Текст книги "Dangerously Broken"
Автор книги: Eden Bradley
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PRAISE FOR DANGEROUSLY BROKEN
“With kink, sensuality, emotional depth and passion that flies off the page, Eden Bradley has a winner in Dangerously Broken. Loved it!”
–J. Kenner, New York Times bestselling author
“Dangerously Broken is dark and sexy, romantic and edgy—this book will keep you up all night.”
–Lexi Blake, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF EDEN BRADLEY
“Intelligent, haunting and sexy as hell . . . For you people who like story and heart with your erotica, I’d definitely recommend any of Eden’s books.”
–Maya Banks, New York Times bestselling author
“Honest, tender and totally sexy—a feast for the senses and the heart.”
–Shayla Black, New York Times bestselling author
“Brilliant, seductive and dangerous. All of my favorite things.”
–R. G. Alexander, author of Possess Me
“A hot and steamy ride to the climactic end . . . This story will steam up your glasses.”
–Library Journal
“An exciting, erotic page-turner that does not disappoint . . . Ms. Bradley’s wonderful storytelling ability [and] knack for description . . . transports you right into the story and holds you there until the very last page.”
–Night Owl Reviews
“Graphic, loving and incredibly well-written, the sex scenes ratchet up the drama with unbelievable intensity . . . Sexual desire intertwines with emotional intensity, resulting in a book you won’t want to put down.”
–Romance Junkies
“Bradley delivers the goods. There is intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions . . . This is delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”
–RT Book Reviews
“Eden Bradley is an incredible author who writes scorching-hot love scenes with characters who are very memorable and so very well written.”
–Fallen Angel Reviews
“Eden Bradley knows how to heat up the pages in a hurry. She creates sexual tension and love scenes that will get your heart racing. But she also creates characters that are realistic and fun to read.”
–Fiction Vixen
“Eden Bradley has a knack for penning extraordinary erotic romances.”
—Wild on Books
“Dark and seductive; it left me breathless and eager for more. I loved it!”
–My Secret Romance Reviews
“Highly erotic and sensual.”
—Under the Covers Book Blog
Titles by Eden Bradley
DANGEROUSLY BOUND
DANGEROUSLY BROKEN
Writing as Eve Berlin
PLEASURE’S EDGE
DESIRE’S EDGE
TEMPTATION’S EDGE
Anthologies
EXCLUSIVE
(with Jaci Burton and Lisa Renee Jones)
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
This book is an original publication of Penguin Random House LLC.
Copyright © 2015 by Eden Bradley.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices,
promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized
edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or
distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of
Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63821-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bradley, Eden.
Dangerously broken / Eden Bradley. – Berkley Trade paperback edition.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-425-26999-2
I. Title.
PS3602.R34266D35 2015
813'.6—dc23
2015018450
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / October 2015
Cover photograph: “lock and chain” © PIER / Getty Images;
“wrought iron” © Purestock / Getty Images.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To the beautifully haunting city of New Orleans—you are always pure magic to me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my dear friend author Erin Simone for exploring New Orleans at midnight with me. Our quiet walks through the dark French Quarter, breathing the city in, glorying in the architecture, sharing my longing for the place, inspired me in ways I will never quite be able to put into words. Someday we will go there with our little dogs and hole up in an apartment for a month, writing all day, walking the city after dark, creating new stories together. Promise.
I must also thank the real Dennie, beta reader and one of the sweetest people I know, for letting me use her sassy personality and the strength of the friendship she offers as a model for Summer Grace’s best friend. Thank you, doll!
CONTENTS
Praise for Eden Bradley
Titles by Eden Bradley
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER
One
THE SOUND OF leather hitting naked flesh reverberated like a low hum in his veins as Jamie entered the main play space of The Bastille. Bodies writhed beneath the dim red and pale gold lights, seemingly in time with the trancelike ambient music. Everywhere were the scents familiar at any BDSM club. Leather. Desire. And very faintly, a little perfume. But the leather—floggers, cuffs, whips—was only one element of kink to whet his appetite. It was always the primeval glint and clank of chains that really did it for him.
A small frisson of heat shivered over his skin, creeping up the back of his neck as he paused to admire a giant web of chain attached to the sleek, black-lacquered wall. It was one of his favorite play stations at the club. The Bastille was his home club, infamous among the kink folk in New Orleans and all over the country. The club was as decadent as the city itself, as sensual as New Orleans’s sultry air. With its dramatic black and red décor, the spectacular equipment, the subs and slaves blindfolded and bound into the wall nooks where one would normally set a tall vase of flowers or a statue, it was the kind of place one only ever read about. But these beautifully still people were as decorative as a vase of flowers, in his mind. And this place was far from “normal.” Tonight The Bastille, this wicked den of far-from-normal appetites, would serve him well—as soon as he chose a play partner from among the many gorgeous submissive women available.
They were scattered throughout the club, seated on the plush red velvet settees and chairs in the front lounge area, or watching the activity on the main floor. They were easy enough to spot whether or not they wore the club’s white collar of protection and availability. It was in the furtive glances they cast at him, lashes down, hands clasped in front of them, posture perfect in their rigid corsets. And then there were those who dared to stare boldly at him, lashes batting, a smile on their pretty lips. These were the ones who interested him most, although they always proved to be the most trouble in the end. But he liked a feisty submissive. He liked the challenge.
He liked having a reason to punish them.
Ah, and there she was—the tall brunette who’d made a point of introducing herself the last time or two he’d visited the club. What was her name? She was smiling at him, and there was little coyness in her glance. He smiled back, started to move across the room toward her when his attention was caught by a scene to his left. Maîtresse Renee, an attractive Domme. Like him, she was a regular at The Bastille. She was paddling a petite woman bent over a spanking bench. The girl had a truly spectacular ass that was pinking nicely. It was perfect, really—a perfect heart shape. And she had long, silky blonde hair that hung down almost to the floor, obscuring her face. But there was something familiar about her small frame . . .
Maîtresse Renee grabbed the girl’s hair and pulled her upright and his groin tightened as her flawless, small breasts came into view, tipped with pale pink nipples. He’d love to get his hands on her, loved a woman with that build—slight and athletic, yet still utterly feminine. And she had a gorgeous tattoo of a phoenix on her side in brilliant color. He loved tattoos on a woman, especially one of this size and exquisite detail. Beautiful. Who was she? Someone new, that was for sure. He stepped closer, something about the tiny blonde drawing him.
The Domme pulled her head farther back, elongating her throat, and he caught sight of the girl’s profile.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
Summer Grace Rae.
His hands fisted at his sides, all thought of the brunette gone in the wake of discovering his best friend’s little sister in the club. The girl he’d sworn to protect as her brother Brandon lay on his deathbed twelve years ago. The same little sister he’d lusted after since she was fourteen years old, although he’d never admit that to anyone. The same girl he was lusting after now, even as anger suffused him.
He took a few hard strides toward them before managing to stop himself just short of invading their scene space—stopping so fast it rocked him back on his heavy, booted heels. His head felt like it was about to explode.
What the hell was Summer Grace doing at the club? His club! The fucking kink club! And even worse, under someone else’s hands, Goddamn it.
He couldn’t stand to watch, yet he couldn’t look away as Maîtresse Renee pulled her hair harder, Summer Grace’s back arching. When her entire slender frame was elongated, the Domme started to use a small leather paddle on the front of her delicate body.
He shook his head, his blood boiling. He had two choices. He could barge in on their scene and risk getting himself banned from the club in the process and ruining his reputation as a Dominant, or he could get the fuck out of there and deal with this later, after he’d had some time to get his head back on straight.
As if.
He knew damn well he should leave, but he couldn’t resist circling the scene until he stood in front of Summer Grace—and knew how utterly stupid he’d been when she glanced up and caught his gaze.
Jesus fuck!
It was like a punch in the gut, even from a good eight or ten feet away: those sky-blue eyes, the shock there, and on her lips as they made a small O. The raw zing of desire and the knot of emotion. And he was damn irresponsible. He stepped back, his own sense of shock threatening to paralyze him. Blowing out a breath, he took another step back, then forced himself to turn away and head for the front door. He’d almost made it when a hand on his arm stopped his momentum.
“Jamie? You okay?”
It was another beautiful brunette—Allie, Mick’s girlfriend. They were two of his closest friends, and they’d all known each other since they were kids—Allie and Mick. Brandon and Summer Grace.
So damn hot, naked on that spanking bench, the tattoo down her ribs, just beneath those perfect breasts . . .
Jesus, he did not want to talk to Allie right now. He was too fucked up. Over seeing Summer Grace. Over his behavior—looking right at her during a scene when he should have walked the hell away.
“Fine. I’m just . . . I’m taking off.”
“Like a cat with its tail on fire. What’s going on?”
He didn’t want to talk about this. “Where’s Mick?”
“He’s out of town, working, which I’m pretty sure you already knew. And you’re deflecting why?” Allie smiled, undaunted by his gruff demeanor.
He ran a hand over his buzz cut as if that would clear his brain. “Allie, look . . . I just saw someone in there and . . . Wait. Did you know she was here? You and Summer Grace have been hanging out since you got back to town. Shit, Allie, did you know about this?”
“Don’t be so accusatory, Jamie. Yes, I know she’s here. I’m the one who brought her. I was just getting something out of my locker—”
“You fucking brought her here?” he exploded, then sucked in a breath and tried to calm himself. He’d gotten too close, and she’d seen him. And God knew what it had done to her head space. Unforgivable. He knew better. “Hell. Fuck. I’m sorry. But you should have told me. Warned me. Jesus, who thought this was a good idea?”
He needed to calm the hell down. Allie wasn’t looking too pleased with him right now. But damn it, this was Brandon’s little sister. In his club. Fuck.
“Actually, she asked me not to discuss it with you, Jamie. She wanted to do this on her own.”
Of course Summer Grace had asked Allie not to tell him. He would never have allowed it.
“And you let her? She sure as hell hasn’t been in here before or I would have known about it. Do you know if she’s been to other clubs? Played with someone else before tonight? Before showing up here and bending over a spanking bench, for fuck’s sake. How new to the kink life is she? Jesus, Allie, is anyone watching out for her?”
Allie drew herself up, fire sparking in her brown eyes. “Jamie Stewart-Greer, you need to change your tone right now. What do you take me for? I’m watching out for her. So is Rosie. I wouldn’t let anyone come into this without guidance, especially someone I’ve known most of my life. As for the rest, that’s her business to tell you, not mine. You should know that.” She reached for him again, her tone softening as she rubbed a soothing hand over his arm. “Come on, Jamie. Take a breath and think for a minute. You know I’d never be irresponsible with Summer.”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. I know that. I’m just . . . I’m gonna go. I’m sorry I blew up at you. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”
Naked. Being spanked by someone else. Getting her hair pulled by someone else. Commanded . . .
Allie shrugged. “I can understand it. She’s always been everyone’s baby sister. But, Jamie? Baby sisters grow up.”
He nodded, not wanting to tell her that he’d never thought of Summer Grace as his baby sister. He didn’t want to tell her he’d spent years fantasizing about her—about doing those things to her himself. And just as many years knowing he never could because of the promise he’d made to her brother.
To see her with another Dominant, even a woman . . . It was more than he could stand.
He pulled Allie in and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “You’re right, as usual. I’m just gonna do everyone a favor and go.”
“That might be the best idea. Are we good, Jamie?” she asked, looking up at him.
“What? Yes. We’re good. Of course we are. This is all me.”
He tried to get himself to move but he had to get one last look. It was too crowded and he was too far away, but he thought he heard her crying out in pleasure or pain.
Summer Grace.
Fuck.
She’d done this just to drive him crazy. She was good at that. Three years his junior, Summer Grace had been coming on to him all through her teen years and into her twenties. But in the last year it had stopped, and she seemed to be avoiding him. Not that he could blame her—he’d always rejected her blatant advances. Although seeing her now made him wonder how the hell he’d managed it. Summer Grace had been one hell of a sex kitten since she hit puberty.
Jesus. He was getting hard remembering her crawling into his sleeping bag on more than one of the camping trips he’d taken with the Rae family. Remembering what it felt like to wake up with her straddling him . . .
Allie squeezed his arm. “Jamie? You said you were going?”
“What? Yeah, I’m out of here. I’ll talk to you later.”
Allie raised one dark brow. “Drive carefully. You seem a little shaken up.”
You have no idea.
“I will.”
He got out of the club and to the parking lot on the side of the big converted warehouse that housed The Bastille. His auto shop’s white tow truck was parked there—he didn’t like to leave his vintage Corvette Stingray in the warehouse district. He swung open the door with the “SGR” insignia on the side a little too hard—“SGR” for Stewart-Greer and Rae. He and Brandon had planned to go into business together as soon as they got through the automotive technology program over in Lafayette. The least he could do was add Brandon’s name to the business. If only Brandon were there to run the shop with him . . .
If only Brandon were here, this night would never have happened. Summer Grace would never have been naked and submitting in one of the most notorious kink clubs in the country. And Jamie would never have been forced to resist the temptation she offered—not on this scale. Not on his home turf. Temptation he could never give in to. Not only because of the promise he’d made, but because he refused to bring her any closer. He was dangerous to people he cared about, whose lives intertwined with his.
Don’t think about that part.
But now he’d seen her naked, and temptation was brought to a whole new level. Temptation and ideas about the possibility of them being together that made his chest ache.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his head again.
He pressed his fingers against his temples and then his eyes, where a steady pressure was building.
That wasn’t the only place pressure was building.
How the hell could he be so damn mad and so turned on at the same time? He should be used to this by now—that was how things had always been with Summer Grace. He’d chased her out of his bed—his sleeping bag, his tent, off the Rae’s family room couch—at least a dozen times over the years. Every time he’d gotten angry. Every time he’d had to deal with the raging hard-on of his life. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that with her. Not her.
But now he knew she was exploring kink at his club. If this turned out to be more than a one-time thing he would see her there again and again. They’d run into each other and he’d be forced to watch other people have what he’d denied himself. Watch Summer Grace submit to someone else. See her naked body—her beautiful naked body and that perfect heart-shaped ass growing gorgeously pink as she was spanked, paddled.
He groaned, pressed his hand against the hard bulge in his jeans.
“Down boy,” he murmured, his throat raw with need.
He started the truck and pulled onto Magazine Street, gunning the engine, then braking for the summertime tourist traffic.
“Fuck.”
He needed to get the hell home. Needed to either get into his ’Vette and drive off this tension, or get into his bed or the shower or just inside the damn door of his flat so he could work it off properly—with a good, hard orgasm and then some good, hard drinking and swearing until he inevitably got hard again and the cycle repeated.
He came to a red light and waited impatiently, then switched on the radio.
All along it was a fever, a cold sweat hot-headed believer, Rihanna sang.
He sure as hell had a fever. For her. If he’d ever tried to deny it before, it was impossible after tonight, when she’d stepped into his world and given herself over to it. Without him. He might have been strong enough to shrug off her youthful attempts at seduction, but whether she knew it or not, she’d just starred in his own personal forbidden fantasy.
He was so screwed.
The lyrics took a heavy emotional turn and he impatiently switched off the radio. It only made him think of that moment when their eyes had met in the dim light of the club. The electricity that went way beyond mere recognition. That forced him to face head-on the fact that he’d always wanted her, wanted her to belong to him.
The light changed and he moved through the sluggish traffic, finally hanging a left on Canal Street and driving through the French Quarter proper, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel.
“Take care of her. Take care of Summer Grace if I’m not here to do it, Jamie. You have to promise me.”
He’d never forget Brandon’s words. Never forget the oath he’d sworn to his best friend that day as the stark white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him. He wasn’t forgetting it now. Desire was not the same as taking action. But who the hell was going to protect her from everything and everyone else at The Bastille if he didn’t do it himself? It was the same damn situation Allie had wrangled Mick into. With his help, he had to admit. But this was different. Wasn’t it? He had a feeling Summer Grace hadn’t done this because of him.
He’d seen the languorous lines of her body under that Domme’s hands. Had seen the way she responded to being hit with the leather paddle. She was right there, her body, her mind, committed to the moment. Oh yeah, she was all in. That wasn’t something anyone could fake. Even if she knew he was into kink—and if Allie had brought her to the club, he was pretty sure she’d known before they’d seen each other tonight—she was obviously there because it was what she wanted.
Summer Grace. With the same dark desires he had himself.
Which could lead her into some dangerous territory.
He tried to shake off the thoughts about her in some other man’s hands. Being spanked. Flogged. Taken into subspace, where she would be vulnerable. The glossy blue of her eyes.
“Damn it! You’re not thinking about her safety—you’re just hot for her!”
His stiffening cock confirmed it. So did his hands, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles hurt as he silently berated himself. He sighed in relief when he finally found a parking spot right in front of the three-story building he’d bought last year. Painted in muted tones of sage green, brick red and ivory, the building was one of the newly remodeled Victorians in this neighborhood that was still recovering from Katrina. He was always glad to get home—the first home he’d ever owned, which was a point of pride—and now maybe more than ever, with need still pumping through his system like rocket fuel.
He adjusted the tight bulge under his jeans and took a moment to be sure there was no one else around before jumping out of the truck and striding toward the front door. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, swearing under his breath. Then he was up the stairs to the third floor and in his living room. He tore his shirt over his head as he moved down the narrow hall to the bathroom, kicked his boots off as he hit the light switch. His jeans were next, the zipper catching for a moment on the hard ridge of his erection.
“Fucking Goddamn it,” he muttered, not really caring except that it meant another second of delay before he could get his cock in his hand.
He twisted the handles in the shower and stepped in while the water was still cold. Not that it helped. Not that he cared. He leaned back into the cool, green slate tiles and closed his eyes as he fisted his cock with a sigh.
“Oh, yeah, that’s better.” Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t her. But it would have to fucking do tonight.
The water warmed against his skin, and his mind swirled with pictures and memories of the girl whose image he’d come to maybe hundreds of times.
Summer Grace in those too-short shorts and tiny halter tops she wore all summer long, her bare feet and pink-painted toes making her seem even more naked somehow. Her pink mouth that was always a little soft and pouty, even when she laughed—and never more than when she’d kissed him out of a deep sleep that night in his tent on one of the Rae family camping trips in Colorado.
Jamie groaned at the memory of those plush lips pressed against his, sliding and seeking. Soft and warm and knowing. Jesus, the girl could kiss like crazy, even when she was barely fifteen, hardly more than a kid. And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he’d let it go on a few moments even after he realized he wasn’t dreaming.
“Summer Grace, stop it.”
“Why? I can feel it, you know, Jamie,” she whispered in the dark. “I can feel it against me. You want me.”
“I was . . . I was sleeping and . . .”
“And you got hard as soon as I climbed on top of you,” she finished smugly.
It was then he realized he had his hands on her waist. So slender. Without meaning to, he gave her a squeeze before yanking his hands away. “That doesn’t mean anything. Come on, now. Get off me.”
The little minx leaned in then and brushed her lips over his again and his cock nearly burst.
“You don’t really want me to. Tell me the truth, Jamie. You want to kiss me. I know you do.”
“No.”
Yes.
He had wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her now. Now. He wanted to feel those lips under his as he pressed her back against the shower wall. As he stripped her naked, pulled her legs up around his waist and plowed into her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her fine, tight ass, bringing a little pain along with the pleasure. He wanted to fuck her right through the wall, to make her scream his name, to make her beg for more.
“Ah!”
He pumped his hips into his tightly fisted hand, sensation coursing through him, a hard pulse-beat of endless need. He pulled in a breath, thought he caught her familiar scent, like violets and rain.
“God. Fucking. Damn it,” he ground out as he started to come.
Pleasure tore through him—into his gut, his balls, his mind, leaving him breathless. And still aching for her.
He pushed off the tiles and into the stream of water, letting it pound against his head.
“Fuck it.”
Summer Grace may be the one woman he was not supposed to have, but enough was enough. Because no matter how many others he’d been with—and he’d had more than his share, even if he kept it a bit more under the radar than Mick had before he got back together with Allie—it had always been Summer Grace. It always would be. Even as he’d stood in front of a judge and married Traci, it was Summer Grace who’d been on his mind, and not only because he’d felt bad about not telling her he was getting hitched. No. There was always more to it with Brandon’s little sister. He’d denied himself for twelve long years. How much was one man supposed to take? He’d been Saint Jamie for long enough. And maybe he was going to hell for it—for breaking his promise—but he had to have her. He couldn’t go on like this. She’d sealed that bit of fate when she’d shown up at The Bastille tonight. And in the end, there was no other way he could protect her.
The whole thing was making him feel a little crazy, and a lot more out of control than he cared for. The battle between doing what was best for her and the driving urge he felt to have her in his arms was pure torture. But he knew now what he needed to do. He had to find a way to keep her safe. From the world. From the inevitable predators she would come upon at the BDSM clubs. And from himself. But he had to try.
He shut off the water and stepped onto the bath mat, looked at himself in the mirror as he grabbed a towel from the rack and roughly dried himself.
“That’s right,” he told his reflection. “We are gonna do something about this insane situation. It’s past time. I’ll face the music on the other side when the time comes. But the time to be with her is now.”
He’d give her a day or two to come down off the post-play high, give her time to recover in case she had any subdrop, the sometimes negative side effect of kink play that happened when all the lovely chemicals released in the brain suddenly went away. Oh yes, he’d respect that. Of course he would, as would any Dom worth their salt.
He reached out and slowly but purposefully traced her initials in the steam that fogged the edges of the mirror.
“But then . . . watch out, Summer Grace. Because this time I’m coming after you. And there’s no one left to say no.”
* * *
SUMMER STRETCHED AND inhaled the rich scent of coffee brewing in her kitchen. Her small blue and white cottage in New Orleans’s Gentilly district was a little on the funky side and in need of repair—the old floors creaked, the white tile on the counters was cracked in places—but she loved it. It was July and one of the warmest months of the year in the sub-tropical city, but since it was not quite nine o’clock yet, she had the windows open to catch the cool morning air. The cat that had come with the house—an enormous female with short white fur and blue eyes—was sitting on the counter, washing her paw in a pale ray of sunshine.
“Good morning, Madame. Catch any mice last night? No? Still too slow? Good thing I decided to adopt you and keep that big belly full.” She stroked Madame’s fur and the cat narrowed one eye at her. She sighed. “Ungrateful wretch, as ever.”
She was trying to pretend this was just another day. Not that it really was. She’d been processing her first real play at the club the other night. It had been amazing. But she’d been up half that night getting herself off over and over—with her hands, the showerhead, her toys—with Jamie’s face in her mind’s eye, making her come so damn hard she had to stifle her screams. She didn’t know how many times she’d come since. She swore she’d nearly come when she looked up to see him watching her at The Bastille. She’d dreamed of him as she slept a fitful four or five hours the last two nights, bringing herself to orgasm in the middle of the night and again each morning. Everything had been a sensual blur since her night at the club. Sensual. Sexual. When she squeezed her thighs she could still feel that jagged stab of desire along with the soreness from using herself again and again.
The coffeepot beeped at her, and Summer poured the dark liquid into a large ceramic mug, adding a few drops of cream. Not that she needed the caffeine today, with her heart a small hammer in her chest. Desire. Confusion. Anxiety. What she needed was to calm the hell down. Moving to the window next to the kitchen table, she looked out at the small garden that was all hers. Well, almost. She was leasing with an option to buy, and she was hopeful things would work out. Her salary managing Luxe, one of the most expensive lingerie shops downtown, helped, but it was a struggle. Still, she’d spent a small portion of her “play money” on plants for her garden. Nothing made her feel as peaceful as working her hands into the earth, seeing her little garden flourish—and God knew she needed some peace this morning.
She swung open the screen door and took her mug outside, Madame following her. The backyard had come with the two tall magnolia trees whose creamy white blossoms gave off a gorgeous perfume, but she’d added the small fig tree, the different varieties of lilies, the pink and red Rangoon Creeper—her favorite variety of honeysuckle—the rosemary that smelled almost as good to her. The scents of her garden were always present, like a subtle perfume, the humidity of New Orleans releasing the fragrance. She moved down the narrow brick path, reaching out to stroke her fingers over the leaves of a large fern that grew in the shade of one of the magnolias, and remembered the sensual touch of Maîtresse Renee from the other night.
