Hardass (Bad Bitch)(54)

“It’s a surprise.”

I glanced at him, the streetlamps giving his angled face an even dreamier quality. I had the impulse to reach out and run my hand along his jaw. I didn’t. The butterflies were warring with each other in my stomach. It was a brutal contest, given the way I was unsure whether I wanted to hurl from nerves or float away on the joy of being so near a man that took up so much of my mental landscape.

“You look great, too.”

“Thanks. Kennedy always says I clean up nice. If that’s not a backhanded compliment, I don’t know what is.”

“He’s clever. And I can tell he doesn’t have any trouble with the ladies. I wonder if he and Yvonne . . .” I thought better of continuing the gossip train all the way to Inappropriate Station.

“Kennedy doesn’t have a bedpost left to notch. It’s just his nature. I look forward to the day when some woman turns his head all the way around and makes him change his ways. I don’t see it happening anytime soon, though.”

We passed a mini-parade of drunks on a side street in the Quarter. Someone had a French horn and was playing it for all he was worth. Given the disastrous notes, it wasn’t much.

Wash pulled up to the valet in front of an ornate hotel, warm light from the wide windows spilling into the street. The attendant helped me out, and I stared up at the plasterwork hand-painted in greens and blues. There were so many gems like this one in New Orleans, all with their own bit of magic.

There wasn’t a sign denoting a restaurant, but the smells wafting through the open windows had my mouth watering.

“It’s a new venture by a big-name chef in town. Top secret.” Wash offered his arm again, and I took it. He led me up the stairs and into a sweeping lobby, marble underfoot and crystal overhead. The beauty continued along the walls, murals of New Orleans history done in expert strokes.

We met a maître d’ off to the side where the restaurant was situated. He checked our reservation and took us to a candlelit table in a back corner near one of the open windows. The heat in the building mixed with the cool air outside for a pleasant atmosphere. It was early, but the restaurant was already more than half full, with more people coming in by the minute.

“This is so fancy.” I smiled as Wash helped me to my seat, pushing the chair up for me.

He sat to my left instead of across from me. He was close, our elbows lightly touching.

“Glad I could impress.” His gaze met mine, and he was beautiful in the flickering candlelight. Dark hair and impossibly bright eyes.

Whatever air was in the room seemed to have moved away from me, impossibly out of reach. His mouth was a sumptuous lure, and I caught a view of the dark hair along his chest disappearing into his shirt. Even though he’d tasted me and more, I felt shy, as if we were strangers who’d happened across each other and found an unlikely connection.

The server walked up and eased the tension. He didn’t give us any menus, simply asked if we had any food allergies and handed Wash a wine list.

“Do you have a preference in wine?” Wash asked.

“Lynch Lane.” I snorted.

The server nodded. “We have two wines on our lists handpicked by Jasmine Lynch.”

I laughed. “I was joking. But really, Jasmine picked wines for this restaurant?”

Wash crinkled his forehead and gave me a quizzical gaze. I realized he likely had no idea who I was talking about.

“Oh, Terrell’s mom. You know, the Lynches? He usually snags some bottles from Lynch Lane for us. The good stuff. It’s how I manage to get snookered every other night of the week, twice on Sundays.”

His smile grew the more I rambled on about apparently needing to go through a twelve-step program.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir Jasmine chose.” Wash handed the wine list back to our server.

Once the server turned to leave, I whispered, “Aren’t we going to order?”

“No. They just serve up whatever the chef decided to cook for the evening. The anticipation of the unknown is part of the pleasure, I suppose.”

“Yes, I could see that.” Did he want me to think about the anticipation of what would happen after dinner? If so, it was working. Despite the fancy restaurant, my pussy was not on its best behavior, already wetting my thong. Wash had that effect on me, especially when he looked like he did tonight. Relaxed, happy, handsome.

The server returned and poured our wine. I took a sip and, yes, Jasmine’s taste was impeccable, just like her son’s. If I’d been at home with Terrell, we’d already be at war over who got to drain the bottle. Here, I tried to take it slow. One ladylike sip, and I set my glass down.