Chapter 8 Montana #2
“Mm-hmm, Montana. You’ve got an attitude because I haven’t given you the one thing you crave.
FYI, I’m not wearing a thong. These seamless underwear melt against me, though.
” Journey’s lips curved up, vicious. “Which you will never see. I only kissed you … because of the countdown. So, Happy New Year.”
Head tilted, I side-eyed her. “You can’t tell me this alarm didn’t kill a good thing.” I stopped the car, hand sliding over her thigh.
I expected her to fidget—which I low-key loved. Told me that even though she had a son, she wasn’t easy.
I stared her down, my hand still there. Her mind had taken off, running sprints when I mentioned needing to get to HC&PP Maison.
Something about the alarm had Journey spooked, even though I’d told her a hundred times on our drive that Auntie Peaches forgot to call the security company because it kept malfunctioning.
I gave the curve of her hip a squeeze. “Come in.”
“Too cold.”
“You ain’t met cold yet.” Okay, Journey wasn’t from the Upper Midwest since she couldn’t stand this cold. My hand squeezed again, firm and demanding. “Don’t leave.”
For a second, my chest pulled tight at the thought of her disappearing. Then I popped the door. Needed to deal with this minor problem.
The alarm blared as I ran into the restaurant and keyed in the code.
Leaving the system off, I strode to the door. Outside, Miss Composed and Collected did the pee-pee dance up the sidewalk, arms folded tight, legs crossed.
“You know that arcade dance game,” I said, “you should’ve played it at Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Ha.” Journey rushed past me.
I flicked the lights, and she shot a soft smile before disappearing down the hall.
Minutes later, that little click-clack of high heels every dude learns to pant at pulled me from watching the bar across Royal Street.
Journey strolled past velvet booths, eyes locked on me like she knew exactly what she was walking into.
She rushed me, hips, waist. Every curve molded to mine.
Made for me. Her mouth crashed into mine, lips clashing, a spark of heat burning us alive in that good torture.
She bit my bottom lip, teeth tugging, then she called my name.
The sound hit harder than a fastball. Her shiver sent a jolt of energy that made my body tingle. A soft moan escaped her, low and deep enough to tremble against my tongue.
“Montana, just this once …?” she murmured, breaking away from my lips for a second.
“Once?” I managed, brain drowning in her taste—baptized, saved, and backsliding in one breath. Her sweetness was a temptation my ego couldn’t release. Once? bébé, my pride just threw itself off the Crescent City Bridge.
My arm locked around her waist, pulling her higher. My other hand anchored the small of her back. She was weightless between my arms, heavy in my mind, and Big Country keeled over, clutching his chest at the audacity. Us? A free-trial subscription? No, ma’am.
Without breaking our kiss, I placed her on a linen-covered table.
Her thighs locked around my hips, then she dragged a fistful of my beard down and kissed me—slow, hot, as if she had a point to prove. When she came up for air, those brown eyes sparkled—rules loading. Instructions incoming.
Journey whispered a hard command wrapped in a soft kiss. “I want Montana Babineaux tonight. Not that buzzard, Big Country.”
This woman was out here snatching entire beards and making administrative decisions. My whole world narrowed to her addictive mouth.
Respond? Who? Me? Impossible. I couldn’t even spell my name. M … O … T …?
She pulled in a breath, lips still against mine, and squeezed my beard again. “And don’t play me, Montana. No ghosting me tomorrow. We’re still friends. And if my baby hits you with a dinosaur pop quiz—”
I laughed right into her mouth, still kissing her between words. “Bébé, I’ma know every damn dino. Long necks, sharp teeth.” I caught her bottom lip between mine and lightly tugged while pushing her dress up her hips. “Now, c’mere.”
My palms dragged down her bare flesh, cupping, massaging, claiming what was mine for tonight. And deep in my gut? That damn word stung. Once. Not ready to let go of this silk-wrapped in temptation, I said, “Journey—”
“Stop calling me J—” She cut us both off with a kiss.
I worked my way down the hollow of her throat, and her heart kicked against my lips, pounding fast. I smirked against her skin, thinking I’d done that. She was trembling for me.
Then her entire body went still.
Her fingers pressed flat against my chest. Not shoving. Not teasing. Bracing.
“Bébé?” I murmured, but she wasn’t looking at me anymore.
Her eyes slid past my shoulder.
Something in the way they went wide—quiet, controlled, but terrified—dropped the air in my restaurant twenty degrees.
“Montana,” she whispered. Not that breathy, sexy way she’d called my name seconds ago. This one had an edge. A tremor that didn’t belong nowhere near us.
The corner of my eye caught movement.
Journey clung to me, every muscle quivering for the wrong reason, as I turned.
Four dudes in black slid through the front entrance of my restaurant, quiet as death. Hoodies drawn tight, faces half hidden.
My stomach hardened into stone.
I didn’t wear a chain tonight. But that didn’t stop them from clocking me for their payday.
Journey had me in a chokehold that could win medals. I pried her away, tugged her to her feet.