Bourbon Street Blues Read online

  “Son, I know you’re going through with this wedding for the sake of the family, and I want you to know, it’s appreciated.”

  “Uh-huh”

  “But,” his father added, then waited until Parker turned to look at him, “I also know Frannie loves you. Hell, boy, she can’t hardly keep her hands off you. And many successful marriages have started with less.”

  “Don’t worry,” Parker said with a shrug. “I’m sure Frannie and I will get along fine.”

  “Sure you will. Your mother and I started out much the same, you know.” The older man sat on one of the visitor’s chairs pulled up in front of the desk. “Her father and mine negotiated the wedding. Wanted to merge our coffee business and their shipping firm. Worked out fine, I must say.”

  “I know,” Parker said, sitting for the first time in the chair where he’d be spending the rest of his life. And while his father continued to reminisce, that little phrase repeated itself over and over again in Parker’s mind. The rest of his life. The rest of his life.

  This was it.

  This office.

  This life.

  He would be a part of the James family coffee business. He would do what his father had done before him. He would come to this building, this office, every weekday from now until eternity. He would stare out the same window. He would watch the gulf and the ships coming and going.

  And here he would stay.

  Something cold and tight fisted around his heart.

  “Your sister’s taking over the marketing department next year, so I’m thinking the company is in good hands.”

  “Seems to be,” Parker muttered thickly, reaching to loosen his tie in an attempt to ease the tightness in his throat. His breath came short and fast as his father talked, building plans for the future even while Parker fought valiantly to survive the present.

  PARKER LAID ONE HAND on the window glass. Below him, on the wharf, it was business as usual. Except he no longer felt part of it.

  He was different now.

  He’d put in his time. He’d tried. He’d done his best. Hell, he’d even married the woman his parents had asked him to. Look how well that had turned out.

  But now he had something else in his life. The jazz club was something he’d long dreamed about. For his sanity, for his happiness, he would have to turn his back on the dynasty built by his ancestors.

  All he had to do now was to break the news to his father.

  BY TEN THAT NIGHT, Holly was in the zone.

  The crowd at the Hotel Marchand was responsive and she fed off the energy pulsing at her from the shadows. Tommy’s talented fingers danced across the piano keys and Tommie Junior was sitting in on bass fiddle. Holly stepped off the stage, taking her cordless mike with her, and walked slowly through the crowd. Easing her way around the tables, she stopped every now and again to lean into a customer and sing solely to him.

  She smiled and moved on, then stopped again, listening to the beat, feeling the swell of music fill her, rush through her blood. Every note was like a lover’s touch. Every word a promise, and as the spotlight followed her through the room, its heat on her skin felt more natural to her than sunlight.

  She caught Leo’s eye and he winked at her just before she stopped at a table with a couple celebrating their fiftieth anniversary. The man and his wife leaned in close to each other and smiled up at Holly as she serenaded them briefly before moving on again.

  The music continued, one song flowing into the next in a medley that spoke to the heart. This was Holly’s favorite part of every evening, mingling with the crowd, smiling and nodding at familiar faces and greeting newcomers.

  Wineglasses tinkled and voices murmured just below the swell of the music, and Holly knew she was home. This was where she belonged. The place where she felt most at home. She knew how to work a crowd. She knew how to finesse every chord from a song. She knew how to make every person in the room feel as if they were her guest at a private party.

  So many faces turned to her, yet even in the dim light she could distinguish the one she’d least expected to see. Parker James was sitting at what she’d come to think of as “his” table. Alone. At the back of the room.

  Watching her.

  A jolt of pleasure shot through her, but her voice never faltered. She moved slowly, deliberately, sliding one hand along her waist and over her hip, smoothing the clingy, red-satin dress she wore. Wending her way through the tables, she headed toward him with single-minded determination, the spotlight marking her progress. But all Holly could see was the intensity of Parker’s eyes as he watched her.

  ALTHOUGH HE HAD SAT in on her rehearsals twice, this was the first time Parker had come to a performance, and it was a completely different experience.

  Holly’s dress looked as though it had been painted over her curves, the deeply cut neckline emphasizing her breasts, and he could feel his body tightening like a bow string. The music washed over him, but all he could hear was her voice, melodic, hypnotic, reaching deep down inside him to tremble at his core.

  When she stopped at his table and smiled down at him, he was lost in the soft light of her eyes, in the sway of her hips, in the sultry sigh of her voice. His heart hammered in his chest and his hands itched to grab her, to pull her onto his lap and hold her there.

  As if she could read his mind, she gave him another smile, reached out and trailed the tips of her polished fingernails across his cheek. For one brief, tantalizing moment, time seemed to stop. Something incredible hummed between them, electrifying the air until just drawing a breath spread fire throughout his body.

  She felt it, too. He could see that in the flash of surprise in her eyes. Then she turned to make her way back to the stage. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the view as she walked away was just as good as the view of her coming toward him.

  She’d gotten inside him, Parker thought. In a couple of days, Holly Carlyle had managed to get under his skin, past the defenses he’d spent the last ten years erecting.

  A sobering thought.

  One that was troubling enough to douse some of the flames still heating his blood. God knew he wasn’t looking for a woman. And yet…he’d needed to be here. To see her again.

  To see Holly in her element.

  Now that he had, he knew he’d never get her out of his mind again.

  Her smile called to him.

  Her voice slipped into his soul.

  He wanted her.

  And more than just the personal—he wanted her singing at his place.

  He was businessman enough to realize just what a singer of her caliber, her personality, could bring to his new place. She would bring people in off the streets. Her voice would be a siren song that couldn’t be denied.

  Somehow, he would have to convince her to sing at his jazz café.

  Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the tabletop, ordered a beer from the waitress and prepared to wait Holly out. Besides, he couldn’t have left now if his life had depended on it.

  “YOU DON’T HAVE to take me home,” Holly said for what had to be the fifteenth time in the last few minutes.

  Parker kept his eyes on the road and his hands fisted on the steering wheel of his black convertible. The sounds and scents of New Orleans assailed them as they drove toward the Garden District.

  Disjointed snatches of music drifted from the open doors and windows of the clubs they passed. Neon lights were a blurred rainbow of colors, and in the distance, thunder rumbled over the gulf.

  “It’s not that far a drive,” he said, still not looking at her. Hell, even though she’d changed out of that red dress and into a simple collared shirt and khaki slacks, she was irresistible. Her auburn hair flew about her face and she reached up to gather it and hold it down at the nape of her neck.

  “I was surprised to see you at the hotel.”

  He shrugged. “Wanted to see you at work.”

  “How’d I do?”

  “You were amazing.” He shot her a quick lo
ok in time to see the pleased smile curve her lips.

  “Thank you.”

  When he stopped for a red light, he finally turned to face her.

  “A talent like yours comes along once in a generation. Maybe. Why are you content to stay here and sing in clubs?”

  It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Parker was pretty sure she was actually blushing. God, this woman appealed to him on so many levels.

  “Well,” she said softly, “that’s quite a question—and compliment.”

  “Only the truth.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s kind of you to say. And to answer your question—” she waved her hand to indicate the color and noise of the Quarter “—I love this place. These people. New Orleans is my home. I don’t think I’d be happy anywhere else.”

  “You could still record.”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “I don’t get it. You could be famous.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not interested in fame.”

  “Or fortune?”

  Holly laughed. “I’m doin’ fine, thanks for asking. And I’ve nearly got enough put away that—”

  “That what?”

  Her mouth pursed but she shook her head. “Let’s just say I’ve got a few plans and dreams of my own.” She pointed. “Light’s green.”

  “Right.” Parker stepped on the gas, kept up with the flow of traffic and listened to her as she gave him directions to her place. But even as he listened, one corner of his mind played back what she’d said. What did she dream about? What kinds of plans would grab her, hold on to her?

  The streets of the Garden District were sedate after the noise and hubbub of the Quarter. Homes were dark and shadows crouched everywhere.

  Moonlight drifted through the trees.

  A solitary dog barked and the clang of an iron gate being closed sounded overly loud. The air felt heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers.

  He shut off the engine, got out of the car and walked around to her side to help her out. With her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet and she just sort of naturally ended up pressed against his side. Parker slid one arm around her waist, wanting to hold her there.

  “Um, this is my place, here.” She stepped back and away, waving one hand at the house on the corner. Two stories, the pale peach building had been standing proud for more than a century. Lacey iron scrollwork defined the upper and lower balconies and gave the old house the look of an elderly woman dressed up in her best.

  “Nice,” he said, and shoved both hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “Looks like she came through the hurricane without much trouble.”

  “It wasn’t bad. And I’m on the top floor, so I had fewer problems than most.” She started for the black metal gate, worked in the same fashion as the balconies. “I’d invite you in but…”

  He nodded. “Probably not a good idea.”

  “No, probably not.”

  Leaning back against the hood of his car, Parker said, “I’ll be here, till you get inside.”

  “I’ll be fine, Parker. I’ve been on my own a long time.”

  “I’ll wait, anyway.”

  She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “How long will you wait? I wonder.”

  They both knew she was talking about more than his offer to watch until she was safely inside her apartment.

  “Guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  HOLLY SAT OUT ON HER balcony for hours after Parker left. The night was cool, but held just a hint of the warmth that would soon cloak the city. She leaned back in her chair, kicked her feet up to the iron railing and crossed them at the ankles.

  She took a sip of crisp white wine and stared into the night. A tree hugged the side of the old house, and a slight wind ruffled its leaves, sounding a little like raindrops slapping the street. In the distance, a dog barked halfheartedly, then quieted again.

  All around her, the world was sleeping. Holly felt as though she were alone in the universe, and usually she liked that feeling just fine. After all, she was a night owl. She came to life at the same time everyone else was winding down. She liked sitting out here on her tiny balcony, listening to the quiet, feeling the wind, watching shadows stretch across the so familiar street.

  It was always peaceful. A relaxing way to end her night and get ready for bed. Until tonight, that is. Tonight her thoughts were too busy ricocheting around her mind for her to relax. And most of those thoughts were—surprise—centered on Parker James.

  She couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake by not inviting him in. Logically, she knew it had been the right thing to do. The smart thing to do. God, she hated being smart. She’d much rather be satisfied. Much rather have him here, now, kissing her in the moonlight. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to ignore the humming in her blood.

  “Oh, boy.” The sad truth was, Holly wanted Parker as she hadn’t wanted anyone since…

  “Well, there you go,” she whispered into the night. “That’s why he’s not here right now, missy.” She took a sip of wine and shook her head. “If you’re going to make mistakes, at least make new ones.”

  The last man who’d turned her inside out, Jeffrey St. Pierre, had come from the same background as Parker. Old money, a lineage that stretched back a century or two and a family that wouldn’t be happy about him spending time with a jazz singer.

  Jeff had played her for a fool almost from the get-go. And it shamed her to admit just how willing she had been to believe his lies. She had been stupid enough to believe he cared about more than getting her into bed. She’d believed they were headed somewhere—together. She’d told him about her past. Shared with him the plan she had for her future—something she hadn’t told anyone else except for Shana and Tommy.

  She’d let him into her heart. She’d given him everything he’d needed to shatter her when he’d tired of her. And, oh, that knowledge still stung. Bad enough to have your heart broken. Worse to stand there and invite it.

  Another sip of wine and she sighed, as those old memories twisted at her heart one more time. She had learned a lot in the past three years. She’d discovered that she didn’t need a man standing beside her to make her happy. She could take care of her own happiness.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to build dreams that had no hope of coming true.

  Not again.

  “But, oh, my, Parker surely knows how to kiss,” she whispered, fingers tightening on the stem of the crystal glass. She could almost taste him again, his mouth on hers, his breath dusting her cheeks, his heartbeat slamming against hers.

  Her stomach did a quick flip and her blood pumped thickly, hotly. The simple truth was, she wanted his hands on her. Wanted his mouth on her. Wanted him inside her. To feel that rush of sensation that heralded a bone-shaking orgasm.

  The question was, would it be smart? No, not really. But as long as her heart wasn’t involved, there wouldn’t be anything wrong in taking the man to bed, now would there?

  Smiling to herself, she drained the rest of her wine, then tapped her toes to the melody stringing out in her mind.

  PARKER OPENED his front door the following afternoon and just managed to bite back an impatient oath.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” Frannie asked as she lifted up on her toes to give his cheek a quick kiss. “Not happy to see me?”

  She sailed past him, through the open door, crossed the foyer and stepped into the living room. Dragging the tip of one finger across a long, low table, she idly checked for dust, didn’t find any and still smoothed her fingertips together as if rubbing away grime.

  “Love what you’ve done here,” she said, though her tone clearly indicated she didn’t mean it.

  A stab of irritation jolted Parker as he followed his soon-to-be ex-wife into the main room. She wore a pale blue silk dress that clung to her generous curves and stopped about three inches above her knees. He
watched her as she did a slow turn, taking in everything.

  When he’d moved out of their shared home, he’d done up his new place just the way he wanted it, with oversize, dark brown leather couches and waist-high bookcases all around the circumference of the room. Sunlight glanced in through the wide windows and lay like gold on the pine floorboards.

  This was his home. Frannie had no place here.

  “What do you want?”

  “Is that any way to talk to your wife?” She dropped to the edge of one of the sofas and slid one leg over the other.

  “Ex-wife.”

  “Not yet, honey.” Leaning back into the sofa, she ran the flat of her hand across the soft-as-butter leather. “I don’t much care for leather. It can be so uncomfortable in the summer.”

  He walked into the room and glared at her. “Thankfully, that’s not one of your worries.”

  “Oh, Parker.” She gave him a small smile then eased herself off the sofa and walked toward him. “No reason to be hateful, darling. Not when we’ve shared so much.”

  Parker laughed. “Who the hell are you playing here, Frannie? The only thing we shared was a name.”

  She pouted a little and looked up at him from under half-closed eyelids. “Parker, honey, every marriage goes through a little trouble now and then.”

  Her perfume floated around him, grabbed at his throat, thick, cloying—a lot like Frannie herself. He was immune to her scent. Immune to her lies. But damned if he could figure out what her game was.

  “A little trouble?” he repeated. “Frannie, we’ve been separated for years.”

  “But still married, darlin’,” she purred, holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers so that the sunlight caught the three-carat diamond and sent sparks of light shooting around the room like balls on a billiard table.

  She had always been a fiend for jewelry. The bigger and gaudier, the better.

  “I still want to know what you’re doing here,” he said, stepping away to drag in a breath that wasn’t doused in her scent. “We’re supposed to meet at the lawyers’ office in an hour.”