Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(90)



“Something very sweet and romantic,” he said, kissing me quick.

“Oh lord,” Keira complained.

Then Kona, as only Kona could, deflated the sweet moment. “How the hell is ‘My hovercraft is full of eels’ sweet and romantic?”

We laughed at his expense and Ransom took it, immediately mouthing lines from Monty Python to connect the dots of that insane translation for me. His smile was easy and bright, and I held his hand to my mouth as the line moved. “You look happy today, sugar.”

There was a hint of surprise in his expression then, as though he had only realized he was happy, then Ransom settled my hand on his chest. “Why wouldn’t I be? I got a beautiful lady on my arm and am about to devour the best gumbo in the world.” He moved closer, biting that lip again, because he knew every time he did it my breath caught somewhere in my throat. “But I really would rather devour the lady,” he whispered.

“I bet you would.”

He kissed me soft, slow and if I hadn’t heard Kona clearing his throat I probably would have let him continue on.

“You’re holding up the line, brah.”



“Sorry,” I tried but Ransom just shrugged.

Around us the crowd separated, Rebirth Brass Band cracking the noise of the crowd with the ring of a trumpet. And then, the crowd turned and walked toward the music as the Second Line started up. There was nothing like it, nothing like this brass band and the Pied Piper way everyone followed. Funeral, wedding or just Carnival time, the music took the city, the traffic stopped, the chaos of any given day all paused and for just a few minutes as that music passed and the spirit of the city took over.

“Perfect day,” I heard Kona say, holding Keira close. Like Ransom and me, he and Keira watched the crowd, and his smile, Keira’s soft expression, told me they were thinking the same thing I was—that nowhere else in the world was as magical as New Orleans.

“Very,” she said.

Behind me Ransom’s hold tightened on my waist and I moved back, my hips swaying as though I had no control over them. It often happened when a beat hit my ear. My body moved on its own, wiggled and shook like some old, ancestral part of me. Not thinking about how I moved, how I looked doing it, I danced where I stood, eyes closed as I let that rhythm climb inside my limbs.

I’d only shaken my hips a little, shimmied as we watched the band pass by, but before they reached the bridge, Ransom let his hands rest on my hips as I moved.

“You keep moving those hips like that and we’re gonna go find an empty alley.” Ransom’s voice was low, right against my ear, but his meaning clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not really sorry at all. “I don’t even realize when I do it.”

“I bet.” I stood still, as much as I could, only shaking my shoulders before I heard Ransom sigh. “Well don’t stop, baby.” He came closer, kissing my neck. “I like watching you move.”

“I remember.” And I did, vividly, licking my lips when a quick flash of him on top of me, inside me shot into my mind.

“You’re a f*cking tease.”

“Just a little bit.”

“What was that ‘this is my…um…Ransom’ shit anyway?” There was a glint in his eyes I didn’t see often. It made him look as though nothing bothered him.

“Well, what could I say? If I’d have called you my boyfriend that nosy old woman would have asked you a million questions and we’d still be listening to her yammer.” When Ransom’s mouth got a little tight I shook my head, laughing at that frown. “What?”

“You didn’t explain what’s going on with us.”

That surprised me. Ransom was the one that said he couldn’t promise me anything. I’d spent weeks just sticking to the rules. “Maybe because we haven’t discussed that.”

“Do you want to?”

My eyebrows went up simply because I couldn’t believe he’d brought any of this up. “I…I don’t need a label.”

“You sure? None at all?”

“Do you?”

Ransom’s smile was subtle but it shifted and stretched the longer he watched my expression. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He hugged me tight, slipping his arms around my waist. “Let’s say we’re Fred.”

“Fred?” I asked, unable to hold back my laugh. “Why Fred?”

“It’s as good a name as any.” He kissed me, let his tongue brush about my lip. “You’re my Fred.”

“And you’re mine, you insane bata.”

He looked happy, eyes bright, smile easy and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him this open in months. My stomach fluttered when I thought it might be me that had made that happen.

We stared at each other then and I was going to tell him I missed him, missed all of him. My resolve was running thin and I thought I might be ready to test the waters a little, get my feet, other eager body parts, wet. Then, Ransom glanced behind me and suddenly, all the color left his face.

“What is it baby?”

“I…”

I turned around and saw a man near the crowd. He didn’t look like he fit in. He didn’t look at all like a Tremé local. He looked, in fact, like he belonged further Uptown in the Historic District where the “homes” were really “mansions” and the residents had gardeners and maids to keep their places up and drivers to get them around the city. This man had to be in his fifties, with pale skin, orangey red hair and long limbs. His cheeks were red, his eyes fiery and crystal blue and that hard rage in his gaze was centered on Ransom.

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