Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours

by Pulkinen, Carrie

  “One gin and tonic for the beautiful queen.” He slipped into the chair next to her and set the drink on the table.

  “Thank you.” She could do this. It was just a kiss, and he was just a man. An incredibly sexy pirate tonight.

  He leaned an elbow on the table. “You know, you’re the first person who’s gotten my costume right.”

  “Really? The Princess Bride is a classic. I can’t believe people don’t recognize you.”

  “I know. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “And you look so authentic. You’ve got the mustache and everything. Is it real?”

  He smoothed the thin strip of hair above his lip. “Of course. But everyone thinks I’m—”

  “Zorro?”

  “Nailed it. By the way, my name is—”

  “Westley.” She stirred her drink and swallowed before raising her gaze to his. “Your name is Westley tonight.”

  “Oh, we’re being mysterious?”

  She shrugged. It was better if she didn’t know his name. Trish was right: she didn’t need to attach herself to the first man she met. And this guy was way too magnetic.

  He smiled. “I get it. It’s a masquerade. We can reveal our identities at the stroke of midnight.”

  She tilted her head. If she was still talking to him at midnight, she’d be in trouble.

  “Okay. Westley, it is. Can I call you Buttercup?”

  Covering the tip of the straw with her finger, she brought the other end to her lips and released the contents into her mouth. “I’ll let you know.”

  He laughed and downed the rest of his drink. “I promised our hostess I would dance with the first woman who didn’t call me Zorro.” Standing, he offered her his hand. “Would you care to join me on the dance floor, my queen?”

  “I would be delighted.” She took his hand and let him lead her to the center of the floor. The band played Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are,” and Westley pulled her close. Though their bodies didn’t touch, an inexplicable magnetism held her. His masculine scent, the warmth radiating from his skin—she couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to.

  One hand on her hip, his left hand cradling her right, he led her around the floor with the grace of a professional. His strong arms guided her into moves she didn’t know she had in her dance repertoire. He spun her, releasing his hold to twirl her under his arm and pull her back into a firm embrace.

  She gazed into his eyes, unable to quell the butterflies flitting their way into her chest. “Wow. You’re an amazing dancer.”

  His cocky grin returned as he twirled her. “All those years of cotillion finally paid off.”

  “What’s cotillion?”

  “Dance and etiquette classes my mom forced me to take as a kid. I hated every second of it.”

  “And now?”

  “No regrets at all.” He gave her one final spin and dipped her so low, her head nearly touched the ground. As he brought her back up, she stumbled into him, and he caught her in his arms. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s the alcohol. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

  His gaze lingered on hers, and though she was steady on her feet, he still held her close. The feel of his firm body pressed to hers sent warmth flooding through her limbs, and as he started to let her go, she held on tighter.

  “I love this song. Can we dance again?”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “As you wish.” He kissed the fingers of her right hand then traced his thumb across the tiny butterfly adorning the inside of her wrist. “That’s a nice tattoo. What does it mean?”

  Instinctively, she wanted to jerk her hand away, but she forced herself to hold contact. “It means I like butterflies.”

  “I like them too.”

  Her heart fluttered as he slid his hands to the small of her back and held her with firm yet gentle pressure. Cheek to cheek, she clutched his shoulders and tried to slow her breathing. His woodsy scent filled her senses, making her head spin, and as the slow, sultry music played on, she melted into his embrace.

  She lost track of how many songs ended, how many new ones began as they held each other on the dance floor, softly swaying to the rhythm. She could’ve held on to this mysterious man all night. His strong arms. His intoxicating scent. The way his breath tickled her ear when he turned toward her.

  He slid his hands up and down her back, his gentle touch raising goose bumps on her arms. His heart pounded against her breast as she glided her hands across his shoulders to cup the back of his neck. It was time. She was going to kiss him.

  Her cheek brushed against his masculine stubble as she pulled away to look in his dark brown eyes. He inhaled deeply, dropping his gaze to her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in. Something vibrated against her hip, and she opened her eyes. His gaze lingered on her lips.

  “Westley?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your pants are vibrating.”

  He chuckled. “They can leave a message.”

  “It might be important.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and slid his hand up her neck, into her hair. “Nothing is as important as dancing with the most beautiful Queen of Hearts I have ever seen.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.”

  “I can assure you I don’t.” He twirled her around the dance floor and stopped close to the edge.

  Emily wasn’t the type to swoon, but something about Westley made her knees weak. “You really are a fantastic dancer.”

  “It’s all part of my diabolical plan.”

  “Your plan?”

  He smiled. “To keep you here until midnight, when the masks come off, and the identity of the most beautiful woman in New Orleans is revealed.”

  Her heart slammed into her throat. She wanted to know this man. More than his identity, she wanted to know him. But she couldn’t. Trish was right. She shouldn’t latch on to the first hot guy she met.

  She needed to kiss him and walk away.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket again, and he let out a disappointed grunt.

  “You should answer that. It’s probably important if they’re calling again.” She released her hold on his shoulders, but he tightened his grip around her waist.

  “You’re not getting away so easily.” He fished the phone out of his pocket. Checking the screen, he sighed and pressed the device to his ear. “This had better be important, Jason.”

  He closed his eyes and listened. “You have got to be kidding me. Did you call Syd?” He stroked his fingers down her cheek and mouthed the word sorry. “How many over are we? Twenty-five? No, I’ll be there in fifteen… Yeah. On my way.”

  He mashed the screen with his thumb to end the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into a tight embrace and pressed his lips to her ear. “I have to go.”

  She fought the shiver running down her spine. “I figured as much.”

  “Can I see you again?”

  She bit her lip to keep from saying yes. “Tonight, for me, was about learning to live again. To enjoy life, and I’ve enjoyed every second I’ve spent with you. But this is all I’m able to give right now.”

  He pulled back, disappointment evident in his eyes. “How about this? I’ll give you my number, and if you ever decide you have a little more to give—and I’m not asking for much…just a little of your time—then you can call me.”

  The temptation overwhelmed her. She couldn’t form an appropriate answer, so she did the only thing she could.

  She crushed her mouth to his.

  A deep groan rumbled in his throat as he parted his soft lips to let her in. He tasted sweet, like honey laced with warm whiskey, and when his tongue brushed against hers, fire shot through her veins. He tightened his arms around her, and she allowed herself to get lost in his embrace. They were the only two people in the world, and being in his arms was all that mattered. The kiss slowed to a gentle brush of the lips, a
nd she had to get away before she gave in.

  She took a step back and rested her hand on his cheek. “Thank you, Westley, for a lovely evening I will never forget.”

  His gaze was heavy and filled with longing. “Can I at least know your name?”

  “My name is…” She shouldn’t. The moment with Westley was ending, and sharing names would only quell the mystery. She stepped toward him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “Call me Buttercup.”

  He chuckled and lowered his chest into a formal bow, his heated gaze never straying from her eyes. “As you wish.” He lingered for a moment as if hoping she’d change her mind.

  “Goodbye, Westley.”

  “Farewell, Buttercup.” He nodded and walked away.

  Chapter Two

  Sean shook his head as he trudged up Chartres Street toward Jackson Square. The crisp fall air nipped at his cheeks, but it did nothing to cool the slow burn that woman had ignited inside him. The taste of her mouth—sweet lime and passion—lingered on his tongue. Was her face as gorgeous as her tall, sexy body? If he’d hung around long enough, he might have found out.

  Damn job. Damn responsibility.

  Christ, she’d felt good pressed against him, kissing him. Making him want more for the first time in years. Stirring up emotions he thought he’d never feel again. Buttercup had said she needed to learn to live, but with the way she was able to get him so worked up with a simple kiss…she was doing a fantastic job of living already.

  The crunch of aluminum under his boot pulled him out of his thoughts. He picked up the flattened can of Coors and tossed it in a trash bin. He could fantasize about the things he’d never get to do with Buttercup later. Now, he had a job to do.

  Jackson Square bustled with activity, as it usually did on Saturday nights. Though the park gates closed at dusk, and most of the artists had taken their wares home for the night, people still flocked to the cathedral plaza for the evening activities. A dozen psychics—some real, some fake—set up tables and offered readings for a small fee. Some used crystals, some tarots or runes, but they all focused on one common theme: giving people a glimpse into their futures. Sean smiled and nodded a hello to one of the mediums.

  The old woman lifted a gnarled hand to wave. “I see a change coming for you, Sean.”

  “And I don’t want to know about it.” He hurried past the psychic. She’d offered to give him a reading several times, but he always declined. The future was best left unknown. Especially when there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change it.

  “Hey, Zorro,” someone called from a restaurant balcony.

  He flashed the man a tight-lipped smile and waved. That was the eighth Zorro reference tonight, but it didn’t matter. Buttercup knew who he was, and that was good enough for him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way toward the church.

  Swarms of people huddled around tour guides from various companies, preparing to be wowed by the sordid history of the city. Of course, most of these tours weren’t historically accurate. “Fantastical exaggerations of legends” was a better description, but the tourists didn’t care. They wanted to be entertained, and this late in the evening, most of them were drunk anyway.

  Jason already had the overflowing tour group split in two, waiting on the steps in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. The massive white church towered over the square, providing the perfect backdrop for the haunting excursion he was about to lead. It had taken years to finagle Crescent City Ghost Tours into this spot, and earning the title of Most Reputable Tour Company five years in a row ensured him first choice of meeting spaces.

  “Hey, man.” Jason jogged toward him, clutching two iPads to his chest. “Sorry to pull you away from your mom’s party. I didn’t know what else to do. Most of the spots were prepaid so I couldn’t send them away.”

  Sean took one of the iPads. “You did right. But I think you set a record for the most epic cockblock of all time.”

  Jason furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Oh, shit. I am so sorry. You got her number though, right?”

  He wasn’t about to share the details of his failed attempt at landing a date with the sexy redhead with his employee. “You ever get ahold of Anthony? Why’d he no-show?”

  “He finally picked up the sixth time I called. Said he didn’t want to do it anymore. He quit.”

  “Shit. Figures he’d pick the busiest time of year to leave us high and dry.”

  “Syd will be back in town tomorrow. She and I can split his shifts until you hire someone.”

  Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate that. C’mon. We’ve kept our customers waiting long enough. You claim a group yet?”

  “I’ll take the one on the left.” Jason led him to the group that would be his captive audience for the next hour and a half.

  A man in a Dallas Cowboys shirt stumbled forward. “You brought Zorro to be our tour guide?”

  Fantastic. He was starting the night off with a heckler.

  Jason switched to his tour guide voice, extra loud and filled with energy. “You guys are in for a treat. Sean here isn’t just a tour guide. He’s the owner of the company…and he’s the one who collected all the evidence we’ll be showing you along the way.”

  A hushed murmur fell across the group as the Cowboys fan shrank back into the crowd.

  Sean tapped the iPad screen and brought up a photograph of a dark shadowy figure in the alley next to the cathedral. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Every story you’ll hear on this tour is true. The hauntings are real, and we’ll show you the proof. Our tour starts here in Pirate’s Alley.”

  * * *

  “All right, babe. Spill.” Trish clutched Emily’s arm and dragged her toward the bar. “Gin fizz and a gin and tonic, please,” she said to the bartender.

  “Actually, make mine a Scotch on the rocks.” She had a warm whiskey taste on her tongue, and she wasn’t ready to let it go. Her lips, still tingling from that amazing kiss, curved into a smile as the bartender filled her glass.

  “Who was he, and when are you seeing him again?” Trish handed her the drink.

  “I don’t know, and I’m not.” She sipped the Scotch and cringed at the bitter liquid. It tasted better on Westley’s lips.

  Her friend set her glass on a table and crossed her arms. “I’m not buying that for one second. You just ordered Scotch. You don’t drink whiskey.”

  She took another sip of the unpleasant drink. The sharp liquid burned its way down her throat, and she pushed the glass away. “I know. It tasted good on his tongue, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

  “And?”

  “It’s horrible.” She took a swig of gin fizz and swished it in her mouth to wash away the rancid flavor. Westley must’ve been drinking a different brand.

  Trish laughed. “So…tell me what happened.”

  “I did just what I said I would. We danced. He didn’t tell me his name, and I didn’t tell him mine. Then we kissed, and he had to leave.” She shrugged and traced the rim of the whiskey glass with her finger.

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded work-related, but I didn’t ask.”

  “You really don’t know anything about this guy?”

  She let out a long sigh. “I know he’s charming. He has this woodsy, masculine scent that makes my head spin; he’s an amazing dancer, and he tastes like honey and whiskey—but evidently not the kind I ordered.”

  “And you wish you got his number.”

  Yes. “No. It’s better this way. You’re right. It was fun, and I’ll always remember it that way. At least now I won’t find out he’s an asshole later. He’ll always be charming Westley to me.” Dipping her finger in the drink, she put a drop of the golden liquid on her lip. She flicked her tongue out to taste it and wrinkled her nose. It still didn’t taste like him.

  “Emily? Is that you, dear?” The most glamorous octopus she’d ever seen approached her from the
bar. Her black, sequined gown had eight tentacles curling up from the floor, and purple feathers adorned her sparkling mask. “It’s me, Madeline LeBlanc. I’m so glad you could make it.”

  She shook the woman’s hand. “Trish, this is my real estate agent, Madeline. She’s the one who gave me the tickets for tonight.”

  Trish shook her hand. “Thank you so much, Ms. LeBlanc. It’s a beautiful ball.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. It’s my pleasure, really.” She turned to Emily and flashed a knowing smile. “I see you and the Dread Pirate Roberts hit it off. Where did he run off to?”

  Tongues of heat crept up Emily’s cheeks to lap at her ears. How many other people had noticed her escapade with Westley? “He, umm…had to go. I don’t know where.”

  “How odd of him to run off on you and not say where he was going. Well, I’m sure he’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She glanced at Trish before focusing on the floor. “I don’t think so.”

  Madeline touched her shoulder. “He will, dear. He’s a gentleman.”

  Emily cleared her throat and met her real estate agent’s gaze. “I don’t even know his name.”

  “His name—”

  “Is best left unknown.” Trish wrapped her arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Tonight was an experiment. A reminder that Em’s still got it, and she doesn’t need to attach herself to the first man she meets.”

  Madeline’s gaze cut between Trish and Emily. “You don’t want to see him again?”

  “Oh, I do. And I’m sure if it’s meant to be, we’ll run into each other somewhere.”

  Madeline pursed her lips and stirred the melting ice in her drink. “Are you sure you don’t want me to work some Sea Witch magic for you? Give you a strong pair of legs so you can go after your man?”

  “I’m sure, Madeline.” Her legs weren’t the problem. What she needed was a stronger heart, because the one she had still wasn’t fully recovered from the last time someone smashed it to bits. Between her sister and then Phillip, she’d lost too much already. As much as she longed for her mysterious pirate, she was better off not knowing him. “I’ll leave it up to serendipity. If I see him again, I’ll know it was meant to be.”