CHAPTER THREE
Every Friday morning, Carol Rhodes held court on an old iron bench in Jackson Square, more to chat with friends than to practice her trade as a psychic medium. This morning, however, she simply watched with satisfaction as Serena van der Woodson, her wayward niece, bolted out of Café du Monde with sexy Nate Archibald tearing after her like a dog who'd just lost his favorite bone.
The man worked fast. She'd only called him an hour ago, the minute she spotted Serena walking down Decatur Street instead of Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Carold had dreamt that a misguided family member would return home soon...and that she'd play a role in settling whatever disquiet sent him or her away in the first place.
Then, she'd spotted her niece. Serena had abandoned the Quarter five years ago, after Nate had broken her heart. Now that she'd returned, Carold had no qualms over helping them reconcile.
So far, she'd only made a phone call. She suspected this had been too easy, but resolved to give the young people a chance to work things out on their own. And since Serena, once a quiet, malleable child with no self-confidence to speak of, already had cocky Nate Archibald chasing after her, Carol surmised that Destiny had everything under control.
Serena slid her key into the door and shielded her trembling hands from Nate's view. He'd caught up to her just outside Jax Brewery and hailed them a cab back to her hotel in the Central Business District. She'd made the reservation on the mistaken belief she'd be more in control, less nostalgic outside the Quarter. She wanted whatever happened between them now to be on her terms—a cleansing of the past rather than a reenactment.
She'd tried to make Nate love her, only to be called "whipped" and "clingy." By him. By her friends. Maybe they'd been right. Then. But she would use this weekend to show him precisely how she'd changed. Not that she wanted him back— oh, no—she just wanted him to know what he'd missed.
And, she admitted to herself, she'd missed the fire that Nate's touch ignited in her—the fire that made her hands tremble now, with anticipation.
When she couldn't manage to work the lock, Nate removed the thin plastic card from her hand. "Here, let me."
She snatched the key back. "I can open a door, Nate."
"Relax, Rena."
Serena took a deep breath and finally unlocked the door. But before she stepped inside, Nate pressed the full length of his body against her. His hard erection, his hands sliding up her bare arms, his breath skimming her sensitive skin, jolted her with a mad rush of desire. "I was just trying to help. That's why you brought me here, right?"
The moment the door closed behind them, she swung around and shoved him against the wall. Serena van der Woodson didn't operate on slow simmer anymore. Nate needed to learn that toying with her meant a quick flash of fire.
She grabbed his face and crushed her lips to his, snatching fistfuls of T-shirt to pull herself up and grind against him, sharing her delight with his body, his tongue. He didn't miss a beat, didn't question, argue, or attempt to slow the pace, but removed her vest with a succession of popping snaps. He pushed her away only long enough to take off his shirt, then lifted her into his arms, suckling her nipples through the thin lace of her bra while he carried her to the bed.
After he stripped her of her jeans, he removed his, giving her a moment to retrieve a condom from her bag and slip beneath the sheets. He quickly put it on, spreading her legs with hungry hands before he covered her body with his. "Is this how you like it now? Hot and fast?"
"Touch me, Nate. I'm ready. Don't wait."
He did as she asked, growling with desire as he found her eager and responsive. In the past, coaxing Serena to climax had taken patience, time. But she was older now, more experienced, more willing to surrender to the physical side of womanhood, the side Nate filled when he pushed inside her.
When he insisted on a rhythmic, measured pace, Serena thought she'd go crazy. When he captured her gaze with his, challenging her to keep her eyes open and watch the passion as it played on his face and body, she knew she'd soon cross the edge. The minute he cried out his release, she toppled over with him, dizzy from a starburst of sensations, from the errant thought that now, she'd finally come home.
"You're not the girl I used to know," he said, rolling aside, but bracing his hand possessively across her belly.
"I warned you."
"Yes, well, I will operate with that knowledge close at hand from now on."
"What do you mean?" She sat up against the fluffy pillows and slid her leg beneath her, curling into a comfortable, relaxed position.
He remained silent, his gaze lost in the view outside her window. She watched his transparent blue eyes, his kiss-swollen lips, and the twitch in his sinfully square jaw. Nate was weighing his words. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd changed.
"It means I'm sorry."
Serena didn't disguise her surprise, or her residual anger. "You mean about how you dumped me eight years ago."
"Yeah, that."
"Is that why you sent me the card? Why you approached me at Café du Monde? Guilt?"
He tempered his grin with a nonchalant shrug. "Guilt, curiosity...attraction. Do we have to label it?"
Serena didn't answer, mulling over the gift she'd just been offered. Nate Archibald, graduate of the School of I-Am-Never-Wrong felt...guilty? The man who, apology or not, once swept her aside without a backward glance was admitting to curiosity about who she was now, even after they'd made love? Harumph. Here she was all set to exact a clean, cold act of revenge and he was apologizing for his sins of the past—with no prompting!
"No label, that's fair," she said. And probably safer. His pale blue eyes spoke silent volumes as his pupils enlarged and his irises darkened. Nate couldn't conceal his passions and so far as Serena remembered, rarely bothered trying. He wanted her forgiveness as much as he wanted her. Again. He might get lucky on one point, at least. "But your apology better be sincere."
Because you just sank my master plan. Funny thing was, she found his maneuver clever and, God help her, endearing.
"So you accept my apology?"
"I haven't decided," she said.
With his signature smooth grace, Nate slid her back beneath the covers. "Now that sounds like a fascinating challenge. Then you still want me for your tour guide?"
With a narrowed gaze, Serena considered the danger of messing with Nate beyond this one erotic encounter. Then he slid his thumbs over her nipples, blowing any reluctance out of her like candlelight in a storm. He did know the hot spots better than anyone did— and she didn't just mean those in New Orleans. "When do we start?"
