Chapter 6
Six
LUKA
T he windows were down. I looked over as Amara lifted the clasp from her hair, loosening the twist and freeing the pins. Her tresses spilled over her shoulders in the wind. Fuck me.
I threw the car into another gear and pressed on the pedal.
It would have been a hell of a lot easier if her father wasn’t part of the new blood moving into town. The Italians were overstepping. Something my father and Ivan had warned about. Amara was as defined by her role as I was by mine. I promised her a good time tonight. I would deliver. We could deal with family ties and consequences in the morning. For now, they didn’t exist.
I saw the confusion on her face when I pulled into the parking lot.
“What is this place?” she asked .
I laughed. “You’ll see.” We had driven farther out of town toward the riverbank. We were in bayou territory.
I walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her.
“Picnic tables?” Her head tilted.
“You’ve had New Orleans’s finest champagne. Now you need to experience the finest oysters.”
She shook her head as I led her to a table covered with a red and white vinyl cloth. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Trust me.”
She sat sideways to spin and thread her legs over the bench. A string of lights dangled over the table. I climbed in across from her.
I placed the remainder of the champagne bottle on the table from the bar. Marguerite had wrapped and bagged it for me on the way out the door. We waited for a server.
“It’s after midnight. Why is this place still open?” she asked. “And packed.” She looked left and right at the crowded tables.
“I told you. It’s the best.” I ordered a platter of oysters when the waiter arrived and asked for cups.
“You seem so normal,” Amara commented. “It’s weird how normal you are. It’s almost scary.”
“I am normal.” I huffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” It was a lie. Nothing about my life or my family was normal. I wanted to pretend for this beautiful woman that it could be. That I wasn’t the darkness that lurked in my soul.
She shook her head. “No. You’re royalty in New Orleans. That makes you abnormal and hardly an impartial judge. I know what royalty means where I come from. In New Orleans, it’s an entirely different level. So it’s the Russian families in power here, not the Italian. But the rules are the same.”
The rules were not the same. Capos and brigadiers were not equals. Mobsters and Bratva were not equally trained. She was in over her head in a darker and more deadly world. It was better to keep her away from it all.
“I don’t want to talk about work.” I brushed off her interest in our family’s line of business.
I poured our champagne into paper cups. Amara’s eyes widened when she saw the oysters on ice arrive.
“You eat this?” she pointed at them.
I winked. “You’ll love them.”
I could tell she was against the platter. She didn’t like how they looked.
“Come here,” I urged her to lean over the table. I topped an oyster with hot sauce and placed it on her tongue.
She cautiously closed her mouth. I waited for the reaction. The distrust turned to a smile.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I cocked my head.
“They’re good.” She nodded. “Really good.”
I laughed. “My work here is done.”
We drank and made our way around the shells on the platter. By the time we finished, we were the only ones still sitting at a table. The place was empty. The server cleared our table, taking the vinyl cover with him. I gave him an extra hundred to leave the lanterns on over our table and to close down the outside restaurant. I wanted to be alone with her. I couldn’t give her total freedom, but I could give her one night of it.
“This version of New Orleans isn’t bad.” Amara dangled the paper cup between her delicate fingers. She was relaxed. At ease. She wasn’t the same girl I had discovered in the pool house a few hours ago.
I climbed out of the table and strolled to her side. I sat, sliding my body next to hers.
I’d never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as I wanted to kiss her. Booze. Oysters. Starry sky. Crackling chemistry. Fuck. How did I show restraint? How did I not pull her under with me if I did?
“Luka?” she whispered. The question sounded like a command. I didn’t like taking orders, but it was a plea. An irresistible one.
I tilted her chin upward and took her lips with fierce ownership. My tongue lashed against hers. Amara dropped the paper cup of champagne on the grass and draped her hands around my neck. My mouth burned for her. I wanted to suck the alcohol from her lips. I wanted to drown in her. The purrs from her throat echoed in my ears. I nipped at her throat, inhaling her skin. Biting behind her ear and dragging my breath along her neck.
My hand traveled along her waist, following the lines of her curves. Trailing over her thighs. My fingers curled against her hip. My mind wandered as quickly as my hands. She tasted like champagne and summer. Innocence and purity in a world that was cast in darkness. Her body melded to mine .
“I want to take you back to my place,” I growled against her neck. “Show you that over-the-top view I have.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’d like to see it. Please, can we go?”
There was no guarantee she wouldn’t be under lockdown for the next month. I had her in my hands now. I wouldn’t waste what time we had before dawn broke.
It was another few minutes before we broke for air. I walked Amara to the car and kissed her quickly before shutting the door.
I tore out of the Cajun oyster joint and back toward the city. Neither one of us spoke a word. The sexual tension filled the car.
“This is it,” I announced. I parked near the rear entrance to the courtyard. I lived alone, with the exception of a few members of my staff in a multi-level apartment. The ground floor was mainly for greeting guests or making them wait when I didn’t want to take a meeting. My suite was on the top floor. And it did have a fucking incredible view.
Her eyes followed the windows to the top level. “As old as Marguerite’s?”
“It’s pretty damn old.”
Amara was captivating. She intrigued me. And it had only been a few hours since she dropped into my orbit. I wanted nothing less than to take her upstairs to my bed, but it wasn’t going to be enough.
I stroked the side of her jaw, craving her already. She blinked slowly before crossing over the console and wrapping her soft palms around my neck. My tongue thrust into her mouth, and we started drowning again. Her dress was bunched and dislodged around her waist.
The windows began to fog. My hands navigated her curves with recent memory. Her lips parted with a gentle sigh as soon as I slid between her legs. Finally, under that short little dress that had tortured the hell out of me.
She whimpered when my fingers made contact with the edges of silk. I strummed, working the fabric out of my way. Her hips tilted, and I had the access I wanted to her clit. Fuck, she was wet. Soaked.
Her eyes opened. Gorgeous green eyes, beckoning. Calling me. She stared, catching her breath. Gulping for air. But our lips crashed together, and my fingers went to work on her clit. Massaging, grinding, toying against the pulse of her body. My fingers swirled around her opening. Sweet, innocent Amara was going to be my undoing. I couldn’t take much more of her moans without stripping the cocktail dress off her body. It was getting harder to maneuver in the car without climbing into the backseat. It was impossible for my frame to fit in the tight space. Breaking free from her seemed as impossible.
I dragged her lips from mine. “Let’s go upstairs.” I cupped between her legs, promising her there was more to come. “More room,” I growled.
She nodded reluctantly. I wouldn’t say the words out loud, but the energy between us was fucking insane. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know if it had a label or needed one. But the way she charged my body with kisses and long gazes. Whispers. Purrs. She was more than a one-night stand. More than a quick fuck. There was something about her I wanted. Hell, I didn’t have to name it. No one was forcing that on me. Instinct was in control now .
I filled my lungs with air and unclipped the seatbelt. Amara wiggled her underwear and dress back into place.
I left the keys inside for my regular driver to park the car in the garage. My security detail would take care of the rest when it was parked in the garage. I jogged in front of the hood to open the door and lead her inside my apartment. But I froze as soon as I heard the click-click of the gun.
I put my hands in the air before turning on my heels. Ciro was six feet from me. He had been waiting. I didn’t know how long, but the fucker was ready for us as soon as I drove in. Had he watched us? Did the steam on the windows give us any privacy?
Amara stepped out of the car slowly. “Put the gun down,” she hissed. Her skin was flushed with sweat. I had kissed half her makeup away.
Ciro held the gun steady. “Not until you leave with me.”
Her eyes darted to me. “I’m sorry. I have to go with him. I don’t want to, but you understand?”
I reached for her hand. I wanted to pull her back toward me. To wrap her in my arms and hurl her inside my apartment. I would barricade the door. Ciro couldn’t shoot his way through. No one could.
Our fingertips grazed quickly, but she was already at Ciro’s side.
“Put it down. Now. I’m going with you.” She stared up at her bodyguard. “You don’t need to threaten him with a gun.”
I saw the frustration welling in her eyes. “You don’t need to say anything to Mr. Amato about this, Ciro.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “She’s safe. She was safe the entire night.”
He didn’t give any clues about whether he would take my suggestion.
“Get in the car,” he barked at Amara.
Her eyes weren’t the same. The openness was gone. The light extinguished. The wildfire we had lit had gone dark.
There wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it.
I watched as her bodyguard shuttled her into the Escalade and drove out of the alley. The tires screeched as he turned the corner.
Thunder clapped overhead, and lightning streaked across the sky. I didn’t want to think about what almost happened. About how close we had come to setting our bodies on fire. The sheets. My bed. Fuck.
I turned for the back door and walked past Wallace, my house manager.
“Do you need anything, sir?” he asked. He had likely witnessed the scene.
My head dropped.
“I’m in for the night,” was all I could manage to explain. I climbed the stairs to my suite and turned the handle. I glared at the empty bed.