He didn't understand why the city had hotels. No one seemed to sleep. The Crescent City was raucous and nocturnal. Lively music and shouts in French assaulted his senses. He wanted to rest, but he had to find her first. He grimaced as the carriage halted, gingerly smoothing his hand over the stitched wounds to his side.
"The Seraphine," the streetcar driver announced, stopping in front of the newly owned and recently renamed three-story hotel on Esplanade Avenue. "I've heard on good authority the new proprietor is très belle. Une rousse, too," he informed his passenger in a last-ditch effort to engage the man in conversation. He smirked at the grumble from the traveler and collected his fare, watching the remarkably tall man amble to the sidewalk.
The weary lawman stood silently, wondering why she'd purchased a hotel. He hoped she'd forgive Sam for showing him the telegram which divulged her location. He locked his eyes on the brick building, scrutinizing the exceptional ironwork adorning the elegant balconies overlooking the avenue. He was steps away from the majestic Mississippi River, and he hoped he was steps away from the beautiful Kitty Russell.
A warm breeze carried the heady scents of bougainvillea and hibiscus into the night. A ragtime tune tinkled from an open window in the distance while lovers walked side by side and hand in hand, stealing kisses, emboldened by the late hour and reckless from the heat. Each show of affection reminded the thirty-five-year old woman that she was alone.
The air felt like it was pressing against her fair skin as she walked down the paved street in the French Quarter. She opened the iron gate and shut it behind her, trotting up the handful of brick steps and turning the key into the lock of the masonry cottage. The redhead leaned heavily against the door and took a lace handkerchief from her reticule, patting the beads of perspiration from her neck. She caught sight of the newly-delivered red roses atop the entryway table. Her heart thundered in her chest as she plucked the card from the bouquet. She held her breath as she opened the envelope.
I'll tell it rather simply. All I want is you for the rest of my life, Kathleen Russell. – Henri
She felt sick as she stood in the foyer. Kitty wasn't certain if she felt unwell from the prospective proposal or from her dinner of oysters and lager. She read the note a second time and decided it was the cause of her uneasiness. She'd known Henri Broussard when she was just a girl of sixteen, a lifetime ago. In less than a month, she'd become reacquainted with him. The millionaire whose wealth had come from sugar cane and cotton plantations desired to marry her. Kitty thought of the man she had spent fifteen years with who refused to marry her. She'd held that bloody badge in her hands for the last time and had decided to purchase a one-way ticket, putting over 900 miles between that stubborn man and that damned badge.
Kitty trailed through the long hallway, heels drumming against the heart-of-pine floor. She entered the sitting room and unlocked the French doors, letting the stifling air into the cottage. She dropped into an armchair and took off her heeled boots. She swore under her breath, shaking her head to get Matt Dillon out of her mind.
The former saloon proprietress stalked to the liquor cabinet, grabbing bottles of rye and absinthe. She poured the anise-flavored spirit into an old-fashioned glass and swirled it around the crystal. Kitty stared into the natural green colored liquid and speculated if he ever thought of her. She wondered if he struggled with the midnight hour as much as she did because that's when he'd come to her. That's when an old memory would haunt her. She'd remember how he could take her breath away with a graze of his lips or how the hands that could fight their way out of a corner would softly lay her down at the end of a night. She wondered if he thought about her when he was two drinks in or riding out along the vast prairie if he thought of her at all. Of one thing she was certain: he hadn't tried to stop her from leaving.
He had to think of her. He had to be plagued by memories of her. He had to miss her. He had to still love her. He just had to. Otherwise, she had wasted her time, giving him the best years of her life. And for what? Indeed, he had to think of her.
Kitty downed the absinthe and added a shot of whiskey along with a generous number of bitters into the glass. She tossed a sugar cube in and stirred the concoction with her finger. "Oh, Matt," she murmured and pressed the glass against her cheek.
She wondered if his remembrances would ever be enough to track her down, take her back to Kansas, and put her above the badge. She sucked the liquor off her finger and reminded herself that she wasn't born with a heart meant to win. Her heart had been born to lose. She slid down the wall, cradling her cocktail, letting the tears spill down her cheeks.
He walked the three miles from The Seraphine to her doorstep. Matt held his side and felt the sticky dampness underneath his calloused fingers. Doc had warned him about the journey perhaps popping a stitch or two. He wiped his fingers against the lining of his courting jacket and opened the gate. He glanced down at his boots and made a fist, banging on the door with his knuckles. He held his breath as her footfalls came closer.
He greeted her softly and took his sweat stained Stetson from his head. Matt gazed at her paint free face and fidgeted with the brim of his hat. He could see the agony and exhaustion on her beautiful features. His mind raced with questions that galloped through his head like a herd of wild mustangs. He broke the silence before it overwhelmed him and damaged his resolve to take her back to Kansas.
"You gonna let me in, Kitty?"
"I'm thinkin' about it," she murmured huskily and turned away, drifting into the kitchen and leaving the door wide open.
Matt stepped inside and shut the door, placing his hat on the coatrack. He walked into the kitchen and watched her set about putting a kettle on the stove. He raked his tongue over his chapped lips and tried to focus on the cabinets instead of the sheerness of her negligée. He was unable to resist staring at the outline of her body. "God, I missed you," he throatily proclaimed, closing the distance between them, breathing in the Parisian perfume he'd missed lingering on his pillowcase. "Kitty," he whispered, knocking the curled tresses cascading down her back out of his way. "Honey, why'd you leave me?" he asked and dropped his head, brushing soft kisses to her shoulder and feathering a path to the sensitive patch behind her ear.
Kitty closed her eyes and bit into her lip, searching for the strength to resist while cursing herself for involuntarily rolling her neck to give him better access. The nips of his teeth and deep pressure of his lips sucking at her sensitive skin electrified her. A distinctive ache settled between her thighs.
Her moan struck his ears and filled his mind with thoughts of tangled sheets and sweat-slicked skin. Desire rushed to his groin.
She turned to face him. Her soft breasts crashed against his chest. His hands drifted over her soft curves as her fingers unfastened his pants. She stroked the soft trail of hair leading below. She knew just where to touch. His groan rumbled in her ears while he thrusted into her provocative touch.
His heated gaze and hoarse declaration of wanting her made her tingle. She cupped his neck and pulled him forward, fiercely pressing her lips to his, whimpering at the feel of his finger sweeping her folds.
She gasped as he lifted her onto the counter, driving into her with long, powerful strokes. Hips rocked. Arms corded. Sweat dripped. Nails dug in. Rhythm caught. Tension spiraled. Her insides clenched and pulsed in a rush of pleasure. She gripped his shoulders and cried out as he joined her in release.
Author's Note: In December, I wrote the middle part of this chapter and immediately sent it to AZgirl66. My original plan was for it to be a one-shot, but she pushed me to turn it into something more. It definitely became something more. I hope you all enjoy the tale that caused AZgirl66 and I to be plotting insomniacs. I can never thank her enough for all the pep talks, ideas, and laughs during the process of this work. She helped write some parts of chapters, too. As always, reviews are welcomed and appreciated!