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"Which is?"
No, I did not want to tell her. It was ridiculous, but I couldn't make myself say it. Instead, I coughed and glanced out the windows at the view of Bourbon Street below. When I finally convinced my eyes to look at her again, I avoided answering her question by asking one of my own. "Why are you in New Orleans? For fun?"
"Naturally." She sashayed up to me, so close the lass had to bend her head back to see my face. "I got enough work at work. This is a vacation. According to everyone but you, vacation is defined as traveling with no useful purpose, solely to have a good time."
"I see." I tapped a fingertip on her lips. "How long are you here?"
"Leaving on the red-eye tomorrow night."
"Then I have two days with you." I touched my lips to hers but kept the kiss chaste. "Two days to plumb the depths of the mystery that is Emery Granger."
"Plumb away," she said, her tone sultry.
I leaned in as if to kiss her but stopped millimeters from her lips. "I look forward to it."
My thoughts return to the present, and I rise from the sofa to offer her my hand. "To your hotel."
"Um, it's more of a hostel than a hotel." She accepts my help in getting up. "Nowhere near as swanky as this pad."
I shrug. "Money isn't important."
"Says the guy who probably has his own private Fort Knox."
I compress my lips and hiss a breath out through my nostrils. "I need a change of clothes before we leave."
Should I tell her the truth about me? No, it doesn't matter. I'll spend two days with her in an attempt to teach myself how to relax. Then we will say goodbye. Simple. Clean. No entanglements.
"Yeah," she says, "you're not really dressed for a freewheeling day of sightseeing. Of course, a billionaire can get away with wearing anything, I guess."
"I'm not a billionaire." As I walk toward the bedroom door, I find myself blurting out the truth. "Only a millionaire several times over."
Before she can say anything else, I duck into the bedroom. And I don't look back. She probably wears a stunned expression. Whatever she thinks of me now, I'm sure spending two days with me will convince her to jump on the red-eye tomorrow night, and never think of me again.
I emerge from the bedroom several minutes later wearing clothing that seems more appropriate for a day of so-called fun—dark-blue jeans that sport sharp creases thanks to a professional pressing, and a golden-colored T-shirt. My sister Fiona gave me this outfit because she insisted I should try to have a good time in New Orleans, and she wanted me to look like I know how to do that. How do jeans alert everyone that I'm the good-time sort? I have no idea.
Emery gazes at my body while alternately chewing her lip and licking it.
I cock my head at her. "Are you ready?"
She nods.
Clasping her hand, strictly so we don't get separated, I guide her out of the suite. Aye, we're in danger of losing track of each other in the lift. As we stroll into the car, which is empty, I bend my head to whisper in her ear. "I'm yours for the weekend. What will you do with me?"
She smiles. "Show you how to loosen up and have fun."
"An impossible task. I dislike what most people consider to be fun."
"Lucky for you, I like a challenge."
