In Your Wildest Dreams Page 3

  His palm skimmed around to the front of her thigh, fingertips slipping across the lace top of the stocking, making her body scream with conflicting yes’s and no’s that blurred her mind for a fraction of a second, until finally, she knew she couldn’t let this go any further. “No, I can’t. Stop!”

  His hand stilled in place and he drew back to look at her.

  She knew he was waiting for more, and it suddenly seemed stupid to have kept up the pretence this long…unless she really wanted…

  No—that wasn’t it! She just didn’t like having her cover, however thin, completely blown.

  !I’m not really an escort,” she admitted softly into the still air.

  She thought he looked at once disappointed but pleased. He withdrew his hand from beneath he rdress and pulled back into place, then sat up beside her.

  She felt like an idiot, but slowly raised herself upright as well. They stayed silent and the moment reminded her strangely of high school—nights of kissing and touching and wanting more, but finding the strength to say no. This was the part where everything turned awkward.

  She drew in her breath lightly at the shocking memory—she’d nearly forgotten a time when she had known these feelings. She shook her head to clear it.

  “Why’d you lie?” he asked, slowly raising his gaze.

  Her lips trembled when she tried to answer. “I…need to find someone.”

  “Tina Grant,” he confirmed. “How are you related?”

  She looked up in surprise, but then remembered— escorts didn’t use their last names, and she’s stated both when asking about Tina and introducing herself. She sighed. “She’s my sister.”

  Their eyes met. “How old?”

  “Twenty Five.”

  He seemed to understand much more than she told him. “Twenty Five is all grown up, no? Old enough to do what she wants.”

  Stephanie let out a small sound of disgust. The last thing she needed was a lecture. She already knew part of Tina’s decision might be her fault, and that alone was hard enough to bear without his superior attitude. “But she’s missing.”

  She’d thought that would catch his attention, yet it seemed not to shock him at all. “Define missin’ chere.”

  She took a deep breath. No Reason now, she supposed, not to lay everything on the table. “She came down here from Chicago a few months ago, chasing a guy. When I finally heard from her, she told me the relationship hadn’t worked out, but that she’d decided to stay anyway and become…an escort.” When referring to her little sister, the simple word became much harder to say. “I was upset, of course, and tried to talk her out of it, but the next time she called, she’d already started…working.” She stopped a minute, her chest aching from the picture the words created in her head.

  “And?”

  “And she didn’t call the next time she was supposed to. And she hasn’t called since. She refused to give me a number where I could reach her—and she hasn’t been in touch with her old boyfriend either, because I checked—so after weeks with no contact, I had to do something.”

  “Probably just didn’t want to talk to you, knowin’ how you feel about what she’s doin’.”

  He released a perturbed breath. This guy just thought he knew everything, didn’t he? He might even be right, but his matter of fact tone made her worries sound practically unfounded. “You sound just like the cop I talked to. I did try that route before coming to look for her, just so you don’t think I’m totally crazy. Bit I couldn’t get any help from the.”

  “Cause they know she’s probably fine.”

  She pursed her lips. “I took it a different way. I figured they didn’t care because, to them, she’s just another prostitute.”

  He shrugged—annoyingly. ”Either way, I’m probably right.”

  She blinked, growing more irritated by the moment. “So I’m supposed to let her drop out of my life, forget she exists? Even if she is fine, I still have to find her.”

  “Some reason you didn’t hire a P I, beb? Most people who can’t get answers from the cops would try that route.”

  “For your information, I did. But within a few days he said the trail was cold. That left me no other choice than to track her down myself.”

  His gaze remained steady on her. “And when you do?”

  “I’ll talk her into coming home and putting this chapter of her life behind her. I’ll help her find a job. Help her get over the guy. I’ll be there for her, as long as she needs me.”

  Jake thought about how to reply. Sounded to him like Miss Chardonnay was pretty controlling when it came to her poor sister. But since she already seemed pissed off, he wasn’t about to tell her that. “So you thought it’d be a good idea to come trottin’ yourself down to New Orleans and dress yourself up like a high—priced hooker?” he said instead.

  She looked as sheepish as he thought she should. “It wasn’t exactly my idea.”

  “You got a partner in crime?”

  She dropped her glance slightly before raising it again. “A woman I met doing research on the internet—at a site where prostitutes trying to get out of the business can go for advise. Her name’s Melody and she’s an ex—escort—high—priced—who used to work in the French Quarter. She thought the best way to find Tina was to ask people who might work with her, or who might be her customers. And she doubted anyone would talk to me if I didn’t appear to be…one of them.”

  “Which is how you knew about this place.”

  She nodded.

  He lowered his chin, wondering the obvious. “Any reason Melody couldn’t ask around for you?”

  “She doesn’t move in these circles anymore. She’s married now, with a baby, and a husband who doesn’t know her past.”

  Jake shrugged—it was a good reason. Girls who chose this life didn’t usually end up where Miss Chardonnay’s hooker friend had. “Stilla pretty stupid move,” he couldn’t stop himself murmuring.

  She cast him a sideways glance, “What was I supposed to do? And why do you care so much anyway? Yoou’ve got an awfully vested interest in this for a bartender.”

  She was right—like it or not, his old instincts were showing. Still, if the woman had any sense, she’d be grateful. “The way I see it, I might have saved your life tonight.”

  She let out a wry laugh. “That’s an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  He gave his head a solemn shake. “It’s like i told you earlier—you fool around with these people, you’ll get hurt. It’s dangerous to say you’re selling somethin’ you aren’t.”

  Her ire seemed to calm a little, her next question sounding more inquisitive. “What makes you so smart about these things?”

  “I see a lot. Hear a lot.”

  She looked at him long and hard with those soft blue eyes, clearly trying to see behind his. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem too smart to be a bartender.”

  He sighed. She sounded just like Tony, just like his mother. It made him feel tired, much older than his thirty three years. “I used to be a cop, okay?”

  “Used to be?” She bit her lower lip, looking puzzled. “You’re not…working here undercover or something are you?”

  He shook his head. “No way, chere. Just servin’ up drinks, that’s all.”

  “Why? Why would you go from being a cop to being a bartender?”

  If you’d been anywhere near this city two years ago, you’d know. But since she’d clearly missed all the newspaper articles and TV spots, he wasn’t about to dredge up his past. “Nosy little girl, aren’t you?”

  “I came down here to ask questions,” she said with a shrug.

  He looked away, planting his gaze on the painting above the couch a few feet away. “But I’m not lost, chere. Not the person you came to find.”

  Silence blanketed the small, lush room and he regretted bringing her in here. It was too intimate a space and he found himself wanting to kiss her again. He hadn’t planned that part of it, and he remained surprise
d that it had felt so good, that stopping had been so hard. His game of coercing the truth from her had been a mistake. He didn’t want to want her—or anyone. He just wanted to go home.

  “Maybe you could help me?”

  Her hopeful words drew his eyes back to hers. “help you how?”

  “Help me find Tina.” She suddenly sounded full of fresh optimism.

  “How the hell you think I’d do that?”

  “Well, you used to be a cop. And you seem to know your way around the escort industry pretty well. Surely there are people you could ask, places we could search.”

  “whoa there, chere. What’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about all of a sudden? I don’t even know you.”

  She sighed. “But I need help and I’m desperate. And…I could pay you.” Her eyes lit with the idea and she reached immediately for her purse. “How much do you want? I can give you what I have now, and more later. However much you want to charge.”

  Ironic. Now she was trying to pay him for something he didn’t intend to sell, either. “No thanks, beb. I don’t want your money, and frankly, I don’t wanna get involved in your problems.”

  She looked crushed. He felt it in his heart, like a little dart sticking there.

  Damn it. Why wouldn’t people leave him alone? Of course, he’d started this—but he’d made his point with her and was ready to call it a night. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I got enough troubles of my own, okay?”

  She didn’t respond, only kept sitting there looking like the world had just come to an end, making the dart in his chest dig a little deeper.

  “Take my advice and go home to Chicago, Stephanie Grant. This is no place for a woman like you.” Jake got to his feet and walked out of the room, through the outer bar area, and exited onto the steps descending into the enclosed courtyard. The night air hit him like a brick—for a September evening, it felt more like early August.

  But he didn’t really mind the heat—he’d grown up with it. At the moment, it was just something to feel. Something to fight, something to wallow in, something to think about as he walked home—something other than Miss Chardonnay and those blue, blue eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Somewhere in the distance, a siren split the night. As usual on his walk, he hadn’t seen a soul since passing some partyers near Bourbon. As he moved up the sidewalk deep into dark, quiet streets, it was just him and the ghosts. That’s what Becky used to say, the reason she never felt comfortable in the Quarter late at night. ‘Too many ghosts.’ Jake didn’t believe in ghosts, but he could almost believe he felt them tonight, too, peeking over balconies and lurking in hidden doorways. Once he even looked over his shoulder.

  Because he was losing his mind, apparently. Knock it off already, he scolded himself. What a night. Must be screwing with his brain.

  Despite the ghosts and the heat, he was still thinking about Stephanie Grant.

  He could have helped her. If he’d cared—about her search for her sister, about the worry haunting her gaze. But he didn’t. He might have cared about Miss Chardonnay’s fate enough to let her know she was playing a dangerous game, and he hoped she’d heed the warning. But like he said, her sister was all grown up. It was none of his business if one more sad girl spread her legs for money. He’d gone way overboard with Stephanie Grant tonight—and he couldn’t account for why—but that couch, the red room was where it ended.

  Still, a warm tremor ran the length of his body. Clearly Stephanie Grant was all grown up, too—with ripe curves, lush lips, and soft breath that had grown heated when he’d kissed her.

  Not real kisses, though. Teasing ones; their mouths had barely met.

  Then why did he still feel them? And what about her made him care at all what sort of trouble she might get herself into?

  Turning the corner onto Burgundy, he let out a sigh. What the hell had happened to him tonight? He saw breasts and curves and sexy dresses in Sophia’s every shift he worked and it didn’t affect him. But somehow Stephanie Grant had dug deeper inside him. From the start, she’d drawn a few smiles from him—a rarity in itself, even if they were the devilish sort. A when he’d ended up alone with her in the red room, something inside him had switched on. Something needful. Something he’d nearly forgotten about, yet suddenly there it was, rearing its head just like that old habit of taking care of people and fixing things.

  But hell, hadn’t that dream of the masked woman made it clear? His body was hungry for sex, that’s all this was. Quit overthinking it. Go home. Go to sleep.

  ‘Got a quarter?’

  The voice drew Jake’s eyes to a skinny young girl with a creamed—coffe complexion, long hair falling straggly around her face. She huddled in a narrow doorway, her knees pulled up to her chest like she was cold. Even in the dark, he could see her white T—shirt was dingy.

  Stopping, he reached into his pocket and found a five dollar bill—he’d shoved it there instead of his wallet, a late tip before closing. He leaned down and let it drop to the cracked sidewalk beside her as he fought the nagging sense of worry. Against his better judgement, he spoke.

  ‘It’s dangerous out here on the street.’

  ‘Tell me somethin’ I don’t know Einstein.’

  He flinched at her sass—it didn’t match the rest of her. She tried to talk ‘urban black girl’ tough, but he wasn’t buying it. ‘Where’d you run away from? You should go home.’

  He sensed more than saw her eyes roll. ‘Mind your own damn business.’

  When he’d been a French Quarter beat cop, he’d talked to street kids all the time, and had gotten a hell of a lot worse from them than this, but her attitude still irritated him. ‘You’ll get killed, or worse, out here,’ he informed her.

  ‘Thanks for fillin’ my day with sunshine, dude.’

  Much to his surprise, he let out a small laugh.

  ‘You think somethin’s funny about this?’ she snapped.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I just think you’re a pretty funny kid is all.’

  Another eye roll. ‘Yeah, I just did Leno last week.’

  He sobered. ‘You really don’t have a way to get off the street, some place better to sleep?’

  ‘If I did, would I be here, fool?’

  ‘Speakin’ of sleep, kinda late for panhandlin’ isn’t it?’

  She cast a quick glance up before lowering her gaze. ‘Easier to sleep in the day. At night— got to keep my eyes open, you know?’

  Jake sighed. Keep walking, man. Just like you told Miss Chardonnay, you don’t need anybody else’s problems. He couldn’t quite make his feet move, though. Just like he hadn’t quite been able to let Miss Chardonnay walk away tonight, either.

  ‘There’s a place in the courtyard where I live—you could sack out there if you want. It’s nothin’ great, but safer than this.’

  For the first time, she deigned to actually tilt her head back and meet his eyes. ‘You for real?’

  He gave a short nod.

  Suddenly, her back went rigid. ‘What you want for letting me sleep there? Cause if you playin’ me mister, tryin’ to get into my pants—‘

  He held up his hands and took a step back. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, ‘tite fille. I’m tryin’ to be nice, no? You wanna come, follow me. You don’t, don’t.’ With that, he turned and walked on.

  ‘Hold up.’

  He stopped, looked back. ‘What?’

  She hesitated slightly. ‘Gotta get my stuff.’

  Fishing out half a roll of mints, he put one in his mouth, then shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against an old brick wall, watching the girl reach through a hole in the building’s foundation. As she got to her feet, a ragged backpack hoisted to one shoulder, he noticed rips in the knees of her jeans, dark skin peeking through.

  ‘Sure you ain’t after nothin’?’ Her eyes narrowed even as she moved toward him.

  ‘Hell yeah, I’m sure!’Peter, Paul and Mary—what the hell had he done to deserve this? He had things to be guilty
for, but damn. He spoke firmly ‘You’re a little girl. And I’m not that kinda guy. Got it?’

  She pursed her lips, nodding shortly.

  Without another look in her direction, Jake started toward his place again. He heard her padding along behind him, but he didn’t slow his stride. He regretted this already. Damn it, he’d done it again, without even realizing. First the blonde, now this. When would he get it through his head that he couldn’t change anything, couldn’t save anybody?

  A block later, he led the girl through a wrought iron gate that had seen better days and into a neglected courtyard. A broken fountain jutted up amid chipped, jagged bricks and dilapidated concrete. Four sagging wooden staircases flanked each side of the yard, leading to second floor apartments. Jake strode to one where he knew somebody had discarded an old mattress. ‘Here ya go,’ he said, pointing.

  She nodded, spoke gently. ‘Thanks.’

  He tried not to hear the softness in her voice. ‘Don’t think this is the start of anything, though. You’re still on your own.’

  Her next quiet nod made him feel like an ogre. ‘Your neighbors gonna go callin’ the cops on me?’

  Was the girl blind? He shook his head. ‘Don’t have those kinda neighbors.’

  He didn’t look back as he crossed the worn brickwork to the stairs that led to his place. He was ready to call it a night. No more mister nice guy, he scolded himself. It never paid. Never.

  As he slid his key in the old lock, something raked up against his ankle, drawing his gaze downward. He found the scruffy little dog that had been hanging around the building for days, bugging whoever happened to be coming or going. ‘You again?’ The mutt was an aggravation.

  As he opened the door, he used one shoe to shove the dog away before stepping inside. Turning the lock brought a sense of relief, the isolation he cherished.

  Heading to his bedroom, he stripped down to underwear, walked to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, studied his eyes, thought about the empty feeling low in his belly. He was used to putting on a show, being polite at Sophia’s, but it wasn’t real and it tired him. Miss Chardonnay had tired him tonight, too—even if something about that had been disturbingly real.