My breath is heaving, and my heart feels like I just got done running a mile at full sprint. Her lips were soft, and the feel of her body in that dress...

I've got to think of something, anything else. I'm hard as a rock in my pants right now, and they're slim-fit pants, fashionable for this event. There's little left to the imagination even when I'm not aroused, and I'm about ready to blowout my fucking zipper.

I could whip my cock out and spank it, I'm just about so close I'm pretty sure I could blow a load in thirty seconds or less if I wanted to, but I've got to have more self-control than that. Instead I close my eyes, taking deep breaths and thinking about archery. Control, damn you, control. Breathe...

It takes me three minutes at least, but I finally calm down enough that my jacket covers what's left of my hard-on. I take a deep breath and leave the room, heading out into the main gallery. I don't see Andrea anywhere, which at the moment is good. I look for Melissa instead, hoping that maybe by talking with her I can gain a little bit of clarity.

I walk toward the sculpture that Melissa's standing next to, a recent piece of hers she calls Effort. I know she used me as the inspiration for a man who's working in the piece, and it's my favorite sculpture in the exhibit. Call it a bit of ego stroking, but to be the subject of one of the best artists in the world feels good. Besides, in steel and aluminum, I'm one sexy motherfucker.

As I approach I see that Melissa's talking to someone, a blond man with hair so white I almost think he's either prematurely gone gray, or perhaps it's a dye job. The ice cream white suit he's wearing adds to the effect, to the point where he's almost white from head to toe. I get closer, but stop when I hear him talking to Melissa.

“It's so amazing, you must have had a model who was quite close at hand,” the man says, his voice aristocratic with an accent that I can't quite place. It's very faint, but if I had to lay money on it, I'd say he's Northern European, or perhaps slightly Slavic. Strange, I know, but that's what I hear. “Please, tell me who you used. I can see the love in it, is it your boyfriend or husband perhaps?”

Melissa actually blushes, and I can see why. This guy knows how to charm, and by the twinkle in his eyes, he knows it, too. If there's anything I don't like about him, it's that he smiles a bit too much, like he's trying out to be the Joker or something. The smiles never touch his eyes, which look cold as ice. It's like he's observing and looking down on the world, or perhaps he's just smiling because he knows he's supposed to. Melissa though doesn't have the same instincts that I do, and takes the smiles as genuine.

“Oh no, I don't have a boyfriend or anything like that,” she says, somewhat wistfully before adding, “It's my brother. He helps take care of me, and I adore him with all my heart.”

“Your art reflects that,” the man says, reaching out and touching Melissa's arm in a more than friendly manner. This is fucking weird, and I've got all sorts of alarm bells going off in my head. “How did you get so many views of him working like this though?”

“We have a farm,” Melissa says, more red flags popping up. I want to step in, but I'm not sure how to do it without freaking my sister out, which is the last thing I want to do. “It's just outside town, and he works hard to keep it cleared out. We don't grow anything, but it helps to keep some of it nice for walks, or when Carson goes out to practice his archery. I think he likes it too because it helps him stay in shape.”

In my head, my little mental control center is screaming for me to be at DEFCON 2. This guy is clearly pumping Melissa for information. I can see it in his eyes; he's absorbing everything and forgetting nothing. “I see. And the pretty young woman who was with you earlier, in the red dress? Is she a friend?”

“Ah, well, something like that,” Melissa replies, and I sneak my hand down to my pocket, taking out my phone. I pretend I'm getting a call while I engage the camera, setting it for burst mode, which I've never used before. In any case I position the camera toward Melissa and the blond man and tap, still pretending I'm talking on the phone while the camera snaps away. I walk toward the door after I count to ten, heading for Nathan, who I can see is still working security.

“Nathan.”

“Carson,” he greets, his eyes unreadable as he scans the crowd. “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” I admit, handing him my phone. “I just took a series of pictures. They're of Melissa talking to a man.”

“What is so wrong about that?” Nathan asks, giving me a little smile. There's tension in it though, like he'd be happier if I'd told him that Melissa wasn't talking to anyone, especially not a man. “It's not like she is unattractive, and she is the featured artist.”

I shake my head, turning around and leaning against the wall next to him. “There was something... off about this guy. First of all, he seemed to be pumping 'Lissa for information, like he wanted to know where we lived, things like that. But second, there was something about this guy's eyes. Listen, can you get the photos off of my phone, check this guy out? I'll cover Melissa for now, I think he just wanted info, but have Mercy on the lookout, too. Where is she?”

“Potty break. Even us badasses have to take a piss once in a while.”

I nod. “And have you seen Andrea?”

“You mean after she came out of your back offices looking both disheveled and pissed off? She grabbed a drink and went outside, I think she is looking at the river. What happened?” Nathan asked, slightly concerned. “I hope you two did not have a fight.”

“No, but... let me go check on 'Lissa. Thanks, Nathan,” I say, heading back toward Melissa. She's still talking to the man, whose smile hasn't changed a bit.

“So you work out of your barn, how fascinating,” he comments, Melissa looking just a little starstruck. I can understand it, sadly enough. Despite his slightly strange demeanor, he's almost perfectly handsome, in that sort of way that works for supermodels or television personalities. And he's got a charming way of speaking. I'm pretty sure he could walk into any bar or club in New Orleans and walk out with his choice of companions for the night. “But you say you're having visitors, so you cannot work so fast?”

“Ah, Melissa, there you are,” I greet them, just a little too loudly in order to interrupt any answer she may have given him. “I've been looking all over for you, I had a good friend who was interested in one of your paintings and I need your help.”

“Oh, Carson, I didn't see you come up,” Melissa says, turning to me. She shrugs off the man's arm as she does, and I see his eyes narrow, he didn't like that at all. Well fuck you Jack, I don't care if you think I just cockblocked you, she's my sister, and you do not have my permission to touch her that way. “I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Carson, this is Victor Orton, who was just admiring Effort so much. Victor, this is my brother, Carson Sands.”

“It is a pleasure,” Orton says, shaking hands. He's got a crushing grip, but I've dealt with crushing grips before, and I think he's a little surprised when I don't wilt under his fingers. “Your sister is quite extraordinary.”

“I agree, Mr. Orton. It's why I protect her so much, it's a weakness of mine,” I reply, hint and threat included subtly. Orton's smile comes back, like he's amused that I would even think of saying such a subtle threat to him, but he nods anyway.

“Well, in any case Mr. Sands, congratulations on a wonderful show. I'm certain that your business will continue to grow by leaps and bounds. I must see the rest of the pieces, so I bid you farewell,” Orton says, walking away. I watch him go, my stomach still not feeling good about what I watched.

Melissa though doesn't quite understand. “So who did you want me to see?”

“Actually, 'Lissa, I just wanted to get that guy away from you,” I explain gently, taking her hand. “He was asking questions that I'm not sure we should be answering considering who's hanging out back at the farm.”

Melissa opens her mouth, then closes it, realizing what all she told Orton. “But he seemed like such a nice man.”

“I'm sure he did,” I say, patting her hand. “And there's a ninety percent chance that I'm just being paranoid, and he really is just an art lover who was also hitting on you a little bit. But still, it'd do my nerves a ton of good if you'd hang out next to Nathan and Mercy for the rest of the night. I'm going to look for Andrea. Nathan said she's maybe outside looking at the river.”

“I can do that,” Melissa agrees, and I lead her over to Katrina and Nathan. “Okay, you hang out with these guys, I'll find Andrea, and then, maybe it's time to call it an evening? I'll handle the formal farewells, and Robert can wrap up the rest of the show himself. All the A-listers are pretty much gone anyway.”

“This town has A-listers?” Katrina wisecracks, then goes serious. “We'll take care of it, Carson. Don't worry.”

I lean in close to Katrina, curious. “What're you carrying?”

“Glock 19. You have a good selection.”

“Thanks.”

I find Robert next and tell him my plans before leaving. The path to the river is pretty short, we're only a block away, and there isn't a lot in between that would be in any way interesting at this time of night. We're not actually on Bourbon Street, there's no way in hell I could run a gallery on that insane asylum. Instead we're a couple of blocks toward the Mississippi, still in the Quarter, but off the worst of the tourist paths.

Leaving the gallery I give Nathan a nod, and he peels off to get the van while I go for Andrea. As I walk I get more and more pissed off, her little stunt to try and cocktease me left Melissa vulnerable. Regardless of what I might feel for Andrea, and no matter what she might say she thinks about me or what she feels for Melissa, that shit doesn't fly in my book.

I find her standing on the concrete walkway that borders the river watching a riverboat go by, its lights twinkling in the darkness. “You done?”

She turns, and despite being pissed, I still want her. She gives me a measured look, then turns back to the river. “What do you want?”

“Your little stunt and the way you stormed out left Melissa open to be quizzed by some Don fucking Juan,” I seethe, my anger at least keeping my horniness under control. “She spent five minutes at least talking to some guy who got her to give him everything but our address and phone number. You happy now?”

“What? This is somehow my fault?” she asks, getting pissed. “You're the one who dragged me into the office to lay one on me!”

“You weren't exactly fighting me off, either!” I yell, losing my temper. “Goddammit Andrea, regardless of what you and I might want to do, Melissa's safety was supposed to come first! What were you thinking?!”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she shoots back, angry. “Maybe I fucked up, but you fucked up, too! You think I'm happy about this? In case you haven't noticed, Melissa's not a target. I am! My brother, his wife, and his daughter are! You two aren't!”

“Then why protect her? Or at least try to?” I ask, and Andrea shakes her head in exasperation. “What?”

“I went with her because I love her too, okay? It's nice to have a sister, a real one. And I've got twenty-one years to try and catch up with her, and I'm sorry I haven't been watching her and protecting her since before I was born, seeing as how I only found out about her like goddamn yesterday. I'm going to fuck it up sometimes, despite my best efforts. I'm trying, so you should cut me some slack!”

I nod, accepting what she said. I'm still pissed, but she's got a point. “You're right. Okay, fine. We both fucked up. I should have just ignored what you're rocking and kept myself under control. I'm sorry about that.”

“And are you sorry about what we did?” she asks, and I can hear the tension in her voice. She's opening herself a bit to me, and I can't ignore that either. The vulnerability, the hidden hope in her tone of voice is a reflection of my own, but still, we can't do anything about it right now.

“If you mean do I regret kissing you, no. The timing I regret, but kissing you? No. If you're asking if I'm ready to do what you challenged me to do... the answer to that right now is no. I need to know I can control myself enough to protect 'Lissa, you, and the rest of my family. Call me a big softie, but I want you all to be safe, too,” I say, my anger somewhat evaporating. “Still, you need to get back. I asked Nathan to take Melissa home, and I'd appreciate it if you could help her on the way back. She needs to know that her mistake isn't her fault.”

Andrea nods, and runs her hand through her hair. “I understand. I'm sorry, Carson. I really am.”

“I know. We'll talk about this later, but I'm sorry, too.”

Andrea walks back toward the gallery, and I take a moment to watch the riverboat ease around the bend of the river, headed upriver for the evening. I know on board there's people gambling with money, thinking it's all sorts of fun to drop some chips on the felt to see what the next card to come out is. I've done it myself once or twice.

But tonight the stakes in my own personal gamble just increased, and the odds are looking like they're not in my favor. What am I going to do? I wasn't lying to Andrea. I want the new members of my family to remain safe just as much as Melissa does, and I can't imagine sending them away to take their risks with Peter DeLaCoeur's fury. But in an increasingly dangerous game, I'm worried I'm out of my depth.

And then there's the game between Andrea and myself. Can I trust her with my intense needs? She seems like the woman who can accept what I demand, and the woman who can be everything I require. She's perfect for me in every other aspect of her life pretty much, so am I just hoping for total perfection as well?

What the hell am I going to do?