Make Me, Take Me Page 3

  “Leaving without saying good-bye? Again?” His voice was teasing but it also held recrimination. There was no way she’d tell him she’d been tempted to wake him up for more, not when that humiliating urge had sent her fleeing. “You were asleep, and it’s ancient history.” She turned when she got the door open and found him right behind her. She released her pent-up frustration in a deep sigh. “Fine—good-bye, Quin. Good-bye twice.”

  He shook his head. “I hadn’t planned to discuss this in an alley, but you aren’t giving me much choice. The new hotel isn’t the only French Quarter property I own. I also bought the candy store on the other side of Last Call. My architect has drawn up gorgeous plans for a courtyard, and I’d like to talk to you about buying the bar.”

  For a minute, she thought she’d misheard him. “You want to buy Last Call?”

  He nodded, smiling. “I spoke with your mother a few months ago, and she’s willing to sell if you are. She didn’t mention my offer?”

  That betrayal turned her ice cold. “I’ve worked my ass off to turn Last Call into a café, and we open for dinner soon. I’m not selling.”

  “Your mother and sister seemed to be all for the idea when I met with them last night, but let me make myself clear. I don’t need to buy your bar. I want to buy it. I can build around you, or I can buy the property behind you. But if you keep the bar, it’s going to look like a sow’s ear stuck on a silk purse when I’m done with renovations. Or Last Call can become the entrance to the most beautiful courtyard in the French Quarter, and you can set up shop somewhere else. Or work for me.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat, but she forced a laugh around it. “Your arrogance is astounding. I’m not sure which part of that is the most ridiculous, but I think it’s you calling your hotel a silk purse. I’ve never seen a more butt-ugly building in my life. Having Last Call next door is the only thing keeping it from total disaster. I don’t even know how you got permission to rebuild in a historic district. Did you have to get a special permit? An ordinance? A divine dispensation from the mayor of Orleans parish?”

  “That stuff is easy.” He didn’t say when you have money. He didn’t have to.

  “We’re done here.”

  “I’m offering a half-million.”

  “I don’t want your damn money. The answer is no.” She shut the door in his face and locked it.

  …

  Everybody wants money. Quin opened the door on his side of the alley and entered the hotel, shaking his head. She couldn’t get rid of him that easily. The lust that made him want to take her against the nearest surface, dive straight inside, and never look back was still there, even stronger than it had been two years ago. If she’d have let him, he would have stripped her in the alley and shown her exactly how happy he was to see her again. Anticipation buzzed inside him, just as it had ever since he’d learned her family owned Last Call. He was here to put the past behind him, to make New Orleans a Keystone city, and to shake off the hold it had on him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself.

  After his visit two years ago, his nightmares about the city had become so frequent they felt like memories, so he’d decided to handle the situation the way he handled everything else—by owning it. New Orleans wanted a piece of him? He’d take a chunk out of it, a big bite right out of the middle of the French Quarter. Unfortunately, thanks to the good-ole-boy network down here, it had taken over two years to put his plan into action, and the nightmares hadn’t stopped. It was only after he’d reluctantly admitted his New Orleans roots that the owners of the hotel where he’d stayed had accepted his outrageous offer. But buying it hadn’t given him any peace. As soon as he’d made it a Keystone Hotel, his disturbing dreams of the courtyard had started.

  After seeing Betsy, he knew New Orleans wasn’t the only thing that had a grip on him. He hadn’t been able to shake his memories of her anymore than he’d been able to stop having nightmares about the city. It wasn’t a coincidence he’d bought the hotel next to her bar. He’d been hoping to see her again. In fact, he’d engineered a way for them to meet, and he’d expected her to jump at his offer.

  What was Betsy’s problem? He’d offered a fortune for their tiny bar, and she’d looked at him like he was something she wanted to crush under her shoe. He vaguely remembered her taking shots at his wealth the night they’d hooked up, but he’d thought she was just playing hard-to-get. Who didn’t like money?

  Things were going to get complicated if Betsy didn’t change her mind. He’d already bought the candy store, and he’d been bluffing about building around her. He’d also lied about her mother saying yes. Mrs. Mouton had said no…unless both her daughters agreed. The sister had been thrilled by the idea, and Mrs. Mouton had given him the impression Betsy would be equally excited. Had he heard what he wanted to hear? Her lunch business had to be cramped in that small space, and he was offering enough money to buy a bigger, better location anywhere she wanted.

  He looked around the empty lobby, taking in the sleek leather furniture, chrome accent tables, and modern art, running his hand over the black marble front desk as he walked behind it to reach his office. Butt-ugly? Not even close. His new hotel was gorgeous, and soon it would be teeming with staff bringing it to life. The only thing it needed was a courtyard. None of his other hotels had one; this one shouldn’t have one either, but his compulsion could not be denied. He needed a goddamn courtyard. Then the nightmares would stop.

  Determination hardened inside him. He couldn’t believe she’d shut him down without even considering his offer. When she’d pushed him away, he’d wanted to hold her tighter and kiss her deeper. Now that he wasn’t looking into those hot gray eyes and smelling that sweet, creamy toffee skin, he knew why.

  She’d left him.

  Waking up alone when he’d expected to find her next to him had been disappointing, but stopping by her bar the next day only to discover she was gone had been infuriating. They’d agreed on one night, but he’d always been the one to do the leaving first. He hadn’t liked feeling abandoned at all.

  Icy dread gathered in his gut, and he forced the unfounded anxiety back down deep where it belonged—in the past he couldn’t remember. His mother had been a drug addict, and his sister had abandoned him in foster care, but those facts didn’t define him. His life—and his memories—began when the nicest couple on earth adopted him. Peter and Maeve had given him everything he’d ever wanted, safety, security, love, food, clothing, cars, an Ivy League education, an amazing job, and his life had been perfect until they’d died in a car accident five years ago. They’d left him a fortune, and he was well on his way to tripling it, but making money wasn’t enough to stop the nightmares anymore. He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he sensed building a courtyard would bring him peace.

  Betsy’s rejection today stirred dark places inside him, rousing predatory instincts and sharpening his desire to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Everyone had a price; he would find hers. She couldn’t declare they were done and lock a door between them.

  A grim chuckle huffed out of his chest. The woman ran a café. They were having lunch together even if he was the only one eating.

  Several hours later, his stomach rumbled, but he forced himself to finish his paperwork before he ventured back outside. This time, he went out the front door, admiring the huge, sparkling clean windows and the high-efficiency doors that kept the cool air in and the humidity out. He’d taken an antiquated mess and turned it into a paragon of modern elegance. When he opened for business, he’d show New Orleans how to do first-class hospitality the Keystone way.

  As he turned toward Last Call, he caught a flash of multi-colored skirts and scarves as a woman put an open sign in the window of the tea-leaf reading shop across the street. He turned his back and hurried toward the café. The woman, with her gypsy garb and elaborate turban, gave him the creeps, as did the musty thrift shops, antique stores, and other odd establishments throughout the Quarter. He’d passed a sho
p yesterday that proudly displayed desiccated bones in the front window. He could only hope the Keystone would set a trend for more forward-thinking establishments on the street.

  He walked into the café and looked around the room. The only thing that had changed were the specials chalked on the wall. His mouth watered. Deliberately, he chose to sit at the bar in the same spot where they’d met while he waited for a server.

  “Be right with you!” A familiar voice called from the back.

  When Betsy appeared, her welcoming smile turned into a glower. “What do you want?”

  “Lunch. What do you recommend?”

  “Leaving. I’m short-staffed today, so your service is going to suck. You should go somewhere else.”

  He shook his head. “I have fond memories of this place, so I’ll take my chances. Why don’t you join me?”

  The front door opened, and he stood when he saw Betsy’s mom and sister. “Mrs. Mouton, Kate, nice to see you again.” He could feel Betsy’s stare burning holes in his back as he smiled at the two women who looked enough alike to be sisters. With their blond hair, pale skin, and dark eyes, he’d never have guessed they were related to black-haired, gray-eyed Betsy.

  “Hello, Mr. James. You don’t waste any time,” Mrs. Mouton said.

  “None to waste, and call me Quin.” He was grateful she didn’t seem to remember the first time they’d met, two years ago when he’d come looking for Betsy.

  “I assume you’ve been talking to my daughter about your offer?”

  “He has.” Betsy’s voice was sharp enough to cut diamonds. “I don’t want to sell Last Call, and I wish you’d warned me Mr. James was interested. He ambushed me in the alley this morning.”

  Mrs. Mouton cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, darlin’. I said no.”

  “What?”

  He gave her his best innocent look. “She said yes…if I could convince you. So that’s why I’m here. I hope you’ll reconsider having dinner with me. I’d love to catch up.”

  “Do you two know each other?” Her sister asked, eyes wide and blinking with feigned surprise, telling him she had a better memory than her mother. After seeing her last night, he’d been pretty sure she’d been working the night he met Betsy; now he was certain.

  Betsy gave him a murderous look, and it was all he could do to stifle a chuckle as he realized her mom had no idea they were acquainted. Obviously, she didn’t want her to know, either. He acknowledged her warning glare with a flick of one eyebrow and a meaningful glance of his own. He’d play along, but he expected payback. “I meant catch up on my French Quarter research. I’ve only been here once, and I’d like to hit all the best restaurants before I leave town. The last time I was here I only had time for one meal.” He kept his eyes on Betsy. “Where would you like to go?”

  Mrs. Mouton grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her toward the back. “We’ll leave you two alone to figure it out.”

  Quin waited until they were out of earshot. “Your mother doesn’t know about us?”

  “There is no us.”

  “If you say so, but maybe I should mention what happened a few years ago and this morning in the alley and see if she agrees.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Then dinner? Seven o’clock in the Keystone lobby? My chef has been dying to try out his new tasting menu.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin. The tightening in his groin made him painfully aware Last Call wasn’t the only thing he wanted. It had been so damn good between them. No matter how hard he’d tried he hadn’t been able to forget the hours they’d spent together. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, remembering how she had come apart beneath him. He felt her pulse pound under his fingertips and watched her eyes darken as her pupils widened to nearly cover the pale gray of her irises. “Give me a chance.”

  A loud crash from the back made her jump, and she jerked away from him. “I’ll have dinner with you, but only to make damn sure you understand no doesn’t mean maybe when it comes to Last Call. Now do you want a sandwich or not?”

  “A sandwich is a good start.” Anticipation rolled through him, making him harder. “Surprise me.”

  …

  Betsy slammed through the door into the kitchen. She’d totally caved, but if she’d stayed out there any longer with Quin looking at her like he wanted to eat her for lunch, her mother might have found her on the bar in front of him. What was it about the man that made her want to say yes? Not just yes. Hell, yes. Please, yes. Anything you want, yes. She was not a yes girl. She had her own agenda, and it was time she made that crystal clear to Quinton James. Dinner would give her the perfect opportunity.

  Kate collapsed into the chair at the tiny desk, fanning herself. “That man is fine. Rich, gorgeous, and hotter than the Quarter in August. Did you see the way he was looking at you? I think Mr. James wants to relive some memories.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  Today her mother and sister came in early? That hadn’t happened in the history of forever, and she’d been totally unprepared to face them while Quin sat at the bar in the exact spot where he’d waited for her all night. Her mother draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek, trapping her with the cloying scent of her sweet perfume. “We felt bad about last night, darlin’. Sorry about the mess.”

  The place had been a freaking wreck this morning. Had they thrown an after-hours party to celebrate selling the bar? Not gonna happen. Her mother had promised her another two months to hit her profit margin, and Betsy was holding her to it. “No big deal, but I was completely screwed when Ali didn’t show up to cover the front this morning.”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  Hours later than she’d needed them. She’d already taken care of the bus tubs full of dirty glasses, the empty potato-chip bags littering the floor, and the sticky counter tops, but she supposed something was better than nothing.

  She smiled at her mom, noticing she looked tired. “Was it a super rough night?”

  “You know how it is.” Her mother bent to grab an apron. “I never close the doors when the money is flowing into the register, but I’m not as young as I used to be. We would have been here sooner, but I forgot to set my alarm.” She made a face at Kate. “And your sister slept through hers.”

  “It’s all good, Mom, really. Thanks for coming in to help.” Once the restaurant was open for dinner, her mom wouldn’t have to work all night and then turn around and work all day. They’d all be able to keep reasonable hours. But thoughts of their brighter future didn’t keep her from feeling guilty as her mom headed up front to work the bar.

  Betsy heard the low rumble of Quin’s laugh as she spread her special olive mix on bread for his muffaletta. Heat pulsed through her as she recalled the wicked glint in his eyes when he’d said, “Surprise me.”

  Her sister was right. The man was a walking panty dropper.

  She could imagine him walking down Bourbon Street, melting the elastic on the underwear of every woman he passed. Probably a few men, too. They would stagger after him like pheromone-infected zombies, leaving a trail of rainbow lingerie in their path, just as she had the night they hooked up. In her hurry to leave the next morning, she’d left her favorite pair of underwear behind…

  She made his sandwich to go. “Take this out to him, will you?”

  “No way. Get your tail out there and snag yourself a rich man. Maybe he’ll fall in love with you and take you away from all this. Working is for the birds.” Of course Kate would encourage her, and her mom was probably out front putting a rush order on a voodoo love charm right now. Hopeless, both of them.

  “How would you know about work?” Betsy eyed her sister who lounged with her feet on the desk, fiddling with her phone.

  “I do plenty at night. Or have you forgotten what it’s like to run a bar, now that you’re a fancy chef?”

  Betsy’s hand clenched the bag. “I open
ed the café so we could get out of the bar business. Have you forgotten? In two months, you can stop serving hurricanes to drunk married guys hitting on you and start serving Mom’s famous gumbo to a dining room full of happy couples and nice families.”

  Kate looked up from her phone. “If I wanted to serve food, I’d work in a restaurant.”

  It wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument, but she’d thought Kate would come around once things got rolling in the café. A gulf had grown between them while she was at school, and no matter what she said or did, she couldn’t bridge it. Why couldn’t Kate see how much better it was going to be?

  Her sister pushed to her feet. “If you’re really going to shut down the bar, I’d rather take Quinton James’s money and eat in his stupid restaurant. But Betsy knows best, as always.”

  She gritted her teeth and ignored the familiar gibe. “You seriously want to give up Last Call? It’s our history.”

  “Last Call is a bar, not a restaurant, so don’t talk history to me when you’re erasing ours.” Kate snatched the bag out of her hand and stalked toward the door.

  A few seconds later, she heard Quin’s voice and Kate’s giggles and recognized the emotion for what it was: jealousy. What was wrong with her? Kate could flirt with Quin all she wanted. Betsy had no claim on him. They didn’t even know each other, not really. Not clothed, at least.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead, but it didn’t stop the mental image of him naked. Powerful chest, hard arms, tan skin, tight waist…stop! They’d spent more time together naked than clothed, more time not talking than talking. They didn’t know each other, but she couldn’t deny their physical connection. Just looking at him made her want to take her clothes off and not talk some more. Judging by the way he was acting, he felt the same way. How on earth was she going to get through dinner with the man? And day after day of him right next door? By remembering he wants to put you out of business, dumbass.