New Orleans, Louisiana
Early May
Sinjin didn't know her name nor where she was from, as they'd never spoken. All he knew was that she drank chardonnay, had a passion for Cajun food and she had the most beautiful legs he'd ever seen.
For the past week, his mystery woman had come into the Chat Noir around the same time every evening. She'd be carrying a backpack full of books and she'd take the last table on the left near the windows. She'd order either wine or coffee, and she'd pour over her books and make copious notes as she ate her dirty rice or shrimp étouffée. He'd never seen her speak to anyone other than her server and when the few brave men who dared to approach her did attempt to speak to her, she'd freeze them with a cool look and a polite shake of her dark head.
She was elegant, beautiful, and remote. And he wanted her.
Sinjin didn't even realize he was watching for her until Julius, his head bartender, interrupted his musing.
"Are you waiting for someone, boss?" he asked.
Sinjin picked up the bar towel and wiped down the already spotless bar. "Nay. Why do ye ask?"
"You keep looking at the door, then back to your watch." Julius opened the cooler and retrieved a case of beer, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. "I just thought you were looking for someone." He carried the case into the other public room of the Chat Noir that functioned as a nightclub.
Was he waiting for his mystery woman? Sinjin rinsed out the cloth and tossed it in the laundry bin. There wasn't much else to do, it was a slow night at the Chat due to an unseasonable cold spell that kept people in their homes. Only the tourists were haunting Bourbon Street in this weather. Was his mystery woman a tourist?
There was no doubt in his mind that he'd grown enamored of her from afar. He'd noticed her the first time she'd come to the Chat. She'd arrived at precisely eleven in the evening and she'd been dressed all in black. That in itself wasn't unusual for his clientele, but her outfit had been concealing rather than revealing. Black turtleneck, long black skirt and black boots, her only adornment a simple gold necklace. A gold clip had tamed her dark hair and her dark eyes shadowed behind black-framed glasses.
Since that night she'd come in, claim the corner table as her own, unpack her backpack and make herself at home. After she'd work for several hours, her toes tapping to the hot jazz playing in the club, she'd pack up, leave a generous tip and vanish into the night. According to his waitress Tracey, the woman rarely indulged in idle conversation. She was polite, well-spoken and did not encourage interaction other than ordering.
Maybe she was shy?
Sinjin pulled the plug on the sinks as he began the process of closing down the restaurant bar, his movements methodical and mindless. He'd done this so many times it was rote. After he straightened the coffee area, and replenished the filters, against his will he glanced at the open doors that led out to Bourbon Street.
No mystery woman.
He glanced at his watch. It was ten after eleven. Maybe she wasn't coming tonight? He wiped down the front of the espresso machine, trying to ignore the curiously empty pit in his stomach.
He scowled and dropped the dish towel in the sink. Why was he getting so tangled over the appearance of one woman? Women were plentiful at the Chat. Tall ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones; anything a man could want for a long night's entertainment.
He dropped into a crouch to root for packages of napkins and coffee stirrers. In the nightclub he heard the unmistakable sounds of the band beginning their second set, much to the delight of a small but enthusiastic crowd.
It had been several weeks since he'd last had a woman. The Chat had been wildly busy and along with the house he'd just bought and was renovating, he'd been too occupied to consider entertaining women in his bed.
Could that be what was wrong with him? It was simply an overabundance of testosterone that could be easily taken care of. He broke open a paper-wrapped package of napkins to restock the holder. An evening of romping in bed with a beautiful blonde and her bountiful D cups would straighten him right out. Then he could quit obsessing over a strange woman with skin like cream and hair as dark as night.
Maybe then he would quit wondering what she'd taste like. Dark temptation? Sheer innocence? Would she laugh in bed or was she one of those serious ones who turned out the lights and jumped under the covers lest he see any inch of pale flesh that wasn't completely taut and toned? Maybe she...
Disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, he crumpled the brown paper and tossed it into the trash. He turned to grab another package as a flash of black near the doorway caught his eye. His muscles tightened as he recognized her.
His mystery woman had arrived.
She stood by Tracey, towering over the petite, redheaded waitress by several inches. She was dressed in slim black pants and a black turtleneck with some sort of shawl the color of pink roses draped over her head and shoulders. Her black bag was in place as were her glasses.
A low throb of excitement ignited in his gut as he released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Tracey ushered the woman to her usual spot in the corner of the restaurant. The woman gave the waitress a bright smile and said something that caused her to nod in response before turning away to approach him.
"I have an order," Tracey said. "Do you want me to get it from the club since you're closing up?"
"Nay, I'll get it." Sinjin closed the box of stirrers and tucked it under the bar. "I'm not done closing."
Her brow arched. "Uh huh." Tracey's smile was slow. "I need a glass of the chardonnay for the lady."
"Coming right up." Sinjin selected a wine glass from the overhead rack, not sure he liked the glint in her eye.
"She's becoming quite a regular."
"Who?" he asked, deliberately being obtuse. He uncorked the bottle and filled the glass.
"You know who as well as I do." Tracey slid off the stool. "Oh my, I forgot to put her food order in." She fluttered her lashes as she gave him a teasing smile. "You'll just have to take her drink to her."
Sinjin chuckled as his saucy waitress slipped into the kitchen. Tracey was popular with the clients as well as the staff. Her big heart and wicked sense of humor made her a fun working companion. She loved nothing more than to dabble in other people's love lives. If this worked out, he would have to thank her later.
He picked up the glass and walked toward his mystery woman. She sat at her table, head down as she read the open book in front of her. Even white teeth dug into her lower lip and he wondered what she was reading to cause her to bite her lip like that.
Slender fingers toyed with an errant curl as her other hand lightly tapped an ink pen against her notebook. Her low-heeled sandal hung from a red-painted toe as she wiggled her foot to the beat of an old Miles Davis song. She'd removed the shawl to drape it over the chair next to her. Beneath her turtleneck, he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. Heat coiled in his gut. Her nipples were clearly outlined by the thin fabric and he was struck by a desire to pull her from the chair and taste them.
Stifling a curse, he walked past her toward the waitress stand. He couldn't walk up to her with a raging erection. Even if he was wearing the small bar apron, his jeans and the square of white cotton wouldn't hide what was happening below his waist.
With great effort, he managed to chill his heated blood by mentally reviewing his dry goods order for the morning. Nothing could calm him faster than a contemplation of cake flour and baking soda.
When his body was under control again, he approached her. "Yer wine," he said. Watch her have the voice of a teenybopper. No one with this exterior package could be graced with a sexy voice as well.
Her head popped up and a pair of eyes the color of midnight behind her glasses impaled him. Deep and rich, they reminded him of the velvet night sky in his beloved Highlands.
"Thank you very much." She flashed him a quick, impersonal smile. "This is much appreciated."
No, she definitely did not have the voice of a child.
Low and sexy, her voice was that of a siren. It spoke of many nights in smoke-filled clubs listening to jazz to be followed with long hours on wrinkled sheets, limbs entwined, voice straining as she took her pleasure.
Heat pooled in his groin as his cock strained against the fly of his jeans. Sinjin loved nothing more than a seduction and the blinding rush brought on by sexual temptation. The quest to discover what a woman desired sexually was one that he relished. And when he did, how he set about ruining her for other men...
"Can I have my wine now?"
He blinked, the cloud of desire fading as he looked into her quizzical gaze. He'd been ruminating about getting her into bed while holding her wine hostage. Now that was smooth.
He set the glass in front of her. "Can I get ye anything else?"
"No, thank you. I have everything I need." She dropped her head and returned her attention to her book, effectively dismissing him.
Sinjin gritted his teeth as he stalked to the bar. In his entire life he couldn't remember anyone ever dismissing him as she had. Never. It wasn't that women always found him irresistible, but they certainly didn't blow him off like that. He assumed his usual position behind the bar. Well, that was that.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he recorked the bottle of wine and returned it to the cooler.
"Did you make any headway?"
He turned to see Tracey, an organic green salad in her hand and an expectant smile on her face. "Don't ask," he muttered.
Her eyes widened. "You struck out?" She glanced over her shoulder at the object of their conversation. "She must be made of stone."
He couldn't prevent the grin that crossed his face. That was Tracey, loyal to the last. He glanced at the woman as his waitress delivered her salad. Her smile was brief but it lit her whole face and once again he felt an almost physical pull.
She might be made of stone, but water could breach her hardened exterior. It would just take time.
Vivian raised her head from the book she'd been studying. It was getting late and she was wearing down. The music was fabulous, the wine divine, but it was time to call it a night and head back to her hotel before she fell asleep on the table.
She slid the bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. Doing research for Erihn, her romance writer friend, was more interesting than she'd thought it would be. Who'd have thought she'd enjoy reading about voodoo, voodun and witchcraft?
She opened her backpack and slid the book inside along with her notepad and pens. Erihn could do her own research, but she'd thought she was doing Vivian a favor in giving her something to keep busy. Ever since Mel's death, all of the girls were watching her as if she were some sort of lab experiment gone awry. Vivian knew the last few months her behavior had been somewhat frantic, jumping from place to place and activity to activity. But she'd been desperate to find balance in a world gone awry.
The last few months she'd spent isolated in a variety of unfamiliar cities, exploring them and hoping, in turn, they'd help her rediscover herself. Right now she wasn't sure if any of it had succeeded. She'd enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere in each of the cities she'd visited, but she didn't know any more about what she wanted from life than she'd known the day she'd stood by Mel's coffin saying her final good-bye.
Vivian picked up her new shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Earlier in the day, she'd gone on a mini-shopping spree at a local mall, adding the soft cashmere wrap to her meager stash of accessories. When she'd decided to go on this trip, she'd planned it with minimalism in mind. Several outfits, very little jewelry, her journal, cell phone and some books were all that she traveled with. Luckily she'd had sense to bring her credit cards, as they'd come in handy today. Until now she'd paid cash for pretty much everything, but her afternoon purchases would have completely exhausted her cash reserve.
She zipped her pack shut and dropped it on the floor beside her feet. All she had to do was settle her tab and she could be on her way. She glanced around the room for her waitress, but the only other person in attendance was the scowling bartender behind the bar.
She rose from her seat and swung her pack onto her back. He'd been smiling when she'd arrived. What had happened to paint that horrible scowl on such a handsome face? He really was quite good looking. He was big, and seemed impressively tall. A white T-shirt strained over his well-defined chest, showcasing his musculature. His profile was proud and chiseled with a high forehead, squared chin and masculine cheekbones. Even his irritated expression couldn't detract from his dark good looks.
Tall, dark and good-looking were her usual type, tall, dark and surly was not.
"Excuse me," she said to him.
The bartender turned and she received the full force of his green-eyed gaze. She shivered and drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders as a spark of sexual awareness ignited in her gut. This, she did not need right now.
"I would like to settle my bill please."
"Aye. I'll find Tracey for ye."
"Thank you." Vivian climbed onto a barstool as he came out from behind the bar, turning into what she assumed was the kitchen. She couldn't resist sneaking a peek at his backside as he walked away.
Broad shoulders tapered to a perfect vee at his narrow waist, drawing her gaze down to his delicious, jean-clad backside. Surly he may be, but he had a grade A prime butt. Her fingers itched to grab that firm flesh and squeeze.
Okay, so maybe tall dark and surly was a nice package that warranted a second look. Or a touch... or a bite...
She exhaled noisily as she loosened the shawl. Was it suddenly warm in here? Maybe she should've skipped that last glass of wine. No, wine never made her this warm before. Could it be that menopause had finally caught up to her?
Hopefully that was the problem as the last thing she needed on her journey of rediscovery was yet another meaningless affair. True, it had been a long time since she'd taken a man into her bed, almost six months. Since losing her virginity, this was the longest dry spell she'd ever had.
The bartender returned with a slip of paper in his hand. A man that looked like him probably had women dripping off of him at every turn. The last thing she needed was another good-time boy. He might have a face that could tempt a saint, but she wasn't breaking her streak of celibacy for a one-night stand with a cocktail slinging Lothario, even if he was built for a long, hard ride. She swallowed. She was here to find herself, not carve another notch on her bedpost, no matter how tempting he was.
"Here ye are." He laid the slip on the bar before her.
"Thank you." She fumbled for her fanny pack, silently cursing suddenly thick fingers.
"What brings ye to our fair city?"
"I came here to find myself." What the devil made her say that? Inwardly she groaned as she pulled out a pair of twenties, and forced a merry laugh. "I mean-"
"Were ye lost?"
Vivian raised her head, her gaze meeting his and a curious sense of homecoming swept through her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she could tell this man anything and he'd understand her? She shook that thought away. What foolishness was this?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Did ye wake up one morning to realize that ye was absent from yer own life?" He braced his muscular forearms on the bar and leaned toward her. "Or was it insidious? A piece of ye slipping away bit by bit until only a shadow remained in yer place?"
Her throat tightened. How could this stranger know what was going on inside of her? His green eyes were kind, as if he too knew exactly what she was going through.
She cleared her throat. "I looked around one day and realized that I'd become a stranger in my own life. I was going through the motions, but no longer participating in my existence. I came here to reclaim my life and hopefully a piece of myself in the process."
Feeling raw and not believing she'd just spoken so boldly and truthfully to a complete stranger, she slipped from the stool, wanting only the freedom of the New Orleans night to hide her pain. As she neared t
he door, she heard him speak.
"So did I."
Vivian turned, her gaze locked on his handsome face. She saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. Her heart gave a queer little jerk and she stepped over the threshold and into the darkness.
Heart pounding, she moved quickly up the street, people and storefronts blurred before her eyes. How had he zeroed in so quickly on her secret pain? She shivered. And what had possessed her to say any of that in the first place? She wasn't the type of person to encourage intimacies unless she was well acquainted with someone first. In the past few months, not one person had gotten as much information out of her as a stranger in a bar had in a few moments.
Spying a narrow, dimly lit side street, she moved toward it as a sob caught in her throat. She was in danger of falling apart on a public street and that she couldn't have. As she turned the corner, the crowds were nonexistent and she could pull herself together without being observed by passersby.
Leaning against the wall, she gulped the cool night air, willing herself to calm. Why was she falling apart? A few insightful words from a complete stranger and she was a sobbing mess. This was unacceptable behavior for the daughter of Bradford Carrington.
When she felt her emotions were a little more under control, she pushed away from the wall. Continuing in the general direction of her hotel, Vivian walked, head down.
Maybe it was a mistake to come to Louisiana. Maybe she should've gone back to New York after all. She could do the research there as well as here, and she could resume her charitable activities as well. She wouldn't be able to visit some of the historic places that only New Orleans could afford her research, but she could probably get photos of the stuff she needed.
Who are you running from?
Vivian scowled and kicked a crumpled paper cup out of her way. That was a good question. Was she running from herself? Her past? Her future? Or was she running from a sexy bartender who was too perceptive for his own good?
She slowed, suddenly weary of everything and everyone in her life. The urge to go back to her hotel and climb into bed for a week was strong and appealing. Maybe she could-
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 6 Page 3
