“The Saint Philip Apartments?” I was getting to know the Quarter and the businesses and people who comprised it.
“Unit eleven,” he said, sounding wry. “I rented it the last time Leo threw me out. I moved the last of my everyday things into it this morning.” He shrugged. “It’s only nine hundred square feet, but it’s one of the few units to be completely renovated. It isn’t quite the exquisite accommodations of a lair of the Master of the City of New Orleans, but for the moment it’s mine, and comfortable enough.”
“Ah.” There seemed to be not much of anything to say to that.
He seemed to notice the uncomfortable silence that followed, and said, “And on that pithy note, I’ll take my leave. I’ll see myself out. Until tonight.” Bruiser left his mug on the small table beside the couch and strode toward the door. He left me sitting sleepily on the sofa, a cooling mug in my hands, and a glorious memory of his backside clenching in the lightweight cotton pants as he left. Bruiser had a really great butt. “I’ll pick you up at six for an early dinner. Wear a dress.”
As the door closed, I murmured into my mug, “You could move back in here. We have an empty room upstairs.” And felt how the words tasted, how they felt on my tongue, the texture of the invitation, and the faint thrill that ran along my skin. “Or maybe not. Maybe I’m not ready for a man in my life again.” And then I heard his parting words. Dinner? In a dress?
My cell vibrated and I looked at the screen to see a text from Soul. Must rearrange current case. Will be in NOLA soonest. Which told me little, but did at least indicate that she was taking me seriously.
A moment later, I smelled Eli on the stairway. He moved like a cat on his bare feet, and he’d lived here long enough to avoid the squeaky spots on the old stairs, but there was nothing he could do about the air currents, and with the AC on, his scent preceded him. “Hey,” I said.
He leaned around the corner. “Is it safe to come in?” I nodded, and Eli went straight to the espresso maker. He was wearing jeans and layered T-shirts, and managed to look deadly even without shoes. Moments later, he sat across from me in the chair he favored, his hands holding his own mug. “You want to talk about it?”
I don’t know what I’d expected, but an offer to dish wasn’t it. My eyes widened in reaction and Eli flashed me a quick glimpse of teeth. “I overheard part of that. The floors are uninsulated, you know. And that was a proposal if I ever heard one. Which is interesting since I believe you two will be having your first official date tonight.”
“No, it wasn’t.” The words said themselves before I could think them through. “It’s not a date. I mean, no ring, no lovey-dovey words, no—”
“Flowers. Catnip. Food. Tea. And a knife that might be worth thousands. Dinner and a dress. Proposal and a date night.”
My eyes stayed wide and I hunched my shoulders. “No,” I breathed. “He didn’t propose. He didn’t. I don’t want him to propose. I don’t want him to love me. I’m not ready to be shackled into a relationship.”
Eli’s grin widened, taking on a teasing twist. “A proposal tailored just for you. Thoughtful, reasoned, romantic. As much as food, flowers, and knives can be.” When I said nothing, Eli added, “Maybe it wasn’t a marriage proposal. But it was a something proposal. I think you just have to decide what that something is.” He stood and moved silently to the stairs.
“You are an evil, evil man,” I said. Eli just laughed.
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