The Saint (Notorious 3)

“Night,” I said, stepping into the shadows.

“Good night, Carter,” Vanessa said, her voice warm with an emotion I’d never heard before.

Inside the party, I found Zoe and Eric at a cocktail table, eating their way through what looked like a mountain of fried catfish.

“Butter-flavored Crisco,” Eric was saying, his fingers greasy from the fish but his eyes warm, no doubt from a few minutes spent with Zoe. “That’s the secret,” Eric said.

“You’re kidding!” she cried, staring down at the fish with a mix of horror and love. I smiled—her feelings about food were so complicated.

Eric caught sight of me first and he turned, graciously opening up their small circle to include me. Zoe, on the other hand, shut down, all that warmth suddenly banked.

No, I thought, no no no.

“You’ll never guess, Carter,” Eric said, “but we got the catfish from this soul food place on River—”

“Mama’s?” I asked Zoe.

She nodded. “Apparently, Eric and I have similar taste.” She wiped her hands off on a napkin and sighed. “Thank you, Eric. I appreciate your time and the soul food education.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you next week. Call Janet at my office and we’ll get something lined up. Your academy sounds like something Baton Rouge needs.”

She did it, I thought, sparks of pride shooting through my body. I couldn’t help but grin at her, at the beauty and wonder of her. And I knew, not that it was ever in question—but I knew that Zoe was different from anyone else in my life, and not just because she was pregnant and stood on chairs and accused me of being a deadbeat daddy.

Zoe was different because I felt differently about her. I liked her and craved her. I wanted to know her better and let her know me.

I wanted to stop being a damn pixel picture.

“I will,” she said, her smile bright and clean. “Thank you.”

She nodded at me, her eyes shuttered, and I realized that I was losing my chance with Zoe before I fully knew how much I wanted it.

“Good night,” Zoe said, and then she left, the sheen of her dress attracting all the light and every male eye in the room.

“That’s quite a woman there, O’Neill,” Eric said, his voice filled with a low-level warning. A don’t-blow-this-chance alarm that I heard loud and clear.

“I know,” I said.

I thought of my mother at that table outside, so totally alone, and I took a step after Zoe. And then another.

I didn’t want to be that alone. Not anymore.

11

ZOE

It was impossible to make a graceful exit when saddled with too-big stripper shoes. Just outside the glass-and-marble lobby of the Hilton I tripped on the edge of my dress, and the shoe slipped right off my foot.

“Cinderella.”

Carter came up behind me and my whole body, already electrified by the night’s success, went into overload at the sight of him.

All hands on deck, my hormones screamed.

This man is too much, I tried to tell myself. Too unpredictable. Too hot and cold. He’s not right for you. For any reason.

But he held my shoe, which looked totally ridiculous in his hand, and when I reached for it, he pulled it back.

“Let me,” he said, and before I could stop him, he was crouched in front of me, brushing aside my dress, lifting my foot.

I put quivering fingertips on his shoulder.

It was the most intimate thing I’d ever felt. Ever been a part of.

His fingers on my ankles, brushing my toes, sent pulses of light and heat under my skin. As I watched, numb, all of my anger, every bit of confusion, was eradicated by the sight of him on his knee in front of me, concentrating on my ankle strap.

Without the confusion or anger, all that was left was desire. And it was a storm in me, growing out of control.

“I don’t think Cinderella’s shoes were this complicated,” he joked, working the tiny strap at my ankle.

“They were glass slippers,” I said, staring up at the stars wishing a lightning bolt would just come down and take me out of my misery. “They had their own problems.”

“These don’t even fit you.”

“They belong to a drag queen,” I blurted.

“Oh.” His finger trailed up my instep as he stood, leaving fireflies dancing along my spine, the nape of my neck. “That explains it then.”

His smile was so sweet. Tender. As if the scene in the ballroom with the dealer had never happened. Suddenly I couldn’t stand it, the way my body stayed warm for this man, no matter what he did.

He was close, so close that I could lean against him and all that heat would be mine. All that electricity would blast through me, obliterating my better sense, my concerns and doubts.

I could just feel. For the first time in a year, I could lean back into a man’s arms and just feel.