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“Tell me your name.” I smiled. “That’s all. Just your name.”
The words came out so softly I couldn’t hear him. I leaned in close and he made a strangled noise.
“Repeat that, please?”
“Junior. Ta’ala. But everyone calls me Dune.”
“Where are you from, Dune?”
“I thought I only had to tell you my name.”
I pulled at the tie of my robe, loosening the knot. It had been way too long since I’d had someone to amuse me, and I planned on taking full advantage.
“Samoa,” he said in a rush.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Island in the South Pacific? Similar to Hawaii in landscape but less touristy?”
“I know where Samoa is,” I said. “So you’re Polynesian?”
“Afatasi. Half. My mom’s from New Zealand.”
“How did you end up here?”
“I needed a job, and I had to do something with … this.” He looked very confused as he gestured to his big body.
My smile was slightly predatory. I had some ideas about what he could do with it.
“Are we done?” he asked, regaining composure. “You need to get to your father’s library.”
“We’re done. For now.”
I let the robe fall off my shoulders, making sure Dune saw a good bit of back before I closed the door to my room. Call me hard up for entertainment, but getting him fired was going to be fun.
Dad wanted me downstairs only to tell me he’d be out for the evening, which was the equivalent of a dangling carrot. I wanted to play with the bodyguard, but cabin fever was getting to me.
It was nice to have options.
I dressed in a bustier and a pair of red leather pants, pulled my hair back in a slick ponytail, and then climbed down the side of my house, courtesy of the decorative pattern of horizontal bricks. I didn’t put on my stilettos until I was on the sidewalk, heading for the waiting cab. I plumped my lips on the ride over, gave the girls a little something extra, and changed my eye color to brown. I topped it off with a tiny, and definitely perky, button nose.
The cab dropped me at the corner of Bourbon and Saint Philip. I slipped into Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop.
Free. Breathing the air. Riding the rush.
I loved Lafitte’s because it was dark; the tourists always put on a good show, and I appreciated the colorful pirate history. Built in the 1720s, it was the oldest bar in the country. Jean Lafitte had buried treasure under the open fireplace, and on occasion, he’d been known to show up in the flames to give a red-eyed glare to scurvy knaves interested in his loot. I ordered a cherry lime mojito and took a table in the corner by the bar.
Once my drink arrived, I pulled out the plastic sword loaded with fruit and popped a cherry into my mouth.
I almost choked on it when my bodyguard pulled away my glass. He had on a white long-sleeved shirt, a chocolate brown vest, and an ivy cap. Surprisingly delicious.
“You can’t have that.”
“The hell, you say.” I tried to take the drink back, but he held it over my head. I couldn’t reach it, even in my heels. “I thought I gave you the slip. I’m kind of impressed. What’s your name again?”
“Dune.” He sniffed my glass before fishing out a sliced lime and ripping the fruit away from the peel with his teeth. “Virgin.”
“Says who?”
