15
As she descended the staircase of the bed and breakfast the next evening, dressed in the only evening gown in her suitcase that really made any sense—the spaghetti-strapped solid black that hit just above the knees—Caroline had to admit that it was all worth seeing Zander Landry dressed in a charcoal gray suit, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Not to mention the hot look on his face when he caught sight of her.
“Fuck, yes,” he said appreciatively as his gaze swept over her from the ringlet curls around her face to the strappy, three-inch heels on her feet and back up.
“Thank you. You look pretty fuck, yes yourself.”
He gave her a grin and smoothed his palms over the front of his jacket. “Surprised I can pull off a suit?”
She thought about his question and let her gaze travel over him slowly as well. “Not really.”
“Seriously? Most people would find it hilarious. I promise you some of the guys around here would find it hilarious.”
“Then maybe they don't know you that well,” she told him. “Because you’re a guy who will do absolutely anything that needs to be done. Some things require blue jeans and boots and some things require suits. You are not only the guy to put any of those things on, but to completely pull them off.”
For a second he looked surprised. Then pleased. He reached out and ran one hand down her bare arm from her shoulder to her wrist. “There are definitely a few things I want to pull off right now.”
She gave a breathless laugh but she thought the heat in his eyes was as much about her words as it was about the dress. Though she was sure he noticed the way her nipples beaded behind the black silk.
Zander took the simple black shawl she carried from her fingers and drew it around her shoulders, covering her upper arms…and her traitorous nipples. But not before he gave her a knowing grin and wink.
“I'm sure you’ve had more men pick you up for dates in suits than in flannel and denim.” His hand settled possessively on her lower back and she loved the weight as he escorted her toward the front door.
She nodded. “I have. But the butterflies I’m feeling aren’t about the suit.”
He hesitated before pulling the door open. “You have butterflies?”
She looked up at him. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because this is the first time I've gone on a date in a very long time where I really like the guy I’m going with and I’m really hoping for a kiss at the end of the night.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth before going back to her eyes. “You're definitely getting a kiss at the end of the night.”
A little shiver went through her and she let him see her wiggle. “Yeah, see? Butterflies like crazy.”
“You haven’t wanted the other guys to kiss you?”
“Not since high school. Maybe one in college.”
His eyes narrowed and took on that familiar intensity. “Have you been kissed by a lot of guys when you didn't want to be?”
“Not exactly. But by guys I wasn’t really into.”
“Fucking hate that.”
“I do too now.”
“Now?”
“Now that I know what I've been missing.”
The intensity increased along with the heat in his gaze and for just a moment Caroline was expecting him to back her up against the door and kiss her right then and there.
But he drew in a long breath. “I really…” He shook his head instead of finishing the comment. “We should go.”
She nodded. They should. Spencer and Max would be waiting for them.
Zander held her hand during the drive to New Orleans and as they walked up the sidewalk in the French Quarter. They chatted idly as they strolled and it took Caroline about three blocks to catch on. But when she did, she wasn't surprised.
“This isn't the way to Octavia’s.”
“We’re making a stop first.”
Yeah, she should've been expecting this. In fact, she realized she had been. She couldn’t show up at Octavia’s with Zander. She couldn’t show up at Octavia’s at all. Not mere days after running out of her wedding and disappearing from her family. Easily half the patrons, not to mention the staff there, would know her. And Brantley. And her father. There would be nothing stealthy about them observing these men with Caroline in tow.
“I'm waiting for you somewhere else,” she said.
He glanced over at her. “You don't sound surprised. Or pissed.”
“You can't take me to Octavia’s.”
“Right.”
“Why didn't you just leave me in Autre then?”
“Honestly? It’s a completely selfish reason.”
“I’m listening.”
“I really wanted that moment when you came down the stairs dressed up like this for me. I really wanted to spend the evening thinking about stripping you out of that dress later on. I wanted to walk the Quarter, holding your hand, with all these other men knowing you’re mine.”
Her body heated and she realized that was a very good answer.
“But also because my family thinks we’re going out tonight. And I didn’t want them wondering what had happened and why you weren’t with me. I would have wanted them to keep an eye on you as long as I wasn’t in town and that would have made them suspicious that something was going on.”
“And you would have had to admit that there might be bad guys in Autre and that there could potentially be trouble and that I might be in the middle of it. And you don't want them to know any of that.”
He paused, but finally said, “Right.”
She took a deep breath. Okay, these were all good points. She didn’t like them—well, except for the coming-down-the-staircase moment—but they were legitimate points. “Fine,” she finally conceded. “So where are we going?”
“This is Trahan’s. Trahan’s Tavern, officially,” he said, stopping on the corner of Chartres and St. Peters. The restaurant and bar that sat facing Jackson Square had its big French doors open to the night air and music and laughter spilled out from the brightly lit interior. There was a short line to get a table but everyone seemed more than happy to wait.
“It's owned by a couple friends. Gabe and Logan. It's one of the most popular bars in the Quarter. You ever been here?”
She shook her head. “I've seen it though. It's always really busy.”
He nodded. “It is. They're great guys, with great food and drink.”
“And apparently good babysitting skills?”
“Listen, if I'm not with you and we don't know where Brantley is or what he's up to, I just feel better if you are with people that I know and trust. Would you rather be sitting alone at Max’s? Or back at your mom and dad’s? I didn’t think you’d want to go home, but if that’s what you want, I’ll call you a car.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re right.”
“And as soon as we’re done at Octavia’s, I was thinking we could have a drink. Maybe beignets.” He inclined his head. Café Du Monde was across the square. “Or a horse-drawn carriage ride. Whatever you want.”