Page 16 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“Celeste?” I keep my voice gentle, even as my mind races. “You okay?”

She blinks, composing herself with practiced ease. Too practiced. “I... yes. I just... I knew him. Mr. Morrow. He was a regular at the diner.”

The walk back to her apartment is heavy with unspoken questions. Every step is a battle between the investigator who notes her tells and the man who wants to pull her close again.

Lauren’s voice is relentless:“Follow the evidence, no matter where it leads. No matter who it hurts.”

At her door, Celeste turns to me. In the harsh streetlight, she looks both vulnerable and dangerous. “Thank you for tonight, Ethan. Despite how it ended, I had a wonderful time.”

She kisses my cheek, her lips soft but leaving ice in their wake. “Goodnight, Agent Blake.”

The title isn’t an accident. She’s reminding us both of who I am, what I represent.

“Goodnight Ms. Deveraux.” I tip my head and spin around.

I’ve crossed a line tonight, and the view from the other side is intoxicating. And terrifying.

As I walk back to my hotel, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and half-formed theories. Celeste is a mystery, one I’m becoming increasingly desperate to solve. Butas I replay the events of the night in my mind, one thing becomes crystal clear:

She is becoming my own personal gravity, pulling me in against all reason. And in my line of work, that could be the most dangerous game of all.

The streets of New Orleans seem to whisper around me, promising answers but offering only more questions. As I reach my hotel, the weight of the badge in my pocket feels heavier than ever. Tomorrow, I’ll have to start investigating Morrow’s death. And no matter where the evidence leads, I have a sinking feeling that all roads will eventually lead back to Celeste.

As I enter my room, Celeste’s scent seems to linger on my clothes, a tantalizing reminder of our closeness. The memory of her body pressed against mine as we danced sends a wave of heat through me.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of desire. This is dangerous territory, Blake. I’m an FBI agent, and Celeste is potentially involved in an ongoing investigation. I need to stay focused, professional.

But as I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my tense muscles, I can’t shake the memory of her in my arms. The softness of her skin, the fire in her eyes...

“You’re falling for her,”Lauren’s voice whispers.“Just like you fell for me. But this time, the danger isn’t coming for her—it’s radiating from her.”

I press my forehead against the cool tile, water running down my back. This is a complication I don’t need. But as I close my eyes, all I see is Celeste in that black dress, moving like a predator, hiding secrets behind those mesmerizing eyes.

Part of me wants to chalk it up to the magic of New Orleans – the way this city wraps you in its sultry embrace, makes you believe in things you never would in the harsh light of day. But Iknow better. Celeste is a puzzle all her own, one that’s becoming dangerously addictive to solve.

I replay the night in my head, searching for clues I might have missed. The way she stiffened at the mention of the art heist. Her reaction to Morrow’s death. Every smile, every touch, every word—was it genuine, or just another act in her repertoire?

And that moment on the dance floor... Christ. I’ve faced down armed suspects with steadier nerves than I had when she was in my arms. It would be so easy to lose myself in those eyes, to let myself believe that there could be something real between us.

Fuck it.

I grip the base of my cock, hissing at the pleasure that ripples down my spine. As I stand under the hot spray, I try to push away thoughts of Celeste, but they persist, vivid and tempting. My hand moves almost of its own accord, stroking my length as I recall the sway of her hips, the fullness of her lips.

I envision her here with me, steam billowing around us, rivulets of water tracing her delicate curves. Her dark eyes are alight with need and submission, a potent combination that sends a jolt straight to my groin. I imagine pinning her against the slick shower wall, her wrists captured above her head in my firm grip. She mewls, her body arching into mine, yielding to my dominance.

“Please,” she begs, her voice a husky melody of surrender.

My hand strokes faster, pleasure building as the fantasy unfurls. I picture hoisting her up, her long legs wrapping tightly around my waist, heels digging into my flesh, arms clinging to my neck. I impale her, her heat and tightness enveloping me, her body offering complete surrender.

“You’re mine, Celeste,” I growl into her ear, her name on my lips pushing me to the brink. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

I can almost hear her cry out my name, feel her nails raking across my back. The thought of her coming undone around me, her body pulsing with release, sends me hurtling over the edge.

“Celeste,” I growl, my own climax ripping through me. I brace myself against the tile, heart pounding, breath ragged, as the last of my fantasy washes down the drain.

As the haze of pleasure fades, guilt and frustration set in. This isn’t just unprofessional—it’s dangerous. Celeste is a puzzle I need to solve with a clear head, not clouded by lust and misplaced affection.

I finish my shower and crawl into bed, but sleep eludes me. My mind keeps replaying the events of the night, searching for clues I might have missed. Celeste’s reactions, her knowledge of the city’s secrets, her connection to Morrow... it all adds up to something, but what?

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