His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling my hips to his, his erection prodding my stomach as my neck craned upward. “I never offered love, Emma. This agreement is what fate demands of us both. It’s a deal for my city and for your life. Love is a weakness, an Achilles’ heel, so to speak. It’s better that we both understand the limitations of our agreement from the start. My offer is for my name and my protection. Hearts are only useful to circulate oxygen through our bloodstream. Marry me and yours will keep beating. I have no other use for it.”
Inhaling, I took in Rett’s face. There was no question that he was handsome with his defined chin, his high cheekbones, and his protruding brow over his intensely dark eyes. The dark hair on his head was still mussed from where I’d woven my fingers through it as he brought me to ecstasy—twice. I found the man enticing and attractive.
Did that mean he was a good man? A kind man? A man I could love?
Those answers didn’t matter. Love wasn’t something that either of us sought.
Rett was asking for a commitment—a promise—to a legal agreement, one that I was certain would bring me pleasure in ways only this man could give. It wasn’t as if he wanted my heart and soul. They weren’t even mine to give. He’d never know why. It wasn’t his business.
This agreement was to fulfill fate’s demand. I could do that. A smile came to my lips. “I agree, for today.”
“No, Emma, till death us do part.”
Emma
From the moment I agreed to Rett’s demand, our steps were a whirlwind filled with clandestine maneuvers. After leaving the room where we dined, we entered dark hallways. Unsure of my footing, I was steered by the steady direction of a large hand in the small of my back. With a change in pressure, I turned as Rett led us along tunneled corridors until he opened a door that led to a waiting SUV. The driver remained silent, only opening the door and allowing Rett and I to slide over the soft leather seat.
Once we were all within the vehicle, I watched as the driver nodded in the rearview mirror to Rett. Then, he slipped the SUV in and out of stop-and-go traffic as we made our way from the French Quarter to the Central Business District.
Despite recently learning that I’d been born in this city, New Orleans was new—to me.
The city wasn’t new; it was older than our nation. Before the land was traded to the United States in the Louisiana Purchase of 1803, New Orleans was the territorial capital of French Louisiana. My love of history gave me knowledge of the past but did little to help me in the present. Old-fashioned streetlights gave way to tall office buildings as I tried to make out street signs or see landmarks that I’d only read about.
As we sat in the back seat of a moving SUV, I began to wonder if there was a parallel between recent events and this city. In 1803, the United States purchased the Louisiana territory for the ridiculous price of eighteen dollars a square mile. The legalities of the transaction could be questioned. History showed that the US paid France for property France didn’t own, property, in fact, owned by Native Americans. My mind went back to the reason I was in New Orleans or the lie I’d been given.
I turned to Rett. “Tell me what deal you made with Ross.”
Ross was my business partner and friend. The last term was used lightly. Nevertheless, Ross Underwood had convinced me to travel with him from where we both lived in Pittsburgh to New Orleans to meet with the mysterious investor, Everett Ramses. Somewhere between waking this morning in my apartment in Pittsburgh and earlier at the bar, a deal had been made—perhaps a purchase.
Was Ross France and the Louisiana territory me?
Before Rett could answer, the man in the front seat with one finger on an earbud spoke. “Sir, it’s Noah.”
Rett sat taller. “Tell me.”
“He hit one of the targets.”
Rett shook his head. “Only one?”
“Yes, sir. The others vanished.”
Rett let out a long breath. “I want an ID. Get all the particulars and send backup for Noah before anyone unnecessarily stumbles across the scene.”
With each bit of the conversation, my pulse ticked up a bit and my eyes opened wider, as if focusing my sight would help me understand.
Once the two men stopped talking, I turned to my side, taking in Rett’s profile. I didn’t pretend to know him, yet I saw the tight muscles in the side of his face and down his neck as his jaw clenched. “Rett, what’s happening?” When he didn’t answer, I reached toward him, laying my hand on his strong forearm. “Is this about me?”
Our tires went over a bump, causing all of us to bounce and my focus to change from Rett to the windshield. The city that had been outside the windows was gone, replaced by a dark tunnel illuminated only by long lights upon the walls that seemed to sense our presence, turning on as we approached and off once we were past. The way the SUV now pitched downward let me know we were headed underground.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
Rett’s large hand landed on mine as his lips thinned into a straight line. His head shook, once and only once, yet as the lights on the walls illuminated the inside of the SUV, I saw that his move was deliberate. In that moment, under his stare, as the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, I had the sensation of a silent reprimand.
I spoke softer. “Please tell me what’s happening.”
His voice was hushed. “I have, Emma. Maybe you should listen.”
Before I could respond, the SUV came to a stop. When I turned to look beyond the windows, a large gate was in the process of moving to the side, revealing a long cement staircase leading upward. “Where are we?”
“Your new home and you’re here safely.” As Rett spoke, a man appeared, descending the stairs. His black loafers and gray pants were the first to come into view. However, as he descended toward us, it wasn’t his attire that caught my attention. It was both his size and his sheer bulk. With a bald head and visible gun holster, this man was the quintessential bodyguard. If there was a visual requirement for bodyguards, this man was their poster boy.
The driver opened the door at Rett’s side.
Rett lifted his hand to me, palm up. “Come, Emma.”
Placing my palm in his, I scooted until I was standing beside him. A cool breeze blew my skirt though I couldn’t identify its origin. Sounds echoed throughout the parking garage, yet no matter what direction I turned, there wasn’t anyone else present. The four of us were alone in a vast cement cavern.
“This is New Orleans,” I said.
“It is.”
“Is it safe to be underground?”
“This tunnel and garage are reinforced. When I say you’re safe, I mean it.”
Standing taller and lifting my chin, I asked, “Where are my things?” I hadn’t seen my purse or phone since I’d left the table I was sharing with Ross. Back in my hotel room, I had a suitcase with a few items. There weren’t many. My visit to New Orleans had been planned as only a two-day stay. When I left Pittsburgh this morning, I fully intended on returning to my home.
“Mr. Ramses,” the large man in gray said.
“Ian.” Rett turned to me and pulled something from his pocket. “Emma, you will have your things eventually. Trust me. You’re safe.”