French Quarter by Lacey Alexander (small books to read .TXT) 📕

wasn’t afraid of the little shit, and a threat against him didn’t bother Jack in the slightest. But maybe to Liz, it was something to be taken seriously. In fact, the more Jack thought about it, the more it slowly dawned on him that Liz must have taken the threat against him more seriously than she’d taken the threat against herself. Just as Jack naturally did—except in reverse, worrying only when the danger affected Liz.

He stopped the tape and pulled up her e-mail, which he’d never deleted, and read it again. If he hadn’t been so consumed with his own emotions, maybe he wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and imagined things that weren’t there. Maybe he wouldn’t have been such a self-absorbed jerk.

Merde, this explained everything. It all made sense. She’d thought it would be safer for her to just keep living at Lynda’s—and she’d probably known Jack would give her a hard time about that, so she’d decided to deliver the news by e-mail. He suddenly suspected she’d never intended to dump him, just to put him off for a day while she figured out how to deal with Todd’s threat.

Damn, clearly he’d taken his father’s warning too much to heart, let himself base his worries and insecurities too much on the marriage that had failed and left him without a mother.

And if he hadn’t been so stubborn, just waiting for the ax to fall and jumping to conclusions when he’d thought he’d seen it happening, he might be buried deep inside her right now.

A rush of heat enveloped him at the thought and made his cock perk to life. He missed her so much.

He had half a mind to go find her right now, and pushed up out of his chair with that thought in mind.

But shit, she was likely somewhere on Bourbon partying, and trying to look for her among that many people in that many bars and clubs would be futile.

Besides which, there was something else he needed to do first, before he talked to her. He needed to take this tape to the police. The Big Easy’s finest weren’t always his greatest fans—and Jack’s video of Todd was actually illegal, and therefore, inadmissible as evidence—but plenty of the men in blue were decent guys, and he didn’t think any of them could refute what he’d caught on tape here. If there was one thing cops didn’t like, it was nutballs who talked about making bombs and blowing up places and people. And threats weren’t generally against the law, but once the cops found out a little recent history on this guy, like that he was a stalker who had illegally entered a neighbor’s house and likely attempted to rape Liz, Jack suspected they’d either dig up a reason to arrest him, or they’d put the fear of God in him and just dare him to trip up.

* * * * *

Five o’clock on Saturday afternoon and Liz felt like a lifeless blob. Despite a late night that had turned to morning, Lynda had pulled Liz’s old trick of rushing home just long enough to shower and change before heading back to her shop in the Quarter. Liz had stayed indoors all day, never bothering to change out of the silky shorts set she’d slept in, just lying on the couch, watching movies on cable and drifting in and out of a sad sleep.

Last night had been eye-opening for her. Maybe a tiny little part of her had thought a night on the Vieux Carre with Lynda would be healing. Maybe she’d hoped she could shed her sorrow with some handsome hunk or lovely lady who wanted to play with her. But she’d been dreadfully wrong. Just as she’d known all along, Jack was the only person who made her want to play, who made her want to be a perfect bad girl. And she had a frightening feeling it might stay that way. After all, no one before Jack had ever awakened the hot, daring woman inside her. Why should she think anyone would do it after him? He’s the one, she thought, the man who releases everything inside me, every doubt, every worry, every inhibition, the man who makes my heart—and my body—want to run wild.

When the phone rang, she didn’t answer it, didn’t even budge. Let the machine get it, she thought. No one would be calling her anyway. Six months after moving to New Orleans, her only real friend was Lynda. A fleeting thought raced through her mind—why on earth had she told her mother she wanted to stay here? She should go home to Maryland and forget the past two weeks had ever happened. Because none of what she’d learned about herself in those two weeks even mattered without Jack. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that had opened up the box of secret desires inside her, but he was the man with the key. Without him, she’d begun to feel the box slowly closing back up. She didn’t want to share such hot, brazen intimacies with anyone else—ever.

“You’ve reached Lynda. Wait for the beep, then tell me what you need.”

“Liz? Chere, are you there?”

Liz gasped at the sound of Jack’s voice. Then she bolted off the couch and got her feet tangled in an afghan as she tripped her way across the carpet to the phone. She yanked it up just as he’d started to speak again. “Jack, I’m here.”

“I’m so glad,” he said, his tone familiar, wonderfully warm. “I’ve missed your voice, darlin’.”

“You have?”

“I’ve got so much to explain to you, chere. But I don’t wanna do it on the phone—I wanna see your face. That is, if you’ll see me.”

Liz nearly couldn’t answer, too pent-up with emotion. Finally, she managed to say, “Yes. I will, Jack. I will.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Can I make dinner for you, here at my place?”

Liz had missed the cozy privacy of his apartment and couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather see him. “That…would