All Smoke No Fire (6 page)

He wrapped his arm around her, kissing her neck. “I’m looking forward to the next few days alone with you.” Dax jumped out of bed and dressed, packing his things in his duffle bag as Marilou stuffed her clothes in her own suitcase.

“I’ve never been here before.” He hauled his guitar and bag to the front of the bus and stood looking out the window. “Aw, man, is that the Superdome?”

She would truly enjoy showing him around, introducing him to local specialties and sights. Wandering out of the bedroom, she sat next to where he stood. Beth drove, expertly maneuvering the tight turns.

“Different than where you come from?”

“Yeah. Small town in South Dakota.”

“How did you get a job working oil?” They drove south on Canal Street toward the river.

“My friends, Shaw, Huck, and Pete, and I, we all decided to go up and work for enough years to make a fortune.”

“A fortune? Really?”

He glanced down at her. “Yep. It’s been big income. Shaw owns a ranch in Lemmon. That’s the town we come from.” He went back to watching the tall buildings on the edge of the French Quarter. “He’s buying a herd of cattle with his money. Pete wants to buy out his parents and run their ranch.” Dax grinned. “If he can convince them to retire. And Huck, heck, he’s got some side stuff going on, but he’ll probably buy an equine operation someday. He’s got a likin’ for horses.”

“And you? Are you going to buy a ranch, too?”

With a sigh, he shook his head. “No. I’m a townie. My parents sold the acreage when…when I was just out of high school, and moved to town. I’ve got no interest in ranching.”

There was more to his story, but she wouldn’t push him. “It’s gotta be nice to have money stashed away, have options.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything but roughnecking, so I’ll just keep doing that until I find something else to do.”

As Beth executed a flawless U-turn, Marilou watched Dax. He had no idea how quickly his music career was about to take off. “You can see the river.” She pointed out the other side of the bus.

He stepped to the opposite windows. “It’s big.”

“Yep.” She’d be sure to book them on a paddleboat ride.

Beth pulled the bus into a cutout in front of a hotel and shifted into park, letting the bus idle. “You’re home.”

Marilou loved to hear those words.

“You live in a hotel?” He tipped his head to look way up at the skyscraper.

Grabbing her bags, she laughed. “No, but the streets in the Quarter are too narrow for the bus, so we’ll walk the last few blocks.”

Dax slung his duffle bag strap across his chest and took her makeup bag and suitcase from her, leaving her with only her purse.

“I can carry—”

He winked. “I’m old-school. Carry a lady’s gear for her.” He stepped aside and she preceded him off the bus. “Have a safe trip home.” She waved to Beth who just grinned as she closed the door and shifted the bus into gear.

“They’re from Kansas, right?” Dax followed her along the sidewalk, then when she took a right turn, he stopped.

“Wow, is this it?” He looked around at the old, squat buildings.

“The French Quarter.” She breathed deeply through her nose. “Smell that? It’s the smell of tropical vegetation mixed with decay, the Mississippi mingling with Cajun spices, French champagne and sweet red cocktails.”

He inhaled, then looked down at her. “We should write a song about it.”

“That would be fun.” She got them moving again, down damp cobblestone streets, past restaurants and shops with gas lamps gracing the entrances. Deep into the heart of the Quarter.

“What’s all the light over there?” He pointed to their left.

“Bourbon Street. Touristy, but fun. We’ll get there a night or two so you can get your fill.”

“You’re the tour guide. Whatever you say goes.” He lagged behind, stopping to look at a plant, or drop a few dollars into a street musician’s bucket.

Marilou stopped in front of her condo, feeling for the nearly-invisible cover over her keypad. The square shotgun house had been converted into two condos, and when the door popped open, they stepped into the foyer with steps leading up to her home.

At the top of the steps, she flicked on the light and glanced around the open floorplan before she set her purse on the little oak table surrounded by four matching chairs.

“Very nice.” He set down his bags and walked to the front windows. “What’s that?”

She wandered over to him, resting her hand on one of the two red wingback chairs that faced into the room. The couch, in a modern pattern, ran the length of the small room, facing the gas fireplace and television.

Dax pointed to the green striped awning a few blocks away.

“Café du Monde. Coffee and beignets.”

He looked at her, waiting for more.

“We’ll go there as soon as I change.”

“We’re going out tonight?” He grinned and pulled her into his arms.

“Your first night in The Big Easy…ever? Hell yeah, we’re going out. It’s not even midnight.”

He leaned in for a kiss, his lips firm and warm against hers. When his hands slid to her ass, pulling her belly tight against his hardening shaft, she slowed the kiss and leaned back.

“I’m hungry for some gumbo.” Wiggling her belly against his erection, she licked her lips. “Then I’m hungry for this.”

Dax growled but let her loose. They hauled the bags into her small bedroom and she made a space on her mahogany dresser for his duffle.

He looked out the windows that faced north. “Bourbon Street?”

She glanced that way. “Yep. That’s why the curtains are heavy and black. It’s like daylight all night on that street.”

“Can’t wait.” Sitting on the queen-sized bed, he bounced a couple times. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about gumbo and want to give this bed a workout first.”

Patting her stomach, she shook her head. “Gotta get my fix of Creole cookin’.”

“I’m ready when you are.” He pointed toward the closet. “Bathroom?”

She gestured out into the hall. “Out and to your left.”

He patted her butt as he passed her and clomped down the hall.

Choosing a dark blouse, jeans, and cowgirl boots, she changed quickly, excited to show him her city. She hadn’t had a man here in three years, and that last time had ended horribly for her. Reminding herself not to compare the two men, she used positive affirmations to keep herself from sliding into dark thoughts.

They left the condo and headed east to one of her favorite Cajun/Creole restaurants. He’d never heard of most of the things on the menu, so she ordered four entrees and they ate until they were barely able to walk.

“Dessert?” She took his hand and leaned in for a quick kiss as they wandered along the river walk.

“I want to try those beanie things you mentioned.” He slung his arm across her shoulders and pulled her closer.

Had he been waiting to see if she was okay with public displays of affection? He probably thought people recognized her everywhere she went, paparazzi followed her every movement, crazed fans ripped off her shirtsleeves for souvenirs. She had a lot to teach him. “Starting with beignets.” They sat at Café du Monde and shared a plate of the square, hollow, powdered sugar donuts that made the open-air spot famous. Hot and sweet, they practically melted in her mouth.

“Good stuff.” He had more sugar on his lips than she’d ever seen on anyone before. Smiling, he moved in, as if to kiss her.

She held up her hand, but he tugged her in for a long, slow sweet kiss. When he pulled back, she caught her breath and gazed deep into his eyes. She really enjoyed being with him. Loved to hear his ideas for songs, wanted to know more about him. She was falling hard and fast.

“Wanna try out that bed of yours now?” He finished the last of his chicory coffee.

She nodded. “Can’t wait.”

Dax felt like a five-year-old as he asked Marilou a hundred questions while they toured the city the next day. He’d never seen above-ground cemeteries, the trollies that ran down St. Charles fascinated him, and he wanted to try every type of food he’d never had before.

Shopping for clothes for him became a game when Dax picked out jeans and T-shirts, and Marilou bribed him with kisses to get him to try on purple, green and gold shorts. The photo of him in the shorts did not get sent back to the guys.

That night, he attended his first Carnival parade and wasn’t shy about wearing half the beads he caught for Marilou. He hadn’t realized there were dozens of parades for weeks leading up to Mardi Gras, and they were spread all over the area, all across the state. She pointed to floats going by, explaining how they’d be situated on their float the next day, making his gut jitter all over again.

On the way back, they stopped at the bar they’d be playing at Tuesday and watched the band for a few hours, danced some, and drank too much.

Saturday evening’s ride on their parade float started out rough, with him stepping on Marilou’s vocals a few times as they stood belted onto support frames with just their guitars and voices making the music. It got much better after that, and he found himself having a lot of fun halfway through. They sang their playlist four times before the end of the parade route, then partied with the Krewe half the night.

Sleeping in her bed had to be the most amazing thing ever in his life. She was hot and receptive, sometimes tentatively taking charge, usually letting him drive the action, but always willing and ready for him.

Sunday, they drove along Plantation Alley and toured all the huge pre-Civil War mansions, hearing the stories of the families that spent their lives there; some in the big houses, some in the shacks out past the barns.

That night, a long, slow paddleboat ride took them along the Mississippi to the tunes of a traditional New Orleans jazz combo and featuring a five-course dinner of the best grub he’d tasted yet.

The next day, Marilou started a slow cooker full of rice and beans, a Monday tradition in those parts, before they headed out to the swamps for a gator tour.

She teased him about the number of pictures he took and forwarded to his friends, but Dax knew she couldn’t imagine how fascinating this place must be to him—and to his friends. Small-town, farm boys, they’d driven to neighboring states, but the scenery didn’t change much. Not like this mysterious city. Voodoo shops just blocks away from Catholic churches? Crazy shit.

Why hadn’t he traveled more? He had the money, he could go just about anywhere he wanted. But why would he want to travel alone?

Glancing at Marilou, who sat next to him in the pontoon, listening intently as the heavily-accented Cajun talked about life in the swamps, Dax got the sudden urge to go away with her, see places neither of them had seen, enjoy being tourists for a while.

As the cacophony of frogs croaking, birds chirping, and insects buzzing closed in, he leaned closer to her, a blur of emotion surprising him, warming him from the inside out. This woman was someone he wanted to know better.

Marilou smiled up at him. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, I sure am.” He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. Or anyone he’d choose to be with but her.

Later that evening, in the gay section of Bourbon Street, he knew he definitely would rather be on the swamp tour. Talking with the woman out on the street who tried to lure the two of them into the bar, it took him a few minutes to realize…that wasn’t no lady.

Marilou laughed until she couldn’t walk and had to have his help down the block to sit down. “The look on your face…” She laughed again, tears coming from her eyes.

“It’s not that I object to…” He gestured back the way they’d come. “Alternative lifestyles, it’s just that I’m not used to it.”

“Oh, smokey.” She kissed him, keeping her face right in front of his. “I’m going to have fun showing you more things you’re not used to.”

“Kitten, anytime, anywhere.” The heat that flared low in his gut translated into a pulse of blood to his cock that nearly made him dizzy.

“I think…now.” She stood, taking his hand and trying to pull him up. “And I think my bedroom.”

He stood, tugging her close. “I think you got a deal.”

****

Mardi Gras day dawned warm and sunny as they woke early to watch the Zulu parade wind its way along the perimeter of the Quarter. After a big breakfast, they got into the spirit of the revelers at a dueling piano bar. A few hours before their gig, she dragged him away from the party to head to her place to practice. A conscientious professional, Marilou took her job more seriously than anyone he knew.

Their performance at the bar that afternoon drew a constantly changing crowd of people wearing more purple, green, and gold than Dax knew existed. She signed a few autographs and reminded the crowd that everything in the tip jar would go to a local charity.

He loved how she gave of herself, even planting a lipstick-kiss on a man’s cheek for a twenty-dollar donation to the jar.

When they finished, they hauled their guitars through the crowded streets back to her condo and warmed up some of the leftovers in the fridge, sitting at the table to pick at each other’s plates.

“Tell me about your manager.” He wanted to be ready for the meeting the next day.

She stopped chewing and her eyes dropped, her lips curving down in a pout. “What do you want to know?”

He set down his fork. “Whatever you think I need to know.”

“You want to get a manager? Is that one of your goals?” Her words came out slowly.

“I don’t know. Someday, I guess. If this whole singing thing turns out okay.”

She puffed out a breath and went into detail about Delroy North, but she looked so unhappy, he didn’t ask for any more information.

****

“One more drink…” Marilou held up her half-full plastic cup. She’d been getting steadily sloshed all evening, doing shots and dancing alone when he begged off. She had her party game on, for sure.

Behind her back, Dax shook his head at the bartender and pulled out his wallet. “How about going to that pizza place on the corner for a slice?” He paid the bartender for the last hurricane she’d ordered and guided her toward the exit.

“I don’t want to eat.” She turned out of his grasp, spilling some of the sticky red drink on his arm. “I want to dance!”