Page 14 of Big Easy
Suddenly, her warm breath is against my ear. "Don't drive slow on my account. I want to remember my first time," Sutton says. Her words aren't sexual in nature, but my mind takes them someplace erotic. Grabbing her other hand resting on my hip, I pull it around, placing her palm on my abdomen. I give the throttle a little twist, giving the bike's engine more gas. Her hands clench beneath my cut, crumpling my shirt in her fists as her hold tightens with the forward momentum. Wanting to openmy bike up and give her something to remember, I take a detour, away from the busy city streets. Sutton presses her body into me as I weave through traffic on my way to the exit. Hitting the open highway, I gun it. With every curve my bike takes like a natural, Sutton moves with me, and, in the process, leans into my back a bit more. Her touch sends jolts of electricity coursing through my body. It takes all my control to not turn my bike east and take her home and have her in my bed.
Torn between the exhilaration of the moment and increasing our speed and not wanting it to end, I eventually slow. At the next exit, I point the bike west, taking us downtown once again.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, we're rolling up to a riverfront parking area. Facing the water's edge, I cut the engine. Climbing off, I help Sutton remove the helmet from her head. Her eyes are bright, and her smile sucks the air from my lungs; that's how beautiful she is.
I can't help what happens next. I couldn't stop it if I tried. Her eyes lock with mine as I lean down and capture her soft lips. Our connection is brief, but, by far, the most intense kiss I have ever experienced.
At this moment, I know. It's not a thought that seals my fate.
It's a soul-deep feeling as our lips linger on one another's.
She is mine forever.
I pull away to find her eyes still closed, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she lifts her hand. Her fingertips caress her lips where our mouths were connected. Once her eyes open, I know she felt it too, but neither of us acknowledges it, at least not with words. I hold out my hand and Sutton takes it, and I help her off the bike. Her fingers lace with mine as I lead her across the street to Tove, Ryker's restaurant, which he named after his wife.
"Have you eaten here before?" I ask.
"No, but I've heard good things about it. My co-workers say the food is great."
"A friend of mine is executive chef and owner," I tell her and open the door. My hand falls to the small of her back as I guide her inside.
"Mr. Carter," the young hostess standing at the podium nearby greets us. Walking to the nearby counter, she retrieves two menus. "Would you like your usual table?"
"If it's available," I reply. Without even attempting to flirt with her, the young lady blushes.
"Follow me." Her eyes cut to Sutton before turning and leading us toward the back of the building, where we follow her up a flight of stairs.
"Do you have this effect on all women?" Sutton whispers with a grin.
I stop us short of taking the last step as we climb the stairs and pull her body flush against mine, feeling the heat radiate between us. "Are you including yourself in that statement, babe?" I ask, and watch her breathing increase under my touch.
"I can't lie about something clearly visible. You are very aware of the effect you are having on me, Jaxson," she admits, but it's my name on her lips I focus on the most.
What is she doing to me?
"Come on." I put space between us.
The hostess guides us out onto the veranda. The day starts to turn to dusk, and the warm glow from the strings of lights strung over our heads creates a relaxing atmosphere. Tove isn't an upscale restaurant. It's warm and inviting, with live music and great food. We settle into the chairs at the best table in the house. From this spot, we have a great view of both the river and downtown. Ryker bought the place from his old boss and predecessor about five years ago.
"Do you trust me to order for you?" I look at Sutton, who is studying the menu.
"Yes," she doesn't hesitate to answer.
"Bring us the shrimp corn chowder and fried boudin balls." I hand the menus back to the waitress. My mouth waters just thinking about the food and getting a small taste of home. "Would you like a drink?"
"I'd love a glass of wine—white Pinot." She smiles.
"Your usual, Mr. Carter?" the waitress asks.
"Please."
She walks away with our order, and I turn my attention back to Sutton and find her staring out at the view. "It's beautiful." She leans back in her seat. "You must come here often since most of the staff seems to know you by name."
"Maybe a couple of times a month. I prefer cooking at home."
Sutton looks at me. "You cook?" She sounds shocked, and I chuckle.
"Is it that hard to believe?"
