that puts a strain on the business.”
She laughed at that. “Only because we have to scramble to reschedule her appointments. Trust me. Della’s clients are that loyal. They’ll wait. In the meantime, the shop does a great business, and Kachina has her own fanatical following.”
She paused, and when he didn’t respond, she went on, chuckling beneath her breath. “Welcome to N’Awlins, Jack Montgomery. You’re sleeping on the kitchen floor of a woman who’s a local legend.”
A state of things he would never understand.
“Though you know,” Perry continued, scrambling to her feet, her bracelets tinkling, her skirt sweeping over him and the floor. “There is a single bed you could use. It’s around the corner and down the hall from the bathroom. In the utility room.” She held out her hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
He took her hand, not needing the help, just wanting to touch her, and stood. “It’s better that I stay here. The door lacking a lock and all.”
She waved off the offer. “Book has a patrol car making extra rounds, you know.”
“And you know it wouldn’t take a lot of brains to watch and time a break-in,” he said, still holding on to her hand.
She seemed to realize it at the same time, and her fingers stiffened. She pulled free, though with a hint of reluctance, and walked through the dark room to the sink where she washed the dishes she’d left there.
Jack watched her, the unhurried movements of her hands in the running water, the light from the moon spilling through the sink’s window and giving him a better look at the tank top she wore.
The neckline didn’t scoop particularly low, but it didn’t need to. The fabric fit to show the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the strength in her shoulders and her spine.
He moved closer, leaning an elbow on the countertop and watching her, the way her hands slowed when she realized he was there, the way she tried not to smile but ended up giving in as she put the last bowl in the drainer.
“If you wanted to shower or anything while I’m down here, feel free.” She glanced over. “I can wedge a chair beneath the doorknob. Keep out the bad guys.”
“And if someone manages to shove through your wimpy security measures?”
She turned off the water, dried her hands. “The toolbox is still handy. I’ll keep a hammer close by.”
“Hmm.” She was trying too hard to get rid of him. “I smell that bad, do I?”
“No, you just look a little fuzzy,” she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. “Cleaning up might help you sleep better. It always works wonders for me.”
He stopped breathing, waiting, certain that any moment she’d drop her hand. She’d back away. She’d give him a hard shove toward the door and out of her life. But she didn’t do any of the above.
Instead, she stepped closer, stroked her fingers close to his ear and said, “Listen.”
He couldn’t hear a thing but his own labored breathing and the rolling-thunder beat of his heart. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Are you sure?” This time she whispered, ran her fingertips over the shell of his ear. “Be very quiet. Close your eyes.”
He did both. He stood still. He was aware of nothing but Perry in the kitchen.
Her fingers were cool, her wrist warm where it grazed his cheek. Her hand smelled like lemony dish soap, but he caught a hint of her spicy scent beneath.
“Do you hear her now, Jack? Do you hear her singing? Pining for the lover who done her wrong?”
Ah. Her. The ghost. He opened his eyes, saw nothing but Perry, heard only her whisper’s echo. “I hear an occasional car on the street outside. I hear your bracelets. I hear both of us having trouble breathing.”
Her hand drifted down his neck to his shoulder. “I think you’re imagining things.”
“And you’re not?”
She shook her head, squeezed his biceps, his forearm, finally his fingers as she laced them through hers. “C’mon. I’ll prove it to
She laughed at that. “Only because we have to scramble to reschedule her appointments. Trust me. Della’s clients are that loyal. They’ll wait. In the meantime, the shop does a great business, and Kachina has her own fanatical following.”
She paused, and when he didn’t respond, she went on, chuckling beneath her breath. “Welcome to N’Awlins, Jack Montgomery. You’re sleeping on the kitchen floor of a woman who’s a local legend.”
A state of things he would never understand.
“Though you know,” Perry continued, scrambling to her feet, her bracelets tinkling, her skirt sweeping over him and the floor. “There is a single bed you could use. It’s around the corner and down the hall from the bathroom. In the utility room.” She held out her hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
He took her hand, not needing the help, just wanting to touch her, and stood. “It’s better that I stay here. The door lacking a lock and all.”
She waved off the offer. “Book has a patrol car making extra rounds, you know.”
“And you know it wouldn’t take a lot of brains to watch and time a break-in,” he said, still holding on to her hand.
She seemed to realize it at the same time, and her fingers stiffened. She pulled free, though with a hint of reluctance, and walked through the dark room to the sink where she washed the dishes she’d left there.
Jack watched her, the unhurried movements of her hands in the running water, the light from the moon spilling through the sink’s window and giving him a better look at the tank top she wore.
The neckline didn’t scoop particularly low, but it didn’t need to. The fabric fit to show the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the strength in her shoulders and her spine.
He moved closer, leaning an elbow on the countertop and watching her, the way her hands slowed when she realized he was there, the way she tried not to smile but ended up giving in as she put the last bowl in the drainer.
“If you wanted to shower or anything while I’m down here, feel free.” She glanced over. “I can wedge a chair beneath the doorknob. Keep out the bad guys.”
“And if someone manages to shove through your wimpy security measures?”
She turned off the water, dried her hands. “The toolbox is still handy. I’ll keep a hammer close by.”
“Hmm.” She was trying too hard to get rid of him. “I smell that bad, do I?”
“No, you just look a little fuzzy,” she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. “Cleaning up might help you sleep better. It always works wonders for me.”
He stopped breathing, waiting, certain that any moment she’d drop her hand. She’d back away. She’d give him a hard shove toward the door and out of her life. But she didn’t do any of the above.
Instead, she stepped closer, stroked her fingers close to his ear and said, “Listen.”
He couldn’t hear a thing but his own labored breathing and the rolling-thunder beat of his heart. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Are you sure?” This time she whispered, ran her fingertips over the shell of his ear. “Be very quiet. Close your eyes.”
He did both. He stood still. He was aware of nothing but Perry in the kitchen.
Her fingers were cool, her wrist warm where it grazed his cheek. Her hand smelled like lemony dish soap, but he caught a hint of her spicy scent beneath.
“Do you hear her now, Jack? Do you hear her singing? Pining for the lover who done her wrong?”
Ah. Her. The ghost. He opened his eyes, saw nothing but Perry, heard only her whisper’s echo. “I hear an occasional car on the street outside. I hear your bracelets. I hear both of us having trouble breathing.”
Her hand drifted down his neck to his shoulder. “I think you’re imagining things.”
“And you’re not?”
She shook her head, squeezed his biceps, his forearm, finally his fingers as she laced them through hers. “C’mon. I’ll prove it to
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