I watch her lift the old-fashioned glass with a slim ivory hand, and her full red lips pull together as she sips. It’s a seductive movement, but suddenly she winces and does a little jump. I can’t help a grin. It’s unexpectedly cute.

Almost as if she feels my gaze, her sapphire-blue eyes blink up, across the darkness, straight into me. It’s like a thousand-watt volt of electricity, a Taser blast straight to the brain, and all the years I’ve spent alone hit me like a medicine ball to the chest. She blinks a few times, and the smallest smile lifts one corner of her mouth. I’m on my feet at once, headed in her direction, my target temporarily forgotten.

The bar is only half-full as I pass behind patrons engaged in animated discussions. Hands wave, drinks are put in peril, but I’m oblivious to the commotion.

My eyes move down her cheek to her neck, and I can see the slight uptick in her breathing. Allowing my eyes to move lower, I linger on the deep V of her midnight-blue dress. Her breasts rise and fall faster, and the fly of my slacks grows tight, until at last I’m standing in front of her.

I wait as her gorgeous eyes travel from my Italian leather shoes up my grey pants, hesitate at my waist, before blinking quickly to my face. She knows I caught her, and her cheeks flush the sexiest shade of pink.

I don’t remember the last time I approached a single woman in a bar, but I guess it’s like riding a bicycle. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She turns to face the amber beverage in front of her and gives it several pokes with a skinny red straw. “I have a Sazerac.”

Her voice is soft and high in comparison with mine. I want to hear it melt into a moan. “You don’t like it.”

Her gaze moves to my mouth, and I give her a little smile. It seems to put her more at ease.

“How do you know?” She blinks those gorgeous blue eyes back to mine.

I lean in, as if it’s a secret. “You make a face every time you sip it.”

“Why are you watching me?” Her eyes narrow, and I see she’s smart—and strong. Very sexy.

I ease back just a bit, extending a hand. “I should introduce myself. Derek.”

Her eyes hold mine for several moments longer. She’s sizing me up, and I confess, I’m holding my breath a little.

With a smile, she places her smaller hand in mine. “Melissa.”

My fingers close gently around it, and I resist the urge to pull her to me. I do allow my thoughts to slip out, however. “Sweet Melissa.”

“I’m not so sweet.” She takes it back, smile fading.

“Aren’t others supposed to make that judgment?” Waving the bartender over, I order for us. “Cava. Two glasses. Make it your best.”

He nods and quickly retrieves a dark green bottle from the refrigerator at the end of the bar.

“Cava?” Her eyebrows rise. “That’s not a very New Orleans choice. Shouldn’t you have ordered a hurricane?”

Every sass, every glimpse of her personality, fans my smoldering desire. She’s hypnotic, like the sexiest New Orleans voodoo, and my mind floods with images of us together. I want to be inside her. I want to taste every inch of her body, and fuck her with my tongue. I want to bend her over and take her from behind, pull her dark hair until she screams my name. I want to have her again and again.

Shaking the pornographic images away, I answer. “Cava is for celebrating good things.”

“Did you get a promotion?”

“I met you.”

The glasses are in front of us, and we lift them. I give her a little clink, and we take a sip of the sparkling Spanish white wine. It’s crisp and refreshing. Perfect for what I have in mind. A little tease, the slightest easing of inhibitions, and a night of unbridled passion. I touch my bottom lip with my tongue and her jaw drops. She quickly looks away.

“So,” she clears her throat, straightening in her seat. “Are you here on business?”

“Meetings,” I hedge. “At the Royal Sonesta.”

“Nice place.”

“Where are you staying?” Her lips press together, and she blinks down. “Sorry—you don’t have to answer that.”

She lifts her chin as if defying something invisible. “I’m staying at the Hotel Monteleone. With my best friend Elaine. Girls’ weekend.”

New Orleans is infamous for such things, but usually the “girls’ weekends” on Bourbon Street are fueled with too much alcohol, raucous dancing, shrieking, and showing tits.

Knowing she’s staying at a historically traditional hotel off Royal Street tells me a lot—as if I hadn’t already deduced Melissa is a bit too classy for such behavior.

“Where is your friend now?” Glancing toward the dance floor, I can’t imagine she’s one of the kids out there.

“She went back to the hotel. We only arrived this evening. Elaine was tired, but I wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep.” She gives my torso another slow sweep, and while she might be too classy for flashing her tits, she might be open to a private meeting of the minds. “What’s your line of work?”

“Upper management. Investigations.”

“You’re a PI?” Shifting again, she re-crosses her long, sexy legs.

“Basically.” Digging in my pocket, I pull out a twenty. “I should walk you back to your hotel. It’s after two.”

“I didn’t realize I was calling it a night.” A sexy smile curves her lips.

“This place is closing soon, and I won’t rest unless I know you’re safely at your hotel.”

A brief pause, and she slides off the stool toward me, putting us face to face. Her palms are on my chest, and that soft lip slips between her teeth. The pressure in my chest grows tighter. I want her.

“Are you trying to make me believe you’re safe?” she says softly.

“I’m not safe.” My hand moves to her lower back. “But I would never put you in danger.”

“I’m not sure I trust you.”

Leaning down, I catch her eyes. “You can always trust me.”

Melissa

Heat. I’ve been warned about the oppressive New Orleans heat. I’ve heard stories about how on his first visit to the Crescent City, Sir Paul McCartney went for a jog and thought he was having a heart attack, drowning in the heavy air.

Now, pressed against the damp, cool wall of Pirate’s Alley, my eyes flutter closed from the heat radiating between my thighs.

This gorgeous man wants me. He’s the last sensual escapes I might ever have, and damn if I’m not taking it.

I moan at the velvet of his lips followed by the scruff of his beard against my skin. All of my senses are heightened, my nipples hard and tingling.

He lifts me as if I weigh no more than a doll, and I luxuriate in his strength, the width of his shoulders, the way he dwarfs me with his enormous frame.

For a moment, my eyes drift open. The full moon shines enormously white over our heads, casting everything in a pale-bluish hue. Smaller orbs, the ancient streetlamps line the cobbled streets, making rainbow reflections in the puddles.

It’s possible these sights are only vibrant in my eyes, but I don’t have time to follow that train of thought. Derek catches my chin, pulling my attention back to him.

He covers my mouth with his, forcing my lips apart roughly. Our tongues collide, and I can’t help another moan. His virility floods my veins like a drug, so seductive. He’s a decadent indulgence, and a dangerous one. He tastes like champagne and mint, and something deeper, meaty and masculine at its core.

My blood races beneath my skin. Desire burns between my thighs, and as badly as I want to fuck him, I want to taste him. I want to drink him in and feel him inside me beating with my heart.

He unzips the back of my dress, and the straps fall down around my elbows. Reaching around behind me, I unfasten my bra. A hungry groan rumbles from his throat, and my breasts strain for his rough touch. I’m dripping wet. I’ve never felt so wanted, so craved.

We’re secluded from the main street. No one can see us. It’s possible we could be heard, but it would take some searching to find us.