To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (7 page)

I made no attempt to get
up. “Where?”

“
It’s a
surprise.”

“
Forget it.” I folded my
arms across my chest and hunkered down in my chair. “I have to get
back for a class.”

“
Nicci, I am bigger than
you and I can drag you out of that chair, but then you would make
an awful scene, embarrass yourself forever, and never be able to
return here with me for coffee.” He arched over me, his wide
shoulders blocking my view of the room behind him. “I, on the other
hand, have no problem with picking you up, throwing you over my
shoulder, and carrying you out of here if I have to.” He was trying
to stare me down.

“
Where are we going?” I
growled.

“
All right, if you insist.”
He picked me up out of the chair, and threw me over his shoulder
like a slab of meat.

“
Put me down!” I was almost
screaming. “David, put me down or I swear—”

“
Thank you, ladies,” he
called to the waitresses, gathered at the door.

They were laughing hysterically at our
display. One opened the door for him and stood there shaking her
head.

Despite my loud protests,
David carried me out of the café and into the street. Titters
followed us as we walked by, and I swore that I would never show my
face in the Quarter again. Some workmen in front of the café broke
into a round of applause as David passed by with me on his
shoulder. I punched him in the kidney.

“
Play nice,” he advised,
patting my bottom.

“
This is not the way to win
friends.” I could barely get the words out because his shoulder was
wedged into my diaphragm.

“
With some people the
direct approach saves time.”

He walked over to his car,
or Sammy’s car. I wasn’t sure.

“
If you don’t put me down
soon, I swear I will puke all over your nice shoes.”

He dropped me onto the
front seat of the Jaguar. “Just don’t puke on the seat,” he
countered, closing the car door.

When he climbed into the
driver’s side, I punched him in the arm with all of my
might.

“
Like to punch and kick,
eh? I’ll have to remember that.”

“
Is this a formal
kidnapping, or do you want to hold off contacting my father until
you have painted an appropriate ransom note?” I glared at him while
my foot was furiously tapping on the floor of the car.

“
Not a kidnapping. More
like a borrowing. Relax.” He placed his hand on my bouncing knee.
“I only kidnap woman who wear pasties and work on Bourbon
Street.”

“
Very funny.” He turned the
key and the engine hummed. “Where are we going?” I
implored.

He put the car in gear. “To
have some fun.”

David drove along Esplanade
Avenue, heading away from the Quarter. It was a glorious day. The
sky was pale blue, with only a few clouds and there was a gentle
breeze. I sat back and decided not to ask any more
questions.

As David expertly
maneuvered the car through the traffic, I found myself comparing
him to many of the men I had dated. There had been the boring
dates, the interesting dates, and the dates I swore I would never
survive. Of all the men I had been with, I had never felt as
comfortable with any of them as I felt at that moment. David gave
me an uncanny sense of ease, like knowing someone for many years,
even though this was only our third meeting.

One thing that always
impressed me about a man was his ability to drive a car. I didn’t
like a wimpy driver that followed all the street signs and was
courteous to everyone. No, a man that was relentless behind a wheel
was a real turn on for me. I guess I compared it to the man’s
ability to take control of the forces around him. Most of the men I
had dated had driven like blind grandmothers off to Sunday church.
David was a ruthless, risk-taking driver. He drove like he lived,
on the edge.

We approached the end of
Esplanade Avenue and turned into the entrance to City Park. The
park was located on the outskirts of the city, just past the famous
above-ground cemeteries, frequented by tour groups. It was a vast
fifteen hundred acre complex that offered golfing, horseback
riding, tennis courts, and other outdoor activities.

I glanced curiously at
David as the car followed one of the narrow streets in the park to
the Casino. The building had been a casino in the early part of the
last century and the name had never been changed. David parked in
the first available spot and was out the door before the engine had
even stopped. I followed quickly behind him.

“
What are we doing here?” I
implored, noting the rather simple white building before
us.

He grasped my hand, pulling
me toward the Casino. “Come on.”

Once inside, the smell of stale popcorn and
burnt hot dogs accosted my nose. When David dragged me in front of
the City Park license desk, I finally began to comprehend his true
intentions. This was the place to purchase a license for fishing in
the numerous stocked lagoons located throughout the park.

I halted several feet away
from the desk. “You have got to be kidding!”

“
Oh come on, Nicci. It’ll
be fun.”

“
Is this just because you
don’t think I can string a worm on a hook?”

“
No, I just want you to
have some fun.” He came up to me. “I think you need it. I think we
both need it.”

“
What makes you think I
need to have fun?”

“
All right, if it makes you
feel better, I desperately need to have some fun. Okay?”

Without waiting for an
answer, he proceeded to the desk and purchased two fishing tickets.
He then went into the tackle store that was adjacent to the license
desk. A few minutes later, he emerged carrying two bamboo fishing
poles.

“
We have to dig our own
worms,” he said, sounding like an excited schoolboy. “The guy in
the store told me about a good spot to find them.” He held one of
the long poles out to me.

“
All right.” I took the
tall pole and frowned. “I refuse to clean anything we
catch.”

“
Deal. I’ll clean. You
cook.”

***

Worm hunting was not as
easy as David expected. He found a hefty tree branch and began
digging in several shady spots under some great oaks just off the
road. The afternoon sun was climbing in the sky and the temperature
was getting warmer. By the time David had dug his third hole, his
shirt was clinging to his torso. I could see every muscle
underneath the soaked fabric, straining with each powerful pull of
his arms.

After about twenty minutes,
David had gathered what he felt were a sufficient number of worms
to make a good fishing expedition. To me, it looked as if he had
dug up half the worms in the city. He dropped them in his brush pot
and we wandered off to find a shady spot to fish the afternoon
away.

We searched until David
decided that he had found the perfect spot, next to a towering oak
whose branches extended into a small lagoon. The water came right
up to the roots of the tree, which provided the perfect platform on
which to sit and dangle our poles over the water.

David picked up the brush
pot and handed it to me. “I’m waiting.”

I took the pot from him,
removed a worm, and began impaling the poor creature on the hook
without flinching. He watched my every move with
disbelief.

“
I didn’t think you had it
in you,” he finally said.

I dropped my hook into the
water. “What? You were expecting a show of repulsion and then a
feigned attempt to throw myself on your manhood to get you to bait
my hook?”

He reached into the pot and
selected a worm. “I thought at least you would squirm a
little.”

“
I didn’t realize this was
a test. Do you subject all the women you know to this?”

“
No.” He put his line in
the water and sat down on the widest root of the tree. “I usually
buy them an expensive meal and ply them with booze. Conversation is
not the main objective.”

I discovered a cozy spot on
a smaller root a few feet from David. “Any particular reason why I
got the worms and not the six course dinner at
Antoine’s?”

“
Because, my dear Nicci, my
objective with you is conversation.”

“
Well, conversation and
fishing don’t go together. If you haven’t heard, it scares the fish
away. So shh.” I raised my finger to my lips.

He frowned and looked away into the
water.

My cork would occasionally
bob, but every time I removed my hook from the water, the worm was
gone. David’s luck was not much better. He caught one small bass
and threw it back, claiming that not even the ducks would want it.
I sat and watched the tall man beside me as he peered out over the
water. He was not at all like my first impression of him. The
silent sophistication had been replaced by an intelligent humor
that would have repulsed, more than attracted the likes of Sammy
and her friends. His once well-manicured hands were now muddy from
digging worms. His always immaculately groomed brown hair was now
disheveled and sweaty from the afternoon heat. He looked more at
ease in the park with his shoes off and his feet dangling in the
water. The pretenses were gone and I was finally getting to know
the real man.

“
How long have you been in
New Orleans?” I asked.

“
A while.”

He tried tempting a curious
duck swimming by. “Where did you live before you came
here?”

“
Oh, all over. New York.
London. Amsterdam. Paris. I spent a few short months in Hawaii and
other big cities around this country.” He shrugged his wide
shoulders. “Living out of a suitcase is not all it’s cracked up to
be.”

“
And in all these places
you found…a friend to help you out?”

“
Is there a point to this?
Do you really want to hear this, Nicci?”

“
No, David. Forget it.
Knowing who you were then would never change how I see you at this
very moment.”

“
And how is that? As a
worthless fisherman?”

“
No.” I paused and analyzed
how his smile complemented his face. “I see someone who is a
wanderer. Who is perhaps tired of wandering?”

He sat silent for a moment,
studying me. Then, he turned away. “How did you get so smart for
one so young?”

“
I’m not that much younger
than you.”

“
Let’s just say there are
more than a few years between us.”

“
Does that bother
you?”

He shook his head. “No,
because you’re more mature than people I know who are twice your
age. I like that about you.”

Standing up, I put my pole
down and walked over to a patch of clover next to the lagoon bank
and sat down. “You have to grow up fast to survive in this
town.”

He retrieved his pole and
sat down beside me. “Yes. I can understand that, especially after
dealing with Sammy and her friends.”

The breeze from the west
was cooling to my skin and the sun above beat down on my head,
chasing away any chill. David reclined on the green clover
surrounding us.

“
I can only imagine what it
has been like for you. I bet you have some great stories to
tell.”

I tugged at the clover
underneath my hand. “They’re not pretty romances or tidy tales of
intrigue. They are simply ugly reflections of the human species.
The pettiness and the greed, that’s what I mostly see or hear
about.”

“
You sound like a writer.”
He paused and sat up. “Are you a writer, Nicci?”

“
I’m no writer. I’m
just…well, a dabbler.”

“
Like I dabble in
painting?” he chuckled.

“
No,
you
are
a painter!
You’re good enough to make a living at it. I don’t think anyone
would want to read about the misadventures of a disillusioned
debutante. No, I decided long ago that being a writer was not a
practical profession. I wanted something steady, like nursing.
Maybe one day, I’ll become more than just a
dabbler.”

“
Be a writer now, if that’s
what you want. Don’t be fooled by the lure of a practical and
steady existence. It’s also a very empty one.” He moved his face
closer to mine. “Is that your dream, Nicci, to become a
writer?”

I felt the warm embrace of
his eyes. My stomach danced with butterflies, and I quickly turned
away.

“
I’d better get back.” I
stood and went to collect my pole.

“
Yes,” he agreed. “It’s
getting late.”

***

We drove back to the
Quarter in silence. His playful mood was gone, and he didn’t try to
continue the light banter we had shared earlier. It was anger I
sensed from him now. I noticed the way his hands tightly gripped
the steering wheel, and how his arm tensed every time he shifted
gears. These were not the effortless motions I had observed at the
park. I studied him, as the car purred along Esplanade Avenue,
wondering what I had done or said to invoke his ire. Before I knew
it, we were back in the Quarter, in almost the same spot we had
left.