"Stop." Now he's holding my face in both of his hands, and I grip his wrists in mine. It's as if we're the only two people in the room. Will's eyes are sober as he stares intently at me. "I made a stupid judgment call last week. I don't care who knows that you're mine. In fact, I want everyone to know you're mine."

"But..."

He leans down and kisses me softly, stopping the words, and then whispers against my ear so only I can hear, "You are mine, sweetheart. Get used to it."

"Ditto," I whisper back. I feel him smile against my cheek before he kisses my dimple and pulls away, takes my hand, and pulls me toward the elevator.

"I'm hungry. Let's order room service."

Chapter Fifteen.

"Tiny donuts!" I exclaim as we pa.s.s Cafe Du Monde, a famous place for beignets and coffee. In fact, that's all they serve.

Will and I are exploring New Orleans. This is where he decided he wanted to bring me for our short vacation. For the past two days, we've been exploring the city; the rich history of music and food and culture.

It's freaking awesome.

"h.e.l.l, yes, let's get some." Will leads me inside, his hand linked with mine. "Coffee too?" He looks back at me with a smile on his lips.

"Yes, please." I nod and wait while he orders. "Three orders?" I ask dryly.

"They're really good," he answers simply and leads me to a table outside in the shade. Even in the fall, it's hot here. And humid. But I don't care.

"So," I sit across from him at a tiny bistro table and perch my sungla.s.ses on top of my head. "What do you want to do today?"

"I thought we could just wander around, shop, listen to the street musicians." He shrugs as the waitress sets three baskets of square, fried dough with powdered sugar liberally dumped on the top on the table, along with our chickaree coffee. "I just want to hang out with you, everything else is gravy."

I smirk at him. "Getting laid is a given, Will. You don't have to be cheeky."

"Cheeky?"

"Cheeky," I mouth at him.

"I don't know anyone who says cheeky."

"I do." I smirk again and pick up a warm, fragrant beignet, shake a bit of the excess sugar off, and take a bite. "Holy sweet mother of G.o.d."

He laughs at the mess I make with the white powder and takes a big bite of his own treat. "Good?"

"Dear Lord, I think I need to change my panties."

"You're not wearing any." His eyes heat as he narrows them at me playfully.

"Well, if I were, I'd have to change them because I think I just had an o.r.g.a.s.m." The old woman at the table next to us gasps, but I ignore her and take another bite and throw my head back as I chew, my eyes closed, savoring the deliciousness. The chickaree coffee compliments the beignets perfectly. "I might have to move here."

"Why?" Will's voice is quiet and strained, and I find his eyes with mine.

"What's wrong?"

He looks around, making sure that no one is listening, but one of the things we've come to love about N'Awlins is, no one cares who he is. "Watching you enjoy food turns me on," he whispers.

I grin slowly and brush my foot up and down his calf as I take another bite, making sure I lick the excess sugar off my lips. "Mmm."

He quirks up an eyebrow and chuckles. "Do you want to play this game?"

"Why, Will? Don't you want to play with me?" I smile sweetly and take a sip of my coffee, then another bite. "G.o.d, these are good. We might need more. I hope you don't care that I'm about to sit here and get really fat off of this fried goodness."

He laughs and takes another bite. "I have some physical activity planned later, or maybe sooner, that should burn quite a few of these calories."

"Thank G.o.d." I surprise both of us and eat more than half the beignets. I can't stop. It's like crack. "Seriously, these are crazy good."

"I'm glad you like them." He sits back and sips his coffee, looking at me speculatively, suddenly sober.

"What?"

"Just thinking." He shakes his head and watches me devour the last two small donuts. "You look beautiful today."

I look down at my orange v-neck sundress and brown cowboy boots. It's just a typical summer outfit, which seemed to be appropriate for fall in the south.

"Thank you."

"I love your hair up off your neck like that."

I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. He's looking at me like he could eat me alive. Like he's seeing me for the first time.

Like he loves me.

Holy s.h.i.t!

He shakes his head, like he's pulling himself out of a trance and smiles softly at me. "Are you ready to go, or do you want more?"

"I'm done."

"Let's go." He holds a hand out for me and pulls me to my feet, and I follow him back out onto the sidewalk, pulling my sungla.s.ses down onto my face. He's wearing his own black Oakleys, tight white t-shirt, khaki shorts. He's just so... big. Tall and muscular and strong.

He does crazy things to my insides.

As we walk up the street, I can hear a saxophone, its sultry notes filling the air. The song is slow and sweet. We turn the corner, and there is a young man, maybe about twenty-two, playing his sax, sitting on a stool, his case open for donations.

The kid is good. Amazingly good. I stop, pulling on Will's hand so he stops too, and listen. The sax player has dyed black hair, his ears both sporting gauges and his fingernails are black. He's dressed every inch the rock star.

But the bluesy notes coming out of that sax make him sound like a legend. If he keeps his head on straight, this kid is going places.

Suddenly, Will pulls me against him, curls his arm around the small of my back, pulls our linked fingers up between our chests, and tucks me against him, slowly swaying back and forth, dancing to the sweet song.

I smile up into his blue eyes, surprised. I'm seeing a whole new romantic side to Will this week.

He grins down at me and begins to move more, pushing and pulling us around the wide sidewalk. People are stopping to watch, the old lady from the table next to us at Cafe Du Monde smiling at us, but we ignore them all and just watch each other.

d.a.m.n, he can dance.

Figures.

The kid starts the song over again, not interrupting our dance and I silently thank him. I'm not ready for Will to let go of me; for the look in his eyes to stop.

It's like it was at the cafe. His blue eyes are intense on mine, full of happiness. His lips are curved in a soft smile, and I can't help but lift up on my toes and rest my own on them, breathing him in.

He smells of coffee and sweet, fried dough.

The arm around my back tightens, pulling me closer to him, practically lifting me off the ground, still swaying back and forth in time with the music, kissing me softly, his lips gently sweeping over mine, nibbling the corners of my mouth. He kisses over my cheek and to my ear, and whispers, "I love you, Megan."

I freeze, and thank the Lord above that he's not looking me in the face because I know my eyes have bulged and I break out in a light sweat, and it has nothing at all to do with the heat. Every muscle in my body contracts. But Will doesn't stop moving, he just wraps both arms around my waist and hugs me to him, and I rest my forehead against his chest as I process what he just said to me.

He loves me.

I want so badly to say the words back, but I can't. Loving means leaving.

Finally, I murmur, "Will..."

"Shh," he tilts my chin with his fingertips and his eyes are soft and kind and I bite my lip so I don't make an a.s.s of myself in front of all these people and cry. "It's okay, sweetheart. I know."

"You do?"

He nods and kisses my forehead. "I do."

"Okay."

He pulls back and smiles down at me, pulls out his wallet, throws a twenty into the sax case, links his fingers with mine, and we wave at the crowd as they applaud and we walk down the sidewalk. My heart is still pounding. I feel... awkward, but Will looks completely relaxed and happy, looking around at the people walking by and the shops we're pa.s.sing, and I begin to relax too.

I see a sign in a window for ghosts tours and point it out. "We should take a ghost tour!"

"Why?" he asks with a scowl.

"New Orleans is supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in the country." I don't really believe in that stuff, but it could be fun.

"I don't believe in that s.h.i.t," he scoffs and leads me across the street toward another street musician, this one with a guitar, as I feel my phone vibrate in my handbag, slung across my body and resting on my hip.

"Well, then, it shouldn't bother you to go on a tour with me. You can hold me when I get scared." I laugh and answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. "h.e.l.lo?"

"So you snagged a rich one."

I stop dead in the street and my stomach falls to the ground. f.u.c.k f.u.c.k f.u.c.k!

"What do you want?" I whisper.

"Who is it?" Will is frowning down at me and suddenly horns are honking at us, telling us to clear the street. He pulls on my elbow and leads me to the sidewalk, watching my face. I can't look away from his eyes.

"What do you want?" I ask more clearly.

"Well, honey, what do you think I want? You have a new rich boyfriend. I want money." Sylvia's voice is raspy from too many cigarettes and heavy with bitterness and just plain mean.

"I just sent you money," I murmur to her and Will's scowl deepens.

"Yeah, well, you can afford to start sending me more. What you send me barely covers my bills."

I close my eyes and run a hand down my face.

"I'm not sending you more money, Sylvia."

"The f.u.c.k you're not, you ungrateful little bi-" I hang up on her, turn my ringer off and throw my phone back in my bag.

"Your mom?" Will asks, hands on his hips, watching my face.

"Yeah."

"Wants money?"

"That's all she ever wants." I start to walk away from him, but he grabs my arm and holds me in place.

"So, we'll send her money."

"Hold up." I face him, square on, and refuse to back down on this. "We aren't giving her s.h.i.t. Ever. She found out that we're seeing each other and thinks she can milk it, but I'll be f.u.c.king d.a.m.ned if she'll ever get a dime out of you, do you understand?"

His eyes are narrowed stubbornly, and I grip his upper arms in my hands, trying to get my point across. "Will, seriously, I don't want you to give her money."

He exhales, his mouth set in a grim line. "Okay."

"Promise me."

"No, I can't promise you that. But I hear you, Meg."

"Will..."

"I f.u.c.king hear you. Trust me to respect you and do my best to protect you."

His face is fierce, and I know he won't bend on this.

"Okay."

"So, what's her deal?" he asks as he takes my hand in his and leads me back in the direction we were heading.

"She's a junkie, and she thinks I owe her."