Authors: Alexandrea Weis
Tyler held out his hand. “Mat,
it was great to meet you.”
The two men quickly shook hands and Mat stepped away from the table. Once he had exited the
dining room, Monique whirled around to Tyler.
“What in the hell was that about? Why did you tell him those lies?”
Tyler resumed his chair. “Just making the asshole wonder about you, that’s all. Now he’ll question how close our relationship really was, and if all the years you were married to him, you were still in love with me.”
“He read my books, Ty. He knows how I felt about you.”
“Perhaps.” Tyler reached for his napkin beside his plate. “But he doesn’t know the feeling was mutual. He thought you were just obsessed with a man you couldn’t have. Now he knows otherwise, and it will eat at him, trust me.”
“
And I’m telling you, Mat could care less about me or you.”
Tyler leaned
in closer to her. “Moe, men are very possessive creatures; even when they don’t want you, if they think they can’t have you, then they’ll want you. Your ex was just given a new perspective about you. He will be second-guessing your marriage in his head for weeks to come.”
“I don’t get it. Why did you do that?”
He raised his menu. “Because he hurt you, and he deserved it.”
Monique sat back in her chair and after a few seconds, she slowly smiled. “Yeah, he did deserve it.”
She opened her menu just as a short man dressed in white entered the room, carrying a basket of bread and a plate of butter.
“I am so sorry for the delay
.” The man in white placed the basket and plate between Tyler and Monique. “I am Sheldon, your waiter. Welcome to Brennan’s. What can I get you this morning?”
Chapter 1
6
After dining on eggs benedict, spicy fried shrimp covered with a Hollandaise sauce, and Banana’s Foster, Tyler and Monique set out to tour the cracked sidewalks of the French Quarter. They wandered down Royal Street, peering into different shops until they came to a wide bay window exhibiting old photographs of the city.
Tyler
was amused at the way Monique hungrily scoured the pictures. “Would you like to go inside?”
She shook her head. “No, I’d probably spend a small fortune in there.”
He moved over to the door. “Lucky for you I have a small fortune to spend.”
“I don’t want you spending any money on me.”
He opened the glass inlaid french door that served as the entrance to the establishment. “Moe, I flew here in a private jet that cost more to fuel up than you could possibly spend in this one store.”
“But I didn’t ask you to come
,” she pointed out.
“But I’m here, so allow me to buy you a gift.”
She turned to the door. “No. If I find something, I’ll buy it.”
“You don’t know how refreshing that is to hear
,” he muttered behind her.
The
small store was crammed from wall to ceiling with hundreds of black and white photographs from the turn of the century to the late fifties. Some were of sites in New Orleans, while others were of historic landmarks or people captured from the past.
As if in a trance, Monique was drawn to a corner of the room where
several large photos of the French Quarter were hanging on the wall. Beneath the photographs, a table was filled with matted, unframed pictures. She enthusiastically began thumbing through the pictures, shaking her head at some, and then smiling at others.
Gazing about the gallery,
Tyler became intrigued by a row of skylines of different big cities in the United States. He walked across the jam-packed store to study the photographs further.
“You and your wife looking for something in particular?” a raspy-sounding older man asked as he came up to Tyler.
Tyler turned to the gray-haired gentleman with thick, black-rimmed glasses. “She might be,” he admitted. “She likes to collect old photographs of New Orleans.”
“Well, I got plenty. I can even ship them home for you.”
Tyler took in the man’s dark eyes. “Oh, she lives here. I’m just visiting from out of state.”
“You
two married?”
Tyler shook his head. “No.”
“Gonna get married?” the insistent shopkeeper posed. “Cause if you ain’t gonna marry her, I might give it a try.” His lighthearted chuckle made Tyler smile.
Tyler glanced back at Monique. “I think we are still working on that.”
“Well, as long as you’re working on it. That’s all that matters.” He held out his hand. “My name’s Joe, by the way. Joe Krieger.”
“Tyler Moore.” Tyler shook his hand and
noted Joe’s serene, wrinkled countenance.
W
hen Tyler’s eyes returned to Monique, she was holding two pictures in her hands, as if trying to decide which one she wanted.
“The pictures on that table.” Tyler
gestured to the table Monique was standing in front of. “How much for all the pictures you have there, Joe?”
“The entire New Orleans collection?” Joe cr
inkled his eyebrows together as he reflected on the question. “I don’t know, I guess….” He scratched his head. “Fifteen hundred, maybe? How does that sound?”
Tyler faced him and lowered his voice. “I want to keep it as a surprise, so could you wrap up all the pictures and have them delivered to her house
?”
“Sure, just give me an address and I can have them delivered day after tomorrow, if you like
.”
Monique c
ame toward them, carrying a picture in her hand.
“Did you find one you wanted, Moe?”
“Yes.” She noticed the older man next to Tyler. “Is this your store?”
“Sure is.” Joe nodded. “You found something you like?”
“I did.” She held out a very pretty, large black and white matted photograph of St. Louis Cathedral taken from the river at sunrise. “I’m getting this one.”
Tyler
pulled out his wallet. “I’ll buy it for you.”
“
Ty, I told you I would get my own—”
“Let your man buy you the picture, darlin’,” Joe
interrupted with a wave of his gnarled hand. “It makes a man feel useful when he can buy a woman a gift.”
“But it makes a woman feel empowered when she can buy what she wants with her money and doesn’t need a man to do it for her
,” Monique debated.
Joe elbowed Tyler. “You got your hands full with this one.”
Tyler raised his hand to his mouth and covered his cocky grin.
Monique glar
ed at him. “I see you found an ally.”
“Why don’t you let him buy this for you?” Joe suggested, taking the picture from her. “
Then, you can buy him something. That way you will both be appeased.” He turned away, holding the picture in his hands. “I can even have it delivered to your house, so you won’t have to lug it around the Quarter with you.” He carried the picture back to a wide counter set in the corner of the store that was hidden behind easels displaying huge framed photographs of famous jazz musicians.
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” Monique declared, advancing to
ward the counter. “I can carry it. It’s not that heavy.”
Joe waved off her suggestion. “Nonsense. I can frame it for you and then it will be ready to hang when it arrives at your home.”
“You don’t have to frame it,” she insisted.
Joe grinned at her. “Let me frame it for you
, sweetheart. My treat. It’s not every day I get such a handsome couple in here.”
Monique’s determination caved in to the shopkeeper’s request. “All right,” she finally agreed.
Joe handed her a pen and receipt pad. “Write down your address at the top, and I will have it delivered day after tomorrow via FedEx.”
Tyler stepped closer to the counter and removed his black American Express card from his wallet as Monique wr
ote down her address.
He winked at the shop owner. “I appreciate all of your help, Joe.”
“No problem.” Joe took Tyler’s credit card and started for the far end of the counter. “Let me just total everything up.”
Monique finished filling out her information and
scowled at Tyler. “But I still get to buy you something.”
“If that makes you feel better, you can buy me an ice cream cone
.”
She
pushed the receipt pad across the counter. “It has to be something you want.”
“
Well, I want an ice cream cone.”
“If you don’t tell me what you want, I will buy something I think you want, and then you might end up with something you don’t want and I will have wasted my money. Do you want that on your conscience
, Ty?”
He
gaped at her. “Is that really how your brain works? That makes no sense, Moe.”
“It makes perfect sense, Ty. You just don’t want to understand it.”
“Can I offer a bit of advice?” Joe came back from the end of the counter and handed Tyler his credit card and receipt. “Never argue with a woman’s logic. You can’t win, son.”
Monique motioned to the older man. “See, he gets it.”
Tyler tucked the credit card and receipt into his wallet. “I’ll keep that in mind, Joe.”
After
bidding farewell to Joe, Tyler closed the door of the picture shop as Monique surveyed Royal Street with her keen gray eyes.
“What can we buy you?”
“Moe, really, don’t buy me anything,” Tyler affirmed.
“No, I would feel better buying you something.” She peered down the busy street as people
milled about, peeking into shop windows and enjoying a quartet of street musicians that were playing a snappy melody on the corner next to them. “I’ve got it,” she gleefully proclaimed. “There’s a store on Chartres, not far from here. I think you might find something you would like there.”
He took a step closer to her, studying her dev
ious grin. “Somehow, I don’t think I am going to like this.”
She
gripped his hand. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
After a short walk down Bienville Street, passing before
rows of trendy shops and boutique hotels, they came to a red Creole townhouse with stucco archways decorating the first floor. Above, a second-floor balcony with white cornices over the windows added to the postcard-like ambience. As Tyler read the colorful sign hanging over the front entrance, his mouth fell open.
“Mr. Binky’s Boutique?” He
gawked at the assortment of blow-up dolls and silhouettes of naked woman draped in pink boas covering the entrance, and knew where she had taken him. “I’m not going in there, Moe,” he loudly asserted.
“What did that old man at that shop say, ‘don’t argue with a woman’?”
She tugged on his arm.
“He wasn’t talking about this.” He pointed to the adult store next to them.
“What? You’re into different things in bed. I don’t understand why going into a place like this bothers you.”
Tyler
nervously pulled at the collar on his blue knit polo shirt. “I don’t like advertising what we do in the privacy of our bedroom.”
Monique inched closer to the open french doors at the entrance. “Just think of it as research for my book
s.”
“
But you write romance….” He waved at the building. “Not this.”
She
chuckled at his obvious embarrassment. “Come on, Mr. Prude. Let’s get you something to loosen you up.”
He
plodded forward. “That is not funny, Moe.”
As Monique led him through a smaller pink door right behind the entrance, Tyler became
immersed in a world of naughty lingerie, assorted lubricants, and an endless hodgepodge of sexual paraphernalia. When his eyes settled on the enhancement devices, he wanted to run for the front door.
“I think I know just the thing you need
.” Monique pulled him toward a corner of the store with a sign reading, “Bondage” hanging from the ceiling.
Tyler
browsed the whips, chains, black leather hoods, and harnesses, wondering what exactly Monique had in mind. She selected a pair of pink, feather-lined handcuffs on the wall.
“What do you think? Or is pink not your color?”
she asked, brandishing the handcuffs.
He
chose a black riding crop with tassels on the end of it from a table beside him and waved it in front of her. “You’re sure you don’t want a riding crop to go with that?”
Monique took the crop from hi
m and put it back on the table. “Nah, I prefer you use your hands.”
Undone by her bravado, he
ran his hand behind his neck. “Have you no shame, woman?”
She tilted her head to the side
, puzzled by his reaction. “No, why be ashamed? It’s just sex, Ty. If I have learned one thing from being a writer, it is that everyone has fantasies about how they want to be in bed, or how they want to be treated, but very few people act on them. We are so stifled by what is expected of us, that we rarely do what we actually want. Being a writer means being open to new experiences. That’s all I’m doing.”