CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Owen
I was on tenterhooks throughout the meal. While the food was fantastic and the service impeccable, I was waiting endlessly for the moment Tabby would remember where we’d left off in the conversation about Howie and ask to know about me. Frankly, I didn’t hate the idea of confessing my fetish and it was something I’d done many times in the past, but this was the first time I was going to have to tell it to someone whose reaction actually mattered to me. If she reacted negatively, or worse, if she didn’t want to see me anymore at all, I knew I would take it harder than any other adverse responses I’d met throughout the years.
The question never arose though. We talked with such an effortless flow as we ate that the moment never came in which she met my eyes and expressed a desire to know. Of course, I already knew she wanted me to tell her. She’d made that clear over the course of our romance. This evening was her chance to find out once and for all, though, and yet she spent the dinner discussing the food and Chicago and her last few photography gigs. When we stood to leave, I realized I was mildly disappointed. I’d prepared myself so thoroughly to lay everything out to her that it hadn’t crossed my mind we’d get distracted, and I felt like we’d bypassed the whole shebang.
It was anticlimactic, and I was antsy.
I led her out to the Honda and helped her in like a gentleman should, then got in myself. I had no intention of taking her to The Club tonight. There wasn’t an auction anyway, and that seemed to be the thing that held her interest about the place. Starting the car, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I suggested, “If you’d like to see it, I’d love to show you my house. It’s probably right up your alley, with the whole creative gene in you and everything.”
“Really?” Her entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, and I could see the regret in her eyes that she hadn’t brought her camera. I had no idea what kind of house she imagined I lived in, but I had a feeling she wasn’t going to be disappointed either way once she saw it. “Absolutely!”
We didn’t speak during the drive, but this time was different than last night. There wasn’t any discomfort or tension between us, unless sexual tension counted in which case it was as ripe as ever, and I could feel the excitement radiating from Tabby beside me as we zoomed out of the commercialized districts and into the quieter neighborhoods with sprawling yards and exquisite wraparound porches. It occurred to me she probably hadn’t seen New Orleans properly during her last stay, and I decided I would have to be her tour guide during this one.
“Here it is,” I announced as I turned onto a long, winding driveway. I came to a stop outside a closed iron gate and leaned out the window to punch in the passcode.
“No, it’s not!” she cried.
I paused in the middle of stabbing numbered buttons with my index finger and looked around at her. “What are you talking about? I might be an Average Joe tonight, but I still know where I live,” I joked.
“There’s no way you live here,” she argued with a violent shaking of her head. “No way. This has to be a museum or something, or one of those plantation houses people rent out for weddings.”
“Actually, the last wedding held here was in the late nineteenth century,” I told her smugly and eased forward as the gates slowly opened. “It was a retired doctor and a young school ma’am. Quite an age difference, but apparently, they had four children and were blissfully happy.”
“Well, yeah,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. She jabbed a hand toward the windshield. “Who could possibly live here and be unhappy?”
I laughed. I’d spent many evenings in that very home feeling depressed, morbid, or downright hateful at the world for one superficial reason or another. But now, looking at its reaching columns and flourished windows and cheerful gold light spilling onto the emerald lawn as Tabby unbuckled herself to get a closer look through the glass, I couldn’t imagine being anything less than blissfully happy there.
“Ready to see the inside?” I asked, joining her in unbuckling and reaching for the door handle.
“God, yes!” She was so pure and girlish that the rush of feelings I had in that instant were of the wholly innocent kind — playful and adoring and giddy. I wanted to tickle her and hear the shrieks she’d repressed in the restaurant. I wanted to pick her up and throw her over my shoulder and introduce her to my staff just to embarrass her so that her cheeks turned red. I wanted to wrestle around on the soft grass until we were breathless and just stared at the stars for hours.
Jesus, this creature was turning me into a romantic.
The door, one in a set of two that made up a rather imposing yet ornate entrance, opened before we reached it. My butler, Dieter, stepped aside as we walked in, and I immediately made introductions as he took our coats. Tabby greeted him with her typical friendliness and Dieter responded politely, then he asked if I needed anything and left the foyer once I told him I was fine.
“Wow,” she breathed, the word rushing out of her like water.
Her face was tilted up toward the ceiling, which was three stories high and painted with a mural inspired by the Louisiana summer sunset. It was a bold piece that had been added in the relatively recent past, though many years before I’d taken possession of the house, and Tabby was captivated. I saw her fingers stroking the air as if mimicking the motion of snapping a camera. When she finally tore her gaze away to take in the soaring double staircase, I heard a whoosh of air being sucked in between her lips.
“Do you ever feel like you have to be really careful in here or else a guard will come and yell at you?” she whispered.
I laughed, and the sound echoed off the portrait-adorned walls. “I don’t, but I know some of my staff members do.”
“How many staff members do you have?” she asked, turning to me for the first time since we’d entered.
“Around fifteen, depending on who you count.” I flicked my chin toward one of the two immense archways leading into adjoining rooms. “Do you want to meet some of them?”
She nodded and allowed me to take her hand. Her eyes were wide as I led her into a vintage parlor, through a narrow corridor, and into a kitchen larger than Nikolai’s specially designed one. Several household employees were bustling around, including my chef, my head housekeeper, and Stephan.
“Tabby, this is Arturo, my personal chef and the person who makes staying fit a challenge for me.” Arturo smiled and waved a spatula. “And this is Marie Boudreaux. Without her, this place would be a sad, filthy reminder of history left to decay in the elements.”
Marie scurried forward with both hands outstretched, and she took Tabby’s free hand between them. “Oh, dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she gushed. “I didn’t know you were coming, so I’m thrilled I did the sheets today. Do you need anything special? A goose-feather pillow, perhaps?”
“No, I’m fine.” Tabby smiled. I wasn’t surprised to see the instant comradery between her and Marie, as they shared the same infectious spirit. Nevertheless, I wanted to get her out of there before Marie’s chatter mouth revealed more than I wanted. I hadn’t spoken about Tabby too much since first meeting her, but Marie was the type to pick up on everything verbalized or otherwise, and I was sure she knew this girl was the reason I’d been behaving so unusually as of late.
“You know Stephan, of course,” I finished, gesturing toward my driver. He inclined his head to Tabby and she gave him a cheerful hello, then I said, “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.”
I was aroused, almost alarmingly so. Having her in my space was more delicious than I could have imagined. Her scent wafting in my hallways and her smile lighting up my expansive rooms and her sweet disposition charming my workers was a fit so perfect it was as if she’d always been there. And it made me want her. Really badly.
I needed her now.
The moment I showed her into my bedroom, I closed the door behind us. “This is where you sle—?”
I cut her off by taking her waist, yanking her to me, and crushing my mouth upon hers.