Infinityglass (Hourglass 3)

She put up a hand. “Hallie, if you want to stay on my good side.”

“I’m deathly afraid of your bad side, Hallie.”

Her next move stole my breath. She slid off her stool and put her palms on my chest, ran her hands down my stomach, and hooked one finger inside the waistband of my pants. “Do you dance?”

“I …”

A second finger sneaked in. She pulled me closer.

“Um …” I tried to step away.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

I thought of her bare back, skin as smooth as velvet, and how she must taste. I wondered how she’d respond if I gave in. How far things would go before I caught myself and remembered why I came to New Orleans.

Best to remember why I was here right now.

“Home. I’m taking you home.”

“I could get you in a lot of trouble,” she threatened, trying to play me. Even though I preferred girls who were a little more low-key, if I’d been a normal guy without some higher purpose, I’d have let her play me all the way out. “You’re here. I’m here. Why can’t we have fun?”

“You know why,” I said.

“You aren’t going to give in, are you?”

I shook my head. She picked up her bag and started for the other side of the bar. “Where do—”

“The bathroom. To change.” She pointed to her red leather pants. “Did you want to help?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to help.”

“Jean Lafitte likes to hang out in the ladies’.” She flashed a wide smile. “Pirates. They never disappoint. Especially when I pretend they all look like Johnny Depp.”

“Fine. Go change. Don’t sneak out a bathroom window.”

“I said I’d go home with you and I will.”

I had no reason to trust her, but she didn’t seem like a liar. A sneak, most definitely, but not a liar. “Forgive me if I have trouble taking you at your word.”

“There aren’t any windows in the bathroom.” She growled in frustration. “You can check, unless you’re afraid of pirates.”

“It’s not like you couldn’t go in and come out a completely different person.”

Her eyes narrowed and she sat back down. “What did you just say?”

“I mean, you have a proclivity for disguises. There’s the shoes. And the eyelashes. The brown contacts. The outfit.”

She shook her head. “Did my dad tell you anything about me?”

“All he said was that you had … an uncanny knack with appearances.”

“An uncanny knack?”

In the span of a second, her face morphed back to its original form, her eyes to their original hazel. I was so fascinated by the transformation that I didn’t react. Big mistake.

She spoke through her teeth. “Who the hell are you?”

“I …”