrogant note down pat, it was very clear to her that he wasn’t the immoral playboy she’d expected when first meeting him.

  His smile was wry and a little self-deprecating. “Looks can be deceiving, wouldn’t you say?”

  The question struck a nerve.

  Airhead.

  Bimbo.

  Waste of space.

  She wasn’t any of those things, and yet she heard the words mor
e frequently than she liked. Lizzie wondered what sort of things Gage Harvey heard—were the tattoos enough to lump him into a “bad boy” category all on its own?

  Didn’t you think the same thing about him?

  A flush swept over her chest as the shame set in. She’d stereotyped him the way thousands of people did to her each day, and that was a hard pill to swallow.

  She averted her gaze to the coffee mug clasped between her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Her chest expanded with a heavy breath. “I make a point to never look at someone and judge them based on their appearance, and yet I did that with you. I took one look at the tattoos and your flirty demeanor and I judged hard. That wasn’t fair.”

  Silence greeted her, as though he was absorbing her words and internally cataloguing them. Then he leaned back in his chair, his thumb drumming a beat on the table, all masculine ease, and said, “C’mere.”

  Shock slipped down her spine. “What?”

  Dipping his chin, Gage lifted his hand from the table and gestured at her. “Appearances are what you need for the next thirty days, princess, and I’m going to give that to you. Come here.”

  She moved at once, her chair skittering back across the tiled floor. Lizzie had never been the sort of girl to bend to a guy’s will, but this guy . . . she was finding it hard to tell Gage Harvey no. Harder, still, to separate the fact that their relationship was nothing but a sham to ease the ruffled feathers of her fans.

  Within a heartbeat, she stood before him in the V of his legs.

  To an outsider, they looked like any other couple sharing a bit of affection.

  Only they knew how inaccurate it was, which didn’t at all explain the fact that Lizzie was tempted, really tempted, to know everything about him.

  He’d pushed up his hat just far enough so she could see his black eyes, eyes that stared up at her with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

  “Take a seat.”

  She swiped her tongue over her bottom lip, finding just a little satisfaction when his gaze hungrily tracked the movement. “You’re on the chair,” she said, being purposely obtuse.

  He patted his jeaned thigh, and then spread his arms wide. “I am the chair. Sit down, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie, not princess.

  She didn’t know if her name sounded more personal coming off his lips than the ridiculous, uppity nickname he’d given her.

  But she sat.

  Twisting just so, so that her butt landed on his left thigh and her knees knocked against his right leg. His cologne, a subtle scent that was pure laundry detergent and soap, enveloped her.

  Do not snuggle into him.

  Tempting, though.

  Oh-so-tempting, especially when his lips found her ear to whisper, “How about a nice photo-op? To show that you’ve discovered the city’s biggest commitment-phobe? New Orleans’s biggest bad boy?”

  Oh God, he’d watched the video.

  The video.

  Embarrassment clogged her throat, and Lizzie made a move to shift off his lap.

  He hooked an arm around her waist, stalling her flight. “Appearances,” he said with a soft caress of his hand up her side. “We both know what the score is, Miz Danvers. Thirty days of make-believe. Grab your phone and let’s take a photo. We start now.”

  Now?

  With trembling hands, thanks to the lust he’d set ablaze within her, Lizzie snatched her purse off the table and thrust a hand inside for her phone. One picture, that’s all they needed to kick this off. One photo with a caption to introduce her new beau.

  That’s all.

  Angling herself on his lap, she held up the phone and whispered for Gage to smile for the camera. “It’s on a timer,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “Five seconds.”

  She didn’t expect his finger at her chin, turning her face to his.

  She didn’t expect to see the desire in his gaze.

  And she sure as hell didn’t expect his mouth to stamp down over hers in a surprise kiss that prompted a gasp from her lips.

  It was over before it began, and Lizzie lost all words.

  Every single one.

  Because she wanted another kiss, even as short as the first had been.

  “I thought . . .” Her arm lowered. Whatever photo she’d captured would have to do. “I thought that I had to talk to my brother first, fill him in on all of this.”

  “Oh, you do.”

  “But the kiss—”

  With a slow grin, he tapped her phone. “Bad boys don’t play by the rules; isn’t that what you told your groupies?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Don’t trust a bad boy when he promises you forever.” He flung her words back at her with a smirk and a soft chuckle. “I’m not promising you forever, princess. Forever isn’t a word in my vocabulary. But I will promise you a damn good time, starting tomorrow. I’m taking you on our first date. Get your camera ready.” His eyes swept over her strappy dress and high-heeled booties. “And as much as I like this look, wear something you don’t mind getting a little dirty.”

  Dirty?

  “You said I have to talk to Danny before any of this goes down.”

  “That leaves you the rest of today to do so. Let me know how it goes.”

  “You’re bossy as all hell,” Lizzie muttered, scrambling off his lap to fist her hands on her hips.

  Gage winked. “Something tells me you like me just the way I am, which is a good thing because I’m developing a fine appreciation for that mouth of yours.”

  6

  It was a sad state of affairs that the only male to hump her recently was a dog.

  “Down, Rocky! Get off my—”

  Danny’s city-issued police dog didn’t listen. With his big brown paws wrapped around her thigh, the big guy went to town, his furry face a mask of bliss as his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  Yup. This was her life.

  Lizzie curled a hand around his collar and gave a sharp tug on the leather. “Rock, Rocky, c’mon dude, not in public!”

  The sound of her brother’s raspy laughter caught Lizzie’s attention. Her gaze snapped to his face, noting the good humor in his gray eyes. “Tell your dog to stop treating my leg like a stripper pole.”

  Nathan Danvers, older by two years, only threw his head back with a boisterous ha-ha-ha.

  “You’re evil,” Lizzie muttered with another tug at Rocky’s collar, “totally evil. You don’t deserve your wife, you know. She’s way better than—”

  Jade followed her husband into the entryway, took one glance at the K-9 humping Lizzie, and said, “Didn’t I tell you not to wear those pants last time? You know Rock loves them.”

  Lizzie’s mouth fell open. “That’s all you have to say? Blame the pants? I’ll have you know that these suede pants were a steal, a total find. Grabbed them at the thrift shop for a whopping ten bucks when they originally retail for over two hundred.”

  Danny strolled closer. “Rocky knows quality when he sees it. Can you blame him?”

  After a short whistle from her brother and a hand command Lizzie didn’t understand, Rocky gave one last desperate hump (oh, God), and then released her to trot over to his partner-slash-father. Panting happily, the dog sat with a heavy thump of his butt on the floor, and stared up at Danny as though to ask, I did good, didn’t I, Dad?

  Both Danny and Jade reached forward to scratch the pup behind his ears. One of them must have hit a spot because Rocky twisted to the side, neck further exposed for their fingers, as his hind leg thumped like Bugs Bunny.

  With a mock-glare, Lizzie finally drew off her jean jacket and hung it up on the coatrack by the front door. “You better try to get him out of that habit before the baby decides to spring from your vagina, Jade.”

  After three years of growing accustomed to Lizzie’s forwardness, Jade Danvers only rolled her dark eyes and made a subtle show of scratching her forehead with her middle finger. “I thought we discussed not us
ing certain language around me.”

  Lizzie grinned. “Which one got to you this time? Baby? Or the springing from your vagina bit?”

  “I can’t wait until you get pregnant.”

  “You’ll be waiting for a while, then. First, we need a sperm donor.”

  Her brother cleared his throat awkwardly, muttered “boyfriend, you mean, right?” and motioned for them to follow him into the kitchen.

  The Victorian-era house had been in the Danvers’ family since Lizzie had been a kid—and she’d always despised it, until recently. Memories of her drunken father generally took hold and overrode all the good, not to mention the one memory that never shook free: a teenage Danny bleeding out in the library, his breathing shallow and fading quickly. Their father had been responsible for that, and Lizzie had never felt even the slightest measure of sadness when they’d learned that he had died in a drunk driving accident a few months later.

  But still, the memories never faded. Not when Beth, their mother, had decided to keep living in the Victorian, Bayou St. John house; not when Danny had decided to live there later on, after Beth remarried police lieutenant Josh Cartwell and they moved across the Mississippi River to Gretna with Lizzie in tow.

  Only in the last three years, since Danny had met Jade, had the house with all of its secrets, become a true home. One with sunlight and laughter and open doors that never slammed shut in anger.

  And in two months, the Danvers family of three would become a family of four.

  Jade was having a girl, and Lizzie was over the moon for her best friend and her brother.

  She watched the Miami-born Jade take a seat at the table, one hand going to her belly as the other steadied her stance with a palm to the table. Some women you just couldn’t tell when they were about to pop out a kid; Jade wasn’t one of those women.

  Her stomach was the size of a watermelon, at least.

  Danny liked to tease that Jade was about to give him twins, even though all the sonograms showed a single baby girl.

  Amelia, if Jade had her way.