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  He’d totally taken the decision out of her hands while simultaneously letting Blakely know why he wasn’t going to be “hooking up with her later.”

  Because he was going to be hooking up with her mother.

  Dez winked and jogged to the stage, leaving the two women in uncomfortable silence.

  “Mom?” Blakely turned a hurt expression on her. “You’re not seriously going out with Dez, are you? You’re old enough to be his mother. My God. That’s, like, icky.”

  It was at that moment, with Blakely clutching the thousand-dollar handbag Eleanor’s mean-ass-bitch former mother-in-law had bought her, looking as if someone had kicked the puppy she’d never even wanted in the first place, that Eleanor decided listening to her capricious free spirit was long overdue.

  Dez wanted Eleanor.

  And she wanted him.

  As a friend, as a lover and maybe not anything else, but at that moment, it was enough for Eleanor to reach out with both hands and grab hold of him.

  Screw convention.

  Because she’d be damned if she gave up a chance to feel whole again because her daughter thought it was improper.

  For once, Eleanor was going to take what she wanted, even if it meant Blakely had to swallow it down like bitter medicine.

  “First of all, unless I ovulated at seven years old, it’s highly improbable I could have given birth to Dez. Second, I’ve spent my life taking care of you and your father, worrying about what everyone else wanted. I’m tired of being just a mother. I’m tired of being just Skeeter Theriot’s poor cuckolded widow. And I’m really tired of trying to please everyone else and never myself. So honestly, honey, I love you, but I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if you approve of who I date.”

  And with that said, Eleanor turned away from her daughter, stomped across the deck and parked her thirty-nine-year-old ass on an empty stool until Dez finished his last set.

  CHAPTER NINE

  USUALLY DEZ LINGERED on a set, playing drawn-out solos, proving his command of the instrument, giving Champ leeway to do the same, but today he hungered for something more than his ass on a piano bench—he hungered for the woman sitting on a stool, legs crossed and eyes resolute.

  He’d seen the angry words between her and Blakely, and the resulting flash of resentment in Eleanor’s eyes made him silently applaud her.

  His fingers found the keys, falling into the grooves perfectly, the music gliding, dripping, filling the bottom of his soul. The movement of his fingers was as natural as breathing, and the anticipation of having Eleanor all to himself at the end of the gig built inside him, fueling the desire simmering beneath the surface.

  Eleanor had chosen him.

  Simple as that.

  He’d never come between a woman and her daughter, but he could see Blakely through a stranger’s eyes. Blakely was like so many women who’d flitted in and out of his life—charming, beautiful and bold. But she came with baggage. Underneath the beauty lay a strong will to manipulate, and immaturity requiring time to temper. It was a time thing. Blakely may look like a woman, but inside she was very much a girl.

  It baffled him that Eleanor thought he’d drop the attraction he felt for her in trade for her daughter. Blakely was beautiful, but in a glossy-magazine way. Filler advertisements.

  He refocused his attention on the complicated run at the end of the last song, and ten minutes later, after resounding applause, stood next to Eleanor.

  “You ready?”

  She’d been nursing the beer he’d handed her. He took the warm bottle and set it on the table, nodding his thanks to those who called out their appreciation for the music.

  “You can leave now? Don’t you have to pack up?”

  “It’s not my piano. The guys are packing up our gear, but I’m done and ready to go play with you.”

  He didn’t mean it the way it came out, but the way Eleanor’s eyes widened, and the way the heat flared between them, was satisfying.

  “Okay, then.”

  He helped her off the stool, taking pleasure in touching her, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Let’s roll.”

  After thanking Ray for the third time and introducing his “neighbor” to the bar owner, they made their getaway. Blakely was nowhere to be seen, and relief settled in his bones. They walked out of the Priest and Pug and right into chaos.

  The crowds had thickened along the streets and the music bled into a cacophony of jazz and hip-hop. Everywhere people milled about in funny hats and laden with ropes of shiny beads. Beer flowed, children laughed and New Orleans made ready for one of their favorite parades. Endymion delivered more throws—the goodies tossed from the floats—than any other parade, and in less than an hour it would roll past where he and Eleanor stood. Ray had erected a tent, and though Dez wanted nothing more than to take Eleanor back to his place and peel off her tight jeans, he also wanted to savor the evening with her.

  He remembered the words he’d tossed at her days ago. You seem like the kind of woman who needs a little flirting in her life. She also seemed like the kind of woman who needed some time before they moved forward.

  Eleanor needed lots of foreplay.

  And Dez reveled in foreplay.

  “How about we catch the parade here? Ray gave me some tickets for the spread of food he’s putting out. I haven’t been to a parade since before Katrina.”

  Eleanor looked around, and for a moment he saw alarm creep into her gaze. It was a very public place, but also a place they could fade into the crowd. She nodded.

  He slid his hand down and captured hers, marking her as his…at least for the moment.

  Her face relaxed. “Actually I haven’t watched a parade in a while myself. Like most locals, I choose to stay out of Mardi Gras traffic. So, yeah, we’re here. Let’s watch the parade.”

  They moved toward the large tent bearing the Priest and Pug sign and got in line behind several other patrons wearing wristbands. When they reached the table, a woman took their tickets, wrapped a band around their wrists and handed them a beer. “All you can eat. Have fun.”

  Dez dipped out jambalaya and barbecue shrimp while Eleanor went for the oysters and fried chicken. She didn’t hold back, and not one leaf of lettuce touched her plate. He even liked the way she ate. Oysters and beer? Right up his alley.

  “We don’t have chairs,” she said, scooping up extra napkins and glancing about.

  Dez followed her gaze. “We don’t need ’em. Come on.”

  He led them to a curving oak tree set back several yards from the street. In front of them were ladders with old-fashioned carpenter boxes set side by side like soldiers along the parade route, awaiting parents who would climb them and seat small children on top so they could see the elaborate floats roll by without getting trampled. The ladders were a brilliant idea, but hard to see around. However, Dez knew that if he and Eleanor sat back several yards from the street, they could still see the festivity unique to the Crescent City.

  Spreading his jacket, he indicated she sit.

  “I don’t want to—”

  “Sit already. I’m starving.”

  She plopped down and spread a napkin in her lap. Just like the lady she was.

  He lumbered down beside her, balancing his beer and plate. “Perfect.”

  She watched the screaming kids chasing one another, the adults laughing and eating Popeye’s Chicken out of the box, and the sun dropping behind the row of houses lined up across the neutral ground. She nodded. “It is perfect.”

  They dug into their food, taking a few moments to ooh and aah over the savory dishes, tossing back beer and waving at the kids who played hopscotch on the sidewalk nearby.

  It was one of the better meals he’d had in a while.

  “Look.” Eleanor jabbed a finger to their right. “Here come police cars. Won’t be long now.”

  He wiped his mouth and stood, offering her his hand. Instead of taking it, she shoved her empty plate into it and smiled. “Thanks.”

  He
took both of the plates but couldn’t find a nearby garbage can. Finally, he spotted one near a port-a-let, but when he turned back, Eleanor was gone. He scanned the area and found her tossing stones and playing hopscotch down the sidewalk in her blue-and-brown boots.

  Several little girls watched in silent admiration.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked, smiling as the little girls eyed his approach.

  “She’s playing with us,” one girl said, looking at him like he was an idiot. Duh, can’t you see, big dumb man?

  He arched an eyebrow.

  Eleanor turned and hopped back, her breath coming in short puffs. “Needed to work off that fried chicken.”

  He held out his hand and she took it.

  “Thanks for letting me have a turn,” she said to the same little girl who had answered him seconds ago.

  “No problem,” the girl said, picking up the rocks and handing them to her friend.

  Eleanor waved goodbye and in her manner, Dez could see the mother she’d been to Blakely—calm, fun and loving. Didn’t take a rocket scientist for him to see she liked kids and could be silly. In every minute he spent with her, he grew to admire her more and more.

  Eleanor walked back to where she’d left his jacket and picked it up, handing it to him. “I couldn’t resist the challenge Lucy threw down.”

  “Lucy, huh? She sounds like a Lucy.”

  “Thank goodness she didn’t have a football,” Eleanor joked. “You ready to go?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Tilting her head, Eleanor studied him. “I can’t figure you out. You do understand I picked up the challenge you laid down.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not ready to let go of this moment,” he said, and tugged her to his side as two fire trucks sounding their sirens rolled down Canal Street, signaling the start of the parade.

  “See? I don’t know how to respond. You’re different than any other man I’ve been around.”

  “And you’ve been with a lot of guys?”

  “Uh, isn’t that, like—” she crooked her fingers into little quotations marks “—a ‘date three’ question?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have rules for—” he crooked his own fingers “—‘dating.’ I figure you got married young and hadn’t spent a lot of time with different guys. You had Blakely when you were, what?”

  “I turned twenty years old a month before she was born,” she murmured, stopping them at an open area on the sidewalk as a high school band marched along the parade route followed by a team of Clydesdales pulling a beer wagon.

  “And since your husband died?”

  “I’ve been on one date, which really wasn’t a date. We attended my high school reunion together so we wouldn’t have to deal with the recently divorced classmates on the prowl,” she said, keeping her eyes on the parade bearing down on them. As he looked up the street, he could see the thousands of throws being tossed from both sides of the first float. “I thought you said you didn’t need to know my past.”

  “I don’t, but I wanted to affirm something.”

  “What? That I’m a loser?”

  He sighed. “This again?”

  “It was a self-deprecating joke,” she said, rolling her eyes with a smile. “So what do you need to confirm?”

  “That you need time.”

  “What if I don’t want time?” She turned and stared him in the eye. “What if I want to take you home, strip you naked and make you scream my name?”

  “I’d say, ‘taxi!’”

  A smile curved her very delectable mouth. Her teasing struck a match, but he wasn’t ready to set the kindling they’d laid aflame. It was enough she’d taken the step toward him. No need for either of them to misstep before they’d even started.

  “So, in all seriousness, you don’t want me in that way…uh…right now?”

  He curved an arm around her, drawing her into the hollow under his arm. She felt good beside him, like a perfect-fit good. And she smelled like vanilla and something else he couldn’t place, but it was sexy, soft and inviting.

  He was a fool.

  The only thing he should be doing was hauling her to his car and then up to his bed.

  “If we weren’t in front of a million people, including those little ones back there, I’d show you how much I want you, but I don’t intend to spend the evening in jail.” He jerked his head toward the uniformed officer leaning against the street sign at the intersection on their right.

  “And here I was looking forward to getting dirty.”

  He pulled her tighter to him. “You know how after Thanksgiving, you start humming Christmas carols and wanting to do festive things?”

  “Huh?” she said, reaching up to grab a plastic cup thrown off another fire truck rolling by.

  “Bear with me.” He snatched a pair of beads from the air and hung them around her neck. “I like that feeling. Anticipation.”

  “Like the Carly Simon song,” she said, before wagging the cup. “Hey, we don’t have a bag to store throws.”

  “Give it to those kids.”

  Eleanor placed the cup at her feet. “So that’s what you’re doing? Building anticipation?”

  “Yeah. I like soaking in moments, enjoying the stage I’m in every minute of every day. For a little longer I want to feel this newness between us. To savor the way you feel beside me, laughing, playing hopscotch, catching—”

  Her hand shot up and she grabbed a pair of purple and gold beads.

  “—beads,” he finished.

  She turned to look at him, nearly getting conked in the head by a Frisbee. “I don’t know what to say, but that’s kind of beautiful.”

  He reached up to catch another big strand of beads. “I’m thinking we better save the serious convo for later.”

  “Ow,” she said as another cup hit her shoulder. “I think you’re right.”

  For the next hour they were pelted with coins, beads and other throws, even netting a big stuffed bear for Lucy. After dumping off their loot with the girls’ family, they walked hand in hand back to the parking lot behind the Priest and Pug.

  “So, are we calling it a night?” Eleanor asked.

  “What do you want to do?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. No one ever asks me what I want to do. My life has been a lot of what I have to do.”

  “Then I definitely think you need to decide.”

  “That may be the single most romantic thing a man has ever said to me.”

  *

  ELEANOR STOOD IN the parking lot, staring up at the most gorgeous creature she’d ever had the pleasure of kissing, and closed her eyes.

  What did she want?

  A successful business? A better relationship with her daughter? World peace? She wanted to have wild, passionate sex with Dez, but she also liked being with him, having his attention focused on her. Something good curled round her insides at the realization he had tossed the ball in her court yesterday and that it had stayed there. He wasn’t pushing her, using his appeal against her. Quite frankly, he was giving her space.

  “How about coffee?” She cracked an eye open.

  “I like coffee.”

  “There’s a CC’s close to my place, and they have really good caramel brownies,” she said, wondering if a brownie could satisfy the craving that had set up shop inside her, hanging out an open-for-business sign.

  Probably not.

  “I’ll follow you. Where’re you parked?”

  She pointed down a narrow side street.

  “Let me walk you to your car.”

  Wrapping an arm around her, Dez walked beside her. They were surrounded by the chatter of thousands making their way back to cars and houses. The chilly night air settled on them, and Eleanor was glad for the warmth of Dez’s arm. He smelled good—clean laundry mixed with sultry cologne. She took a couple of extra deep breaths so she could memorize the scent of him.

  Several minutes later, they approached her Volvo parked beneath a fluoresc
ent streetlight. Safety first. She always parked under a streetlight just as her father had taught her years before.

  “This is me.”

  He released her so she could pull her keys from her pocket and unlock the doors, but he didn’t move away. His hip brushed hers, a constant reminder of his maleness, of the fact she wanted him. No, needed him to help her move forward. To help her live again.

  Eleanor turned so her back was against the door, and tilted her face at him. “We’re still on for coffee, right? I mean, if you want to go back to your place or something, that’s okay, too.”

  He peered down, his gray eyes strangely bright in the dimness. “I want to take you home.”

  Her stomach flopped. “But—”

  “I stand by my initial plan. Your daughter’s home this weekend. We could jump into bed and have a really good time there, but for some crazy-ass reason, I want to take my time with you.”

  Eleanor swallowed because the way he said take my time with you sounded sexier than anything she’d ever heard. She gazed at his mouth and swallowed again. His lips were made for kissing…or taking his time leisurely traveling down her body. “Oh, well, those are good points.”

  The air crackled between them, and he leaned in, setting a hand on the car door. His gaze dropped to where the pulse in her throat galloped, and her body changed from cold to scorching in .09 seconds. Or some other crazy-fast speed. She didn’t follow NASCAR.

  “You know what I like, Eleanor?” he asked, his fingers lightly tracing her jawline before he slid one finger down her throat to the edge of her sweater. “I like foreplay.”

  She inhaled, closing her eyes. “Oh, I’m really glad you said that.”

  He chuckled.

  “Seriously. Because sex therapists cite lack of foreplay as the leading cause of women failing to climax.”

  He didn’t respond so she opened her eyes.

  “It’s true,” she said.

  His grin widened. “How long have you been holding on to that tidbit?”

  “I thought it was widely known,” she said, studying the smooth expanse of male flesh visible at the base of his throat. No crinkly hairs present or weird bumpy things. Just smooth skin the color of caramel.