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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?”
“I was talking about the drink.” He slid my glass back onto my table.
“I wasn’t.”
He looked up, and I fingered the neckline of my bustier to see where his eyes would go. They stayed on my face.
Hmm. Passed the douche test.
“No one carded me,” I said, “and I didn’t offer to show ID, so of course it doesn’t have alcohol. Bartenders are smart, especially in the Quarter.”
“Here’s an idea,” he said. “How about you bottoms up with your citrus Shirley Temple and I’ll take you back home?”
I sat back in my chair and took slow sips, studying him. He had a strong face, a wide jaw, and a bow-shaped upper lip. He smiled, because he realized I was staring at his mouth. I met his gaze.
His eyes were so damn sweet. There was no other word for it. His lashes were thick, and a scar sliced through his left eyebrow.
He was still smiling. Because I was still staring. I drained my drink. “I need another one.”
“You sure you don’t just want to grab a bottle of water at home?” he asked.
“Yessir.”
“You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”
“Most definitely.”
He reached for my glass and fished out the remaining cherry. “Here’s an idea.” He was smiling with his eyes again. “How about we negotiate?”
Dune
Chewing on the fruit gave me a second to gather my thoughts. I stared at her. “You look different.”
An obvious statement, which was why it had to be said.
Hallie raised her brows and sucked on the end of the plastic sword that had been in her drink. Her hair was as dark as usual, but her normally hazel irises were a deep brown. “Do I now?”
The changes were subtle, because her body was slim and tall like usual, but something was off. “Yeah.”
She smiled and leaned over to rest her elbows on the table. The angle and the bustier were doing a number on her cleavage. Her cleavage was doing a number on me—that was the difference. There wasn’t usually so much of it. I made a great show of not looking.
“Not one bodyguard has been able to catch me once I got into the Quarter. I’m offended—maybe impressed—that you’re here.”
