“Hey, you okay?” he asked in greeting.
“Fine. I know it’s late. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Alex sounded tired, which made sense—Mr. Mutantman had a tendency to go to the gym at 4 A.M. “to avoid crowds and to get my day started right.” By Darren’s estimation, Alex was going on twenty hours of vertical.
Darren’s eyes strayed to the beautiful, rumpled brunette beside him with the swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “Nope. Wide awake.”
“Are you hanging in there? Maddy’s not climbing all over you, is she?”
“I’m fine, Alex. Arm’s not too bad tonight. No throbbing, anyway. And Maddy’s behaving exactly how I want her to behave.” Darren winked at her. She grinned and leaned in close, her chin resting on his shoulder. Her pointer finger traced over his features, from his brows down his nose, over his cheekbones, and to his lips. He nipped at her fingertip, she let him capture it, and he lashed at it with his tongue in a way that mimicked exactly what he wanted to do to her other, more fun parts.
“Good. I thought she’d be a helpful distraction. I wanted to give you a heads up that your story made the news. Najmah saw it on TV and let me know. I guess one of the witnesses linked you to Maddy so it’s gone big—you getting shot, her passing out. They know everything, or think they do. The word ‘boy toy’ was used. They showed the Capulet, pictures of it, and some asshole dockworker in Galveston confirmed you were sailing to New Orleans.”
“Boy toy.” Darren stopped tonguing the alluring, willing female and sighed, his eyes closing. “Well, that’s a new one.”
“I know and I’m sorry. The bright side is that they named Kelly as a suspect and did the information-line thing, so maybe they’ll be able to bring her in quickly. Having her in custody would bring some peace of mind.”
“Everything all right?” Maddy murmured.
“The shooting hit the news,” Darren said to her. “Someone recognized you so now I’m apparently your boy toy.”
“Ooooh. Oh, I’m sorry, dove. You came here to get away.” She frowned and bit her bottom lip, her eyes narrowing as she reached for the remote control to pause the movie. “We could fly you out of NOLA tomorrow; anywhere you want to go. The newshounds can be brutal. I’m glad for you to stay, but I understand if . . . well. Being with me comes with a certain amount of spotlight, I’m afraid, and New Orleans is one of my known stomping grounds. There might be paparazzi.”
I’m not leaving.
The thought was immediate. He couldn’t care less about Maddy’s gilded boat or the Crescent City itself—his memories of Mardi Gras involved getting puked on twice by strangers and a thousand pairs of tits shoved in his face, which was nice the first two or three times but became awfully grating after that, especially when it got hot and the sweat began to fly. No, he wanted to stay because he liked hanging out with her. The make-out sessions were nice, the flirting and promise of sex was nice, but it was more that she laughed at his jokes and made him laugh in return. He was comfortable with her, and he needed comfortable after everything that’d happened.
It helped keep him grounded.
“Think I’d rather hang around with you awhile longer, if that’s all right. You’re adding some sunshine to my rainy skies. I can handle a little press. You got security, you said?”
“I do. Good security, even. I’ll introduce you before we dock tomorrow. I’ll call Sol first thing tomorrow to let him know we’ll need extra eyes at The Seaside.”
“Tell her I’ll call Cylan. He’s the much more capable adult on the property,” Alex piped into Darren’s ear.
“Alex says he’ll call Cylan, whoever that is.”
Maddy smirked. “Cylan is Sol’s best friend, accountant, and hetero life mate, as much as Cylan won’t admit it. Anyway, that’s fine. Sol’s a useless boob and would have just delegated it to him anyway. Thank you, Alex,” she said, loud enough he’d hear her over the line.
“You’re welcome, both of you,” Alex said. “I’ll get on that and let them know you’re arriving tomorrow, but for now, I need sleep. If you need anything, text me. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Nah, I appreciate it. Thanks for everything, brother.”
“Of course.”
Hanging up the phone, Darren was suddenly tired. It’d been a long day. A good day, but a long day. He didn’t love Alex’s news, but in the vast scheme of things, he could handle it. Hang with a celebrity, get their following, too. Sure, he had concerns that Kelly would be able to track him through Maddy sightings, but if the security team was as good as Maddy claimed, she’d never get near him.
But I don’t want to think about that now.
“Bed, I think,” he said. “Finish the movie tomorrow?”
“Only if you want to. I’ve seen it so many times I think I know all of Madeline Kahn’s lines.” Maddy hit another button on the remote control and the theater lights rose. It wasn’t an immediate snap but a gradual glow, like a small, contained sunrise. Darren hauled himself up from his seat and tried to fold the fur blanket, but Maddy wrestled it away from him with a few tugs and tossed it onto the chair. “This is why I pay my staff, dove.”
He eyed her. “I’m more capable than I look, you know. I’ve even stopped reversing my Es when I write my name.”
“Did you tie your own shoes this morning with your one arm?” came the tart reply.
Hell. No, I couldn’t. Alex had to do it for me.
“That’s different!”
“Mmm-hmm.” Maddy grabbed his hand and walked him out of the theater and through the ship, laughing at him all the while.
FIFTEEN
THE BEDROOM DOORWAY kisses were epic. By the time Darren lifted his head, Maddy was steeping in her own juices again, but his exhaustion was written all over his face, and frankly, she was tired, too. There was that awkward moment when she didn’t know if she should invite him into her bedroom to sleep with her, but Patrice’s visit to fluff Maddy’s pillows and set out her medications saw Darren retiring alone.
Maddy stripped and showered again to remove desires past from her thighs. She thought about him while she scrubbed, how he laughed, how his nostrils flared when he was particularly tickled. How his eyebrows shot high on his forehead when she surprised him. He was terribly handsome, but he was also terribly nice, and rarely had she seen those two traits coexist well. Beauty meant vanity. Vanity bred self-importance. Self-importance made for a colossal asshat.
He’s got the whole package, though. Enjoy it while you can.
A toweling off, a bunch of expensive Parisian lotions, and a magic pill to keep her crazy in check, and she climbed into bed, blankets pulled to her chest. She texted Richter to let him know it was time. Three minutes later there was a jingling in the hallway before Richter knocked twice and opened her door. He didn’t enter, but Cappy did, the orange snuggle puss off her leash and bounding toward the bed. She liked bedtime and found Maddy’s giant round mattress the coziest place in the universe. She leaped up and settled in, her big paws batting the air near Maddy’s face. Maddy waved off Richter before rolling around with her beloved pet, the cat groaning and growling and Maddy responding in kind.
She’d gotten flak from people before for having the tiger, and Maddy understood it, even if she didn’t particularly agree with it. In an ideal world, tigers would be running around in the wild eating boars and hiding in shrubs. Unfortunately, natural habitats were disappearing at a rapid rate. Enter the human hunter contingent, and Cappy in the wild would have lived to see ten if she was lucky. She could see twenty-five in captivity, though, and at sixteen, she was a fat, happy old-lady cat ambling on toward her tiger golden years.
Maddy’s conscience would remain clear as long as she could reasonably say she herself would be comfortable living Cappy’s life. With four hand-fed meals a day, giant enclosures in two of Maddy’s houses and one on the cruise ship, she was doing
all right for herself.
Maddy looped an arm over Cappy’s furry trunk and nestled in for sleep. The cat groaned again, stretched, and then settled down with her head propped on a silk pillow. Both of them were situated for the night and a couple hours into their sleep when Maddy heard the shout. She darted up in the dark and reached for the bedside light, nearly knocking a glass of water over in the process. There was fumbling in the room next door followed by a crash. She wrapped her naked body in her pink short robe and hurried to the door. Cappy lifted her head, looked at Maddy’s ass, and promptly resumed her optimal sleeping position like the human kerfuffles were beneath her.
Maddy ran to Darren’s room and pounded on the door.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just a minute,” he said after a pause, sounding hoarse.
“Take your time, dove. Do you need me to call the doctor?”
“No.”
She belted the robe and waited, her weight bouncing between her feet. He hadn’t screamed per se, but it came damned close, and she didn’t like to think about him hurting. She heard rustling in the room, a softly uttered curse, and then he was there, as tall as his doorway, in a pair of pajama pants and nothing else. Pecs. A perfect six-pack of abs. Of course he was as beautiful undressed as he was dressed, and she had to tear her eyes away from the chiseled torso to look into his face.
He was exhausted. He was trembling. The furrows in his brow, the pinch of his mouth telegraphed the depths of his strain, and before she could think twice, she hugged him, her arms wrapping tight and squeezing. His healthy arm slid around her, the other dangled by his side. He didn’t sleep with the sling on, which made sense, his injured arm bandaged from elbow to shoulder.
“I had a nightmare. I’m okay, just . . . I mean I know I’m okay here, but I don’t feel okay.” He hesitated before continuing and shook his head. “My heart’s going a mile a minute. It’s in my throat. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest.”
“Oh, dove. Have you ever had a panic attack before?”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “No.”
“They’re not fun. I’m no doctor, but I’ve danced this dance before. After my father—” She let the sentiment hang so he could fill in the rest. “Well, I get them sometimes. Less lately, but they pop up here and there. They go hand in hand with PTSD, which I wouldn’t be surprised to discover you have. Maybe when we get on land, I can call my psychiatrist and she can recommend someone in New Orleans you could talk to. Only if you want, of course. I know therapy isn’t for everyone, but it helped me. I’m only half batshit now.”
He smirked, but it wasn’t his usual, warm self. Bitterness poisoned the expression, and he raked a shaky hand through his bed-tousled hair. “Maybe, yeah. I just need . . . I don’t know what I need. Therapy, probably. I’ve been in it off and on since the breakup.”
“Well, immediately, cold water. Really cold water. It always helps me.” She pulled him into the hall and toward her room. He stumbled along behind her like a sleep-addled child, never complaining as she guided him inside. He paused to eye the sleeping tiger in her bed, but when she motioned at the couch before the fireplace, he took a seat and let her fuss over him. She draped a blanket around his shoulders and started the faux fire. She put his legs up on the ottoman and kissed his cheek. “You know that thing about your body not being able to process pain in two places at once? Ice water can shock the system. It forces you to concentrate on something other than the panic. We’ll start with that and see if it helps.”
She called down to the kitchen with explicit instructions for the coldest water they could bring. It wasn’t such an unusual request coming from her; the only difference was that this time it was to combat her guest’s panic, not her own.
“I’ll be okay. I think. Yeah, I don’t know.” He leaned back on the couch, eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling. Every few seconds his cheek ticked. She could see the pulse at the base of his throat jumping. “Maybe I should talk to someone sooner rather than later. It was so real in the dream. The gun. I didn’t get shot anywhere serious, but it still hurt, and I dreamed about the hurt and how I thought that stupid kid would shoot me again—how I thought he’d fucking kill me. I . . . yeah. Yeah.”
She walked around behind the couch so she could stoop down to hold him, her arms folding around his neck, her face pressed to his hair. She hummed quietly, a little more “My Funny Valentine” in an effort to bring him a modicum of peace. It seemed to help; he slumped back into the couch, the trembling abating. Fortunately, the kitchen delivery didn’t take long. Tobin himself came to the suite with a rolling cart loaded up with a pitcher of ice water and dark chocolate treats.
“Sorry you’re having a shit night, sweetie,” he said when she opened the door. “Brought the yooj. Dark chocolate for the soul.”
She didn’t bother correcting that it wasn’t for her; Darren’s struggle was not her story to tell. She kissed Tobin on the cheek in thanks, closed the door, and rolled the cart to the fire, pouring first the water and then grabbing a chocolate-covered strawberry. She offered both to Darren. He guzzled the water, but eyed the strawberry, confused.
“Serotonin,” she said. “It does marvelous things for the distressed body. Eating chocolate is one of the more pleasant ways of getting more of it. It’s real science, I promise.”
He nodded and opened his mouth. She didn’t hesitate, feeding him the first strawberry, and when he devoured that one, producing a second in short order.
“Sit with me,” he said, sliding over. “Yes, I’m bossy, I know. Sit with me anyway.”
She slid in beside him, looping her foot around the leg of the rolling cart and pulling it close so she could continue the dark chocolate pipeline without interruption.
“Thank you,” he murmured, sucking any excess chocolate from her fingers. She bopped him on the nose, leaning in to steal a quick, chocolaty kiss.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Better, I think. Not sure if it’s the water, the blanket, the chocolate, or the company, but it’s working, whatever it is. I don’t feel like my heart’s going to explode anymore.”
“Good.” She reached for the pitcher and refilled his glass. “I have Klonopin if you want one, though I should warn you you’ll sleep like the dead, possibly for days on end. It’s a sedative. You’re also welcome to stay with me tonight if having a body nearby will make you feel better. I won’t even violate your personage.”
He looked over his shoulder at the tiger occupying the entire right side of her bed. “I’ll pass on the drugs. I’m considering the sleeping arrangement, but I need to know the likelihood of getting spooned by nature’s perfect carnivore.”
“There’s no likelihood. You will be. She’s a snuggle bug.”
“Yes. Fangy snuggle bug. At how many hundreds of pounds?”
“Four hundred and sixteen at last weigh-in. She’s petite for a Bengal. The boys can be six fifty, seven hundred easy.”
“That’s not as much of a consolation as you might think, babe.” He grinned, and this time, it did reach his eyes, which allowed her to relax. Anxiety liked company—being in its presence was enough to trigger her own nerves, and she plucked a strawberry from the plate for herself, half as reward for helping Darren through his struggle, half to quell her own pitter-pattering heart.
He swirled his ice water, the cubes clinking against the side of the glass, emptied it, and then deposited it on the tray. “All right. I’m taking your word that I’ll wake up intact. But, on the off chance I die, I want you to know I’m going to haunt you and tell terrible jokes forever.”
“You mean these have been the good ones?”
“It gets so much worse. Like, what’s brown and sticky? A stick. We’re talking real bottom-of-the-barrel material here.”
She rolled her eyes and took his hand, leading him to t
he round bed with the mountains of pillows, silk coverlet, and mammoth snoring kitty with a pink tongue tip sticking out of her mouth. “I’ll take your word for it. Now get in.”
When Maddy woke, the room looked dark, but the hour on the clock read past ten. She stretched beneath her sheets, her robe tangled around her torso and requiring immediate adjusting. An unmelodious duet of snores sounded from her left, and she cracked an eye. Not two feet away from her, Darren Sanders slept, his mouth open, a soft rumble gurgling from his throat. Behind him, her paw looped around his waist, her giant head carving a dent in the back end of Darren’s pillow, was Capulet. Their snores were point and counterpoint—Darren let loose, Cappy would echo it a second later.
That Maddy had slept through it was nigh miraculous.
It was adorable, and so Maddy did what any self-respecting asshole would do and grabbed her cell phone to capture it. She got a good thirty seconds of proof of Darren’s tiger tryst before she texted Richter to come collect the cat for her elevensies. He’d already grabbed her earlier to do the breakfast and morning pee routine, but soon it’d be feeding time two, and while Cappy didn’t pose a threat to anyone—well, beyond the fact that she was a tiger, which did come with certain undeniable dangers—she got awfully loud and obnoxious until meat was thrust into her maw.
Which Maddy liked to say she got from her mama. Maddy got awfully cranky when she’d been denied a proper serving of meat for too long; people could take that as they wished.
Richter responded with a thumbs-up, so Maddy crawled from bed to find some proper deck-side clothes. A T-shirt, a pair of yoga pants. She ran a comb through her hair and clipped it into a sloppy bun on top of her head. Behind her, Darren mumbled something unintelligible before rolling onto his other hip and cuddling up to the broadest, hairiest chest he’d probably ever encountered. Cappy was all too happy to have a new human teddy bear, so she licked his hair. As Maddy had discovered time and again, grooming was an appropriate sign of affection in the tiger world.
The Queen of Dauphine Street Page 11
