Hurts So Good (4 page)

Andrea pinched her lips together. He rubbed them with his thumb, then traced them with a feather-light stroke before pulling back with a satisfied nod.

"Good muscle tone," he pronounced. "What's the longest kissing session you ever had?"

"Well, I've never timed one, but maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes?" She was suddenly ready for the drink he'd offered, though she already felt rather woozy.

"Practice makes perfect, and with such an incredible mouth, you should've had more practice than that. Stingy kissers who want to cut the fine art short rank with quitters and cheats in my book. How about you? Did you ever want to keep kissin' when some
monsieur
got antsy to move things along?"

"Well... yes. How did you guess?"

"I know men.
And
I know women. There's a reason why they're crazy about me. Tell the truth. You think it's the fame and fortune and a chance to get into my dancin' pants that have quite a reputation to please—or so said something I read. Used it for toilet paper, though I had a full roll."

If it hadn't been for his slow, easy smile, she would have thought he was testing her. But he seemed to be laughing at himself and inviting her to join him. Maybe that was the source of his brash but fatal appeal.

"Those reasons would be plenty for a lot of women."

"Don't I know it. But it's not reason enough for the ones with class and character. You've got both, don't you
chere
?"

"I like to think so."

"Could be you fall into a special slot. Could be you're one of those gals Lou keeps prattling about, who care more for kissin' than what it'll get 'em in the long run. A very rare breed."

"You sound cynical."

"Got good reason to be."

"I also get the impression that you like to kiss."

"Well, if you're not a genius and a dog groomer too. I'm a fool for kissing. Haven't met a woman yet who could outlast me. But I'd thank you for the opportunity to try you out."

Their fingers touched as she grasped the flask. He didn't let go. The sustained contact packed a hurricane punch. His lids lowered, and she thought he might try for a kiss without the promised preliminaries.

She wished that he would. If his kissing expertise half lived up to her expectations, she'd have a new facet of Neil Grey to write about—and just maybe she'd rediscover an old facet of herself in the process.

He didn't kiss her. But he did slide his fingers over hers and slowly urged the rim of the flask to her mouth.

Andrea pulled back. "We're in a bar, Neil, with a few clean glasses left."

"Are you that particular or just afraid of catching some social disease? Believe it or not, I'm cleaner than those glasses, and Lou's faithful to his wife, Liza. He's the only person I ever share with."

It was a challenge. His reputation over his word. Andrea debated, then made a choice. She never could stand cowards or liars—any more than quitters or cheats.

"I'm careful of the company I keep, Neil. And as far as I can tell, you and Lou are better than what I've had in a while. Why am I in the Big Easy instead of the Big Apple? It's all a calculated risk to make my life what I want it to be. I'm here because that's my choice. And so is my decision to accept your deal."

"Yowzah. I knew there was a reason besides great lips and great... um, great conversation that attracted me to you. My own choices haven't been anything to whistle Dixie about in the past, but according to Scarlett, tomorrow is another day. Maybe you'll prove her
and
Lou right. If you don't... here's to a little more pain shoveled onto the heap."

His coarse laughter doused her impression that he spoke from the gut. Andrea put the flask to her lips. The rim was still wet from his mouth. A vulgar mouth, a sensual mouth, out of which came revelations she was sure no reporter had been privy to before.

She felt like a cheat, and it didn't set well.

Neither did the brandy.

As she coughed and sputtered, she felt his palm slap between her shoulder blades, then lessen to a gentle stroke.

"Does a body almost as much good as harm, huh,
chere
? Sorry about tonight. I'll make sure you don't get dumped on again. My fault. Not yours. Take another nip, and let's get to work. The sooner we're out of here, the sooner I can collect on that kiss."

Chapter 3

The first rays of sun slitted through a hung-over sky as the second order of
beignets
arrived at their Café du Monde table and their cups of
café au lait
were refilled for the fourth time. The creamy brew of chicory coffee and steamed milk was hot, but nothing like the scorcher the mid-May day promised to be.

Neil stretched, luxuriating in being a paying customer. He could remember scrounging for scraps in the café's trash cans while a train, whose tracks ran a spitting distance away, blew its midnight whistle down his back. The cook had found him out and had snuck him fresh
beignets
and glasses of milk, along with whatever change he could spare. It made Neil feel real good to send his benefactor an anonymous payback each month. Yessir, Neil Grey was a filthy-rich man. And just as he never forgave those who crossed him, he never forgot those who showed a kindness.

Those were the rules. And he did take pride not only in being in a position to set them, but in abiding by them as well. How he had come up in the world, sitting here next to a class-act woman.

The fans overhead circulated the thick, humid air, while Neil watched Andrea bite into the hollow pastry known as a
beignet.
Powdered sugar dusted her cute upturned nose. He didn't mention it. Went nicely with her freckles. He liked them. He liked her—too much.

She took another bite of the messy French doughnut, which she held gingerly. Neil chuckled, amused by her efforts not to get her fingers too sticky though she looked as if she wanted to suck them clean.

He'd like to see her suck a crawdad head, get her to forget those proper manners and cut loose. Hell, who could have a stompin' good time if they were gonna be prissy?

"You like those things, do you?"

"Mmmm, Neil, they are out of this world. I hate to admit it, but lately I've been having trouble getting into my jeans. I blame it on finding this place the first day I moved here, and a disgusting lack of self control when it comes to sweets."

An image of her lying on a bed to pull up a zipper caused him to shift in his chair. He'd like to tell her that he was sweet in hopes she'd try a bite of him, but that would be about the biggest lie he'd ever told, and he had a disgusting lack of self-control when it came to dealing with liars.

"And how long have you been here?"

"Um..." She lingered over a sip of coffee. "Two weeks."

"Did you come to see friends and decide to stay?"

"No friends." She looked away, then suddenly smiled.
Whoooee.
When she smiled like that, he did believe the sun couldn't compete with the heat she generated. "At least, no friends to begin with. It seems that I've made a couple recently. You and Lou are really nice people."

"Lou's nice, unless you cross him. I learned not to do that years ago. As for me..." He'd suckered her in so far, but, good sport that he was, she deserved a reminder of just who she was in cahoots with. "I'm anything
but
nice,
chere.
Best you remember that for your own good."

Maybe she wasn't as smart as he'd given her credit for, smiling like that. Neil frowned. Something stinging and none too comfortable was going on in his chest. Must be heartburn. Nothing a belt of booze and a few smokes wouldn't get rid of.

She caught his wrist when he started to light up.

"Aw, crap," he muttered around his unlit cigarette. "Don't tell me you're one of those do-gooders looking for a lost cause to save. Let me guess which sermon I'm about to hear. I shouldn't smoke since it makes my lungs look like tar, and I oughtta get this coffin nail out of my mouth, right?"

"Hardly. As far as I'm concerned, it's your body, not mine, and you have every right to abuse it however you decide. As I said before, I believe in freedom of choice."

"Then
what?"
he grumbled, put out because her fingers wrapped around his wrist felt so fine, he didn't care if he never got this cigarette going.

"It's about what you said, that you were anything but nice. If you were all that bad, all that
slick,
you wouldn't have warned me. Neil."

She wrapped his name around her tongue in a whisper. He didn't much care for the effect it had on him, making his case of heartburn worse. He liked it even less when she took the matches away, along with her grip. His arm prickled as though it were being stuck with needles.

When she struck the match and leaned closer to light his cigarette, the prickling spread until his whole body felt like one giant pincushion.

Neil pulled back and took several deep drags. He felt very odd at the moment, not at all himself. This little gal was turning out to be more dangerous than he'd feared. Actually making him forget the Vow:

Women. Use 'em and lose 'em. Take them to bed, but never get inside their conniving heads. Slip into their skin, but never go deep enough to touch their cheating hearts.

The Vow. He'd kept it long before that night he'd checked into a seedy motel and played Russian roulette with a handgun. If he hadn't taken a guzzle every time the click went off without sending a bullet through his brain, then passed out until Lou found him, he supposed he wouldn't be sitting here now.

Sitting here and forgetting his vow. Life was a nasty game, and he'd learned that to survive, a man made his own rules. And here he was, forsaking his cardinal code.

A surge of the anger that ran soul-deep erupted when Andrea patted his hand as if he were some kind of good ol' boy she trusted. And then she had the gall to grin with delight as she wiggled her powdered-sugar fingers and stuck one in her mouth. The too-sensual mouth he greatly resented her for making him want.

Neil grabbed her wrist and jerked out her finger. He was pleased when the rest of her body seemed to jerk as well, then went still. Her breath came shallow and fast, and damn those eyes that searched his in confusion instead of returning his biting-hard glare.

She didn't resist as he pulled her hand forward, and he damned her for that because he wanted a struggle, an excuse to vent his rage. How he'd prefer the feel of her palm cracking against his cheek while he laughed and walked away. His mama had deserted him. Christine had betrayed him. They'd taught him only too well that the reigning champ left first.

How he'd prefer that. Not this trust, such stupid trust. She watched him take the cigarette from his mouth and poise the glowing red tip near her palm while he cinched her wrist.

"Never,
never
think that you know me better than I know myself,
enfant,"
he whispered. "I won't be warning you anymore, so be smart and be careful of me."

He smiled coldly when her eyes took on a moist sheen and her mouth trembled. Good, she'd do them both a favor and tell him never to dare touch her again. She'd run off, just as he had, refusing the same kind of torture he'd suffered at his old man's hands in a roach-infested hovel.

"If you're planning to put that cigarette out on my palm, you'd better do it fast, because it's nearly burned down to the butt, and you're getting ashes in my coffee."

Good God, what kind of woman was he tangling with?
Neil tongued the chip in his front tooth as her eyes began to look wetter, her mouth trembled even more, and his heartburn started feeling closer to a heart attack.

He dropped the cigarette into her cup. But he didn't let go of her wrist. Slowly, so slowly, he counted ten heartbeats to give himself time to come to his senses.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to her palm. Her muffled moan echoed her taste. Sweet and good.

The gathered fingers he led into his mouth tasted even sweeter and—too bad for them both—better than good.