7. Leia

Chapter 7

My face burned as I followed along behind a younger guy with dark hair and an equally dark suit. Everything about him looked slightly deadly, even though he was shorter than Nicolas.

I touched one of my warm cheeks self-consciously. When had he become Nicolas in my head? Was that the effect of yet another of those drugging kisses? I lost myself when he kissed me like that. Let go and floated away, only conscious of his lips, his tongue, his hands on my skin, and my body pulsing with desire.

And I really had let myself go in his arms. I felt safe, and I felt wanted. But how far would I have gone? The memory of his body beneath mine, hard and ready, sent another wave of desire through me, and I inhaled a breath at how sharply I felt it. I'd wanted him inside me. Craved it, in that moment. But I barely knew him. Would I have gone so far?

I hadn't with any other man, and while I imagined the full romantic experience—soft lighting, and a kind, understanding man in a comfortable bedroom—apparently my body was A-okay with a bench style seat on a Baton Rouge roof terrace.

The fresh heat over my skin was less leftover lust and more embarrassment now. After all, I was fast abandoning the idea that being a twenty-eight-year-old virgin was a good thing these days. It wasn't something I generally told guys. The idea of purity didn't exist in our porn culture, and I hadn't been saving myself. Lack of opportunity definitely shouldn't be mistaken for lack of sexual confidence in this regard…although there was part of me where that confidence eroded daily. Being wanted was a powerful aphrodisiac.

That said, I wasn't about to jump on the first guy who came along.

Except I had.

Twice.

If Nicolas's phone hadn't interrupted us, what would I have let myself do? Would I have stopped? Stopped him? What would he have done?

I shook my head. Probably better I didn't know the answer to any of those questions. I'd said I wouldn't sleep with him, and regardless of whether he took that to mean actual shut-eye, I'd definitely meant sex. So that was that.

Except I was still so aware of him. His scent clung to my clothes. My skin felt branded where he'd brushed his fingers over me, his touch both teasing and purposeful.

I shivered just thinking about it, and Jason turned to glance at me, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled.

A slight smile lifted his lips. "You enjoy your lunch with Nic?"

I nodded, rolling the shortened form of Nicolas's name through my head. There was an intimacy in using it that wasn't mine to claim.

"Okay." Jason pushed through a door, and suddenly we were on the main floor of the casino. "I know Nic showed you around in here, but did he let you play anything?" Again, he half-turned, directing his words to me.

"Oh, I didn't want to." I had too many images of the tables Dad might have sat at while he squandered everything we had—fucking squandered me, even—to want to sit there myself. "All these people wasting their money? I don't know. It just doesn't look like fun to me." I shrugged, and Jason smirked a little. "I mean, no offense, or anything."

He chuckled. "None taken." Then he lowered his voice. "But you know, this can be fun. Not everyone plays to excess. It's supposed to be a game. But Nic will be the first to tell you the house always wins, and we do in the end. The important part for you to remember, for anyone who comes in here to remember, is that when the fun stops, you stop. The danger starts when people start chasing the next big win or try to make up what they just lost, when they've played what they can't afford to lose, you know?"

I nodded because shit, yeah. I knew about people playing what they couldn't afford to lose. "Sadly, I think I'm one of those things my dad thought he could afford to lose." I laughed but it didn't make my words any less raw.

"Yeah. Shit. Sorry." Jason sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. If it helps, though, I don't think Nic agrees with that philosophy."

Unexpected hope flickered in the center of my chest. But I extinguished it quickly. "I guess he just got lucky that I'm able to help him fulfil a couple of business-related commitments."

"I guess." But Jason's tone was noncommittal. Then he changed the subject. "Come on. Let me show you the blackjack table. If it helps, blackjack wasn't Jean's game."

I laughed again. "I think none of these were really his game, or I wouldn't be here, right?"

Jason blushed a little but he chuckled. "I guess they weren't." He led me to a table with a smiling dealer. "One more to play."

"No. I can't. I don't know how." I stopped before I sat down, strangely flustered.

"Ahh…a blackjack virgin?" The dealer raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, and Jason glared at her.

"Cut it out, Sabine." Jason's tone turned commanding. Then he looked at me. "This is one of the easiest games. You start with one card and can request one card at a time from the dealer by knocking on the table. The idea is to get cards to the value of twenty-one or as close as you can. Closest wins. The number cards each hold their number value, face cards are worth ten, and an ace is worth eleven, unless that would send you over twenty-one, in which case it holds a value of one. Getting both a face card and an ace in your first hand is a blackjack."

"Okay," I said. "I can do simple math, I hope. But I have nothing to play."

"Nic has you covered." Jason set a pile of gold-edged black chips in front of me. They all stated the name of the casino and had the tiny heart logo in raised gold ink.

Sabine lifted both her eyebrows. "The boss has very deep pockets today."

"Really. Can it, Sabine," Jason growled almost under his breath. He took the seat next to me as she started to deal. "So, have you got any brothers or sisters?" he asked me.

I shook my head as I nibbled the inside of my cheek, trying to decide whether to ask Sabine for another card. Sixteen wasn't high, but it felt risky. Especially given I was playing with Nicolas's money.

"No, it's just me and Dad. What about you?" I was grateful for the distraction from the numbers.

Jason shrugged. "Not as far as I know?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Your dad…" I hesitated. Was I really about to ask if this guy thought his dad was a cheater? But how else would he not know if he had brothers or sisters? "Uh, was he unreliable?"

He coughed a laugh. "Not as far as I know. Pretty stand-up guy, actually."

"And Nicolas, does he have siblings?" I tried to drop my question in and still remain casual about it, but Jason's smile told me I wasn't as surreptitious as I thought.

"Yeah. He has… I think five, but they're all ma—" He broke off abruptly. "Adopted, I mean. None of them are his birth siblings." He looked away.

"Yeah, I know what adopted means."

Sabine laughed.

"Things with one of his brothers, Sebastian, can get quite…competitive. Nic's the oldest of all of them, though," Jason continued. "And he's… Shit. I don't know how old. Old, though."

I laughed as Sabine pushed more chips toward me. "Old? He can't be that old."

Jason's laugh was awkward. "Well, yeah. I meant compared to me. Everyone's old compared to me."

I glanced at him and shook my head. "Thanks. You're making me feel ancient."

"Who's ancient?" Nicolas's tone was light as he joined us, and I stiffened more from his hand on my shoulder than the hard glare he sent Jason's way.

"Me, apparently," I said. "Jason's been telling me how young he is."

"Scintillating, Jason." Nicolas's laugh washed over me, and I closed my eyes as the low sound seemed to vibrate deep inside my body. "Miss Boucher, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tonight?"

I glanced at my outfit. "I didn't really dress to go anywhere else." At Nicolas's smile, I amended my statement. "I didn't really dress to come here, I suppose."

But he shook his head. "There's no dress code at La Petite Mort. However, I can help you out with your dilemma. Come with me. Jason, cash in Miss Boucher's chips."

Flustered again, I turned to him as I looked at the small pile I'd amassed. "Oh, but they're not mine."

"Yes, they are." His tone brooked no argument, yet I tried.

"But the house always wins, right?"

He smiled, although it was more of a smirk, and he lowered his voice as he leaned toward me. "Sometimes I play a very long game."

My cheeks heated as Nicolas held out his hand. Sabine had busied herself preparing a new deck of cards, and Jason had already left the table.

"I've made an appointment for you at the boutique next door. And also the hair salon, if you wish." He spoke as if this was all part of our arrangement, and maybe looking the part was.

"Arm candy?" My question came out sharper than I intended.

"If you wish," he repeated. His tone was cool in response. "I do have an image to maintain when I'm seen in public."

Shit. I'd offended him. But what had I wanted him to say? That he wanted to spoil me? That I deserved some luxury in life? Fuck, no. This was a business arrangement, and I'd do best to remember that.

When I could keep my lips from his, anyway.

I lifted my chin and followed him from the casino. The boutique next door was a high-end one I wouldn't usually dream of going in. The women greeted Nicolas with air kisses before casting friendly smiles at me.

"Oh, she's perfect," one of them trilled. "What a dream to style." She turned to the other woman. "Should we go with the red? It will look gorgeous with her dark hair."

The second woman grimaced. "Mm…but maybe something to bring out her eyes instead?"

"I selected something for this evening when I called in and spoke to Romilly earlier, but how about both of the others as well?" Nicolas said. "Miss Boucher will need attire for tonight and a few more suitable outfits for future events. She also has an appointment at the salon for hair and makeup, if she'd like to make use of it."

One of the women clapped her hands together. "Perfect. We'll deliver her back to you evening-ready."

"I look forward to it." Nicolas smiled at me, his gray eyes full of the kind of dark promise that made my breath catch in my throat.

He left me alone with both women, who turned speculative eyes on me as they talked among themselves.

The excited one who'd clapped her hands turned toward the dressing room. "Let's see where Romilly put your outfit for this evening," she said. "You can start by taking a look at that before we check you in at the salon."

"Do you do this often? Style someone?" I couldn't hide the curiosity in my voice. Maybe Nicolas had an endless stream of women he dressed and styled like dolls.

"In general or for Mr. Dupont?" The more sedate woman watched me.

"Both," I said.

"In general, yes. It's our job. But for Mr. Dupont? No, never."

The excitable woman picked up the story again. "Although Romilly would do anything for him since he helped her when she was having all that trouble with her ex. Do you remember?" She glanced away as she received a glare from her colleague. "He was just so kind, and Romilly stopped being so scared," she finished.

I followed the two women into a delicately perfumed dressing area.

"Oh, it looks like Romilly left everything right here," one of them exclaimed, and my face flooded with sudden intense heat as my gaze moved right over a dress in soft gray that looked like it would fall to my knees in front and mid-calf at the back to a set of delicate lace lingerie in white.

"Mr. Dupont is a man of very good taste," one of the women murmured, and I was no longer paying attention to who was speaking.

All of my attention was focused on the clothing he'd selected for me to wear. Right down to the items no one usually saw. Except he'd know exactly what lay against my skin, what I wore under the beautiful dress. It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse. To pick something else out for myself. But with what money? I'd made a deal to spend one month with him. And part of me wanted to be the kind of woman—a beautiful woman—who wore clothes like these.

Hair and makeup was a whirl of activity that finished with me wearing a deceptively simple looking updo that revealed my neck but took more hairpins than I'd ever seen in my life to maintain, and I'd been given perfect smoky eyes.

The gray dress fit me like it had been tailor-made.

"Good taste and a great eye for sizing." Jealousy flashed fleetingly through the talkative woman's gaze, but it was quickly replaced by approval as she turned me to look at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

"Wow," I muttered. I wasn't sure even Harry or Pierre would recognize me. The dress was beautiful but not too much for a date in a restaurant. The lace and delicate beadwork across the bodice caught the lights but didn't overpower the fabric. And I didn't look like I was late to my own prom. I was understated but glamorous. Perhaps even worthy of a date with a high-rolling Baton Rouge casino owner.

The old-fashioned bell over the door tinkled lightly as Jason walked in, and when he saw me, he stopped, freezing almost statue still. Then he recovered and smiled. "I'm here to take you to meet Nic. Are you ready?"

The sensible woman inside me tutted and huffed a sigh under her breath, but the excitable woman too close to the surface spoke. "I can't believe you needed to ask."

Jason grinned self-deprecatingly. "I never assume." Then he turned to me. "Nic's waiting for you by the helipad."

One of the women who'd helped me get ready inhaled sharply, and Jason led me from the store, mostly ignoring my flurry of thanks to the two women. Just before I left through the door, the quieter lady handed me a gray pashmina wrap.

"In case you need it," she murmured. "Although with Mr. Dupont at your side, I can't believe you'll be cold."

Nicolas stood at the edge of the roof as dusk fell, his back to me as he surveyed the city spread before him. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he looked more like a shadow than a man in another one of his tailored black suits.

A sleek silver helicopter sat silently a short distance away. Well, it looked sleek to me, but I'd never stood close enough to another one to compare.

"Do you like what you're wearing?" Nicolas's voice sounded from right next to me, and I startled.

I'd been so busy looking at the helicopter, I hadn't even heard him move. Then my cheeks seared as I remembered he probably meant all the clothes. Even the lingerie he'd chosen. But I nodded. "Yes, thank you."

The back of his knuckles skimmed down the side of my neck from the bottom of my ear, and I shivered at his light touch as heat coursed through me.

"Are you cold? Let's get airborne." He approached the helicopter, and Jason appeared seemingly from out of nowhere and opened the door. Nicolas Dupont really did have staff for everything. There was probably even a guy who welcomed him into the bathroom and bowed gratitude on his way back out, or something.

I hesitated. "Where are we going?" I was about to get into an actual helicopter and fly fuck knew where with a guy who'd essentially won me in gambling debt.

"I know a nice little place in New Orleans." His face was partly in shadow, but the light caught his smile, and there was something disarming about it. "Let me show you the world beyond Baton Rouge?" He phrased it like I was the one doing him a favor, and I took a step toward him, beguiled by that idea.

I'd set my boundaries, but I was essentially at his mercy, anyway. If this was some sort of elaborate abduction, at least I'd go out on a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

I nodded as Nicolas held his hand out to me, and walked in his direction. His fingers were warm as they curved around mine.

"I've got you," he murmured, so soft I wasn't sure he was even speaking to me.

The inside of the helicopter was cramped with the pilot, Jason, Nicolas, and me inside it. Forget sleek. Apparently, my first impression should have been small. Nicolas drew the straps of my harness over my shoulders, then reached for the hem of my dress and bunched it a little as he delved quickly under the fabric between my legs.

I stiffened at the unexpectedness of his touch.

"Sorry." But he didn't look at all sorry as one corner of his lips tilted in mischief. "Only problem with a dress on a helicopter."

He fastened all five points of my seatbelt together and tightened it to his liking, then handed me a pair of headphones with a microphone attached and put a pair on himself before he fastened his own seatbelt.

The engines started, and the noise was loud, even with the ear protection. The pilot's voice crackled through my headphones, cancelling out the white noise, informing Nicolas of takeoff and flight duration, and then my stomach swooped as the helicopter lifted from the roof, the movement almost ungainly and uncoordinated.

I curved my fingers tightly around the armrests of my seat and gasped quietly. Then Nicolas's hand was over mine, coaxing my death-grip from the chair as he hooked my fingers into his again. When I glanced at him, he watched me without judgement.

"Watch as we approach New Orleans," he said, his voice soothing even over the communication system.

I glanced out of the windows, taking in the glints of water below us, and the silver strip of the Mississippi in the fading light. A bigger city sat ahead of us, lights starting to blink on as the sky began to bleed into pinks and oranges.

We landed in a way that felt every bit as gangly and awkward as takeoff, and my fingers tightened around Nicolas's. But now we were here, adrenaline spiked across my nerves for a whole different reason. I'd just completed my first helicopter ride, but my idea of a meal out was eating leftover fries in my office at The Pour House.

Something told me this was next level shit. Maybe Nicolas had made a mistake bringing me. This wasn't the sort of place I could fit in.

As if he sensed my apprehension, he touched one of the delicate curls they'd left loose right by my face. "Beautiful," he murmured.

Then I looked away as he released my seatbelt before helping me across the roof of the building we'd landed on.

"Welcome to The Neutral Zone," he murmured as he led the way into the restaurant.

We sat in a private booth with a perfect view of a small stage as a live jazz band played during our meal. Nicolas was a perfect gentleman—attentive without being overbearing—and I began to relax as each of the dishes he recommended practically melted in my mouth.

I looked around the red and black interior of the restaurant, and it was like some sort of representation of a lust-filled hell, which the sensual beat of the music only added to. Just as I started to relax, my body angling toward Nicolas, he set his napkin over the plate of food he'd only half-finished and flashed me an apologetic smile.

"There's some business I need to take care of quickly, but you're safe here." He stood as he spoke, not giving me chance to protest. "I'll be as fast as I can. Wait here for me, drink your fill, enjoy the music. I've taken care of the check, but I'll be back for dessert." He swept his gaze over me, something hungry and a little possessive in his eyes, and my body reacted to him straight away. Tension took hold of his face. "I won't be long."

I sat and listened to the music for a little while, taking in everything that made this space so different from The Pour House—and really, any restaurant I'd ever been to or imagined. The serving staff were smartly dressed and attentive. I only needed to catch someone's eye, and they brought me extra rolls or a fresh drink.

But I wanted more. I'd never been to New Orleans, and this seemed like a waste of time. I was sitting in a room while the entire city lay just outside. And Nicolas was nowhere to be seen. He'd probably want to leave as soon as his meeting concluded.

Eventually, the desire to explore made me restless. Nicolas had told me we were in the French Quarter, and I wanted to see all of the buildings I'd only ever glimpsed in magazines. As I sat alone in the booth longer, and the server's glances grew more sympathetic, I made up my mind.

If Nicolas was happy to leave me high and dry again—first a phone call during lunch and now what seemed to be a premeditated business meeting during dinner—I could take some time, too. And it wasn't like I hadn't run a slightly sketchy bar myself for years. I knew how to be alert and the types of people to watch out for. I'd had to learn how to judge people very quickly in my line of business and assess threat levels. I only wanted to walk down the street a little way, after all.

I wouldn't be gone for a long time. Just a good time.

I'd probably be back at the table before Nicolas was.