Between You and Me

by Lynn Turner

  Morris charmed them with his unique intonation, expertly steering the sleek little cab until the streets looked very exotic indeed. Finn took in the view from his window with awe, feeling Emanuela’s gentle squeeze on his knee. There were people everywhere. An eclectic crowd filled each sidewalk beneath stunning displays of ornate balconies dripping with colorful bouquets. Morris carefully advanced through the busy streets until he turned onto Royal Street. It was as though every street leading up to it was merely to prepare for the visual impact of its bohemian elegance.

  “Wow,” Finn said again.

  “I think this is one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen and this isn’t even my first time seeing it,” Emanuela said.

  He looked at her without a word, mirroring her expression, and her cheeks flushed.

  At last, they stopped in front of The Cornstalk Fence Hotel, a magnificent, two-story Victorian house on Royal. It was tucked between two larger inns, resplendent with their charming balconies and centered in the heart of the French Quarter. Its wrought-iron fence boasted intricate carvings of slender cornstalks and wrapped all the way around a quaint little courtyard. It looked every bit the historic monument it was purported to be. White steps led to a small porch, and four white pillars held up the second floor balcony. Finn helped Emanuela out onto the sidewalk, and Morris retrieved Finn’s bags.

  “You call me when you need another ride, Miss Monroe.” Morris tipped his well-worn cap.

  “I will. Thanks again, Morris!” she said, returning his smile.

  The moment Morris pulled off, the air between them changed. Finn’s spine tingled at the knowledge that they had the entire weekend together. His pure joy at seeing her again transformed into the familiar intense longing that simmered beneath the surface whenever he was near her. They stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other.

  “Emanuela,” he said with a knowing smile.

  She snapped out of her trance and walked through the beautiful front gate, narrowly missing bumping into it in her flustered state. He followed her with a wide grin on his face. The charge between them was always there, even thousands of miles apart, but it was strongest with no other immediate distractions—when it was just the two of them.

  He followed her through the small courtyard, past the French fountain and intimate seating area toward the entrance. He was sure he’d have plenty of other opportunities to appreciate the landscape, but right now his eyes were locked on her legs. Her calves were exquisitely defined as she walked, the sound of her strappy brown wedges knocking against the pavement. She led him up the steps and into the house, the light fabric of her sundress stopping at the perfect place, giving him a peek of her toned thighs.

  ****

  The interior of the little boutique hotel was stunning. It was fourteen feet from floor to ceiling, with gold leaf trimming and crystal chandeliers that seemed to blossom from their hanging chains. The deep burgundy floors and soft lighting created quite a romantic atmosphere, and suddenly the place Emanuela and Allie had originally considered “cute” seemed very suggestive.

  She cleared her throat and led them past gilded mirrors and antique furnishings on either side. Vintage portraits in their elaborate frames shared golden yellow papered walls with sconces overflowing with greenery. The distance from the foyer to the beautiful stairwell with its fancy balusters, detailed moldings and painted cherubs overhead had seemed insignificant to her when she first arrived. Now it seemed to take an eternity.

  Her back felt heated from the steady gaze she knew Finn held on her and she swallowed, somehow managing to make it up the flight of stairs without tripping over herself. Turning once at the landing and again at the top of the stairs, she opened her mouth for the first time since greeting the concierge.

  “I’m sorry about the stairs,” she said, her voice raspier than she intended.

  “These are okay,” he said of the short steps.

  She looked back at him and smiled. “It’s just down the hall.”

  He nodded and continued to follow her down a similar long hallway that was even more dimly lit than the one downstairs until they arrived at their room. “Room 112,” it said on the door. One other room shared the end of the hall with them, directly across, with an exit to a shared balcony between them. Her hands were shaking, but she miraculously got the door open and walked through without incident. If the ambiance seemed suggestive, then the room was positively sexy.

  The Victorian French décor was romantic by design. Although the heavier golden curtains of the room’s two larger windows were drawn, the harsh light of day was filtered into the room through translucent white draperies. The other sources of light came from a stained glass window in the tiny nook in a corner of the room opposite the door, a small crystal chandelier and two red-shaded lamps. The soft lighting combined with the intricate pattern of deep red and gold adorning the walls made it feel very much like a lover’s cove.

  The most prominent feature of the room was a single queen sized bed. Regal and inviting, its frame raised the mattress high off the floor. It was dressed in plush silken fabric in golden tones, its four posters reaching for the ceiling. Antique furniture, gilded mirrors and a gorgeous carved fireplace gave the room the appearance of guest quarters at some wealthy eighteenth-century French residence. Finn set down his bag near the bed, turning around once to take it all in.

  “There’s just the one,” Emanuela said, feeling oddly inclined to explain why there was only one bed. She looked at him cautiously, just a few feet away, trying to feel him out. “Allie and I make these trips all the time and we tend to share a room. It was kind of short notice, I know. This place was fully booked and this is the biggest room with a balcony view. I didn’t think you’d mind—”

  “You’re right,” Finn said, looking dead at her. “I don’t mind. I have no intention of sleeping anywhere but with you.”

  Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath, lowering her eyes. He cursed and snatched her to him. She gasped in surprise from the sudden movement but there was no time to think because he’d crushed her to him, taking her mouth with his. The force of the action knocked him against the door and her with him. He wasn’t gentle and she didn’t care. She was flush against him, almost on her toes, her arms wrapped around his neck to desperately pull him to her.

  “Ah! Emanuela,” he groaned against her lips. “Baby, you’re gonna break my neck.”

  He pinned her to him with an arm around her waist. He slid his other hand into her hair, gripping the curls at the base of her neck and gently pulling her head back so he could control the kiss. She didn’t complain because he was kissing her like he’d been starved for her. There were no soft presses, no tender pecks to coax her mouth open for him. He plundered her lips, sucking each one, biting the bottom before sucking her tongue into his mouth.

  She tingled all over, her blood rushing through her, heating her entire body and bringing a blush to her neck and face. They were messy, their mouths devouring and noses pressing against each other’s cheeks. His tongue retreated and she grazed it with her teeth, nipping his lips with hers. She could feel his response and ground hard against it, breaking their kiss to exhale on a shaky sigh.

  “So greedy,” he said, tugging her head back just a little farther to drag his open mouth along her neck. He licked the rapid pulse there, his tongue in tune to the swirl of her hips and matching her rhythm.

  “I missed you,” she breathed, grabbing his arm from her waist to guide his hand to her hips.

  He released her neck to grip her ass in both of his hands; pressing her to him and up, over and over again, each time bringing her to her toes. “Oh my God,” he moaned.

  No other words were necessary. Everything had been building up to this. It was so much more than what she imagined each night they spent apart, but not nearly enough now that she was in his arms.

  Emanuela panted at the direct contact of his arousal rubbing against her and the pressure building within her. She clutche
d his arms, feeling herself tense already, just moments from her release.

  A loud knock sounded against the door. She yelped, grasping at Finn so she wouldn’t fall. She nearly cried out her frustration. He kissed her again, gently this time, reassuring her and swallowing the sounds she was making.

  “Sssshhhh,” he whispered, kissing her soundly one more time. He set her back on her heels and straightened her dress.

  The knock came again.

  “Cleaning service,” a courteous feminine voice rang out.

  ****

  Finn adjusted himself to hide the evidence of their impassioned reunion the best he could. He gently tugged Emanuela by the hand, guiding her behind him before opening the door. “Hi,” he said in his most charming tone. “I’ve only just arrived and I’d like to get out of my travel clothes. Do you think you could come back in twenty?” He gave the poor cleaning lady an arresting smile just for good measure.

  Emanuela stifled a giggle at the woman’s stammered response.

  “I— Y-yes, I can do that for you, s-sir. Twenty minutes, okay.”

  “Thank you,” he said politely, moving to close the door.

  Emanuela’s lusty laugh rang throughout the room that was thick with sexual tension just moments earlier.

  He turned to look at her with a puzzled smile. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, doubled over, her face flushed from laughter. “It’s just that she probably heard us. I lost track of the time. They clean the rooms from ten until two. I think we traumatized her.” She laughed again. “She might not come back.”

  “Good.” He reached for her again.

  “Uh-uh.” She pushed at his chest to halt the trail of his lips across her shoulder.

  “I was kidding. She’ll be back.”

  He was at her collarbone now. “In twenty minutes.”

  She giggled and shoved him away. “Change. I have plans for us today.”

  Finn eyed her. “Oh?”

  “GO!” She laughed again.

  He pulled away with a searing look, every bit as handsome as the last time she’d seen him. He’d traveled in casual gray slacks, loafers and a cool blue Henley, buttoned down and pushed up to his elbows. He was a bit disheveled, his clothes wrinkled and his wavy hair tousled in front where a few curls fell onto his forehead from her less-than-gentle ministrations.

  He picked up his bag and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Fine.” His honeyed voice filled her ear. “But this is a rain check, not a cancellation.”

  Heat filled her cheeks again at his boyish charm, and he strolled into the bathroom.

  ****

  They walked hand-in-hand along Dumaine Street, just a few minutes’ walk from their hotel on Royal. The streets were filled to the brim by now with eager tourists on foot, in carriages, and cars, some even stopping to take pictures of their hotel. Emanuela was taking them in the opposite direction of most of the tourist traffic, away from the main attractions of the French Quarter.

  “Are you hungry?” She ducked behind him to make room for others on the sidewalk for a moment, never letting go of his hand.

  “Starving,” he said, pulling her back to his side.

  “I know the perfect place.”

  The buildings started to look older and less maintained and he tilted his head at her.

  “Trust me?” she asked.

  He chuckled at her childlike enthusiasm. Seeing her this way, dressed down and carefree, added a new dimension to whatever was growing between them. She was still sexy and charismatic and strong, but this relaxed side of her endeared her to him all the more.

  “I trust you.”

  “See that bus?” She pointed to the city bus stopped at the corner about a hundred feet away. People were still disembarking. She turned to him again. “We have to get on it.”

  She was definitely up to something. Finn had no time to speculate because she took off jogging, pulling him along with her. They filed onto the bus, two of the last people to get on, and Emanuela fished some coins from her wristlet and dropped them into the dispenser for both of them. There was standing room only, so she grabbed onto a pole. The bus pulled away, and he stood behind her, shielding her from bumping into other passengers.

  The crowded bus meant that people were consciously looking out of windows or down at their phones, angling their bodies the best they could to avoid undue physical contact with other passengers. The terrain was flat, since most of New Orleans was at or below sea level, but there were a few bumps in the road and each one brought her body closer to his. He snaked an arm around her, settling his palm across her tummy, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked with mock concern.

  She slid her hand over his to interlock their fingers and turned her head to the side to answer. “Nervous? I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”

  “I know. Not unless I asked you to.”

  She giggled. “I’m not one of those kinky women you dated before.”

  He lowered his face to her ear. “That’s not how I remember it.”

  He heard her moan only because his cheek was pressed to hers. He thought about letting up on her but he was enjoying it too much. He increased the pressure of his hand, moving it slightly lower on her tummy.

  “I seem to remember that you like to be bitten,” he said in his lowest register, letting his warm breath moisten the curve of her ear. She shuddered against him, and he would have taken a nip of her ear for good measure, but the bus’s stop bell sounded and the pair stood up straighter, remembering where they were.

  They shuffled out of the way of people getting off, and Emanuela checked their surroundings. The cross street said Burgundy.

  “Almost there,” she said, relaxing into his hold once again. “Two more stops.”

  He looked out of the window at the stark change in scenery. The hanging gardens of the French Quarter were forgotten, replaced by the concrete landscape spread out before them. Rundown tenements and shotgun houses emerged on each side of the road, and small mom and pop establishments could be seen nestled between them and on street corners. Few tourists were about, mingling with the locals in search of authentic fare without the exorbitant prices and commercial feel of popular tourist haunts.

  “This is us,” Emanuela said.

  The bus stopped at a corner across the street from a bright pink, two-story building. A big Welcome to Festival Season at Gene’s sign hung from its second-story balcony. They followed other exiting passengers off the bus and he reached for her hand. They were both tourists here and, although he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself anywhere, he felt protective of her. They used the crosswalk and headed right for the pink building.

  A simple white sign said GENE’S PO-BOY in big block letters. Five large yellow signs nailed to the side of the building advertised an ATM for only ninety-nine cents and no fewer than three of those signs advertised the Hot Sausage & Cheese Po Boy.

  “Just in case there was any doubt about what we were gonna order,” Finn said.

  The inside was much like any fast food establishment. There was no fuss about atmosphere or ambiance. The checkered floors could’ve used a scrub but weren’t filthy, and the display behind the counter held big yellow signs just like the ones outside.

  “Man, it smells incredible in here,” Finn said, breathing in the smell of cooking meat and warm bread.

  “I know. I’m salivating,” Emanuela said.

  He ordered their food and led them to a small table in the dining area. Her eyes widened. “Wow, these are huge.”

  “Half as big as you are.” He grinned, digging into his massive po boy.

  His taste buds went nuts. The damn thing was sloppy, the “dressings” making the sandwich’s contents slide off repeatedly, but he didn’t care.

  “Oh my God,” Emanuela moaned, swiping a bit of food off her chin and popping it into her mouth.

  “Do that again.”

  “Shurrup,” s
he said, her mouth still full.

  “This is amazing.” He started in on the second half of his sandwich. He couldn’t decide what he loved more, the soft, buttery French bread with its crunchy crust, or the spicy sausage squished between all the dressings. “How’d you find this place?”

  She’d nearly polished off the rest of the half sandwich, licking the corners of her mouth before chasing it down with her drink. “Morris recommended it on my way to get you. It’s his favorite spot for po boys and he’s friends with the owner.”

  “And Morris? How’d you meet him?”

  He waited for her to finish her latest bite, smiling at the way she tucked into it without vanity. She wasn’t vulgar about it, just—normal. She was extraordinary in every way, so elegant and refined. Those things were still true now. It occurred to him, not for the first time since meeting her, how quickly they became comfortable with each other.

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then wiped her mouth to answer him. “Before Katrina, Morris had a small but very successful taxi business. He had six cars serving the whole city. It may not’ve been fancy, but he and his drivers built up a great reputation because of how well they treated their passengers, and because of their great recommendations for places to see. After the storm hit, he lost all but two cars, including the pretty one he drove us in.”

  Finn smiled, knowing first-hand how charming and warm Morris was from their ride earlier that morning. He was sad to hear what happened to him.

  “I found Morris’s letter by chance,” she said. “It’d been mistakenly added to the testimonials section of our firm’s website. I guess some intern screwed up but I saw it and removed it before anyone else took notice. At the time, I wouldn’t have dared suggest to Philip that we help him out.”

  He looked at her at the mention of her boss’s name. He hadn’t mentioned his reservations about Philip. He wasn’t certain of his own standing with her. They were just getting to know each other and he didn’t see any pressing reason to bring it up.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I sent him some money. I didn’t have much yet but I couldn’t just respond with some generic, Sorry about your loss. Wish we could help. The first checks were for two hundred dollars every month for that first year. Gradually, as I made more money, I sent more until he was back on his feet. Then, two years ago, I made an anonymous donation. I can’t say for sure that it’s what got his taxi business back up and running again, but a part of me hopes it’s true. I contacted him when Allie and I first started planning this trip to see if he could be available for the whole weekend, at an increased rate, of course.”