In Your Wildest Dreams (3 page)

“You got a partner in crime?”

She dropped her glance slightly before raising it again. “A woman I met doing research on the internet—at a site where prostitutes trying to get out of the business can go for advise. Her name’s Melody and she’s an ex—escort—high—priced—who used to work in the French Quarter. She thought the best way to find Tina was to ask people who might work with her, or who might be her customers. And she doubted anyone would talk to me if I didn’t appear to be…one of them.”

“Which is how you knew about this place.”

She nodded.

He lowered his chin, wondering the obvious. “Any reason Melody couldn’t ask around
for
you?”

“She doesn’t move in these circles anymore. She’s married now, with a baby, and a husband who doesn’t know her past.”

Jake shrugged—it was a good reason. Girls who chose this life didn’t usually end up where Miss Chardonnay’s hooker friend had. “Stilla pretty stupid move,” he couldn’t stop himself murmuring.

She cast him a sideways glance, “What was I supposed to do? And why do you care so much anyway? Yoou’ve got an awfully vested interest in this for a bartender.”

She was right—like it or not, his old instincts were showing. Still, if the woman had any sense, she’d be grateful. “The way I see it, I might have saved your life tonight.”

She let out a wry laugh. “That’s an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

He gave his head a solemn shake. “It’s like \i told you earlier—you fool around with these people, you’ll get hurt. It’s dangerous to say you’re selling somethin’ you aren’t.”

Her ire seemed to calm a little, her next question sounding more inquisitive. “What makes you so smart about these things?”

“I see a lot. Hear a lot.”

She looked at him long and hard with those soft blue eyes, clearly trying to see behind his. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem too smart to be a bartender.”

He sighed. She sounded just like Tony, just like his mother. It made him feel tired, much older than his thirty three years. “I used to be a cop, okay?”

“Used to be?” She bit her lower lip, looking puzzled. “You’re not…working here undercover or something are you?”

He shook his head. “No way,
chere.
Just servin’ up drinks, that’s all.”

“Why? Why would you go from being a cop to being a bartender?”

If you’d been anywhere near this city two years ago, you’d know.
But since she’d clearly missed all the newspaper articles and TV spots, he wasn’t about to dredge up his past. “Nosy little girl, aren’t you?”

“I came down here to ask questions,” she said with a shrug.

He looked away, planting his gaze on the painting above the couch a few feet away. “But I’m not lost,
chere.
Not the person you came to find.”

Silence blanketed the small, lush room and he regretted bringing her in here. It was too intimate a space and he found himself wanting to kiss her again. He hadn’t planned that part of it, and he remained surprised that it had felt so good, that stopping had been so hard. His game of coercing the truth from her had been a mistake. He didn’t want to want her—or anyone. He just wanted to go home.

“Maybe you could help me?”

Her hopeful words drew his eyes back to hers. “help you how?”

“Help me find Tina.” She suddenly sounded full of fresh optimism.

“How the hell you think I’d do that?”

“Well, you used to be a cop. And you seem to know your way around the escort industry pretty well. Surely there are people you could ask, places we could search.”

“whoa there,
chere.
What’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about all of a sudden? I don’t even know you.”

She sighed. “But I need help and I’m desperate. And…I could pay you.” Her eyes lit with the idea and she reached immediately for her purse. “How much do you want? I can give you what I have now, and more later. However much you want to charge.”

Ironic. Now
she
was trying to pay
him
for something
he
didn’t intend to sell, either. “No thanks,
beb.
I don’t want your money, and frankly, I don’t wanna get involved in your problems.”

She looked crushed. He felt it in his heart, like a little dart sticking there.

Damn it. Why wouldn’t people leave him alone? Of course, he’d started this—but he’d made his point with her and was ready to call it a night. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I got enough troubles of my own, okay?”

She didn’t respond, only kept sitting there looking like the world had just come to an end, making the dart in his chest dig a little deeper.

“Take my advice and go home to Chicago, Stephanie Grant. This is no place for a woman like you.” Jake got to his feet and walked out of the room, through the outer bar area, and exited onto the steps descending into the enclosed courtyard. The night air hit him like a brick—for a September evening, it felt more like early August.

But he didn’t really mind the heat—he’d grown up with it. At the moment, it was just something to feel. Something to fight, something to wallow in, something to think about as he walked home—something other than Miss Chardonnay and those blue, blue eyes.

Chapter 3

Somewhere in the distance, a siren split the night. As usual on his walk, he hadn’t seen a soul since passing some partyers near Bourbon. As he moved up the sidewalk deep into dark, quiet streets, it was just him and the ghosts. That’s what Becky used to say, the reason she never felt comfortable in the Quarter late at night. ‘Too many ghosts.’ Jake didn’t believe in ghosts, but he could almost believe he felt them tonight, too, peeking over balconies and lurking in hidden doorways. Once he even looked over his shoulder.

Because he was losing his mind, apparently.
Knock it off already,
he scolded himself. What a night. Must be screwing with his brain.

Despite the ghosts and the heat, he was still thinking about Stephanie Grant.

He could have helped her. If he’d cared—about her search for her sister, about the worry haunting her gaze. But he didn’t. He might have cared about Miss Chardonnay’s fate enough to let her know she was playing a dangerous game, and he hoped she’d heed the warning. But like he said, her sister was all grown up. It was none of his business if one more sad girl spread her legs for money. He’d gone way overboard with Stephanie Grant tonight—and he couldn’t account for why—but that couch, the red room was where it ended.

Still, a warm tremor ran the length of his body. Clearly Stephanie Grant was all grown up, too—with ripe curves, lush lips, and soft breath that had grown heated when he’d kissed her.

Not real kisses, though. Teasing ones; their mouths had barely met.

Then why did he still feel them? And what about her made him care
at all
what sort of trouble she might get herself into?

Turning the corner onto Burgundy, he let out a sigh. What the hell had happened to him tonight? He saw breasts and curves and sexy dresses in Sophia’s every shift he worked and it didn’t affect him. But somehow Stephanie Grant had dug deeper inside him. From the start, she’d drawn a few smiles from him—a rarity in itself, even if they were the devilish sort. A when he’d ended up alone with her in the red room, something inside him had switched on. Something needful. Something he’d nearly forgotten about, yet suddenly there it was, rearing its head just like that old habit of taking care of people and fixing things.

But hell, hadn’t that dream of the masked woman made it clear? His body was hungry for sex, that’s all this was.
Quit overthinking it. Go home. Go to sleep.

‘Got a quarter?’

The voice drew Jake’s eyes to a skinny young girl with a creamed—coffe complexion, long hair falling straggly around her face. She huddled in a narrow doorway, her knees pulled up to her chest like she was cold. Even in the dark, he could see her white T—shirt was dingy.

Stopping, he reached into his pocket and found a five dollar bill—he’d shoved it there instead of his wallet, a late tip before closing. He leaned down and let it drop to the cracked sidewalk beside her as he fought the nagging sense of worry. Against his better judgement, he spoke.

‘It’s dangerous out here on the street.’

‘Tell me somethin’ I don’t know Einstein.’

He flinched at her sass—it didn’t match the rest of her. She tried to talk ‘urban black girl’ tough, but he wasn’t buying it. ‘Where’d you run away from? You should go home.’

He sensed more than saw her eyes roll. ‘Mind your own damn business.’

When he’d been a French Quarter beat cop, he’d talked to street kids all the time, and had gotten a hell of a lot worse from them than this, but her attitude still irritated him. ‘You’ll get killed, or worse, out here,’ he informed her.

‘Thanks for fillin’ my day with sunshine, dude.’

Much to his surprise, he let out a small laugh.

‘You think somethin’s funny about this?’ she snapped.

He shook his head. ‘No, I just think you’re a pretty funny kid is all.’

Another eye roll. ‘Yeah, I just did Leno last week.’

He sobered. ‘You really don’t have a way to get off the street, some place better to sleep?’

‘If I did, would I be here, fool?’

‘Speakin’ of sleep, kinda late for panhandlin’ isn’t it?’

She cast a quick glance up before lowering her gaze. ‘Easier to sleep in the day. At night— got to keep my eyes open, you know?’

Jake sighed.
Keep walking, man. Just like you told Miss Chardonnay, you don’t need anybody else’s problems.
He couldn’t quite make his feet move, though. Just like he hadn’t quite been able to let Miss Chardonnay walk away tonight, either.

‘There’s a place in the courtyard where I live—you could sack out there if you want. It’s nothin’ great, but safer than this.’

For the first time, she deigned to actually tilt her head back and meet his eyes. ‘You for real?’

He gave a short nod.

Suddenly, her back went rigid. ‘What you want for letting me sleep there? Cause if you playin’ me mister, tryin’ to get into my pants—‘

He held up his hands and took a step back. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, ‘tite fille. I’m tryin’ to be nice, no? You wanna come, follow me. You don’t, don’t.’ With that, he turned and walked on.

‘Hold up.’

He stopped, looked back. ‘What?’

She hesitated slightly. ‘Gotta get my stuff.’

Fishing out half a roll of mints, he put one in his mouth, then shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against an old brick wall, watching the girl reach through a hole in the building’s foundation. As she got to her feet, a ragged backpack hoisted to one shoulder, he noticed rips in the knees of her jeans, dark skin peeking through.

‘Sure you ain’t after nothin’?’ Her eyes narrowed even as she moved toward him.

‘Hell yeah, I’m sure!’Peter, Paul and Mary—what the hell had he done to deserve this? He had things to be guilty for, but damn. He spoke firmly ‘You’re a little girl. And I’m not that kinda guy. Got it?’

She pursed her lips, nodding shortly.

Without another look in her direction, Jake started toward his place again. He heard her padding along behind him, but he didn’t slow his stride. He regretted this already. Damn it, he’d done it again, without even realizing. First the blonde, now this. When would he get it through his head that he couldn’t change anything, couldn’t save anybody?

A block later, he led the girl through a wrought iron gate that had seen better days and into a neglected courtyard. A broken fountain jutted up amid chipped, jagged bricks and dilapidated concrete. Four sagging wooden staircases flanked each side of the yard, leading to second floor apartments. Jake strode to one where he knew somebody had discarded an old mattress. ‘Here ya go,’ he said, pointing.

She nodded, spoke gently. ‘Thanks.’

He tried not to hear the softness in her voice. ‘Don’t think this is the start of anything, though. You’re still on your own.’

Her next quiet nod made him feel like an ogre. ‘Your neighbors gonna go callin’ the cops on me?’

Was the girl blind? He shook his head. ‘Don’t have those kinda neighbors.’

He didn’t look back as he crossed the worn brickwork to the stairs that led to his place. He was ready to call it a night. No more mister nice guy, he scolded himself. It never paid. Never.

As he slid his key in the old lock, something raked up against his ankle, drawing his gaze downward. He found the scruffy little dog that had been hanging around the building for days, bugging whoever happened to be coming or going. ‘You again?’ The mutt was an aggravation.

As he opened the door, he used one shoe to shove the dog away before stepping inside. Turning the lock brought a sense of relief, the isolation he cherished.

Heading to his bedroom, he stripped down to underwear, walked to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, studied his eyes, thought about the empty feeling low in his belly. He was used to putting on a show, being polite at Sophia’s, but it wasn’t real and it tired him. Miss Chardonnay had tired him tonight, too—even if something about that
had
been disturbingly real.

It would suit him fine, he thought, if he never had to leave the run down apartment again. But then, if he didn’t have to work at all, if he truly didn’t have to go anywhere to make money, he’d head out to the old house on the bayou and just stay
there.
The idea made him look forward to his days off, when he could go home for a couple of nights of solace.

Out there, there was no Miss Chardonnay worrying him with her pretense or tempting him with her innocent blue eyes. There was no homeless girl who thought he wanted to get into her pants. Out there was the one place he could truly forget, truly withdraw, even more than he already had.

Returning to the bedroom, he turned back the covers and lay down. He closed his eyes and tried not to think or feel, tried to shut back down into that palce of least pain.

But it wasn’t working. The events of the night kept flashing through his mind unbidden, leading right up to the most recent.
‘Mon Dieu,’
he muttered as he flapped the sheet back.

Getting to his feet, he walked to the kitchen, where he pulled a shallow plastic dish of microwave mac and cheese from the fridge. He padded to the door and set the bowl outside, glancing up the breezeway to see that annoying dog come running.

Returning the lock, he shook his head at his insanity. Jesus, when would he ever learn?

A dorm room, a candle’s glow turning pale yellow walls golden. Her top is off, jeans too. Jason is kissing her breast, turning her inside out—his hands are in her underwear. He’s trying to pull them down, but she’s saying, ‘You know we can’t.’

‘Yes, we can, Stephie.’

‘We can’t. We don’t have a…you know.’

He’s kissing her neck, them whisperin. ‘Yes, we do. I bought some, just in case.’

‘Really?’ Why hadn’t it occurred to her that it was that simple, a walk to the drugstore?

He nods against her neck, molds her breasts In his hands. She feels it between her legs. And it hits her that they really can do it, if she decides it’s okay. And the big sex mystery will be over, at last.

She’s afraid—but she wants to. Her heartbeat echoes through her whole body.

This time when he tries to lower her panties, she doesn’t stop him. Biting her lip, she runs her hands down his chest and reaches for the snap of his jeans. She is saying yes. Yes.

It should have been a good memory, but it wasn’t. Stephanie pushed it away.

Still, the power of the recollection remained jolting as she lay in bed, covers pulled to her waist. The quiet room in the quaint bed and breakfast just beyond the French Quarter felt like a safe hideaway from the decadence taking place on the streets nearby. She absently listened to the laughter of a romantic couple, watched their shadows move past her window, but her mind was back at DePaul on the night she’d given up her virginity. Maybe the last time she’d felt such overwhelming passion that she’d lost herself in it—until tonight.

It was strange to suddenly realize she had once understood the power of sex, yet had somehow stopped understanding somewhere along the way. The encounter with the bartender had apparently brought back a lot of little slices of her past she hadn’t thought about in a very long time. Slices she’d actually forgotten—experiences she’d somehow tricked herself into believing she’d never had.

Upon returning to the room, she’d traded in her sexy clothes for silly cotton pajamas \Tina had given her her last Christmas—a blue background dotted with black and white sheep. A desperate bid to get back to her simple life, a simple self she knew. Unfortunately, though, that hadn’t stopped the uncontrollable sensations assaulting her. Same as if she were still in that sinfully red room with that sinfully sexy man, her breasts ached and the juncture of her thighs felt heavy.

She wanted to keep telling herself it was just about the situation, the strangeness of pretending she was there to sell her body. And maybe that was what had started in the back in the red room, but what she felt now was nothing manufactured, nothing made up to get her through the night. If anything, it had almost not gotten her through the night.

The man was downright intriguing with that smooth, steady voice and the way he managed to seem distant and aloof even as he nearly seduced her. She couldn’t help thinking he was something of a bastard, but she also couldn’t deny the desire she’d suffered for him—that deep, deeper, deepest desire she’d not quite believed she was capable of feeling. She closed her eyes in an effort to blot out the moment when she’d realized it was only a game.

It was the first time in her life she’d ever gotten that intimate with a total stranger, the first time she’d ever wanted to have sex with someone she’d just met. Desire had taken over, becoming the biggest part of her, that quickly. God, she didn’t even know his name.

Thank goodness she’d found the strength to spill the truth and stop the insanity of his hands, creeping up her body. It was the first time, and the last time, too, she promised herself. She needed to get back on track and think about Tina. Her sweet, impulsive, go with the flow sister.

Tina, Tina, Tina.

Sometimes Tina seemed far younger than her twenty five years, but sometimes Stephanie felt older than her thirty—widening the age gap between them even more. Once upon a time, they’d been close—when Tina was little, the baby sister whom Stephanie had coddled and cooed over, passed clothes down to, helped with homework. But somewhere along the way Tina had begun to suffer from the belief that Stephanie was the family’s golden child, the achiever who garnered all the praise, and that Tina was the neglected daughter, always coming in second place.