Chapter 11

Maverick

When Carys’ arms slip from my neck, I assume she’s needing to get back to work, but instead, her hands go to the waist of my jeans. The slight graze of her fingers on the sensitive skin on my stomach causes me to jump and then groan. Her hot mouth is on my neck, and for a split second, I consider letting her continue on the path of least resistance, but not yet.

“Carys,” I breathe, her name coming out like a plea.

“Uh huh,” she replies, equally breathless and lost in the moment.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to think of dead puppies and saggy grandma titties. It’s a trick my best friend in junior high taught me. Everyone has something that pours on the cold water, pressing the brakes. Dead puppies and saggy grandma titties do it for me. “Not here,” I finally manage in a calm, controlled tone. “Not here.”

Her hands halt as she backs away a few inches to look at my face, her eyes still hooded and dreamy from her orgasm. And what a fantastic orgasm it was. I could watch Carys come all damn day.

“You don’t want me...” Her words drift off and I see the confusion turning to some sort of rejection and I don’t want that, so I interrupt, wrapping my arms around her as I do.

“I want,” I confess in a low whisper against her hair. “I promise. I want you sprawled out on my bed. I want to see you come over and over again. I want to own every orgasm. And I want your sweet mouth on my dick. I want to see you, hold you, taste you. I want it all. But not here. I need more than ten minutes in a bathroom.”

When she pulls back this time, her eyes are wide and alert. I watch as her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. She takes inventory of my face, drinking me in and I let her get her fill.

“Okay,” she finally says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek, letting her lips linger on my jaw and testing my resolve.

“Soon,” I promise.

My phone in my pocket rings, filling the quiet that surrounds us, and we both jump.

As I retrieve it and slide my finger across the screen absentmindedly, my heart drops when I hear the voice on the other end.

“Maverick,” my father says without waiting for me to say anything first. “I was wondering when you’d finally take my call.” Add my father’s voice to the list of instant boner-killers. It may work better than my go-to dead puppies and saggy grandma titties.

“Hello, Dad,” I say, working to retain my cool—my calm state of mind I’ve found since being here at the Blue Bayou. Closing my eyes, I back away from Carys and take a deep breath as I lean against the bathroom wall.

When I open my eyes, I meet Carys’ gaze and give her a tight smile. She reads me well and points to the tool box, quietly loading up our supplies. “I’ll take these downstairs,” she whispers, brushing past me, but not before leaving a soft kiss on my jaw.

“See you in a minute,” I whisper back, pressing the phone to my chest in hopes my father won’t hear. I don’t want him to know about Carys or this hotel. This is my own little piece of paradise and I don’t want him to taint it.

“Maverick?” my father asks, sounding a bit distracted himself.

“Yes?” I reply, albeit a bit tersely. I just want to get this call over with, so I can go on with my day. I want to forget about him and everything waiting on me back in Dallas, at least for a few more days.

“Son, when are you going to stop this juvenile behavior and come back to work? You have responsibilities here. You can’t just walk away and think everything will be taken care of for you. It doesn’t work like that. Not in the real world.”

I roll my eyes, not in the mood for one of his teaching moments or lectures. “I needed a few days to clear my head. I’m sure I have at least a few weeks of vacation I can use.”

“Most people request a vacation ahead of time. They don’t storm out and not come back.”

Taking a deep breath, I kick off the wall and walk into the hotel room and over to the window. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

“Where are you? I called the Hotel Monteleone, assuming that’s where you would’ve gone, but Henry said he hadn’t seen you check in.”

“How did you know I’m in New Orleans?”

“Shepard.”

What the fuck? Shep wouldn’t sell me out like that. He knows I’m here to get away from my father. There’s no way he would’ve put him on my trail.

“So, where are you?” my father asks again, going on with business as usual. “I have some paperwork I need to send over for you to look at. If you’re going to be out of town, you should at least make yourself useful.”

“That’s not a vacation,” I grumble, hating his workaholic ways. One more thing I never want to acquire from my father. What happened to living life?

“I think it’s the least you can do since you didn’t call or let anyone know you were leaving in the first place.”

Exhaling another deep breath to keep myself from saying something that would lead to a full-on fight, I finally cave a little. “I’m staying down the street from The Mont. If you’ll send whatever you need me to look at there, I’ll pick it up from the front desk. Ask Henry to hold it for me.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” he asks.

The street below is bustling and so alive, culture and character oozing from every brick. I want to be down there, taking Carys for coffee or stopping on a corner to hear a saxophone player. To get him off the phone and keep him content, I finally respond with, “Give me another week.”

It’s his turn to sigh heavily into the phone. “Fine, but I’m sending over some properties I need you to take a look at. I’m particularly interested in tracking down the owners of the individual buildings. I was going to go there and do it myself, but since you’re already there, I figured I could trust you with this simple task.”

My hackles are up immediately, because I have no desire to be his beck and call boy. I don’t want to do his dirty deeds.

“I have a contact who’s looking for some investment property in the French Quarter area. If this deal goes well, I think he’ll be interested in trusting us with larger acquisitions down the road.”

Investment property. I guess I could do that. As long as I’m not handing over someone else’s life so this guy can flip it and get rich, I’m willing to give it a shot. Plus, it gets me another week...another week of figuring shit out and another week of getting to know Carys. Maybe I can even draw it out a little longer. I scratch his back, he can scratch mine.

“Fine, send it over. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Sounds good. Pick up the paperwork from Henry tomorrow and get back to me once you’ve given it a look.”

“Okay,” I finally say, ending the call a second later.

For a minute, I stand at the window, thinking about how it’s so easy to fall into this city and forget a world exists outside of it. That’s what’s happened to me since I’ve been here. I stumbled upon this enchanted establishment and its enigma of an owner and I’ve forgotten about my job, my father, and any responsibilities I left behind.

It’s been good for me.

Being here makes me feel like I can breathe again. The real Maverick has made an appearance and I’m not ready to let go just yet. If a week is all I have left of my time here, I’m going to make the best of it.

“So, one week, huh?”

Carys startles me from my thoughts. I didn’t realize she’d come back into the room, but I don’t have anything to hide. Honest is the only thing I ever want to be with her. From her tone, I can tell she’s a little disappointed, but also not surprised.

“Looks like it,” I reply pushing off the windowsill.

She quietly shuts the door behind her to give us some privacy as a couple guests make their way down the stairs.

Stalking toward her, I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her to me, leaning closer so I can breathe in her sweet, sultry scent—like a sugar cookie mixed with exotic spices. I can’t put my finger on it, but I love it. “I think we should make the best of it, don’t you?” I ask, grazing my teeth along her delicate collar bone.

“Couldn’t agree more,” she acquiesces, followed by a soft moan as her body melds to mine.

As much as I’d love to take her on the bed behind us, I know we can’t, and when I finally do, I want to take my time. “Let’s get out of here so Miss Mary can do her thing and this room can be ready for your guests.”

“Right,” she says, bringing herself back to the here and now. “How about I treat you to a late lunch at my apartment? A thank you for fixing the bathroom and saving me a plumber bill.”

“A late lunch sounds great. I need to clean up and make a phone call. Can I meet you there in an hour or so?” I ask, needing a chance to call Shep and get a grip on what’s going on in Dallas before the papers arrive tomorrow from my father.

She quirks her lips, fighting back a full-blown smile. “Sounds like a date,” she says, then pauses. “I have to work the desk again tonight, so we won’t have very long, but...”

“We’ll take what we can get,” I finish for her, giving her a wink.

“Yeah, we’ll take what we can get.” She smiles and it hits me down deep, causing warmth to radiate through my chest.

A week.

That should be plenty of time to have some fun with Carys Matthews.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

One more kiss for the road and Carys and I part ways. My room is on the third floor, giving me a little better view than 201. I can see above the building across the street, allowing me to see more of the cathedral when I turn one way and deeper into the city when I turn the other. Regardless, the vibrantly painted buildings across from the hotel are scenic enough. Every night I open my drapes so the colors are the first thing I see. Call me crazy, but I think it’s a great way to start the morning. Maybe I got that from my grandpa. He was always an up-with-the-roosters kind of person.

“Always remember, you can sleep when you’re dead.”

That’s one of the lines he wrote in the old, worn journal I carry around with me everywhere I go. He left me so many practicalities, nuggets of truth, and pieces of wisdom—each word reminding me of days on the farm, when my life was simpler...when my mother was still alive and I felt like I had purpose and choices. Since they’ve both died, that part of me—the wild and free Maverick who felt like he had the world by the tail—died too. Each time I open the cover of the journal and flip to a random page, I’m hoping a clear plan will jump out at me, like a light bulb going off above my head.

Since I’ve been in New Orleans, I’ve probably read it from front to back twice over, searching the pages for an answer to my current predicament—which way to turn, what step to take next. Part of me says: do what makes you happy, go where you feel alive, be who you want to be. The other part of me says: you have a job and responsibilities. That second part is my rational side, the side that also remembers my inheritance won’t be available to me for two more years.

Two years doesn’t seem long unless you’re stuck in a job you hate and slowly feel yourself turning into your father, who you’ve never admired.

I have a small savings, but living isn’t cheap, and that old adage—the more you make, the more you spend—is true. I think my grandpa told me that too, along with: live below your means, always allow room for your dreams.

Sighing, I pull out my phone and dial up Shep. I need some answers.

“This is Shep,” he says after a couple rings.

“Hey,” I reply, falling back on the bed.

“Mav,” he greets with amusement. “Got more computer problems for me?”

“Nope, but I did speak to my father today, and he said you told him I’m in New Orleans, so I called to say: What the fuck?”

“Whoa. Dude, not me. I haven’t even talked to him since you called.”

“Who else knows I’m here?” I ask, wanting to know whose ass to kick or who is no longer in my circle of trust.

“The only person I told was Rosalyn. She was in my office when I was on the phone with you. We’ve been working together on a project.”

I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Right,” Shep continues. “Ros is no longer in the circle of trust.”

I laugh, because we’re always on the same wavelength. Shep knows me better than anyone. He knows the real me—the part my father tries to ignore and the part I try to overcome. He was there when my mom died and again, six months later, when my grandfather died. Thanks to our similar upbringing, he understands me. It’s reassuring to have at least one person in the world who gets what it’s like to be a Kensington, but deep down want to be a Maverick.

Shep is a maverick too, maybe not in name, but definitely in all the ways that count.

“Fuck Ros,” I add.

“You did.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Have you done the deed with Miss Blue Bayou?”

“None of your damn business.”

“What?” he asks, shock evident in his tone. “Since when do I not get full disclosure? You really like this girl or something?”

“None of your business,” I reiterate, visions of Carys playing through my mind and feelings of possessiveness following close behind. “But you can do me a favor and keep your ears open. My dad is sending me some properties he wants me to look into while I’m here. He says it’s investment property for a new contact that could lead to something bigger. You know I don’t mind finding someone something to invest in, but if there’s something more behind it, I want to know. I’m tired of being his pawn.”

“Ten-four. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open. I’m going to the Tower Club tomorrow night for a fundraiser. Your father will be there.”

“I’m sure he will be,” I mutter. “Whatever makes him look good. Gotta keep up that pristine appearance so people won’t know what a slimy bastard he really is.”

“Now, now, Mav. It’s all in the name of good business.”

We both laugh this time because we both know that’s total bullshit.

“I’ve gotta go,” I tell him, pulling myself to a sitting position. “I’ve got a date.”

“Date, huh?” Shep asks, insinuation dripping from his tone. “You know, you don’t have to dress it up fancy for me. We can call it what it is. But I’ve never known you to be one for midday booty calls.”

“Yep, talk to you later,” I reply, hanging up before he gets another word in.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I’m out the door and headed down the stairs. When I get to the bottom, I realize I have no clue where Carys actually lives. Pausing in the foyer, I take a few steps back toward the desk, where George is reading a newspaper.

“Hello, Mr. Kensington,” George says, folding his paper. “How can I help you?”

“Maverick, George. Call me Maverick.”

He smiles, shaking his head. I know I’m asking a lot, because everyone else around here gets called by their last name. George is a stickler for manners and tradition.

“Maverick,” he concedes with a dip of his chin.

“Carys,” I begin, but stop because I suddenly feel nervous that I’m asking George, the closest thing Carys has to a father or grandfather, where she lives. He might not want to provide that information.

“Miss Carys is in her apartment. Out the back door and through the courtyard, small door nestled behind the ivy. It’s blue, you can’t miss it.”

I smile my appreciation. “Thank you.”

Making my way toward the back door, I pause for a second when I hear George whistling a familiar tune. I can’t put my finger on it, but the melody is something I’ve heard before. Grinning from ear to ear, I take a second and inhale, letting everything about this moment—the place, the city, the people—soak deep into my soul. I’m not sure another week here will be long enough.

I might never get enough.