Bourbon Street Blues (7 page)

Jaw clenched, Parker refused to rise to the bait. Whatever she had in mind, he wasn’t going to play her games anymore.

Frannie shot him an impatient look. “And that new business of yours? Seriously, Parker. A jazz café? Your daddy must be fit to burst. What are you thinking?”

He stood to face her. “I’m thinking it’s none of your business what the hell I do, Frannie. Not anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She looked up into his eyes. Tapping one long nail against the center of his chest, she said, “I don’t want this divorce and I’m going to do all I can to stop it.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“Don’t you believe it.”

He’d had enough. He’d tried to be fair, but the only justice Frannie believed in was the kind that weighed in her favor. God, he couldn’t believe he’d stayed married for so long to such a woman. What the hell had he been thinking?

He should have filed for divorce after the first miserable six months of their life together. But at the
time, it had seemed easier to stay in the marriage. Laziness on his part, he supposed. And the fact that he hadn’t wanted to admit to the world what a mistake he’d made. He wasn’t a monk, though, and he damn sure wasn’t a saint. So occasionally, when he was offered uncomplicated sex from someone other than his wife, he took advantage of the opportunity. It didn’t make him proud to be a cheating husband. But since his wife wasn’t interested in being a wife, he didn’t feel the guilt he should have under other circumstances.

Hell, their marriage had never stood a chance. And it was only his blindness, his ambivalence that had allowed him to go along with it in the first place.

“Frannie,” he said with a bone-deep fatigue that dragged on him, “do us both a favor and go home.”

“Now, Parker, honey, don’t you be saying anything you might come to regret.”

He laughed in spite of everything. “
That’s
the woman I know. Threats come a lot easier to you than seduction, Frannie.”

Her mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, do your worst.” He grabbed her elbow and steered her across the room toward the front door. He wanted her out of his house. Out of his
life. Hell, out of New Orleans if he could find a way to manage it.

“Stop this,” she squawked, tugging ineffectually at his grasp. “Let me go.”

He kept walking, forcing her along with him. At the front door, he yanked it open and stepped out onto the porch with her.

She shook free of his grasp, then lifted her chin and glared at him. “Parker James, this isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.”

“Sure it is.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down into her eyes, clearly reading the frustration glittering hotly there. “I’m not losing any more of my family’s business to your greed. And I’m not losing one more minute of my life to you, either. So do what you have to. And so will I.”

T
HE NEXT COUPLE
of days passed quickly as Parker worked to get the last details at the café taken care of. He wanted everything to be perfect. It wasn’t easy, juggling two jobs. He still had responsibilities at James Coffees, so he couldn’t spend as much time at his café as he would have preferred. And that was something he’d have to take care of soon.

He wanted the opening night for Parker’s Place to knock the socks off the neighborhood. And he
needed his place to be a success. Needed to be able to prove to himself and the rest of his family that this wasn’t simply a pipe dream.

So he worked, burying himself in details, both at the café and at the office. And every afternoon, he tore himself away from whatever he was doing and made his way to the Hotel Marchand, drawn by the need to see Holly. To be near her.

After that little chat with Frannie, Parker had come to appreciate Holly’s openness even more. Her easy smiles and warm heart were like a soothing drink after a long drought. She filled corners in his soul he hadn’t even known were there.

And while that worried him a little, he couldn’t seem to stay away from her.

“You’re getting to be quite the regular,” Holly said as she joined him at his table when rehearsal was over.

“I noticed.” He smiled. “Leo had my favorite beer waiting for me when I arrived.”

She grinned at him, snatched up the bottle and took a drink. “Leo’s not the only one who watches for you to get here.”

“Good to know,” Parker said. “Leo’s not really my type.”

“That right? Who is?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I might. Still nice to hear.”

“Well then, I like tall brunettes who can’t sing a note.”

Her eyebrows lifted and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I see.”

“Of course, redheads with gray eyes and whiskey-smooth voices have their own kind of appeal.”

“I stand relieved.”

Leo brought her a glass of iced tea, then walked back to the bar.

“I hear Robert LeSoeur’s going to be using your coffee as the hotel brand, after all.”

“Yeah.” Parker smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Only took a week’s worth of convincing, but it’s all set. Should be great for business. For James Coffees and the Hotel Marchand.”

The chef had driven a hard bargain, but Parker had worked it around until the deal suited both parties. He should have been more pleased at his success, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Still, it helped to be leaving the family business with a victory.

“How’s your café coming along?”

Now this, he could really enjoy talking about. This was what he cared about. What drove him. “We’re ready. I hope. Opening night’s tomorrow.”

“Exciting.”

“And a little nerve-racking. I’ve got a local band playing for the first couple of hours, so they’ll be a good draw.”

“Really?” she asked, interested. “Who?”

“Hanson’s trio.”

“Mmm. Good choice.” Holly stirred her tea with her straw. “They’re a popular group here in the Quarter.”

“I know.” Still watching her, he asked her the question he’d been wanting to ask her for a couple of days now. “But for the second set, I was thinking what I needed was a solo. Someone with style and grace and a voice that will keep people in their seats all night.”

She tipped her head to one side and her hair fell in an auburn curtain he longed to comb his fingers through. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Matter of fact…”

“Anyone I know?”

“Cute,” he said, grinning now. God, it was so easy to talk to her. To be with her. “How about it, Holly? Do a set for me on opening night?”

She took a drink of her tea then tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Tommy wouldn’t be able to accompany me. He promised his wife they could get away for the weekend after our last set here.”

“I can provide a piano player,” he said. “He won’t be as good as Tommy, but…”

“It’ll do.”

He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. “Then you’ll do it?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

T
HE GRAND OPENING
of Parker’s Place was a success—even better than Parker had hoped.

He stood in the back of the club, letting his gaze drift over the crowd. Waitstaff moved through the tables, carrying tall, chocolate-colored ceramic mugs filled with all kinds of coffees. Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos—frothy drinks and ice blends topped with whipped cream, caramel syrup and a long, craggy cinnamon stick for stirring. And for those who preferred a different kind of relaxation, there was wine. A fine selection of some of the best domestic whites and reds.

The scent of chicory-based coffee floated on the still air and mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, beignets and panini sandwiches. The room was cast in romantic shadows beyond the stage lights shining down on the Hanson trio, who had already brought the crowd to their feet twice.

Parker made eye contact with a few of the patrons as the trio ended their set to another round of applause. This crowd differed from the ones who frequented the bars in the Quarter. There was a sprinkling of tourists, but most of the people sitting in the candlelit darkness, enjoying well-played jazz, were locals.

And that’s just what he had been hoping for. He could make money from tourists, but to be a real success, he’d need the support of the people who lived here. People who were looking for a place to go where they wouldn’t have to deal with rowdy drunks. A place where they could listen to good music, share conversation and drink the best coffee his family’s firm offered.

Pride filled him.

A pride he had never felt no matter how well he had done his job at James Coffees. This place was
his.
His dreams had brought it to life and he knew, suddenly and clearly, that he couldn’t go back to working for his family full-time. Just thinking about the familiar office with its ringing phones and clacking keyboards was enough to fill him with dread. He didn’t belong there anymore. Maybe he never had.

This was where he needed to be.

Where he
wanted
to be.

“This is wonderful.”

Her voice slipped into him like a warm hand on a cold night and Parker turned to look at Holly’s upturned face. Her eyes were dazzled and her full lips curved into a smile of such pleasure, he grinned right back at her.

It was good to share this with someone. To have someone else know how much it meant. To appreciate the rightness of it.

“It’s going really well.”

“I can see that.” She turned to look over the crowd and smiled wider when the applause continued for the musicians who were gathering up their instruments. “Wish I’d been able to get here earlier. I love listening to Hanson’s stuff.”

“Maybe tomorrow. You don’t work at the hotel on Sundays, do you?”

She shook her head, but he could see she was taking in every detail of the room, from the flickering candlelight to the overhead chandeliers, set on dimmer switches.

Through the front windows, he saw people wandering the sidewalks, and almost all of them paused long enough to peer inside. He smiled to himself as one of those curious people turned, pushed open the front door and stepped inside.

“Looks like you just got another customer.”

“Been happening like that all night,” Parker said. “And it will happen a lot more when you get up on that stage.”

“How about a cup of coffee first?”

He smiled. “I think we can handle that. And maybe we could talk about having you sing here regularly.” As an added enticement he said, “I pay well.”

She smiled. “I’m free Sundays, Mondays and Tues-days,” she said. “And I could use the extra money.”

“Expensive shopping habits?”

“You could say that.”

Clearly she wasn’t going to tell him what exactly she wanted the extra money for, and a part of him pulled back from her. Secrets were never good. Hell, if he’d learned nothing else from those years with Frannie, it was that a woman who kept secrets couldn’t be trusted. But maybe he was overreacting. Why should she have to tell him anything? He’d only really known Holly a few days. But somehow, it felt like more.

Felt like a part of him had known her forever.

And he wanted to know everything there was to know. Which terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

“So. Buy a girl a cup of coffee?”

“I think we can manage that.”

He steered her toward the espresso bar and crooked a finger at one of the waiters.

O
UTSIDE THE JAZZ CAFÉ
, Frannie stuck to the shadows.

Infuriated by the look on Parker’s face as he smiled down at the redhead, she didn’t notice the puddle until it was too late. Cold water—and God knew what else—seeped over the sides of her crocodile mules and she grimaced as the clammy sensation crawled through her.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered, slapping one hand on the wall of the building so she could shake her right foot free of the water. “Standing on a sidewalk peeking through windows. I’m reduced to
this?
”

The sting of humiliation was still riding her from her visit to Parker. He had brushed her off, dismissed her attempts at seduction with all but a laugh. But she’d had to see for herself just what Parker was up to with this foolish investment of his. A jazz café of all things. As if New Orleans didn’t have enough places to go hear jazz? As if people couldn’t buy a cup of coffee anywhere?

Irritated, she slanted another look through the glass at the crowd, hunched over the small tables, their faces lit by candlelight.

And she wanted to slap each and every one of them.

If they hadn’t shown up for his “grand opening,” Parker might have given up on this stupid idea of his. If no one had come to buy his coffee, drink his wine,
listen to his music, he might have realized that maybe he was wrong not only about this place, but about a lot of other things, as well.

Maybe he would have given more thought to her and what she wanted.

But people liked to try something new. The crowds wouldn’t stay, though, she consoled herself. They’d move on to something better. But that didn’t help her now.

Her old friend Justine was right.

It was time to get some real information on little Miss Redhead.

Time to show Parker James that nobody walked out on Frannie LeBourdais.

H
OLLY SMILED
at the piano player. Parker had been right. The man wasn’t as talented as Tommy, but he was pretty close. Close enough that they worked smoothly together. It wasn’t the first time she’d sung with someone other than Tommy and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

She moved around the small stage, clutching the microphone in her right hand as she let the music fill her again.

It never ceased to amaze her how she came to life when music played. Beneath the lights, she blos
somed like a flower under the sun. She was at home here, where she could look out at smiling faces and know they appreciated her and what she could do.

She’d found her talent at an early age and she thanked God for it every night. She loved losing herself in a song, giving everything she had to the lyrics, to the emotions swamping her with every note.

It was a kind of magic, she thought, the way that lyrics and melody could strike a chord in people’s hearts. Her voice climbed soulfully with the mournful notes of the old blues song as her attention focused on the man standing at the back of the room. Parker James.

He watched her, his gaze unflinching, as if he were trying to look deep into her soul.

And what, she wondered, would he think if he could see that deeply into her life?

Her past?

The plan she had for her future? Even as her voice caressed every word of the song, a corner of her mind entertained her dream of things to come. The home she hoped to fill with foster children. The chance for a better life that she wanted to offer kids as lost as she had once been.

But even as those thoughts flew through her mind, she knew the answer to her question. He would see
just how different the two of them were. He would see that physical attraction, lust, was all they could ever share.

But what was wrong with that?

H
E DROVE HER HOME
when the café closed.

Parker told himself that he was only being polite. Thanking her for coming to his place and singing on opening night. But it was more.

And they both knew it.

He could still feel the punch of need that had slammed into him when she’d looked into his eyes across that crowded room. When she’d sung her heart out—it seemed just for him. Heat had arced between them, sizzling the atmosphere until he had half expected to see flames flare up.

Now, his body was tight, his mind a blessed blank, and his heart was pounding in his chest like a teenager hoping to get his best girl into the backseat of his daddy’s car.

“I enjoyed myself tonight, Parker.”

“You were amazing,” he said, turning briefly from the road to watch her profile in the dim light.

“Thanks,” she said. “It was fun.”

“I, uh…” God, he wasn’t in shape to raise the question he’d wanted to ask for the last few hours,
but it was either that or give in to the urges clamoring inside. “Look, you said that sometimes you take other gigs during the week.”

She blinked at him. “Yeah…”

He turned left, steering the car down a shady street where antique streetlights provided faint light. The windows in the houses lining the narrow street were dark, their occupants asleep.

“I want you to sing for me. Regularly.”

“Oh. Parker…”

“Think about it.” He parked the car in front of her building, turned off the headlights, shut down the engine and set the brake. Then unsnapping his seat belt, he shifted so that he was facing her. “You work four nights at the Hotel Marchand. Great. Fine. But that leaves three nights open.”

“Yes, but—”

“You said you take other gigs where you find them. That you can use the extra money.”

“Sure—”

“So work for me.”

She unhooked her seat belt and turned to face him. The shadows in the car were so thick, he couldn’t read her expression to know what she was thinking.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Simple question, Parker. Why do you want me to work for you?”

“Because you’re an incredible talent.”

“And…”

“And you’ll bring in the crowds. People were coming in off the street all night to listen to you.”

“Uh-huh, and…”

He shoved one hand through his hair. In the confines of the car, her scent filled him. Something light, vaguely floral with a hint of spice. He heard her breathing quicken and felt his own speed up to match it. Instinctively he leaned toward her and could have sworn heat rippled off her body in waves.

“What is it you want me to say?”

“The truth. And the truth is, you’re not so much interested in me singing for you as you are in getting into my bed.”

“Not true.”

“As it happens,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m interested in having you in my bed. So I don’t need the soft soap. The compliments. I already want you.”

He reached for her, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in close. Her head tipped back and their eyes met. “It wasn’t a sales job,” he insisted tightly. “I
do
want you to sing for me. Every night that you
can. I want you in my club. I want to hear your voice, watch you move, watch you smile.”

“Parker—”

“And all of that’s got nothing to do with me wanting to make love to you.” Even in the shadowy light, she was beautiful. His hands tightened on her shoulders, his thumbs stroking her skin. Need crouched inside him like a tightly leashed beast snarling to be set loose.

She shivered and her tongue smoothed across her bottom lip, the action tugging at him. “I do want you.”

“Good.” His grip on her gentled a bit, but he didn’t let her go. He wanted his hands on her skin, sliding over every square inch of her. “So? You gonna sing for me or not?”

She smiled. “You gonna kiss me or not?”

“Oh, yeah.”

His mouth covered hers, and she sighed into him. Her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer, and his tongue tangled with hers in a fast, erotic dance of need that both of them had ignored for days.

He pulled her onto his lap and groaned as her bottom settled against his erection. Every cell in his body was on fire. He felt the flames and welcomed them. It had been so long.

Need swamped him now, roaring through him, rattling his brain and shattering his soul.

She was everything.

Everything he needed.

Everything he wanted.

And lost in the moment, he refused to think beyond this instant in time.

His hands slid beneath the hem of her silky shirt, his fingertips sliding across her skin. He found her bra, a wisp of a thing, yet a barrier he couldn’t let stand between them. Still kissing her, tasting her, exploring her, he swept his hands behind her back to deftly undo the hook.

She sighed when he succeeded, then quickly filled his palms with her breasts, flicking her hard, peaked nipples with his thumbs.

Tearing her mouth free of his, she threw her head back and groaned his name as he kneaded her breasts with a firm, sure touch. A whispered sigh slid from her throat, driving his need even higher.

“I have to get you inside, Parker,” she whispered, her voice a raspy breath.

“I don’t want to let you go long enough,” he admitted, dropping one hand to cup her heated core. He stroked her rhythmically, even through the fabric of her slacks, his touch was electrifying.

“Baby,” she whispered, licking her lips, lifting her head until she could look into his eyes again, “if you don’t get me into my house right quick, we’re probably going to get arrested for having sex in a car.”

“Tempting,” he said, smiling as he saw the flash of hunger in her eyes.

A grin curved her mouth briefly. “Oh, you’re right about that,” she said, and shifted her hips, rubbing herself against his hand like a cat looking to be stroked. “But this’ll be a lot more fun if we’re naked.”

Fireworks went off behind his eyes, nearly blinding him. “Good point.”