CHAPTER SIX

"Where to next?" Serena's tone brimmed with impatient expectation while Nate led her across Iberville to Canal Street where he hailed a cab. They'd spent nearly two hours dancing, nibbling on barbecued shrimp and sausage bits, washing down the spiciness with tall glasses of iced tea and one last bourbon for the road. They'd swayed to rocking blues and rolled to sassy jazz, learning each other's bodies again under the guise of dance. After Nate paid the check and pulled Serena out into the night, she was breathless and giddy. He was simply aroused, waiting for Serena to pay him back for his trick on the dance floor.

"Somewhere to cool down," he answered.

In New Orleans, sunset didn't bring cooler temperatures. The sultry heat of the city intensified after dark and he was more than ready to get inside and turn up the heat in a more intimate setting.

He directed the cabby to make a U-turn, then gave him an address in the Warehouse Arts District, the recently renovated area just inside the Central Business District. Serena didn't miss a thing, her nose practically pressed to the glass as they wove toward his home away from home.

Club Carnal.

He checked his watch, glad they could sneak in well before the club opened at 10 p.m. Just before eight o'clock. They'd arrived even before his manager or the waitstaff.

Nate wondered if Serena would remember the significance of coming here until they pulled up in front of the boxy white building with the sleek, brushed steel entrance. Her bright face wilted to a deep frown. "This is your club," she said simply, but emotion washed her words with a sheen of resentment.

"One of the hottest hangouts in New Orleans."

She opened the door and pushed herself out while he paid the fare. By the time the cab pulled away from the curb, Serena stood, arms crossed and legs stiff, while she looked up at the business that had been the impetus for their breakup. Her eyes flashed with anger when he reached to take her elbow. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"No joke, Rena. I thought you might like to see what I did with the place. Besides, we can't run from the past."

"You said you were sorry," she reminded him, but he knew that a few simple yet heartfelt words weren't really enough to undo the hurt between them. Especially since she still hadn't officially accepted his apology.

At Storyville, they'd danced as they had when they were first together— carefree and passionate and with nothing but the moment to live for, nothing but the here-and-now to milk for all its excitement and fire.

In this building, their past had all come to an end. But Nate wanted to use this same setting to burn past the hurt and rekindle what was once so precious and rare, it had scared the living hell out of him. He wanted Serena back in his life and he could think of no better place to tell her. Show her. "Come inside with me. Let me apologize again. The right way."

Serena bit her lip, rolling the pink skin beneath her teeth.

"You're not afraid, are you?" he asked, aware this was a cheap and childish ruse, but not caring so long as it worked.

She rolled her eyes and marched forward. "You know, that trick worked much better when I was 16."

"Worked damn good now, too."

She slapped his shoulder while he unlocked the door. Humor danced in her eyes— humor and curiosity and a hearty dash of her new, I'll-show-you impertinence that truly fascinated him. What had happened to imbue her with such brazen strength? Would he destroy that part of her, without meaning to, as he had in the past? Or was her strength and courage now so woven into her that nothing and no one could break it? He hoped that was the case. He'd soon find out.

A former textile warehouse, Club Carnal had been gutted from the fourth floor down to create a

cavernous, yet open space. Sensual, erotic murals adorned the walls, highlighted by neon now as dimmed as the lights. Once he locked the door behind them, he grabbed Serena's hand, pulled her into an elevator and swiped a key card that gave him exclusive access to his fourth floor office.

"Nice elevator," she said. "Think you'll actually let me see the club?"

Nate swallowed his response until the doors slid open at his office. He took a deep breath, wondering when the last time was that he'd allowed anyone in his sanctuary. His club manager? Probably once a week, less if possible. Mainly, this room, narrow but long and featuring a full bank of tilted windows that allowed him to watch the action below, was Nate's escape from the world of trends and hip music and fashion that he made his living from.

He swept his hand toward the windows. "Look around."

Serena walked slowly, checking out the lush leather furniture, paneled walls, and thick plum carpet of his domain. A chamois lampshade gilded the room with candlelit ambience, making the textures richer, the fabrics and finishes resonant with the state of his heart—dark emptiness surrounded by the illusion of light.

"I can't see anything." She leaned forward on the sill that jutted from beneath the windows.

Nate trapped her with his body, his chest pressed to her back, the evidence of his need snug against the gentle slope of her derriere. Here in the amber darkness, he wanted to do nothing but touch her again, but flipped a switch to his left instead, biding his time. Bright pinks, cool blues, and deep purples sputtered and glowed to neon life. Another switch and a bank of floating disco balls spun from the ceiling, their tiny sparks of laser color flashing into his office as they dipped up and down like yo-yos. Then, he turned on the music. Saxophone jazz. Wailing with want, vibrating with vital need— playing the very music that seared his soul.

"Very slick," she said, her tone devoid of inflection, so he couldn't tell if she meant her words as a compliment or a criticism. And he didn't care.

"Like your skin."

He slipped his hand around her waist, beneath the gap that separated her leather vest from her skin. She leaned back into him, rested her head against his chest. "Dancing does that to me. Is that why you brought me here? So I can return that favor you gave me at Storyville?" Serena smiled despite herself.

"You repaid that favor just by coming inside with me. You know, the last time I brought you here, I wanted to make love to you. You were insulted."

"It was a musty, abandoned warehouse, then. You'd just convinced your father to front you the money to buy it and if I recall, you only wanted to christen the space appropriately. Didn't seem to matter much who your lover was."

"That's not true, but I understand why you thought that. I wasn't good at expressing my feelings back then."

"And I wasn't good at being spontaneous." She slid one hand along the side of his thighs, slipped the other back to cradle his neck and pull him closer so that not a wisp of air-conditioned breeze could slip between them.

"You've changed," he said.

"Yes, I have Nate. In more ways than you'd imagine. Close your eyes. Let me show you."