Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“That’s rose quartz,” Veronica says. “For love.”
Mary’s cheek pink, and she sets the crystal down. “Do you have any books about Voodoo?”
“Of course.” She pulls a paperback off one of the shelves. “This is a good one for beginners.”
Mary glides her hands over the book’s glossy cover. “I’ll take this.” She retrieves the crystal wand. “And this. It’s just so beautiful.”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
“Just these two for now, thanks.”
Veronica rings up Mary’s purchases, and I hand her a credit card, but Mary stops me.
“No, Ronan. I want to pay for these.”
“I’m happy to,” I say.
“I know, but you’ve paid for everything so far. Let this be for me.”
She’s resisting. Even after our amazing vanilla sex, she’s still resisting.
I vow to be understanding.
When we leave the shop, I take her on a whirlwind tour of the city. We start at Jackson Square, the heart of the French Quarter, where we see the iconic St. Louis Cathedral, the oldest cathedral in North America.
My stomach is nearly empty by the time we hit the French Market, a bustling, open-air marketplace that features a range of vendors selling everything from handmade crafts to fresh produce. We walk along the streets of the French Quarter, taking in the colorful architecture and historic landmarks, my favorite of which is Napoleon House.
“Here’s where we get a Pimm’s Cup,” I say. “And a sandwich for me.”
“Oh!” She gasps. “I guess we should eat, shouldn’t we? I’ve just been so involved in everything. I can’t believe you grew up here. This is simply the most marvelous place in the world.”
We step inside the historic building, which is characterized by high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and antique furniture.
“This place was originally intended to be the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte during his exile, but he never actually lived here.”
“It’s all so fascinating.”
A host leads us to a table, and within a minute, a server appears.
“What can I get you today?”
“Two Pimm’s cups,” I say, “and a muffuletta for me. Do you want something to eat, Mary?”
“What’s a muffuletta?”
“It’s a sandwich that originated here in New Orleans. It’s sesame bread filled with layers of Italian cold cuts, cheese, and a tangy olive salad.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Make that two,” I say to the server.
“Right away. I’ll get you some water, too.”
“Great, thanks.” I turn back to Mary.
“So what exactly is a Pimm’s cup?” she asks.
“It’s a refreshing drink made from Pimm’s No. 1, which is a gin and herbal liqueur, lemonade, lemon-lime soda, and a cucumber garnish.”
“That does sound good.”
“You’ll love it.” I look into her brown eyes.
The word “love” isn’t lost on me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mary
Back at the hotel, I shower, washing the day away but keeping the memories.
How have I never left New York before?
There’s so much more to life than one place.
New Orleans is seamy, exciting, full of life and culture.
Once I’m done, I towel off, let my hair fall over my shoulders, and squeeze out some of the moisture. My reflection catches my eye in the mirror, which is foggy from the shower. It’s blurred, so I grab a towel and wipe it off.
And I see myself.
I see myself as I am—naked, damp hair, no makeup.
And I want Ronan to see me like this. I haven’t let any man see me without makeup since Lucas. I always wear makeup to the club. Dark lipstick, smoky eyes, lots of mascara to accentuate my already naturally long lashes.
But now I see myself. I see myself as I truly exist. My lips are full and pink, my skin is fair, freckles are sprayed across my nose and cheeks, and my eyes are big and brown.
My hair, the reddish-brown of a dark terracotta, much darker than Ronan’s.
And my body. Firm in all the right places, with medium-size breasts and long legs.
The only thing made up on me is the burgundy nail polish on my fingers and toes.
I wrap the cushy white robe around my shoulders, securing the belt.
Then I leave the bathroom and head to the back bedroom. The chandelier above the bed is flickering again.
But I feel no fear this time. Not after a day of wandering the streets of New Orleans, learning about the culture and of the myriad ghost stories.
Probably faulty wiring in such an old building. But if it’s not? Whatever spirit is in my room means me no harm. I know that now.
I jerk at a knock on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mary.”
Ronan’s deep and sexy voice.
I open the door, as my true self.
He gapes at me. “My God. You’re beautiful.”
I warm from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. He looks just as amazing. His hair is also damp, and he’s wearing a khaki kilt and a simple white T-shirt. His feet are bare.
“I’d like to invite you to my room,” he says.
“Oh? And what excitement awaits me there?”