Read Online Dangerously Inked by Eden Bradley - Free Book Online Page B

back, trying to ignore the haze in her lovely eyes.
    “Show me this haunted Octoroon House,” he said. “Then maybe Café du Monde. I’ve heard Mick go on and on about the place.”
    They walked a few more blocks and stopped in front of an old brick building—classic New Orleans architecture, with a second floor hung with intricate wrought-iron balconies. The small doorway was an arch of brick, with a dark green-painted door set with ironwork. The narrow, dimly lit street was quiet.
    “This is it,” she said, her voice low, almost reverential.
    He wasn’t sure what he thought about the idea of anyplace being haunted—other than a man’s own soul, maybe—but he had to respect her feelings about it. And the quiet and the moonlight, seeing her pale face shadowed by her long, thick lashes, was all doing something to his head. He didn’t understand it. He only knew it felt good.
    He’d just met this woman, but something about her…it was as if she opened him up.
    Bloody fucking crazy. But true.
    He reached out and thrust his fingers into her hair, pulled out the clip that held it up and ran his fingers through the dark tresses. There was always a little command in him when he handled a woman, but now…this was different. She was different. Or maybe it was just where he was in his life. What he was trying to learn from Kenji’s death. Something about reflecting back on those earlier losses that had driven him his whole life, which he hadn’t realized until he showed up at Kenji’s funeral and found himself to be one of the sparse few who had. It was time to stop running so damn hard. And this woman…even though he’d known her only a week, she made him want to stop the running.
    Christ, he couldn’t think about all that now. He couldn’t figure it out.
    “Finn…?”
    “Shh.”
    He leaned in and kissed her. And this time it was gentle, a soft press of his lips to hers, then again, and again. He just needed to feel the texture of her.
    When he pulled back, he could see the confusion on her face. Hell, he didn’t know what he was doing, either.
    “Tell me the story of the Octoroon Mistress again,” he said, his voice low.
    She did, going into a little more detail, describing Julie’s cold body in almost romantic terms, the artist in her showing in her words. He liked that about her. He liked a lot about her.
    What the fuck are you doing?
    He didn’t want to answer that question.
    “Take me to the café now,” he said, pushing down the thoughts tumbling through his head faster than he could track them. “I want some of that famous chicory coffee.”
    “The beignets are the best part,” she told him. “Pure heaven on your tongue.”
    He’d already had heaven on his tongue kissing her. But he wasn’t about to say it.
    They walked the few blocks to Café du Monde, and found the last available table on the awning-covered patio just as it started to rain. The waiter brought them beignets and coffee, and she told him to top his cup with milk, as she did.
    “You were right. Fucking heaven, both the pastry and the coffee. I have to come here six times a day now. It’ll be all your fault when I put on fifty pounds this month.”
    “I’ll accept the blame. This place is too good to ignore.” She wiped the powdered sugar from the beignets on her napkin and leaned toward him, elbows on the table holding her chin in her hands. “So, where are you from in Australia?”
    “Melbourne. But I’ve been in the U.S. a long time.”
    “I assumed so, since your accent is so light. What brought you here?”
    He shook his head, thought he would avoid the question, as he usually did. But it was Kenji’s secrets, his acute sense of privacy, that had led to his lonely end—and wasn’t he trying to learn from seeing that? It had been a changing moment for him, that sad funeral. So, things had to change. He may as well start with this.
    He cleared his throat. “I married an American girl, Olivia. I was young, only