Page 15 of French Quarter Heiress

I nearly choke on my wine, sputtering with a mix of laughter and indignation. "You...you think you're dashing and roguishly handsome?" I manage to gasp out, my eyes watering with mirth. "Oh, that's rich. And I suppose you think I'm just going to swoon into your arms like some helpless damsel, is that it?"

Beau shrugs, his expression a picture of innocent sincerity. "Hey, a wolf can dream, can't he? And for the record, I happen to know that I'm extremely dashing and roguishly handsome. I have it on very good authority."

Rolling my eyes, I try to ignore the subtle burn creeping its way up my neck. I recognize his tone. I’m familiar with his words. He’s seducing me.

And my body is responding willingly.

"Let me guess," I say, arching an eyebrow. "That 'good authority' wouldn't happen to be your own reflection, would it?"

Beau laughs, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Touché, my dear. You've got me all figured out. But seriously, darling...would it be so terrible to let yourself have a little fun once in a while? To let go of all that Delacroix dignity and propriety and just...live in the moment?"

I hesitate, my mind torn between the cold, calculating voice of reason and the wild, reckless whisper of temptation. Beau is right, damn him. It's been so long since I've allowed myself to truly feel anything, to experience the thrill of abandon and release.

I feel my heartbeat quicken, my skin flushing with a heat that has nothing to do with the wine. This wolf is dangerous, a temptation that could lead me down a path from which there may be no return.

But as I meet his gaze, seeing the challenge and the promise that lies within those fathomless eyes, I know that I'm already lost.

The game has changed, the stakes have been raised, and I am powerless to resist the allure of this man who is both my enemy and my deepest, darkest desire.

And then, as if to shatter the moment, I catch sight of a familiar face across the room. Police Chief Renard, a man my father had once counted as a loyal ally, schmoozing and laughing with Beau's associates like they were old friends, a woman on each arm. And if I’m not mistaken, one of them is my father's favorite.

Nobody dared to touch her.

His little dove.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, a sickening lurch of betrayal and disappointment. Beau has managed to turn even the police against us, to sway them to his side with bribes and flattery and God knows what else.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, a sign of just how much ground we've lost in this war for the soul of New Orleans. As I sit there, sipping my wine and trying to ignore the heat of Beau's gaze on my skin, I feel a rising tide of confusion and frustration threatening to engulf me. I don’t find myself having a bad time.

Not by a long shot.

I'm torn, caught between my duty to my family and the undeniable pull I feel towards this deviant, this enemy who makes my blood sing and my heart pound.

It's wrong, so wrong, a betrayal of everything I've ever known or believed in.

I drain my glass in one swift gulp, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slides down my throat. And then, with a final, searing look at the man who has turned my world upside down, I turn on my heel and stalk out of the club, my head held high and my heart pounding with a fierce, wild rhythm.

I don't know what the future holds, or what twists and turns await me on this path I've chosen. But one thing is clear.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

And for better or worse, I have Beau to thank for that.

9

BEAU

The adrenaline from my encounter with Elise at The Lunar is still pumping through my veins as I make my way to the docks, a confident swagger in my step and a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. The memory of her reaction to the rare vintage, the flicker of something primal and alluring in her gaze... It's a rush I can't quite shake, a high that leaves me craving more.

It’s not something I can forget easily. I had her within my grasp, vulnerable and agreeable. The alcohol loosened our senses. If I made a move towards her, she would have accepted me. I know this.

She’s an illicit temptation, one that’s begging to be claimed and devoured.

But as I approach the warehouse where tonight's shipment is being unloaded, my instincts start to prickle with unease.

Something's not right.

The usual bustling activity of the docks is eerily absent, replaced by an unnatural stillness that sets my teeth on edge.

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