Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(38)

I crossed the room and pushed the button. “I’ll be right down.”

“Can’t wait, babe.”

Simon let out a wolf whistle as I strode, hips swinging, toward the gate. If I was going to wear this outfit, I was going to own it.

“Dayum, woman.” He slapped a hand over his chest. His white linen shirt was light and airy, and his slacks were much more casual than I’d anticipated. “Step out here so I can see you.” Simon moved away as I walked out onto the sidewalk. I spun, giving it a little extra oomph, and the skirt of my dress flared. When I stopped my impromptu twirl, I couldn’t hold back a ridiculous giggle as I smiled up at Simon.

I expected to see his answering grin, but his expression was serious, almost … solemn. I looked down at my dress. “What?” I asked, confused the abrupt change in his mood.


He shook his head and reached out a hand to trail a finger down my jaw line. “That. That right there. I want to put that smile on your face every day, for as long as you’ll let me.”

I sucked in a breath and leaned in to his touch. My first instinct was to make some smartass remark to defuse the emotions bubbling up inside me. They were on the verge of spilling out onto the cracked sidewalk at Simon’s feet. But I held them down and focused on soaking up this moment. I gift wrapped it and tucked it deep inside so I could take it out later and relive it.

Relive it after I lost him.

Because reality was scraping away at the happiness I was just discovering. The more time I spent studying that damn composition book—the book of lies and ruin—the more I accepted the fact I’d never make it out of this unscathed. I was na?ve to think I could escape my past. Losing Simon would be my penance. And when that happened, memories of moments like this would be all I had left.

I opened my eyes, determined to live in the now and not worry about the future. At least not for tonight.

I pulled myself together and asked, “So, where to?”

“You want me to answer that question when all I can think is ‘This woman is a goddess, and I can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard who gets to take her out’?”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “You’re all charm tonight, Mr. Duchesne.”

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be tonight.”

This time I trailed my finger down his freshly shaven cheek. “How about just a guy showing his girl a good time.”

“Done.” He offered his arm, and I took it.



The sun was setting, and I was confused as hell. Simon waved to a guy at a security checkpoint, and we cruised into a large lot surrounded by barbed wire fences. Hundreds, or maybe thousands, of shipping containers—gray, black, tan, red, orange, and blue—were stacked in rows and awaiting transport to their destinations.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Patience.”

Simon drove until we reached a seawall holding back the mighty Mississippi and parked in front of a barge. It was secured to the wall with ropes thicker than my arm. Except for a small section toward one end, it was completely covered with shipping containers. I scanned the empty space for a table and chairs. Candles. Champagne on ice. The kind of setup that I expected a guy like Simon to pull together, especially after he ordered me to wear a short dress and high heels. But there was none of that.

Simon climbed out of the car and was opening my door before I could gather my wits to do it myself. He helped me out onto the asphalt.

“Wait here.”

He popped the tailgate and retrieved a blanket and a large soft-sided cooler.

My scattered thoughts regrouped, and I realized what he had planned. “A picnic?”

“Yup. Just you and me and the river.” I was dumbstruck as he took my hand, led me over the ramp, and onto the barge.

I grabbed a corner, and we spread the thick stadium blanket out over the scarred and rusted steel of the deck. Simon helped me sit before kneeling on the blanket beside me. From the cooler, he produced round aluminum take out containers with inset cardboard lids and a six-pack of Abita.

I shook my head. He never did what I expected.

“Do you do this on purpose?”

He looked up from uncurling the aluminum edges of a container. “Do what?”

“The exact opposite of what I expect?”

He grinned and continued, revealing olives, two different kinds of hummus, flatbread, wedges of red and green pepper, slices of cold, rare tenderloin, chunks of cheese, and grapes. “What do you mean?”

“This.” I gestured to my dress and the shoes I’d already unbuckled and tossed aside. “You told me to wear a dress. And heels. I expected a fancy restaurant or some trendy club. Not a barge and a picnic and beer.”

His grin faded. “Is that what you’d rather do?”

My eyes widened. “No! Not at all. This is … perfect. But … how did you know? I mean … hell, I don’t know what I mean.”

His smile reappeared, dimples flashing. “You don’t give me much to go on, Charlie. I just have to guess. But I like surprising you. You get this look, like you can’t believe I’d go out of my way to do something special for you. I get the feeling you haven’t had enough special in your life. And the dress … well, I just wanted a chance to stare at those gorgeous legs of yours.” He shrugged, as if to say I’m a guy, deal with it.