“Yeah and crazy. Because I don’t even know you…”
I don’t even see him move. It’s as if the universe tilts and he just slides closer to me, leaving a mere hairsbreadth between us. “Let’s change that.” He sticks his hand out. “Macareus.”
Can his name sound any sexier? Add the French purr, and my panties threaten to melt off. I’m so lost in the way his name alone gets me worked up, I forget he’s waiting for me to return the gesture.
“Sorry. Katie.” We shake hands, and there’s familiarity, as if this isn’t the first time we’re meeting. There’s no doubt he feels it too.
His smoldering eyes have yet to leave mine. “There. No longer strangers. Come spend the night with me.”
My eyes bug out, and I rip my hand away. “Whoa, I’m not like that—”
“Not my bed, mon cherie.” He smirks at my misunderstanding. “Tonight—the festival. Let me be your tour guide and show you what New Orleans is all about. By nights end, this town will be anything but unfamiliar, and we will be anything but strangers.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to fold—hope I decline so he can do his civic duty, say he offered, and be on his way. Probably to a modeling convention. But he continues to gaze back.
“Oh, wait, you’re serious?” He actually wants to waste his night on someone boring like me? “I mean…are you sure? You look like someone who has way better things to do than keep me company.”
“I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be this evening.”
Poof! My panties just evaporated. Stranger be damned, he wins. I sigh in defeat. “All right, you win. I’ll agree to this crazy idea. But it’s your own fault if your night becomes a bore. I may not be the best company. You’ve been warned.”
“If my intuition is correct, you are anything but. In New Orleans, it is impossible to be a bore. Too much to excite yourself with. Too much temptation. ’Tis why this town was deemed ‘the city care forgot.’ ’Tis a night to forget your troubles and be carefree.”
A bubble forms up my throat, and I laugh at his comment. “Whatever you say. So, Mr. Tour Guide, what’s first on our agenda?” This may be a crazy idea, but I’d be lying if I’m not getting excited over where the night is about to take me.
“Well, from the flushness of your cheeks, I say you are parched and in dire need of a drink. Shall we start there?”
A drink sounds fantastic. “I think that sounds great. But I buy my own drinks. I’ve had a bad experience with taking drinks from others.”
“Fair enough. Shall we?” He extends his hand out once again, and I accept, our fingers threading together perfectly. He begins to walk us down Bourbon Street, the sea of people making a path for us as we pass. Even the on-goers sense how powerful this man is, moving at his presence alone.
“So, mon cherie, tell me what brings you to the city of the dead?”
“Oh, you know, just scoping out a place to hide for the next twenty to thirty years.” His brows raise. “I’m kidding. It’s supposed to be a girls’ trip to forget about my troubles at home. You know, the typical broken heart, bank account, and urge to commit murder, hoping New Orleans will make it all go away.”
He doesn’t seem to pick up on my humor, even though there’s ninety-nine percent truth to my statement. “What about you? What do you do besides rescue helpless tourists?”
“I scour the streets of New Orleans, stalk helpless women, lure them into the night, and suck out their souls.” I stumble at his reply. His laugh comes out deep and husky. “I kid as well. I am what you would call a venture capitalist. I’ve lived here for many years, so I help manage the townspeople and their businesses. An entrepreneur, as you say.”
“Hmmm…sounds fancy and important. Are you actually good at it?” I smirk, finding myself more at ease with him. I agreed with him earlier when he blamed my flushed cheeks on being thirsty, but it was way more that caused the heat to color my cheeks. Not to mention the way the butterflies are twirling inside my belly.
He squeezes my hand, the corner of his lip curving into a mischievous smile. “I’ve been doing this job for a very long time, so I’d say so.”
Stealing another peek, I can’t imagine him being any older than mid-thirties. “Oh yeah? How long? You don’t seem that old.”
He cocks his head my way. His eyes, like smoldering metal, send a weird tingle down to my toes. “Oh, is that a compliment?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance, even though my cheeks have to be blazing crimson. “Wisdom has no age to someone born with centuries of astuteness. Don’t let my features deter you from my infinite knowledge.”
God, he is so damn sexy. I wouldn’t care if he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. Between his looks and sexy accent, I’ve already bought whatever it is he’s selling.
Macareus begins to slow as we approach an opening between two buildings, a narrow dark alley coming into view.
“Wait, we’re going down here?” The entire street is lit up to the nines and he wants to take me down a dark alley?
“The best gems are the hidden ones, mon cherie.”
Yeah, as are serial killers. But are serial killers normally this hot? I test out my panic radar, but strangely, it’s pretty quiet. “I’m not so sure…”
His thumb caresses the inside of my palm. It hits a nerve that sends an electric current down to my core. I swear he’s going to cause my knees are about to buckle for a second time. “Do you trust me, Katie?”
This is the first time he’s said my actual name. And it may be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. He mistakes my silence for hesitance.
