Chapter Four
For two hours, I wander the streets of New Orleans with no idea where I'm going or why. Finally, my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I need food. But I don't see any restaurants nearby. Pubs, yes. Tattoo parlors, yes. No place to eat a good breakfast, though. I hired a car so I can drive myself wherever I need to go, but I decide it's easier to hail a taxi. That way, I can ask the driver to take me someplace where I can get a normal meal. I want the sort that will leave me satisfied, rather than somewhere posh that gives customers tiny slivers of food that wouldn't fill up an ant's stomach.
The driver seems to think I'm off my head. Maybe I shouldn't have havered on and on about my opinion of modern cuisine.
While I eat my breakfast in a cafe that overlooks the Mississippi River, my thoughts keep returning to the lass I seduced last night. She was the bonniest, sweetest, most passionate woman I'd ever met. A night with her had become the most invigorating hours of my life. Why had I felt the need to take her again in the dead of night? Lust drove me to it, that's all. I do not need to see her again.
The lass's face flares in my mind's eye. Blonde hair. Hazel eyes. That smile, that laugh, the look on her face when she comes.
Mhac na galla. I will stop thinking about her right now.
That mental command works for about fifteen minutes. I order another breakfast just like the one I've already eaten, strictly to prevent myself from running back to the hotel to catch the woman I shagged last night before she leaves. But I eat so fast that it's not much of a distraction. Then I check my watch to see what time it is back in Scotland. The six-hour time difference means it's afternoon over there, so I could ring my brother Lachlan. To do what? Haver to him about what a sodding ersehole I am? The other women I'd screwed without knowing their names had left right after we finished. But this lass… I used her body for hours, then crept out at dawn while she was still asleep.
No, I will not call Lachlan.
That leaves me to wander the streets of a strange city or…go back to the hotel. She's probably gone by now. It's still early, though, and I did wear her out last night. She might still be asleep. The thought sends an odd shiver through me, not as if I'm cold, but as if I feel excited by the prospect of seeing her again.
That is ridiculous.
Maybe it is, but I can't stop myself. I hail another taxi and go back to the Ritz-Carlton. The elevator ride up to my suite seems to take forever. I tap my toes on the floor in a rapid rhythm that makes the other people in the car glance at me with strange expressions, almost as if they expect me to leap on them like a wolf and tear them to shreds. The other passengers get off on lower floors, leaving me alone when the doors open on my floor. I rush to the suite, unlocking it with my keycard, and shove the door open. I keep my head down as I step inside and turn to shut the door.
I make it halfway down the hall before I notice her. My feet refuse to move anymore.
The bonnie blonde stands near the French doors that lead to the terrace, facing me. The sun shimmering on her hair lends her the look of an angel with a halo encircling her head.
Bloody hell. What is wrong with me? She's no angel, but I am a devil.
All I can do is stare at the lass blankly for several seconds. Then I force myself to straighten my spine and act like a mature man, striding down the hall to stop an arm's length from her. I employ all the willpower I possess to keep from gawping at her like an eejit or staring at her breasts. "You're still here."
"Duh." She folds her arms over those luscious tits. "Did you forget your wallet and had to slither back in here to get it?"
"No," I say slowly while I try to figure out what sort of mood she's in. Anger would be appropriate. Throwing things at me would be too. But she doesn't do any of that. "I thought you'd be asleep."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm not disappointed. I—" Shifting my weight from one foot to the other and back again does not ease my, well, unease at all. I scratch my neck instead while my face decides to cinch up into a pinched expression. "I am sorry for, ah…"
"Skulking out in the dead of night like a slimy worm?"
I sigh and give the lass a tight smile. "It wasn't the dead of night. I left at dawn."
"Are you expecting applause for waiting until sunrise?" She taps the toe of her shoe on the floor. "You could've, gee, maybe woken me up to say goodbye. And by the way, who leaves a thank-you note after sex? It's bizarre."
Early this morning, it had seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, but I see her point. It was a strange impulse, but I've never been good at deducing what women will like or dislike. With my shoulders bunched, I avert my gaze to the wood floor. "I'm afraid that's what I do. Find a partner for the evening and satisfy our mutual needs with an hour or so of uncomplicated sex."
"Uncomplicated?" She narrows her gaze on me, which makes my skin itch. "Wait a minute. An hour? You stayed until dawn."
"Ah, yes." Bod an Donais, why must she be so clever? I have to admit I like that about her, but not right now. I wince and shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers. "I hadn't intended to stay, but… Donnae know."
Dead brilliant answer, MacTaggart.
"Hmm." The lass stalks over to the nearest chair, the same one I'd penned her to last night when I stripped her naked. She drops onto the cushioned crimson seat with her hands on the arms and drums her fingers. "With those other women, the ones you bang for an hour, do you say goodbye before you scurry off?"
"Yes." I trudge over to the seat opposite hers, a striped armchair with wood trim that isn't the sort of furniture I would buy, and I settle onto it. Perched on the chair's edge, I wedge my elbows on my thighs and study the rug at my feet. "I indulge in the occasional fling with a stranger. I'm not interested in relationships anymore, but I have…needs."
"Uh-huh." She swings one leg up to cross it over the other, which I can see because I roll my eyes up to glance at her. "You're a big old horndog, I get it. You prey on women you think are desperate and lonely."
"No." I utter the word in a harsh tone, but the anger is directed at myself, not her. I turn my head to the side so I can't see her even out of the corner of my eye. "I choose professional women."