Page 299 of Romeo

Gator’s expression changed instantly. “Aw, fuck.”

“And yours.”

“Now why the hell you gotta ruin my mornin’ too?”

“Because if those two find out from someone else I went and did somethin’ a Cajun mama considers her God-given right to be present for—somethin’ that should’ve had ’em in pearls, good shoes, and the front goddamn row without so much as a phone call, Cher—Sylvia St. James ain’t the woman we’ll be prayin’ never finds us.”

Worm snorted into his drink.

Gator scrubbed a hand down his face, already looking like a man contemplating the wisdom of leaving the country.

I understood the feeling.

Sylvia St. James could send whoever the fuck she wanted. Montclair could roll into Louisiana with the entire Sons of Hell behind him. Granny could land that jet and start swinging before her feet hit Bourbon Street.

None of them scared me half as much as my mama finding out I’d done all this without including her.

Four hours.

I could make four hours work.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Fiona

I woke slowly to the mattress dipping behind me and warmth settling against my back.

For one confused second, I didn’t know where I was. The room was unfamiliar, the muted sounds coming from somewhere beneath the floor were nothing like Granny’s quiet house, and there was a heaviness in my body that made it feel as though I had slept for days instead of hours. Then an arm slid around my waist and pulled me backward against a solid chest, and everything from yesterday came rushing back.

New Orleans.

The Bourbon Bar.

Jasper.

His beard scruff brushed the side of my neck a second before his lips touched the skin beneath my ear, and the last traces of sleep disappeared beneath a slow warmth spreading through me. I could feel the smile in his next kiss, could almost picture the look on his face without opening my eyes, and something about waking up with him wrapped around me made the room feel less strange.

“Mmm,” I murmured as I stretched beneath his arm. “You’re back.”

“Never left, Cher.”

His voice was low against my neck, rough enough to send another shiver through me. I tilted my head without thinking, giving him more room, and Jasper took the invitation exactly as I expected him to. His mouth moved along the side of my throat while his hand rested against my stomach, warm and possessive without trying to lead me anywhere. After almost a year of him holding himself back, I had become painfully aware of every moment he stopped doing it.

I rolled toward him.

The look in his eyes when I finally faced him made the rest of the room disappear.

I kissed him before he could say anything.

There had been too many interrupted kisses between us. Too many times when Jasper had pulled away first because he was determined to be the gentleman I had never asked for. Too many nights wondering what would happen when there was no school, no Granny in the next room, no reason for him to stop because I was too young or the timing was wrong or he had decided patience was some kind of sacred calling.

His hand slid into my hair as he kissed me back, and for a few seconds, I let myself believe this was finally it.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

The thought had barely formed when Jasper groaned against my mouth and pulled back.

I stared at him. “No.”