Moonlight & Whiskey
Page 20
Declan shut me up with a kiss, his palm cupping my head, and angling it back so he could lick through my mouth.
Damn. Nothing at all half-assed.
After strolling through the market, we went back to the Merc to make the short drive to The Quarter. He pulled off to park by The Moonwalk and we walked along the path, talking about music and engineering, projects I had coming up and what they entailed. He seemed fascinated by my work—always ready with another question—but with each one I answered, I felt a shift in him, a distance he tried to draw out.
We stopped at a grassy spot between light posts and sat on the banking overlooking the Mississippi. Slipping behind me, he pulled me between his thighs. The moon was so bright, almost full, and casting across the rippling water in a way that reminded me of a Monet painting. It was easy to see why they’d dubbed it The Moonwalk.
“About tomorrow night, I have this cocktail party for work I need to put in an appearance at to let a potential client know the firm is interested in working with him.”
“What time?” His voice cooled and there was a long pause where I would have given anything to see his face.
“It’s early, six-thirty. Should take an hour or two.” I slid out from between his thighs to gauge his reaction. “Actually, I was hoping you would go with me.”
His face quirked up in surprise before settling into a scowl. “They’re asking you to work on vacation? More than you already have. It isn’t just a phone call this time.”
“I was already in town and saved someone else from flying in.” I put a hand on his arm. “Really, it’s no big deal. Just an hour or so.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve caught you checking your email and typing on that damn phone? Even at Grand’Mère.” Declan’s eyes hardened, his ire easily visible as it ramped up further.
“The world doesn’t stop just because I go on vacation, Declan,” I shot back, my own temper rising.
“That’s bullshit. You’re not happy working there and they use you as their goddamned workhorse. Have you ever considered opening your own firm where you don’t have to pander to a bunch of misogynist dick tips?” He turned to meet my eyes and the anger was still there, but also something that looked suspiciously like hope.
It wasn’t that easy, however. “I can’t just snap my fingers, decision made. Boom, I’m my own boss. That’s not how this field works. I’ve worked on a lot of big projects because of the name on the letterhead. Projects I never would have gotten my hands on at another firm. I’ve put in a lot of fucking work trying to make partner where I’m at. To throw that all away…You don’t understand how my world works.”
His eyebrows pulled together, his pulse kicking at the side of his neck in a furious rhythm. “Of course I don’t. I don’t have a bunch of fucking letters behind my name.” His sarcasm was thicker than the night air.
My temper, and his, had passed simmer and moved to full boil. “You fucking well know that wasn’t what I meant,” I snarled. “Don’t twist shit, Declan. I’d like you to go with me. If it makes you uncomfortable, say no and I’ll go alone. But it’s a party, not a business meeting, so others will bring a plus one. I’ve never done that because it draws attention to me being a woman. I—”
“I’ll go.” He turned to look at me. The man’s eyes were full of defiance and something else I couldn’t pinpoint. “No way could a bunch of goddamned suits make me uncomfortable.”
Yeah, that’s why he needed to say that out loud. “Don’t go just because you don’t want me to have to go alone or you need to prove you’re not afraid.”
“Jesus. Did it ever occur that I want to get to know your world and see what it’s all about? Now you’re the one twisting shit, Avery. I’m not afraid of a fucking cocktail party. I’m pissed. Because you won’t tell those cunts you work for no. You let them lord that partnership over you, make you pretend to be someone you’re not, while working your ass off. All because you’re scared the real Avery might get you tossed.
“You and your goddamned excuses.” He exhaled a heavy breath and I could tell he was trying to get a hold on his temper, but I had no such desire. “What happened on that stage today—”
“What, Declan? Tell me what fucking happened? Because I sure as hell don’t know. I do know that I have a job and a life that isn’t in New Orleans, and grown-ass women don’t throw away what they’ve worked for on the suspicion that a man has feelings for them. Isn’t that what this is really about?”
I was beyond pissed. At his fucking judgment, at his expectations. I didn’t need this shit. “So what are you offering me, rock star, huh? Another week? A relationship? Oh, that’s right. You don’t do those!”
A cold mask slipped into place over his features and I knew I’d finally hit the nerve. My walls had gone up and now his would, too. “I don’t know what I have to offer a woman like you, but I didn’t want to walk away just because your fucking vacation ends. Clearly, you’re not interested, though…all fucking evidence to the contrary.”
“Interested. In. What? Declan. You still haven’t said, because you can’t even say the word ‘relationship.’ Yet, here you are judging me for my so-called excuses.” I huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Tell me, are you going to drop everything? Quit the band and move to Dallas? For me?” My eyebrows shot into my hairline, mocking him.
“No, smart-ass. You know what, forget it. We’ll both pretend I’m just that wild vacation fuck you had in New Orleans. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking…hoping to make this work.” Declan’s cool was gone. Anger masked the pain on his face. “I didn’t expect you to drop anything, goddammit! I thought we could try back and forth, long weekends, extended visits—whateverthefuck—until we at least figure out what’s between us.”
I was shocked silent. He’d been thinking about how to keep seeing me after I left?
No, back and forth wouldn’t work. Declan was…I’d seen how women were drawn to him, lusted after him, how casual he was about hookups. My ego couldn’t take it if he…I didn’t know if I could bounce back from that kind of rejection. Then there was the money…
But he wasn’t done. “You, however, have been wrapped up in your bullshit excuses since the beginning. You’ve fought this thing at every fucking turn, managing to convince yourself that it has to end. You won’t even consider meeting me halfway because you’re afraid.” He shook his head, eyes roaming over the water. “Go ahead. Throw up those walls and protect yourself, baby. Nothing I say will stop you.”
Only there was something he could say, but he wouldn’t because he didn’t think he was capable of it. I wasn’t the only one throwing up walls.
“What about the money, Declan? You obviously have a shit ton of it, with the car and hotel and the bar. Where does the money come from, huh?” I was in pure deflect mode. “Whiskey Moon does well, but a bar doesn’t turn that kind of profit. Kat told me what dinner at Grand’Mère set you back. Three grand?” Kat had arranged to pay the bill, but Declan had whipped out his black card without even looking at it.
His expression grew distant and cool, hard.
“Seems to me like you’re accusing me of throwing walls up when you’re still holding on to your own secrets. Let me guess…afraid? Well, that fucking makes two of us, now doesn’t it?” He didn’t answer, but stared out over the Mississippi, brows in hard slashes over his eyes. His jaw clenched, twitching under the pressure.
“I want you to take me back to the hotel,” I snapped.
Declan brushed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” He got to his feet, offered me a hand that I refused.
I couldn’t touch him. I didn’t want to crumble into a sickening pile of bawling female because of the things neither of us would say. I got to my feet without looking at him and started back to the Merc. Heard his sarcastic chuckle behind me as he followed.
The
car had barely stopped when I jumped out. We hadn’t spoken on the way back, both equally content to sit and stew in silence. It was more than anger keeping me quiet. Declan had admitted he wanted more. More time, more involvement, more…relationship, even if he wouldn’t say the word. I felt like one of the safe parameters for this thing had been crushed under his heel. Declan didn’t do relationships—that’s what I told myself when my imagination deigned to travel down the path of more. Now that obstacle’s design appeared flawed and in danger of collapse.
I slid my key into my door without the fall of footsteps behind me. I ripped off clothes, pulled on my jammies, and crawled into bed to channel surf.
Why couldn’t I let myself consider the possibility of a future with Declan and why did I keep letting shit stand in the way of those thoughts? Obviously, he had them, too.
For as short of time as we’d known each other, he saw things in me that I’d long denied. I let my colleagues work me too hard. I never told them no because I worried it would hurt my career. I wasn’t happy in constant censure because I was afraid the real me would get shit-canned. How long could I continue to hide? If I made partner, I’d be consigning myself to it for thirty, maybe forty years.
I landed on an old black-and-white movie when I heard the soft tap on the door. I didn’t bother with the peephole. He was damp from the pool; the jeans had been traded for board shorts and a hotel towel thrown over the shoulder of his T-shirt.
Our gazes met and I saw the rawness in his. Acknowledgment, apology, and request rolled into one. “Let me explain about the money, okay? I have…a lot. More than anyone should make in a lifetime, but people find out you have it and they treat you differently. I just…I don’t tell anyone. I’ll never let it change who I am and I don’t see the point in complicating things by letting people know. I really don’t give a fuck if people think I’m the same thug I was ten years ago, still hustling to eat. Because I am.”
He didn’t want other people’s reactions to him and how they treated him tainted by knowing he had money? Well, duh. That made perfect sense.
“I didn’t intentionally hide it though, Avery. I thought you’d figured out it’s from the band.”
“But how? And how much is a lot? Millions? Billions? Wait don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know.”
Declan smirked. “Somewhere in between? And how is because Jamie is a fucking musical prodigy, and Matthias is just as gifted. Shaun’s talented, too. Instead of using their talent to get famous, we’ve sold a few songs to other bands and made some good investments. Selling a couple songs here and there can be more lucrative than a record deal. We don’t have the overhead, merchandizing, venues, staff, and all the other shit that comes with fame. We just get to make music.”
My mouth dropped open; my eyes were the size of pancakes. “Wow, that’s…have I heard any of it?” And why didn’t he take any credit for the success? He attributed it all to the rest of the band. Just because Jamie was the second coming of Randy Rhoads didn’t mean Declan wasn’t an amazing guitarist in his own right. Plus, that voice…he could have easily fronted a platinum-selling band. Did he feel like he was riding coattails? That he didn’t contribute like the other three did?
“I don’t know, maybe, but I never kept it from you on purpose. It’s just habit.”
Declan’s roots were humble, too. Having grown up poor, if I’d amassed a ridiculous amount of money, I wouldn’t have wanted it to change my behavior and how people perceived me either.
So different and still so much alike.
I went up on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his, his hand coming around my nape and a thumb stroking my jaw.
When his mouth left mine, his forehead remained. “I refuse to waste one night I could be with you while you’re here. Not because of your temper, or mine.”
I nodded. All the worries and fears would keep until tomorrow, but tonight I’d have Declan’s arms. “I was watching an old movie. Care to join me?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the door shut. He set the towel down and pulled off his T-shirt and damp shorts.
I crawled across the bed and slipped under the blanket. When I turned back, the only thing Declan was wearing was his sexy half grin.
“I like those pajamas. Only thing that would make them better is if they were my boxers—”
“Wait, you own a pair of underwear?” I cocked my head, stifled a giggle.
Declan chuckled. “But if I’m naked, you are, too. And no sex. I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He brushed a hand over his face like it pained him. “I just wanna hold you. Okay, Christ. Hi, my name’s Sally.”
I laughed and shimmied out of my pajamas as Declan crawled under the covers and propped up against the wall. I settled into the crook of his arm.
“What are we watching? I don’t think I can do a chick flick after admitting that.”
“A Streetcar Named Desire.”
“Damn, sweetness. You really are perfect for me.”
Chapter 22
I woke the following morning to a note on the pillow explaining Declan had stuff to take care of for the concert, but he’d meet me in the lobby this evening.
Hours later, I set my hair in bouncy waves and slipped into the lingerie I’d bought specifically for this dress. I wasn’t the same woman who’d arrived in New Orleans. This woman knew who she was and was comfortable with being both the rocker chick in Vans, and the beauty in fancy undies with curves for days. Rocker chick may have screamed badass and smart-mouthed, and this woman whispered, “If you take me to bed, I’ll turn you inside out,” but both were authentic. I didn’t have to be one or the other—because they weren’t different women—they were both me.
The only version that didn’t fit anymore was the one pretending to be someone she wasn’t. It took so much time and energy, that facade. I frowned into the mirror as I put on my makeup. Buns and cheaters, kitten heels—how did I go back to that? I liked my curves and slopes. My sharp tongue and filthy mouth. My whiskey and hard rock. I wasn’t any less smart for liking those parts of me. Just like I didn’t need a dick to be good at my job.
“Well, hello, Avery. There you are.” I grinned into the mirror and stepped into my cocktail dress, a strapless, with a plunging neckline and ruched silk that wrapped around the bodice. The waist nipped in and a tulle ballerina skirt flared out over my hips, stopping at my knees. It had a beautiful cut and fit, accentuating my assets, but it was the color that really made it special. Blush pink. The color of a New Orleans sky as the sun slipped below the horizon. Against my tan skin, it was luminous.
I put on the most expensive pair of shoes I owned and slipped in the skull earrings for fun, texted Kat a selfie, and went to meet my fate.
As I stepped out of the elevator, Kat answered. You look gorgeous, babe. You’re officially fashion Jedi. Give Declan a spankin’ from me.
Thanks, Yoda, I texted, grinning as I slipped my phone in my clutch.
Declan had leaned against the back of a sofa, and apparently, he did own a suit and…God. In. Heaven. Kat would be sorry she missed it.
An unbuttoned, tailored black jacket hugged his broad shoulders, giving way to the tattoos that crawled over his hands. His black dress shirt, laid open at the neck, highlighted the ink climbing up the side of his throat and cut a slim profile against his torso. The shirt was tucked into black slacks that looked tailor-made for his powerful legs.
I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life.
Lips parted, his eyes were intent as his legs ate up the lobby in long strides. He wrapped an arm around my waist as my lips melted against his.
“Meet with your approval?” I asked.
He devoured me with his eyes. “Jesus, fuck. You are so beautiful, Avery.”
“You clean up nice, too, baby.” When I palmed his ass in full view of the lobby, his answering smirk was sinful.
The place was beautiful, softly lit with cocktail tables and plush furniture, all highlighted by floor-to-ceiling views of aquarium tanks full of sea creatures, setting off the surroundings in the shimmery blue glow.
“Damn. This is something,” Declan whispered.
It was gorgeous. “This client is flashy. Likes to throw lots of money around to make himself feel important. Hence the party.”
Looking for familiar faces, I saw a few colleagues from architecture and construction firms, a public official or two, before I led Declan over to an architect I’d worked with before.
“Avery, you look well.”
“Thanks, John. I’d like you to meet my date, Declan McGinn.”
John stuck out his hand and Declan accepted, but neither of us missed the way John’s eyes drifted to Declan’s tattoos. “What do you do, Declan?”
“Musician.”
“Jazz, is it?”
“Hard rock.”
“Declan plays guitar and sings for a local band,” I touted. “He also owns a music club on Frenchman Street.”
John’s smile turned both amused and trivializing. His arm drifted to his the waist of his wife, who eyed my date with more appreciation than did her husband. With something akin to distaste as he looked Declan over, John dismissed Declan’s presence with a flippant tone. “That firm of yours moving into Louisiana?”
I felt Declan slide away, heard him whisper “asshole” as I turned to find him taking two glasses of champagne from a waiter.
He handed me one. “Not expanding. Just making contacts, I’m—”
“Good to know. If you’ll excuse us.” Without a second look, John pulled away the wife he hadn’t bothered to introduce. Prick.