She smiled. “I’m free Sundays, Mondays and Tues-days,” she said. “And I could use the extra money.”
“Expensive shopping habits?”
“You could say that.”
Clearly she wasn’t going to tell him what exactly she wanted the extra money for, and a part of him pulled back from her. Secrets were never good. Hell, if he’d learned nothing else from those years with Frannie, it was that a woman who kept secrets couldn’t be trusted. But maybe he was overreacting. Why should she have to tell him anything? He’d only really known Holly a few days. But somehow, it felt like more.
Felt like a part of him had known her forever.
And he wanted to know everything there was to know. Which terrified him as much as it intrigued him.
“So. Buy a girl a cup of coffee?”
“I think we can manage that.”
He steered her toward the espresso bar and crooked a finger at one of the waiters.
OUTSIDE THE JAZZ CAFÉ, Frannie stuck to the shadows.
Infuriated by the look on Parker’s face as he smiled down at the redhead, she didn’t notice the puddle until it was too late. Cold water—and God knew what else—seeped over the sides of her crocodile mules and she grimaced as the clammy sensation crawled through her.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, slapping one hand on the wall of the building so she could shake her right foot free of the water. “Standing on a sidewalk peeking through windows. I’m reduced to this?”
The sting of humiliation was still riding her from her visit to Parker. He had brushed her off, dismissed her attempts at seduction with all but a laugh. But she’d had to see for herself just what Parker was up to with this foolish investment of his. A jazz café of all things. As if New Orleans didn’t have enough places to go hear jazz? As if people couldn’t buy a cup of coffee anywhere?
Irritated, she slanted another look through the glass at the crowd, hunched over the small tables, their faces lit by candlelight.
And she wanted to slap each and every one of them.
If they hadn’t shown up for his “grand opening,” Parker might have given up on this stupid idea of his. If no one had come to buy his coffee, drink his wine, listen to his music, he might have realized that maybe he was wrong not only about this place, but about a lot of other things, as well.
Maybe he would have given more thought to her and what she wanted.
But people liked to try something new. The crowds wouldn’t stay, though, she consoled herself. They’d move on to something better. But that didn’t help her now.
Her old friend Justine was right.
It was time to get some real information on little Miss Redhead.
Time to show Parker James that nobody walked out on Frannie LeBourdais.
HOLLY SMILED at the piano player. Parker had been right. The man wasn’t as talented as Tommy, but he was pretty close. Close enough that they worked smoothly together. It wasn’t the first time she’d sung with someone other than Tommy and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
She moved around the small stage, clutching the microphone in her right hand as she let the music fill her again.
It never ceased to amaze her how she came to life when music played. Beneath the lights, she blossomed like a flower under the sun. She was at home here, where she could look out at smiling faces and know they appreciated her and what she could do.
She’d found her talent at an early age and she thanked God for it every night. She loved losing herself in a song, giving everything she had to the lyrics, to the emotions swamping her with every note.
It was a kind of magic, she thought, the way that lyrics and melody could strike a chord in people’s hearts. Her voice climbed soulfully with the mournful notes of the old blues song as her attention focused on the man standing at the back of the room. Parker James.
He watched her, his gaze unflinching, as if he were trying to look deep into her soul.
And what, she wondered, would he think if he could see that deeply into her life?
Her past?
The plan she had for her future? Even as her voice caressed every word of the song, a corner of her mind entertained her dream of things to come. The home she hoped to fill with foster children. The chance for a better life that she wanted to offer kids as lost as she had once been.
But even as those thoughts flew through her mind, she knew the answer to her question. He would see just how different the two of them were. He would see that physical attraction, lust, was all they could ever share.
But what was wrong with that?
HE DROVE HER HOME when the café closed.
Parker told himself that he was only being polite. Thanking her for coming to his place and singing on opening night. But it was more.
And they both knew it.
He could still feel the punch of need that had slammed into him when she’d looked into his eyes across that crowded room. When she’d sung her heart out—it seemed just for him. Heat had arced between them, sizzling the atmosphere until he had half expected to see flames flare up.
Now, his body was tight, his mind a blessed blank, and his heart was pounding in his chest like a teenager hoping to get his best girl into the backseat of his daddy’s car.
“I enjoyed myself tonight, Parker.”
“You were amazing,” he said, turning briefly from the road to watch her profile in the dim light.
“Thanks,” she said. “It was fun.”
“I, uh…” God, he wasn’t in shape to raise the question he’d wanted to ask for the last few hours, but it was either that or give in to the urges clamoring inside. “Look, you said that sometimes you take other gigs during the week.”
She blinked at him. “Yeah…”
He turned left, steering the car down a shady street where antique streetlights provided faint light. The windows in the houses lining the narrow street were dark, their occupants asleep.
“I want you to sing for me. Regularly.”
“Oh. Parker…”
“Think about it.” He parked the car in front of her building, turned off the headlights, shut down the engine and set the brake. Then unsnapping his seat belt, he shifted so that he was facing her. “You work four nights at the Hotel Marchand. Great. Fine. But that leaves three nights open.”
“Yes, but—”
“You said you take other gigs where you find them. That you can use the extra money.”
“Sure—”
“So work for me.”
She unhooked her seat belt and turned to face him. The shadows in the car were so thick, he couldn’t read her expression to know what she was thinking.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Simple question, Parker. Why do you want me to work for you?”
“Because you’re an incredible talent.”
“And…”
“And you’ll bring in the crowds. People were coming in off the street all night to listen to you.”
“Uh-huh, and…”
He shoved one hand through his hair. In the confines of the car, her scent filled him. Something light, vaguely floral with a hint of spice. He heard her breathing quicken and felt his own speed up to match it. Instinctively he leaned toward her and could have sworn heat rippled off her body in waves.
“What is it you want me to say?”
“The truth. And the truth is, you’re not so much interested in me singing for you as you are in getting into my bed.”
“Not true.”
“As it happens,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m interested in having you in my bed. So I don’t need the soft soap. The compliments. I already want you.”
He reached for her, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in close. Her head tipped back and their eyes met. “It wasn’t a sales job,” he insisted tightly. “I do want you to sing for me. Every night that you can. I want you in my club. I want to hear your voice, watch you move, watch you smile.”
“Parke
r—”
“And all of that’s got nothing to do with me wanting to make love to you.” Even in the shadowy light, she was beautiful. His hands tightened on her shoulders, his thumbs stroking her skin. Need crouched inside him like a tightly leashed beast snarling to be set loose.
She shivered and her tongue smoothed across her bottom lip, the action tugging at him. “I do want you.”
“Good.” His grip on her gentled a bit, but he didn’t let her go. He wanted his hands on her skin, sliding over every square inch of her. “So? You gonna sing for me or not?”
She smiled. “You gonna kiss me or not?”
“Oh, yeah.”
His mouth covered hers, and she sighed into him. Her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer, and his tongue tangled with hers in a fast, erotic dance of need that both of them had ignored for days.
He pulled her onto his lap and groaned as her bottom settled against his erection. Every cell in his body was on fire. He felt the flames and welcomed them. It had been so long.
Need swamped him now, roaring through him, rattling his brain and shattering his soul.
She was everything.
Everything he needed.
Everything he wanted.
And lost in the moment, he refused to think beyond this instant in time.
His hands slid beneath the hem of her silky shirt, his fingertips sliding across her skin. He found her bra, a wisp of a thing, yet a barrier he couldn’t let stand between them. Still kissing her, tasting her, exploring her, he swept his hands behind her back to deftly undo the hook.
She sighed when he succeeded, then quickly filled his palms with her breasts, flicking her hard, peaked nipples with his thumbs.
Tearing her mouth free of his, she threw her head back and groaned his name as he kneaded her breasts with a firm, sure touch. A whispered sigh slid from her throat, driving his need even higher.
“I have to get you inside, Parker,” she whispered, her voice a raspy breath.
“I don’t want to let you go long enough,” he admitted, dropping one hand to cup her heated core. He stroked her rhythmically, even through the fabric of her slacks, his touch was electrifying.
“Baby,” she whispered, licking her lips, lifting her head until she could look into his eyes again, “if you don’t get me into my house right quick, we’re probably going to get arrested for having sex in a car.”
“Tempting,” he said, smiling as he saw the flash of hunger in her eyes.
A grin curved her mouth briefly. “Oh, you’re right about that,” she said, and shifted her hips, rubbing herself against his hand like a cat looking to be stroked. “But this’ll be a lot more fun if we’re naked.”
Fireworks went off behind his eyes, nearly blinding him. “Good point.”
She let go of him long enough to reach behind her back and hook her bra again. Then she leaned in to plant a swift, hard kiss on his mouth. “Let’s go then.”
She scooted off his lap and Parker muffled another groan as she slipped out from under his touch. He ached for her, and damn, that was hard for him to admit. But she’d sneaked in on him. She’d gotten under his skin without even trying, and now he had to have her.
He couldn’t sleep without dreaming about her.
Couldn’t work without thinking about her.
She opened the car door, grabbed her purse, then shot him a look over her shoulder. “You comin’?”
“Right behind you.”
She practically ran up the narrow stone walk to the front porch, and her key was in the lock before he’d stepped up behind her. The door swung open, and once they were inside, Parker turned the lock and followed her up the steep flight of stairs to the second-floor apartment. Another door here. He could feel his insides jumping, jittering, as he waited for her to get that door open.
At last he was stepping into an apartment that looked like a summer garden. Even through a blurred haze of lust, he could see the home she’d made here. The cool green walls and overstuffed yellow sofas. The place looked…cozy. Female. And it smelled like her.
Floral. Spicy.
Holly.
She threw her purse onto a nearby table, dropped her keys beside it, then turned into him. Hooking her arms around his neck, she pulled his mouth down to hers, then kissed him as if her life depended on it.
All thought and reason fled, leaving only the clamoring need to take her. To take all she offered and to give what he could. If there was a part of him that wished for more, he silenced it quickly.
Parker broke the kiss, lifted her shirt up and over her head, then quickly unhooked her bra again. She shimmied out of it, letting the scrap of lace and elastic drop to the floor.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, covering her breasts with his hands again. He felt her pebbled nipples burn into his palms, relishing the skip of her breath as he touched her.
“Wow, that’s really good,” she said, swallowing hard as she kept a grip on his shoulders to steady herself.
“I’m just getting started.”
“Good to know.” She looked at him. “You’re overdressed.”
“Guess I am.”
She unbuttoned his shirt, and when she was finished, she pushed it off his shoulders and arms, then scraped the tips of her fingers across his chest. He felt heat streaming through him, filling up every empty nook and cranny inside him.
And even as he realized that, Parker pushed the awareness away. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about what that might mean later on.
For now, it was enough to touch her and be touched. To know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“I need you,” she said. “Right now.”
“Oh, yeah.”
She grabbed his hand and headed for the darkened hallway and the room beyond. When she stepped inside, she flicked on a switch and a pale wash of light streamed from under a rose-colored lampshade. All Parker saw was the big brass bed with a mountain of pillows stacked against the headboard.
While he watched, Holly undid the button at the waistband of her slacks and pulled down the zipper. Stepping out of her heeled sandals, she kicked them away, then slipped off her slacks and threw them onto a chair. His mouth went dry. She wore only a tiny triangle of black lace suspended by two wispy threads of elastic.
“You’re killing me here,” he managed to say.
“Oh, Parker, that’s not my intention at all,” she said, turning to walk to her dresser on the other side of the room.
Frankly, if she said anything else, Parker missed it as his admiring gaze locked on her behind. Holly was open, easy with her nudity, and that was even more of a turn-on for him. He was glad she wasn’t insisting on darkness.
Because he really wanted to look at her.
She pulled the top drawer open, reached inside, then pulled out her treasure, holding it up for him to see. A handful of condoms in brightly colored packages.
“Glad to see one of us was prepared,” he said, grateful. He hadn’t carried condoms around in his wallet since he was an eager eighteen-year-old, hoping to get lucky.
She walked back toward him, slowing her steps, swaying her hips, clearly knowing he was watching and enjoying the show. She smiled up at him, tossed her hair back and lifted her chin.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes, Parker.”
“Won’t be in a minute or two.”
“Why wait?” she teased.
“What’s the hurry?” he countered, and reached for her, cupping her breasts, loving the feel of her silky-smooth skin beneath his fingertips. As much as he longed to lose himself in her, he wanted to savor the glorious sensations coursing through him.
She gave a soft moan. “You’re really good at that.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“Goodie.”
Tossing the condoms onto the bookcase beside the bed, she bent over, grabbed a few of the pillows and pushed them aside. Slowly, she stretched across the mattress to remove a few more.
That was all Parker could take.
He leaned over her and cupped her behind, then slid one hand beneath the black lace, finding her damp heat and cupping it. “Forget the damn pillows.”
She gasped, straightened and leaned against him, parting her thighs to give him more access. “What pillows?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU SMELL SO damn good,” Parker whispered, pressing her breasts to his chest.
Holly grabbed hold of his shoulders and clung to him like a rock climber finally finding a precarious perch. His mouth moved down her throat to her collarbone. His hands slid up and down her back as he bent over her. Her knees backed up against the edge of the mattress and she fought for balance, knowing she probably wouldn’t find it.
Not physical balance.
Not emotional.
Not tonight.
And she didn’t care.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t going to think a situation to death. She was simply going to enjoy what she was feeling. Take this night for what it was and relish it, rather than try to turn it into something else.
Parker felt strong and hard and warm, and it had been too long since she’d been touched.
His hands were rough on her body and she wanted them even rougher. She didn’t want to be treated as if she were made of some fragile porcelain. She wanted him fast and hard and eager.
She tugged at the waistband of his slacks and he got the message fast. In a few seconds he was out of his clothes and easing her back until she lay across the mattress.
“This,” he said, flicking the thin elastic band of her thong, “is making me crazy.”
“Then my work here is done.”
“Oh, not even close.”
His quick grin shot a jolt of awareness through her, and before she’d quite recovered, he flicked his wrist and had her thong down her legs and tossed aside. Then his hands slid up her body, exploring, touching.
Holly gasped for air and stared blindly up at the ceiling as her heartbeat quickened. When Parker grazed her breasts with his mouth, she gripped the sheets in her hands.
Need spiraled up within her as his tongue teased her nipples and his teeth nibbled.
Bourbon Street Blues Page 8
