He took them for security, in case he recognized an old enemy and needed to be incognito. Without Deacons’ patches the Ministry likely wouldn’t bat an eyelid in his direction, and that’s the way he wanted it. He was done with that shit—fighting for the sake of fighting, fighting for the fucking brotherhood. What a fucking joke. In the end, Priest and the Deacons had treated him no better than his pathetic excuse for a mother, and he owed nothing to any of them.
He shut his laptop, then dug around in a bowl on the kitchen counter that looked to be full of keys. “Bingo,” he said as he found one labeled courtyard. He didn’t know how late he’d be and guessed Billie wouldn’t want to wait up to let him in. Although waking her up could be interesting. An image of her looking all sleepy and disheveled landed in his head and he shoved aside the arousal that flared within him at the thought.
Stepping out into the gallery, he shook his head, still unable to believe the change. It was like going to sleep in a brothel and waking up in Disneyland, not that he’d ever been to Disneyland or ever planned to go. He glanced around, paying little attention to the artwork as his gaze zeroed in on Billie near the entrance, chatting to some asshole with dreadlocks and a Hawaiian shirt. The guy reached across and brushed something off her shoulder. Travis’s gut tightened at the thought of another dude touching her when he’d been unable to get the image of touching her himself out of his head these last few hours. Maybe this guy looked more like Billie’s type, but that didn’t mean Travis liked it.
He liked it even less when she smiled up at the man and then giggled at something he said. Travis narrowed his eyes as the man folded his hands in front of his chest as if he were begging. Dumb-ass bastard. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he started toward the gate to Bourbon Street, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
He stalled in front of the multicolored picture of mermaids swimming with alligators; it incorporated paint and material and glitter and all sorts of other shit you’d find in a preschool. It wasn’t to his taste or anything, but something about it stirred a memory he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Had he seen the same mermaids somewhere else? He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, about to move on when Billie approached and the air around him filled with the scent of strawberries again.
“Before you tell me that’s a piece of crap or something and that it’s a scam for me to try and sell it, consider this…the artist who created this reformed her life thanks to her art.”
He wondered why she thought he’d care but he stared at her, taking the opportunity for a close-up ogle. He’d been a jerk earlier, simply because he could be, simply because Ajax had riled him up, simply because this was New Orleans, and Billie had been there for him to take out his frustrations on. He’d calmed a little now, but he kinda liked it when she was pissy with him. Her tits heaved up and down and her eyes sparked with passion. He pretended to listen as she went on about some woman who’d lived on the streets, almost died of an overdose and then met an artist who offered art therapy classes, which brought her back from the brink.
“That loser giving you trouble?” he asked, not uttering any words of sympathy or understanding about the woman, instead nodding toward the guy who was now talking to a group of ladies about a sculpture. He was talking with his hands and the women seemed to be hanging on his every word.
Billie frowned and followed his gaze. “Who? Rolley?”
Travis sniggered. “What kind of a name is Rolley?”
“It’s no stranger than Cash.” She cocked her head to the side. “Why are you called Cash anyway?”
His jaw tightened. Who’d told her his road name? Had she spoken to Ajax or Blue? Even Prince? Nah, Prince wouldn’t have told anyone; he wanted to move on from the past as much as Travis did. Ignoring her question, he persisted. “He’s obviously interested in you.”
“So?” She tried to flick her hair back off her shoulder as if it had once been long. He liked it short, cropped around her chin. Made her look a little like a naughty pixie. “What’s it to you? Is it such a stretch of your imagination to believe that someone might find me attractive?”
Travis raised his eyebrows. Fuck no, it wasn’t a stretch at all. At that moment he was fantasizing about punishing the pixie. He unashamedly glanced down over her body, imagining exactly what she’d look like without that little T-shirt and flowing skirt.
Clearly flustered by his gaze, Billie crossed her arms over her chest. “Rolley is a nice guy.” The insinuation was clear—she didn’t consider Travis a nice guy. She’d be right. “And a very talented artist, but I’m only interested in him in a professional capacity. Fact is, I’m not interested in any man.”
“Is that right?” He’d bet his Harley he could make her interested, although it could be fun if she did put up a bit of a fight. “Do you ride for the other team then?”
“No.” She screwed up her pretty little face in obvious irritation. “Just because I don’t want to be some man’s property,” she hissed, lowering her voice, “doesn’t make me a lesbian.”
He held up his hands. “Hey, don’t get so defensive. I don’t have a problem with lesbians. Do you? ’Cause that’s kind of not kosher these days.”
She glared at him. “Are you always this infuriating?”
He shrugged. “If you’re not a lesbian, are you in training for the convent?”
“This conversation is ridiculous,” she snapped. “But if you must know, I’m recently divorced and not in a hurry to get shackled to a man again.”
He smirked. “Who said anything about tying anyone up?” Although his pants shrunk a couple of sizes at the thought of Billie’s hands tied to the bedpost with his belt while he thrust into her.
Her cheeks went bright red and he hit her with his most suggestive smile. He wondered what kind of cocksucker her ex-husband must be. Travis never planned on getting married himself but if he ever did, no wife of his would cut and run.
“I…um…” She stuttered as if she didn’t know what to say.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’m going out to get some food, but if you feel like some company later, you let me know. Remember, I’ll be sleeping right next door to your room.”
And with that he turned and stalked away. He passed Rolley and the women he was trying to con into buying a sculpture and was almost at the gate when Billie called after him.
“There’ll be a snowstorm in hell before that happens!”
He didn’t turn back, but he imagined from the tone of her voice that she had her hands on her hips and a glower on her face. As he stepped out onto Bourbon Street, he glanced left and right at the hordes of people stumbling up and down the road. Although it was only early evening, there was already a pool of vomit not too far from his feet. He chuckled. Yep, New Orleans was as close to hell as anyplace on earth, and he might not be a weather forecaster but if he decided he wanted snow, then there’d be snow.
Chapter 3
As Travis left the gallery without even a backward glance in her direction, Billie slumped down onto a painted wooden bench and pressed her hand against her racing heart. She may have put on an act of bravado, but the truth was there was a raging inferno inside her body and it was all Travis Sinclair’s fault. It felt like everything he said to her carried sexual innuendo, even when it didn’t. But that thing about “tying anyone up” had definitely been full of suggestion and possibility, and dammit, it had turned her on.