Bourbon Street Blues (6 page)

She felt it, too. He could see that in the flash of surprise in her eyes. Then she turned to make her way back to the stage. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the view as she walked away was just as good as the view of her coming toward him.

She’d gotten inside him, Parker thought. In a couple of days, Holly Carlyle had managed to get under his skin, past the defenses he’d spent the last ten years erecting.

A sobering thought.

One that was troubling enough to douse some of the flames still heating his blood. God knew he wasn’t looking for a woman. And yet…he’d needed to be here. To see her again.

To see Holly in her element.

Now that he had, he knew he’d never get her out of his mind again.

Her smile called to him.

Her voice slipped into his soul.

He wanted her.

And more than just the personal—he wanted her singing at his place.

He was businessman enough to realize just what a singer of her caliber, her personality, could bring to his new place. She would bring people in off the streets. Her voice would be a siren song that couldn’t be denied.

Somehow, he would have to convince her to sing at his jazz café.

Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the tabletop, ordered a beer from the waitress and prepared to wait Holly out. Besides, he couldn’t have left now if his life had depended on it.

“Y
OU DON’T HAVE
to take me home,” Holly said for what had to be the fifteenth time in the last few minutes.

Parker kept his eyes on the road and his hands fisted on the steering wheel of his black convertible. The sounds and scents of New Orleans assailed them as they drove toward the Garden District.

Disjointed snatches of music drifted from the open doors and windows of the clubs they passed. Neon lights were a blurred rainbow of colors, and in the distance, thunder rumbled over the gulf.

“It’s not that far a drive,” he said, still not looking at her. Hell, even though she’d changed out of that red dress and into a simple collared shirt and khaki slacks, she was irresistible. Her auburn hair flew about her face and she reached up to gather it and hold it down at the nape of her neck.

“I was surprised to see you at the hotel.”

He shrugged. “Wanted to see you at work.”

“How’d I do?”

“You were amazing.” He shot her a quick look in time to see the pleased smile curve her lips.

“Thank you.”

When he stopped for a red light, he finally turned to face her.

“A talent like yours comes along once in a generation. Maybe. Why are you content to stay here and sing in clubs?”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Parker was pretty sure she was actually blushing. God, this woman appealed to him on so many levels.

“Well,” she said softly, “that’s quite a question—and compliment.”

“Only the truth.”

She smiled at him. “That’s kind of you to say. And to answer your question—” she waved her hand to indicate the color and noise of the Quarter “—I love this place. These people. New Orleans is my home. I don’t think I’d be happy anywhere else.”

“You could still record.”

“Don’t need to.”

“I don’t get it. You could be famous.”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested in fame.”

“Or fortune?”

Holly laughed. “I’m doin’ fine, thanks for asking. And I’ve nearly got enough put away that—”

“That what?”

Her mouth pursed but she shook her head. “Let’s just say I’ve got a few plans and dreams of my own.” She pointed. “Light’s green.”

“Right.” Parker stepped on the gas, kept up with the flow of traffic and listened to her as she gave him directions to her place. But even as he listened, one corner of his mind played back what she’d said. What did she dream about? What kinds of plans would grab her, hold on to her?

The streets of the Garden District were sedate after the noise and hubbub of the Quarter. Homes were dark and shadows crouched everywhere.

Moonlight drifted through the trees.

A solitary dog barked and the clang of an iron gate being closed sounded overly loud. The air felt heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers.

He shut off the engine, got out of the car and walked around to her side to help her out. With her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet and she just sort of naturally ended up pressed against his side. Parker slid one arm around her waist, wanting to hold her there.

“Um, this is my place, here.” She stepped back and away, waving one hand at the house on the corner. Two stories, the pale peach building had been standing proud for more than a century. Lacey iron
scrollwork defined the upper and lower balconies and gave the old house the look of an elderly woman dressed up in her best.

“Nice,” he said, and shoved both hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “Looks like she came through the hurricane without much trouble.”

“It wasn’t bad. And I’m on the top floor, so I had fewer problems than most.” She started for the black metal gate, worked in the same fashion as the balconies. “I’d invite you in but…”

He nodded. “Probably not a good idea.”

“No, probably not.”

Leaning back against the hood of his car, Parker said, “I’ll be here, till you get inside.”

“I’ll be fine, Parker. I’ve been on my own a long time.”

“I’ll wait, anyway.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “How long will you wait? I wonder.”

They both knew she was talking about more than his offer to watch until she was safely inside her apartment.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

H
OLLY SAT OUT ON HER
balcony for hours after Parker left. The night was cool, but held just a hint of the warmth that would soon cloak the city. She leaned back in her chair, kicked her feet up to the iron railing and crossed them at the ankles.

She took a sip of crisp white wine and stared into the night. A tree hugged the side of the old house, and a slight wind ruffled its leaves, sounding a little like raindrops slapping the street. In the distance, a dog barked halfheartedly, then quieted again.

All around her, the world was sleeping. Holly felt as though she were alone in the universe, and usually she liked that feeling just fine. After all, she was a night owl. She came to life at the same time everyone else was winding down. She liked sitting out here on her tiny balcony, listening to the quiet, feeling the wind, watching shadows stretch across the so familiar street.

It was always peaceful. A relaxing way to end her night and get ready for bed. Until tonight, that is. Tonight her thoughts were too busy ricocheting around her mind for her to relax. And most of those thoughts were—surprise—centered on Parker James.

She couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake by not inviting him in. Logically, she knew it had been the right thing to do. The
smart
thing to do. God, she hated being smart. She’d much rather be satisfied. Much rather have him here, now, kissing her in the moonlight. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to ignore the humming in her blood.

“Oh, boy.” The sad truth was, Holly wanted Parker as she hadn’t wanted anyone since…

“Well, there you go,” she whispered into the night. “That’s why he’s not here right now, missy.” She took a sip of wine and shook her head. “If you’re going to make mistakes, at least make
new
ones.”

The last man who’d turned her inside out, Jeffrey St. Pierre, had come from the same background as Parker. Old money, a lineage that stretched back a century or two and a family that wouldn’t be happy about him spending time with a jazz singer.

Jeff had played her for a fool almost from the get-go. And it shamed her to admit just how willing she had been to believe his lies. She had been stupid enough to
believe he cared about more than getting her into bed. She’d believed they were headed somewhere—together. She’d told him about her past. Shared with him the plan she had for her future—something she hadn’t told anyone else except for Shana and Tommy.

She’d let him into her heart. She’d given him everything he’d needed to shatter her when he’d tired of her. And, oh, that knowledge still stung. Bad enough to have your heart broken. Worse to stand there and invite it.

Another sip of wine and she sighed, as those old memories twisted at her heart one more time. She had learned a lot in the past three years. She’d discovered that she didn’t need a man standing beside her to make her happy. She could take care of her own happiness.

She wouldn’t allow herself to build dreams that had no hope of coming true.

Not again.

“But, oh, my, Parker surely knows how to kiss,” she whispered, fingers tightening on the stem of the crystal glass. She could almost taste him again, his mouth on hers, his breath dusting her cheeks, his heartbeat slamming against hers.

Her stomach did a quick flip and her blood pumped thickly, hotly. The simple truth was, she wanted his hands on her. Wanted his mouth on her.
Wanted him inside her. To feel that rush of sensation that heralded a bone-shaking orgasm.

The question was, would it be smart? No, not really. But as long as her heart wasn’t involved, there wouldn’t be anything wrong in taking the man to bed, now would there?

Smiling to herself, she drained the rest of her wine, then tapped her toes to the melody stringing out in her mind.

P
ARKER OPENED
his front door the following afternoon and just managed to bite back an impatient oath.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Frannie asked as she lifted up on her toes to give his cheek a quick kiss. “Not happy to see me?”

She sailed past him, through the open door, crossed the foyer and stepped into the living room. Dragging the tip of one finger across a long, low table, she idly checked for dust, didn’t find any and still smoothed her fingertips together as if rubbing away grime.

“Love what you’ve done here,” she said, though her tone clearly indicated she didn’t mean it.

A stab of irritation jolted Parker as he followed his soon-to-be ex-wife into the main room. She wore a pale blue silk dress that clung to her generous curves
and stopped about three inches above her knees. He watched her as she did a slow turn, taking in everything.

When he’d moved out of their shared home, he’d done up his new place just the way he wanted it, with oversize, dark brown leather couches and waist-high bookcases all around the circumference of the room. Sunlight glanced in through the wide windows and lay like gold on the pine floorboards.

This was
his
home. Frannie had no place here.

“What do you want?”

“Is that any way to talk to your wife?” She dropped to the edge of one of the sofas and slid one leg over the other.

“
Ex
-wife.”

“Not yet, honey.” Leaning back into the sofa, she ran the flat of her hand across the soft-as-butter leather. “I don’t much care for leather. It can be so uncomfortable in the summer.”

He walked into the room and glared at her. “Thankfully, that’s not one of your worries.”

“Oh, Parker.” She gave him a small smile then eased herself off the sofa and walked toward him. “No reason to be hateful, darling. Not when we’ve shared so much.”

Parker laughed. “Who the hell are you playing here, Frannie? The only thing we shared was a name.”

She pouted a little and looked up at him from under half-closed eyelids. “Parker, honey, every marriage goes through a little trouble now and then.”

Her perfume floated around him, grabbed at his throat, thick, cloying—a lot like Frannie herself. He was immune to her scent. Immune to her lies. But damned if he could figure out what her game was.

“A little trouble?” he repeated. “Frannie, we’ve been separated for years.”

“But still married, darlin’,” she purred, holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers so that the sunlight caught the three-carat diamond and sent sparks of light shooting around the room like balls on a billiard table.

She had always been a fiend for jewelry. The bigger and gaudier, the better.

“I still want to know what you’re doing here,” he said, stepping away to drag in a breath that wasn’t doused in her scent. “We’re supposed to meet at the lawyers’ office in an hour.”

She waved one hand at him and walked to a sideboard that held crystal decanters of vodka, brandy and Irish whiskey. Picking up the vodka, she splashed a small amount into a tumbler and took a quick sip. “I canceled the appointment.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

She smiled. “Parker, honey, we don’t need to meet in front of a bunch of lawyers. We can handle this on our own.”

“Since when?” He folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she carried her drink back to the sofa and slipped down onto a cushion.

She was up to something. He could damn near see the wheels turning.

“Oh, now, you know as well as I there’s not that much to be settled.”

True. They had been damn close to signing off on this marriage from hell—until Frannie had decided that her financial settlement wasn’t nearly as generous as it should be.

“Only the fact that you want to dip your greedy little hand deeper into my family’s company.”

Her full lips rounded in a moue that she probably thought of as seductive. Lord knew he’d fallen for that act himself ten years ago. Now he knew better. Now he could recognize the barracuda behind the practiced smile and cooing voice.

“Now, Parker, darlin’, I’m sure you’ll agree that the settlement we made earlier just isn’t fair anymore.” She leaned back into the sofa. “Why, the tariffs I’m forced to pay are just monstrous.”

“Not my fault new regulations came into place.
You agreed to your share of the company and that’s all you’re getting from me, Frannie.” Parker dropped onto the sofa opposite her. “I’m tapped.”

F
RANNIE BATTLED BACK
a ripple of nervousness. He was too…indifferent. Removed from this conversation. From
her.
Even at their worst, she had been able to bring Parker around with a few smiles and maybe a tear or two. Though she was loathe to admit it, he now seemed immune. But she couldn’t allow Parker to slip out of her life, taking his name with her. Her own family line went back several generations, but the LeBourdais family fortune had done considerable shrinking over the last fifty years or so. When Frannie married Parker, her lifestyle had changed dramatically.

And, she acknowledged, she’d become complacent over the last ten years. She’d grown accustomed to the easy wealth, the prestige that his family name had given her. She had been able to live exactly as she wanted. Her affairs were discreet—she made sure no one discovered that she preferred women to men. Her own father would disown her if he knew. Such a God-fearing man, he’d slap the letter L on her shirtfront and toss her into the street without so much as a trust fund to keep her warm.

Her separation from Parker hadn’t affected her lifestyle at all. But a
divorce
was going to put a serious crimp in her position in New Orleans society. And that was something she would never accept lightly.

After ten years, Parker was suddenly demanding that divorce. Demanding that they put an end to their marriage legally. Why? What had pushed him over the edge? What had made him decide that his freedom from her was worth fighting for? Was that little redhead behind all this?

Well, if she was, Frannie could fight her. And win.

After all, she’d convinced Parker ten years ago that she loved him. How hard would it be to do it again?

She took a long drink, ran her tongue across her top lip then leaned toward him, making sure he got a good glimpse of the pale pink lace bra she wore beneath her dress. “What would you say if I told you I wasn’t interested in getting any more money out of you, darlin’?”

He looked skeptical. “I’d wonder what you were up to.”

She smiled despite the sting of the insult, set her crystal tumbler down onto the table in front of her and stood. Walking around the table, she sat beside him and ran the tips of her fingers up and down his arm.

“Parker, honey, the truth is, the closer this divorce comes, the more I’ve been thinking about…well…
us.
”

“Frannie—”

“Now, let me talk for a minute here, and you just listen, all right?” Her fingertips drifted from his arm to his shoulder and down across his chest. She slid them neatly beneath the collar of his shirt and slowly stroked his bare skin.

Parker shifted uneasily.

Frannie hid a smile. Really. Men were just all too simple to manipulate.

“Honey, I don’t think we gave us a real chance, do you?”

H
E LAUGHED
and grabbed her hand, closing his fingers around it tightly. “A chance? We were married ten years, Frannie. That’s chance enough for anybody.”

She pouted and Parker absently tried to remember just how often she’d used that same routine to try to wheedle her way around him. Too damn often, he thought, unmoved.

“Now you’re just bein’ stubborn.” She leaned in closer, blew softly against his neck, then touched her mouth to the underside of his jaw.

And he felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“Parker, we could start over. Just the two of us. I could be a good wife.”

“Maybe,” he said, and jerked his head back so that he could look into her eyes. And there he read the truth. There was no passion. No need. “But not to me.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” She straightened her skirt, then hiked the hem just a bit higher on her thighs.

“Frannie, we didn’t even share a bed after the first six months of our marriage.”

“We could now.”

“And what makes now so different?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Not so I’ve noticed.”

“Well, if you’re only going to be insulting.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” he said, tired now by this whole pointless discussion. “I’m just saying it’s done. Let it go.”

“I can’t.” Temper skittered across her eyes. “I won’t.”

She reached for him, cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand and brought his face to hers. Slanting her mouth over his, she kissed him, putting everything she had into it.

Simple shock kept Parker in place for longer than
he liked. He couldn’t help comparing this kiss to the few he’d shared with Holly. Touching Holly was like grabbing hold of a live wire. Being kissed by Frannie was nothing more than a mild irritation. Finally he broke the kiss and pulled back. “Don’t do this, Frannie. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Stunned, she stared at him. “
Embarrass
myself?” she repeated, standing and fisting her hands at her hips. “You’re the one who should be embarrassed. Your
wife
is sitting right beside you, offering herself to you, reminding you of sacred vows, and all you can do is sit there? Why, you’ve got all the passion of an ice-cold catfish, Parker James. Or is it that you’re too interested in your little redhead to pay any attention at all to your wife?”

His eyes narrowed. When Frannie was angry, the truth usually came spewing out. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw you with her yesterday.” She flipped her hair back, then smoothed it with a practiced hand. “Out in front of that little club of yours.”

Everything inside him went cold and still. “What were you doing at my place?”

“You’re my
husband,
” she pointed out. “Why shouldn’t I come by to see your newest endeavor?
And I certainly did see her. Shame on you, Parker. You could at least have found someone with style.”

“Leave Holly out of this.”

“Holly?” She laughed harshly and shook her head. “Silly name.”