Blue Notes (21 page)

“So that’s
not
all you want?”

I shake my head. He gives my ass another long, languorous squeeze, pulling up, fitting me against his pelvis, testing me. Now I know how ready he is. If he reached down a few more inches, between my legs, he’d know I’m turned on too.

“That’s not all I want.”

“Then tell me,” he says. “Tell me, Keeley.”

“I want to forget how that night ended, because I want to trust you again. Fresh and new. I want to know that if you take me home right now, you’ll be amazing to me. But that won’t be enough.”

“So we’re not talking about a onetime deal here.”

“No,” I say, my tongue tingling, feeling thick and hard to manage. Too much of me is screaming,
More, more, more. All of you. As long as you’ll have me.

No, that’s not right. I’m screaming,
Forever
.

Little-girl fantasies. Fantasies of never being afraid.

I try to veer my thoughts back to the physical. When it comes to Jude and losing my virginity, I know I’ll be protected. He’ll do exactly what he promised.

“You have to give me an answer, sugar. We have to be clear.”

I find the courage to say what I need to, because he’s right. I need to know going in just how much I’m putting on the line. “You’re the one who said we aren’t dating.”

He finds my stiff knuckles and kisses them. His earnest eyes hold mine, still and calm. “I should’ve introduced you to that lawyer and his wife. I’m sorry I hurt you. And what I said—hell, I didn’t mean it.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“As for dating, I think we got it all backward. We agreed on a seduction, but not how to share a beer in public. I’m supposedly the big bad grown-up.” He shrugs, then smiles the most self-deprecating smile of all time. “Instead, I was an ass. I was probably a coward. Until I screwed up the ending, that was one of the best nights out I’ve ever had. Kissing, teasing, talking, laughing—you gave me a little of everything, and I never knew where I stood.”

“
You
didn’t?”

“I’m floundering too, sugar.” He rakes his hands through his hair, way more angrily than I’d done when stroking his nape. “Every day, I put on one of these damn suits and see a fraud in the mirror. I’m blustering my way through, trying not to fuck up Adelaide’s life and lose everything our parents worked toward. You called me overwhelming. It’s more like
overwhelmed
.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then I met you,” he continues. “I’ve been thinking about you, sleepless over you. I made something complicated out of something pure and full of potential.” He draws in a breath. “I never know what to expect with you. You have me so tied in knots. And for the first time in a very long time, that feels like a good thing.”

Protest bubbles on my tongue, but I’m too busy reveling in the idea that I tie this amazing man in knots.

We’re in this together.

“So call it seduction,” he says. “Call it dating. Call it spending as much time together as we can and seeing what happens. All I know is . . . I want no regrets.”

When I finally speak, it’s with a throaty voice I don’t recognize as my own. But it’s true—the only truth I’m one hundred percent certain I believe. “No regrets.”

 Twenty-Eight 

A
pparently “no regrets” starts in a horse-drawn carriage through the Garden District. We’re wrapped up in each other, emotionally and physically, as a new sort of tension builds between us. One storm has passed. A new one is gathering, despite clear early evening skies.

“Tonight’s the night, isn’t it?”

I don’t know where I get the courage to say it out loud, but I do and the look on his face reminds me of the power I have.
That’s
why I said it. His eyebrows shoot up, and he clears his throat. “If you want it to be.”

“Of course I do.”

“Believe me, sugar. There’s no ‘of course’ with you.”

I grin, then kiss the hollow under his jaw. Soon we’re kissing for real, with the rustling willows and the steady clop-clop of horse hooves as our soundtrack. I make him ditch his suit coat. He dares me to reciprocate by taking off the sheer black blouse I wear over a strappy camisole, which I flat-out refuse. Instead, I shed my purple jacket while he takes way too many liberties over my leggings, with his hands roving beneath my houndstooth skirt. Not that I stop him. The driver does his job, guiding us through the most picturesque streets of New Orleans and keeping his eyes front and center.

We wind up at a nondescript corner, where what must’ve once been mansions push right up to the slim sidewalks. Now they’re hotels and restaurants.

“Your choice,” he says. “Cheap authenticity, medium-priced touristy stuff, or damn expensive?”

I laugh. “Who’s paying?”

“
Moi
. No Dutch dates for us. If tonight’s the night, I want to treat you like a princess.”

“And if tonight doesn’t happen to be the night, mister?”

He grins and nuzzles where my sheer top brushes my collarbones. “What, the carriage ride isn’t enough for you?”

“Not when I’m starving and you can’t keep your hands off me.”

His smile is out in full force—the one I can’t resist. I can’t even resist touching it. With light fingertips, I trace his lips and the near-dimples that dot the smile lines that dig into his narrow cheeks.

“Don’t move,” I say. “And keep smiling.”

“So bossy.”

“That’s what my roommate says.”

That only makes him chuckle a little more, smile a little more. I lean up to kiss those teasing dimples, one on each side, before diving in for a completely mind-warping war of tongues and lips and even a nip of gentle teeth. We break away laughing. I think it’s a release. Still a release. We came so close to losing everything, but Jude made it right and I was brave enough to trust him again. This is how it’s supposed to be.

I shoot down all of the protests that come to mind. This
isn’t
how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to know who I am. I can’t ever let that happen, or magical rides and beautiful kisses will disappear.
He’ll
disappear. Jude Villars could have his pick of just about anyone. Why would he stay with a girl whose past is as shady as these tree-dappled streets?

Taking his head in my hands, I kiss him even harder, until he moans. The driver could’ve heard that one. I don’t care. I want to get lost with Jude as my only guide. He thinks I’m wonderful, and nothing will jeopardize that—not when I’m finally beginning to believe it. Parts of me
are
wonderful. The rest can stay hidden deep down. They don’t deserve the fading light of sunset.

We wind up disheveled and grinning like cats in the cream by the time we reach our destination. Apparently he’d already decided on “damn expensive,” because the combo restaurant/hotel is absolutely gorgeous. Only when I inhale the amazing scents coming from inside do I realize I haven’t eaten since that disastrous lunch with Brandon.
Ugh.
I need a meal do-over. This looks like the perfect place.

He helps me down from the carriage and discreetly pays the driver, who winks. I dip my head to hide a blush, then smooth the ends of my hair. I hope I look okay. I’ve been practicing all afternoon. Jude, by contrast—despite how tired he appears—is a god come down from on high to dine with us commoners. He has the jacket slung over one shoulder. His tie and collar are artfully mussed, and his hair just a little wild. His expression is what pulls it all together. He’s amused, confident, and strides with my arm tucked in his, as if the whole city belongs to him. No, the whole world.

I’m intoxicated.

“Stop fidgeting,” he says under his breath. I realize I’m tugging at my skirt and still fussing with my hair. “You look fantastic.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He leans in closer. “You look like you’ve been doing some very heavy petting with a guy you can’t get enough of.”

“God, I forgot how arrogant you can be.” But we’re both grinning. Once upon a jazz club, I took that attitude seriously. Now I know the difference between the ego he hurls at other people like a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball, and the teasing he uses against me. He’s making me so excited. I could pace with how much energy he’s stoking in me—a close second to my nerves.

“But here’s the deal,” he says as we follow a tuxedoed maître  d’. “You have to try everything I order.”

“I know Louisiana food. You’re not going to scare me off with jambalaya.”

“I don’t even think jambalaya is on the menu here.”

The maître d’ seats me, then hands over menus and the wine list. What drink Jude chooses for us—no clue. It’s in French, which rolls off his tongue like honey. The maître d’ nods, appearing impressed, and leaves us to ourselves.

“Do you speak French?”

Jude shakes his head. “I can pronounce it N’awlins style. But the lessons never stuck. Addie’s good, though. She claims it’s like learning piano, just patterns and rules.”

“What did you say to that?”

He leans in, where candlelight from the little floating votive at the center of the table adds depth and drama to his features. “That I don’t play piano either.”

“She’s wonderful, you know. Adelaide.”

“Sure she is. Been playing since she was two or three.”

“No,” I say, spreading the napkin over my lap. “As a person. I’m really glad she and I were partnered.”

An easiness settles over his expression, and a placid smile over his mouth. “Good. I’m glad.” Then he huffs out a tight breath. Bouncing from one side to the other is a little disorienting. “Now if only I could get her away from that damn pervert of a professor.”

“She’ll come around.”

“Before it’s too late? I don’t know about that.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit. I think she’s hypnotized by him. I know what that’s like.”

“I’m not married with a kid on the way.”

“No, but I don’t think that matters when hearts get involved.”

“Can we talk about something else?” he asks, voice tense.

I take his hand—which has curled into a fist—and unlock his fingers until he twines them with mine. “No problem. You can go back to telling me how great I look.”

“Mouthwatering, sugar.”

“That’s just your stomach talking.” I finally open the menu, only to be confronted with about a hundred French words. “Let me guess. You’re doing the ordering?”

“Yup,” he says with a smile that banishes his brief flirtation with darkness.

“And I have to try everything, even if I don’t know what it is.”

“Yup.”

The restaurant is high end, for sure. Chandeliers that I bet are made from real crystal hang over sets of four tables. Grecian statues stand watch over wide, wide windows that overlook the lush Garden District street below. Fresh flowers are probably wasted, because the smells from the kitchen are overpowering, especially when I’m ready to taste everything, try everything.

That means Jude too. He looks at me like
I’m
the main course. He promised foreplay, and this feels like part of it. He’s seducing me in the slowest, most courtly way possible. He’s making me laugh and making me wait and making me adore him in ways that are dangerous to think about. So I don’t. I enjoy the moment, especially when a waiter comes to take our order. More of that delicious French. I have no idea what I’ll be eating, but I’m convinced it’ll be mind-blowing. And if it’s not, I get to watch Jude when his eyes roll closed over flavor that leaves him floored.

I want to affect him that way.

“So . . . what do we get?”

“Let’s call it an assortment,” he says playfully. “Get used to that, sugar. Has anything changed? About tonight?”

“Full steam ahead.”

A dangerous grin shapes his mouth into playful wickedness. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?” He laughs. “Oh, but your blush is precious, Keeley.”

“Quit.”

“No way. Admit it. You’re racking your brain to think of some way to set me on edge too.” He lifts my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “You hide so much from so many people, but you want to be memorable to me. That’s gotta be quite a contradiction in your head. A constant war. I wonder which will win the day . . . and the night.”

“You think you’re so badass.” Laughing, I untuck my sheer chiffon shirt and, there in front of whoever’s watching, I whip it over my head. I ruffle my hair before smoothing it back into place, then hand the shirt to Jude. I’m chilly, which probably explains why he’s trying really hard to be inconspicuous about splitting his attention between my eyes and my chest. “You said you like small breasts,” I whisper.

“Mean, mean woman.”

“No. Generous, generous woman.”

“Mmm, very much so.”

I tilt my head. “This is a pretty posh place, Jude. What would happen if you met one of your business colleagues here, and here I am, all sweat-cooled from practice and wearing this camisole?”

“I’d introduce you, but I wouldn’t stand up to do it.”

A little part of me shrinks down, surprised that after the foul air we cleared, he would still hold something back. “Okay.”

“Keeley? Look at me.”

I do. His Caribbean blue eyes are shining with mischief and secrets. “I wouldn’t stand up because I don’t want the whole restaurant to know how turned on I am.”

I sputter into my napkin. Not the most graceful. Then I grin at him from the top edge of the starched cotton. “You’re mean too.”

“Just following your lead, sugar.”

The food arrives, but it seems like a complete distraction. The waiter is polite. He keeps his reaction to my change of attire down to a minimum. One appetizer is some sort of dome that has oysters and bacon, along with—to my surprise—absinthe from Switzerland, all under a pastry crust. Oh my God, it’s amazing. Then there’s gumbo, but not like the gumbo they serve on campus. That’s like saying a steak from a waffle house is the same as a filet mignon. This is flavorful, not just hot. There’s turtle soup too, which is the one dish where I hesitate.

Jude shakes his head. “Everything. An assortment, remember?”

“You’re not just talking about the food.”

“No way. If you’re giving me the whole night, sugar, you’re getting everything I have.”

I shiver. “Can I be honest and say that sounds a little scary?”

“I made you promises. I intend to keep each one.” He nods to the bowl in front of me. “Now give it a try.”

“And what, I’ll thank you for it afterward?”

“Absolutely.” He’s the most handsome, most infuriating, most incredible man I’ve ever seen when he unleashes his smile—all amazement and sensuality. “And I’ll thank you.”