No Time like Mardi Gras. Kimberly Lang

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No Time like Mardi Gras - Kimberly Lang

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this to be more of the same. But she looked up to see a couple embracing quite passionately for their audience. The man had his hand under the woman’s shirt and her leg was hooked around his waist. When the people below began shouting both encouragement and suggestions, the couple began to incorporate the suggestions into their tableau.

      Jamie felt her jaw go slack. While she’d never been much of a voyeur before, it was somehow impossible not to watch. It was simultaneously tawdry and erotic, and in this sexually charged atmosphere, its effect on the crowd was electric.

      And Jamie wasn’t immune to the effect. She found herself leaning back into Colin a little too much, craving his smell and his heat. She couldn’t help herself.

      Colin wasn’t unaffected by this either, and the fingers that held her waistband seemed to move gently against her back like a caress. Colin’s fingers tightened around hers. She returned the squeeze.

      Her knees went a little weak and she sagged against him as he exhaled near her ear, and the warmth of his breath caused gooseflesh to rise on her neck.

      The noise and the lights and the crowd surrounding her seemed to disappear as Colin’s thumb traced circles against her palm. Her free hand came to rest on the outside of his thigh, and she felt the muscles under the fabric tighten.

      Then the crowd moved, sending the guy in front of her staggering backward to bump into her. Drunk and rowdy, he took it as an introduction and made a descriptive suggestion to her.

      Before she could do more than gasp, Colin had released her hand and pushed the guy back with a very succinct suggestion of his own. And while her erstwhile admirer was fueled by testosterone and copious amounts of alcohol, Colin stood a full head taller and several inches wider. The man’s friends wisely pulled him back.

      Colin shoved the rest of the way through the crowd and back into the street, where the people were at least moving. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

      “Yeah.” Although he’d pulled her back against him, the moment had been ruined, and Jamie felt her cheeks burning. She’d been caught in a slow simmer all afternoon, but the overcharged, overindulged raunchiness around her made that moment under the balcony feel slightly tawdry now. She wanted out of the Quarter and back to the earlier mood. “I think I’ve seen—”

      She gasped as a blonde in a very small tank top stumbled over her own feet and the drink in her hand landed all over Jamie. Something slushy and pink covered most of her shoulders and chest, and icy rivulets slid down her cleavage. Against the heat and humidity, the cold and wet drink initially felt refreshing, but Jamie’s eyes watered from the alcohol fumes even as it soaked through her shirt and bra to her skin, replacing that refreshing feeling with clammy stickiness.

      The girl mumbled an apology, but she seemed more upset by the loss of her drink than the fact that Jamie was now wearing it. The way the girl was weaving, the loss of alcohol was probably a blessing, although Jamie didn’t doubt she’d get a refill quickly enough.

      Colin took a look at her and shook his head. “Have you had enough of the Quarter now?”

      Wet, sticky and still reeling from that earlier moment, she gritted out, “Very much so.”

      Colin surveyed the damage. “Come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

      That didn’t seem likely or even possible, and there was something slightly humiliating about the whole thing, but she was now miserable in more ways than she could count, and getting off Bourbon Street seemed like a very good idea regardless. She let Colin lead her through a less crowded back alley she’d never walk into alone, not even for money, and when they emerged on Chartres Street, she realized they were going back to the Lucky Gator.

      She’d come full circle.

      * * *

      He shouldn’t have brought Jamie back into the Quarter—or at the very least, he should have kept her off Bourbon Street. He certainly knew better, even if she didn’t. It was too out of control, with too many people acting like idiots and bordering on dangerous. But there was something about Jamie that made him want to indulge her. She seemed to want to experience everything, give it all at least one try, and she embraced everything with enthusiasm and excitement.

      And he had to admit he was rather hoping she’d indulge him back—hopefully with a bit of that enthusiasm, too. It was getting damn near impossible to keep his hands to himself. What had started off as a lark, a little good deed to show her a good time, had turned into something else. Sure, Jamie was gorgeous and he wasn’t immune to that, but there was also something...refreshing about her as well. Something wholesome and sweet that stood out against the decadence of Mardi Gras and made him see the event through new eyes.

      But playing tour guide today of all days had brought its own issues. He’d had her pressed against him so many times today, felt the soft skin of her inner thigh against his cheek.... All perfectly innocent and understandable in the situation, but what it was doing to him was far from understandable or innocent.

      And while part of him wanted to believe that Jamie would want to cross that line, he wasn’t entirely sure the signals he was seeing weren’t just figments of a hopeful imagination. Hell, he was sorely tempted to press her up against the alley wall and offer to lick every drop of that drink off her skin.

      Maybe Fat Tuesday wasn’t the best day to meet someone new. At the same time, the clock was ticking. At best, she might be in town only a day or two longer—he’d have to ask—and the knowledge of a deadline only made the need to touch her more acute.

      The hand holding his was sticky, which was one of the main reasons he was taking her back to the Lucky Gator. They slipped in the back door, past a long line of people waiting for the restrooms, and stopped in front of a door marked Private.

      “Just stay here for a second.” Jamie looked bedraggled, but she nodded. It took a bit of time to make his way to the bar, where Teddy and his staff were moving at high speed to keep up with the crowd that now spilled out the doors into the street, and even longer to get Teddy’s attention. “I need your office keys.”

      Either Teddy trusted him or was simply too busy to care, because he tossed the keys Colin’s way without question or comment.

      Jamie was where he left her, doing her best to brush the worst off, and she looked at him questioningly as he unlocked the door. “We can get you a dry shirt from Teddy’s office.” Looking her over, he saw the slush ran down her leg into her shoes. That wasn’t going to be much fun to walk around in. “Not sure there’s much we can do about the shoes, though.”

      “It’s fine. I’m going to burn them tomorrow anyway.”

      At least this hadn’t dampened her spirit.

      The hallway was quieter as the door closed behind him, and he grabbed a couple of clean bar towels off the shelf. After wetting one in the mop sink, he handed both to her as he unlocked the office and led her inside. It was small and untidy, and Jamie looked uncomfortable being in there. “You can get the worst of it off with those, and I’ll see about finding you a shirt.”

      “Thanks.” Taking the wet cloth, she wiped it over her arms and hands, then closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure as she wiped her face and the parts of her neck not covered in beads. “Oh, that feels so good.”

      He swallowed hard as he watched her. Jesus, he really was on edge, if that simple action was enough to send his blood running south.

      Shirt.

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