“You know,” Layla said, her eyes sparkling, “the great pirate Jean Lafitte is said to have killed three men in three separate duels in a single night in this very courtyard.”
“Badass. Sounds like my kind of pirate.”
“You may be a sadist, but I don’t believe you’d kill a man, Duff.”
He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Ah, but the day is young yet.” She laughed, and he felt inexplicably pleased with himself. “What else? This city is so rich with history—one of the few places in the U.S. as filled with history as Europe—and I like that you know all the stories.”
“Oh, not all of them—not by a long shot. But I will tell you, the voodoo queen Marie Laveau lived only a few blocks from here. Legend has it she practiced voodoo rites in the wishing well right here in this courtyard. Its real name is the Devil’s Wishing Well, and no one knows if the name came first, or if it was named for her practice of the dark arts.”
“Why do you look so happy about that?”
“She fascinates me. A strong, powerful, fearless woman who held her own in a man’s world? That’s the kind of woman I want to know about.”
“It’s the kind of woman you are,” he said.
She paused, watching his face for several long moments. Then she shook her head. “No. I’m afraid of a lot of things.”
“Like what, lovely?” he asked softly, not wanting to frighten her off. He didn’t understand why he felt he needed to know. Perhaps for the same reason she felt compelled to know about the infamous voodoo queen.
She bit her lip. “Well, like June bugs. Goddamn exoskeletal creatures from hell. They always fly into my hair.” She shivered. “Seriously. The world would be a better place without them. I need a giant exterminator to come along and wipe them from the face of the earth.”
He chuckled. “What else?”
“I’m . . . a little afraid of you.”
“As you should be.”
“No. Not like that. I don’t mean the kink. That’s the good kind of fear. I mean that I’m . . .” She trailed off, looking down at the table and twisting her cloth napkin between her fingers. Without looking up, she said softly, “I’m afraid because I want you to dominate me. And that’s something I haven’t wanted for a very long time—something I was certain I’d never want again.” She raised her chin and met his gaze then. “It frankly scares the shit out of me—that I’ve let you so far in, you know? And I like it all a little too much. The kink. This.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, lovely girl. I do. I’m kind of going through the same thing myself. It’s weird, eh? You and me. But it’s not really, when you stop and think about it. We have a lot in common. Granted, some of it is the bad stuff, but still, it’s common ground.”
“Like what?”
“Like feeling as if we’re outcasts in our own families. And our shitty relationship histories. Except, of course, in my case, it was my own doing.”
“It was in my case, too, though, Duff. I chose badly.”
“And so you mean to not choose at all now—is that it?”
“What?”
He saw the storm in her expression, and knew immediately he’d said the wrong thing. Reaching across the table, he tried to take her hand, but she yanked it back, green eyes blazing.
“Oh, I like your fire, darlin’ girl, but I truly didn’t mean to offend or to imply I know your mind. Except I believe I do. Because I’m of the same mind.” He leaned in closer and took her hand again, and this time she let him hold on to it. “We are birds of a feather, you and I.”
“Maybe.”
“You know we are. We are the black sheep, you and I, yes? Yeah. But I’m coming to figure out, on an intellectual level, at least, that we simply walk to the beat of our own drummers, rather than those set down by our parents. You know, my folks are convinced that those bar brawls were my own fault. They don’t believe me when I tell them how many blokes come at me because of my size. My da, especially. He thinks I’ve done something to provoke it. But I swear, I mind my own business, never hit on anyone’s girl. When you’re my size, you can’t afford to throw your weight around, unless you’re truly dedicated to becoming a hoodlum. And my brother, Leith . . . all right, so maybe he looked up to me and I did have something to do with him wanting to be a musician, and I’m fairly certain his fascination with fast bikes is my fault. But he’s male. We like fast things, and let’s face it: playing guitar gets a guy laid, although he’s pretty enough that he doesn’t need to be in a band for that. But I didn’t turn him on to kink—that’s something he came to on his own, not that my parents know about that part, with him or me. There has to be some genetic factor, or something. And fuck, that came out in a pretty flood, didn’t it? Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry, Duff. This is probably the most open you’ve been with me.”
He ran a hand over his smooth head. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. I just don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me, right? I have a good life. I’m a damn happy man, as I should be. Not complaining, really. I was trying to point out that we have some history in common.”
“You’re right—we do. I can’t tell you how many times I got the ‘you should be more like your brother’ speech. My brother the preacher! In our church, women aren’t even allowed to preach, which is even more alienating. But I don’t have that in me—to be pious and follow someone’s rules without question. I never have. My mother has that mind-set—other than her one big fuckup—and she’s paid for that her whole life. Sometimes I think she shouldn’t have stayed with my father, despite us kids.”