Misconduct(4)

I curled my fingers, feeling my heart skip a beat.

While I’d gotten the impression this man had a playful side, I now understood he had other faces, too.

“Easton,” I acquiesced.

Turning back around, I pressed my hips against the railing and gripped the banister, feeling him behind me.

I breathed in, the scent of magnolias from the ballroom filling my nose along with a tinge of the ever-present flavor indigenous only to the Quarter. Aged wood, stale liquor, old paper, and rain all combined to create a fragrance that was almost more delicious than food on a quiet morning walk down Bourbon in the fog.

“Wouldn’t you like to know my name?” he asked.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answers to,” I replied quietly.

I felt his smile even though I couldn’t see it.

I stared out over the Quarter, nearly losing my breath at the sight.

A sea of people covered Bourbon Street like a flood, with barely enough room to turn around or maneuver through the masses. It was a sight I’d rarely seen in the five years I’d lived here, preferring to avoid the French Quarter during Mardi Gras in favor of the local hangouts on Frenchmen Street.

But it still had to be appreciated for the awe-inspiring sight it was.

The streetlamps glowed in the late-evening air, but they served only as a decoration. The neon lights of the bars, jazz clubs, and restaurants – not to mention the throngs of beads flying through the air from the balconies and down to waiting hands – cast a colorful display full of light, music, excitement, and hunger.

Anything went during Mardi Gras. Eat what you want. Drink your fill. Say anything, and – I blinked, feeling him move to my side – satiate all of your appetites.

Mardi Gras was a free pass. One night when rules were taboo and you did whatever you wanted, because you’d wake up tomorrow – Ash Wednesday – ready to purge your sins and cleanse your soul for the next six weeks of Lent.

I envied their carefree revelry, wishing for the courage to let go, stop looking over my shoulder, and laugh at things I wouldn’t remember in the morning.

“Such chaos,” I commented, observing the crowds stretching as far as the eye could see down in the street. “I’ve never had a desire to be in the midst of all that.”

I turned my head, meeting his eyes as I swept my long, dark brown hair over my shoulder.

“But I like watching all the commotion from up here,” I told him.

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s no good,” he scolded with a hint of a smile. “Everyone needs to experience the madness of the crowds down there at least once.”

“As you sidestep the puddles of vomit, right?” I shot back.

He shook his head, amused. Leaning his hands on the railing and cocking his head at me, he asked, “So what do you do?”

“I finish my master’s degree in a couple of months,” I replied. “At Loyola.”

A moment of apprehension crossed his eyes, and I cocked my head. Maybe he had thought I was older than I was.

“Does that bother you?” I asked.

“Why would it bother me?” he challenged.

I tilted the corner of my mouth in a smile at his game. “You didn’t follow me out here for the exercise,” I pointed out, both of us knowing damn well where the night between two consenting adults could lead. “I’m still in college, for a couple of months anyway. We might not have anything in common.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” he replied, sounding cocky. “You’ve held my interest this far.”

My eyes flared, and I looked away, tempted to either laugh or chastise him in anger.

“So what do you do, then?” I inquired, not really caring.

He stood up straight and slid his hands into his pockets as he turned to me. “Guess,” he commanded.

I peered up at him, also turning my body to face his.

Guess.

Okay…

Letting my eyes fall down his neck and chest, I took in the black three-piece tux with the silk necktie fitted around the collar of his white shirt.

Every hair was in place, and his statuesque face gleamed alabaster in the candlelight.

His shoes were shiny and unmarred, and the face of his Rolex, with its black alligator-skin strap, reflected the colorful glow of the Christmas lights across the street, which probably remained up all year.

It was virtually impossible to tell exactly what he did for a living, but I could venture a guess.

Stepping up, I reached out with soft hands and slowly opened his jacket at the waist, seeing his arms fall to his sides as he probably wondered what the hell I was doing.

Looking up at him, I tried to keep my breathing steady, but the heat in his eyes as he looked down at me made it difficult.

I inched forward, my body nearly touching his, and then I licked my lips and let my eyes drop to his waist.

“Well,” I played, “I was going to say junior partner, but that’s a Ferragamo belt.”

His chest moved with his suddenly shallow breaths. “And?”

I looked up, meeting his mischievous eyes again. “And usually it’s BOSS or Versace for this set.” I nodded toward the ballroom, indicating the gentlemen inside. “But if you can spend four hundred dollars for a belt,” I clarified to him, “I’m going to say senior partner instead.”