Page 121 of A Naked Beauty

“I’m glad you like it. I know we’re not here under the best circumstances but it’s our first trip together and your first time to New Orleans, I wanted it to be special for you.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, touched by his thoughtfulness. “We can order up room service and eat dinner on the balcony. The view’s great.”

“Or we could go out,” he proposes, setting our bags down. “Put everything aside for a while and just have some fun.”

“Really?” I ask because unlike his wealth, I am very conscious of his fame. The ever-present Nike cap and bodyguards don’t allow me to forget. “I’d love to go out but are you sure we should?”

“Not a problem. It’s Halloween night. The streets will be busy and crowded. No one will even notice me.”

Mick being eye-grabbing is not limited to his celebrity. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’ve gone incognito here a few times.”

“Hm…” I give him a sideways glance. “And during those few times, did you avail yourself of the provocative nightlife?”

He pauses from unzipping his duffle bag. “Anything before you is a blur.”

“Very smooth.” I smile.

Because we settled on doing something casual, I change out of my suit and put on the lightweight dress I’d packed. The style is flattering on me with its billowy sleeves, deep V-neck, and shirred torso that gradually flares out and swings around my calves. Mick blows a soft whistle of approval when I exit the bathroom.

He’s looking mighty good himself—simplicity at its finest. Dark-washed blue jeans and an untucked white T-shirt against his caramel skin—pushes all my hot buttons. I debate whether to jump his bones first or see New Orleans. In the end, I choose the city now and save the best for later.

I slip on a pair of flats for our walk and Mick dons a black ball cap. When we reach the hub of the city, my senses are hit all at once. The French Quarter is even more vibrant than I’d imagined. The blare of live music spills onto the sidewalks, bars lure in customers with flashing signs, and spicy aromas tease the senses. I love window browsing the eclectic shops, sharing a po-boy from a food truck, watching the array of people—many of whom are dressed in wild and outrageous costumes. But what I love most is that camouflaged by the vivacity, we’re able to stroll hand-in-hand for the first time in public.

Talking and enjoying each other’s company, we lose track of the distance we travel. By the time we reach Jackson Square, the gates around the park are closed but the scent of fried doughnuts draws us to a café. At the take-out window, we order two espressos and a bag of beignets covered with powdered sugar.

“Let’s go up on the levee,” Mick suggests.

Linking hands again, we walk through the tunnel that leads to a boardwalk along the embankment. Lighting from the lampposts shimmers over the Mississippi River and washes the area in a golden blush. We find a bench with a view of the city. It’s a perfect spot. With the fragrant bag on my lap, Mick opens it up and we dig in. Each bite sends dusts of sugar into a white cloud. It’s messy, delicious, and wonderful.

When the bag is empty and our coffees finished, Mick tosses them into the trash. We brush off our clothes, laughing at the futile effort. Aswe start our walk back, Mick stops and pulls me to him. There’s poetry in the way he kisses me.

I bring my arms around his neck, captivated by the ethereal veil of the water misting over us, the sultry breeze fluttering my dress, and Mick’s sensuous mouth sliding over mine. If the paparazzi were to show up now with cameras flashing, I doubt I’d even notice.

It’s a while before we come up for air to a smattering of applause. Mick playfully takes a bow for the two older couples and grins at me.

Feeling overjoyed, I loop my arm through his. We take our time walking back to the hotel. It’s after midnight when we reach our room and kick off our shoes.

I open the French doors and step barefoot out onto the balcony. Eighteen stories below, the street still bustles with the sounds of music and people.

“Want something?” Mick indicates the outdoor bar.

“Yes.” I turn and lean my back against the railing. My gaze glides over him. He’s all masculine virility—bearded jaw, hair a sexy mess from raking his hands through it. “I want you.”

He reaches me in two long strides. The heat in his eyes, dark and glowering, crackles the night air. My heart pounds with excitement as he hauls me into a deep, urgent kiss. This one wilder than the public version. That I have the power to do this—turn him in mere seconds from casually offering me a drink to wanting to fuck my brains out—is a heady trip.

I feel Mick grasp the folds of my dress, dragging them upward. The warm breeze gusts against my bare thighs, then my bottom. His big hands squeeze the cheeks and trace the line of my thong. The rough sound he makes when finding my sex weeping with desire is almost enough to make me come. I ride his fingers, twisting my hips, sucking the tip of his tongue. Only the honk of a horn jerks me back to our not-so-private location.

“Can anyone see us?” I murmur, far less concerned than I should be.

“Maybe. But it’s dark and too far away for them to make out who we are.”

“Oh.” I shiver.

“You like that, beauty?” His voice is deep and husky against my neck. “The idea of someone watching us?”

“Y-yes.” Under the shroud of anonymity, the very thought feels sinfully risqué. “Is it a fantasy of yours?”

---