Chapter 6
How Baxter could sleep while Billie tossed and turned in bed she had no clue, but he was snoring soundly beside her, oblivious to her inner turmoil. She craved the sweet oblivion the dog had, but the thoughts of Travis that invaded her head prevented that. It was one thing for him to stake a claim on the gallery—that was bad enough—but he’d had no right to do what he’d done that night. No right to try and make her look stupid when she was working.
When he’d appeared in the midst of her tour group, for a few brief moments she’d been glad. At least her body, tingling with awareness, had been happy to see him. She’d been stupid enough to believe he might actually be interested in what she had to say. Crazy and hopeful, when all he’d wanted was the chance to aggravate her again. This time in public.
Fury tensed her muscles and she gripped her pillow hard against her chest. This could not go on. Tomorrow morning she was going to sit him down and have a chat. Or rather confront him and make him listen. Travis had already told her he didn’t do conversation. Well, that was fine, because she planned on doing all the talking. She was going to lay it on him, tell Mr. Worships Himself Sinclair that she wouldn’t be walked all over. And she wasn’t going to let him touch her in the process.
If he were here now, she’d do it right this minute, but she hadn’t heard Travis come in yet. She glanced at her watch—it was way past midnight. Where could he be? Her mind led her to a number of possible places, most of which would boast a bevy of women eager to please a hot bad boy. Her ribs squeezed tight around her heart at the thought. Why did this even bother her? They were welcome to him. But as her hormones screamed that she was a liar, she heard the groaning of the gate at the front of the gallery and was still.
She listened to heavy footsteps trudging across the courtyard. The door to the house opened and the footsteps grew louder, closer. Then there was one single but loud knock on her bedroom door. She sat up straight and was yanking the sheets around her neck and cursing herself for not putting furniture in front of the door, when it opened and Travis filled the doorway, light from the hall spilling over him. He looked like some kind of fallen angel.
“What are you doing here?” she spat, unsure whether she was scared, pissed off or aroused by his presence in her bedroom. Maybe a cocktail of all three.
As he stepped into the room and switched on her light, Baxter stirred, lifting his head and then leaping off the bed to go and greet the enemy. Billie’s insides contracted at the sight of Travis stooping to scratch her little dog on the neck. “I’m sorry for acting like a jerk today,” he said finally.
Well, that was unexpected. She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was referring to manhandling her without permission or trying to ruin her tour that night. He obviously thought his behavior the other days was acceptable. “So, the big, bad biker can apologize?”
He shrugged. “Occasionally. When I’m in the wrong, which just so you know, isn’t often. But to show I mean it I’m taking you out for beignets.”
Maybe she was asleep, because this had to be some crazy-ass concoction of her vivid imagination. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“And?” Travis ran a hand through his hair, and she shivered imagining that hand on her instead. “There’s a reason Café Du Monde is open 24/7—it’s always time for beignets.”
Her stomach rumbled loudly in agreement but she ignored it. “And, I don’t take kindly to being told what to do.” Lord knows her ex had been the king of that. Well, she hadn’t finally broken free of her marriage to let someone she hardly knew pick up where Saxon had left off. “Have you ever considered I might be more likely to say yes if you asked me rather than told me?”
“Fine.” Travis’s expression was one of stone. “Would you do me the great honor of coming out and sharing a plate of beignets?”
Billie laughed despite herself. Travis Sinclair was one surprise after another. “Why?”
He sighed as if exasperated by her. “Because I’m hungry. I feel like beignets and I know how much you like them. Are you coming or not?”
Part of her knew that going anywhere with Travis Sinclair would be a very bad idea indeed, but she couldn’t help herself. They’d gotten off to a bad start but he was making the effort to be civil, and she could sense how difficult that was for him. Shouldn’t she meet him halfway? Maybe if they got to know each other, she’d be able to convince him not to sell the gallery. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d asked her out for gumbo; they were talking beignets and, having been unable to eat all day, she was quite literally starving.
“Okay.” She tightened her grip on the sheets and nodded toward the door. “If you let me get dressed, I’ll come.”
“Go ahead.” He didn’t make a move to go.
“In private,” she clarified as she gestured to her bedroom door.
“Right, sure.” He chuckled as he backed away. Then, “Not like I haven’t seen it all before, sweetheart.”
Ignoring that comment as the door shut behind Travis, Billie dressed quickly in jeans and a light sweater. Was she crazy to be going out with this man in the middle of the night? Possibly lack of sleep was affecting her judgment. Pushing that thought aside, she grabbed her bag and went out into the kitchen, where Travis and Baxter (who had followed him out) were waiting.
“We taking the mutt?” Travis asked gruffly.
“Yes.” Baxter went almost everywhere with her and, despite the fact that he seemed to have chosen Travis as his new best friend, she felt certain if she were in danger Baxter would do his best to protect her.
“In that case, let’s go.” Travis gestured to the door, holding it open for her to walk through. As she did so, he brushed his hand against the small of her back and she shivered, feeling more alive, more female, than she ever had before. She swallowed and continued on, neither of them speaking as they walked out onto Bourbon Street.
“Where’d you get that key?” Billie asked as Travis locked the gate behind them.
“Pilfered it,” he informed her with a wicked spark in his eyes.
She shook her head; she supposed it was better than him breaking and entering. They walked past The Priory, Baxter trotting like a chaperone between their feet. Travis didn’t even glance inside the bar, and a number of questions bubbled on Billie’s tongue about his connection to the biker gang. But no conversation could be held in the middle of all the noise and partying of a still crowded Bourbon Street, and Travis was liable to tell her to mind her own business, so she continued on, soaking up the sights, which always fascinated her, as they turned onto St. Ann Street in the direction of Café Du Monde.
Billie had been a regular at the famous café when she’d first arrived in New Orleans, but she’d always come during the day. It looked spectacular at night, its bright lights making the place appear like something out of a fairy tale. While it wasn’t crowded, there were enough people sitting at the tables to keep the waitstaff busy, and the smells wafting from the white and green building made her mouth water. Travis led them to a table on the sidewalk only a few yards from the street.
They’d barely taken their seats when a dark-skinned waiter, dressed in the café’s black pants, white shirt and white paper hat, arrived beside them. “How y’all doing?” he asked. “What can I get for you?”
“An order of beignets,” Travis said, his tone saying this was the stupidest question ever. He looked to Billie. “Do you want a drink?”