Page 41 of Careless Whisper (Modern Vintage Romances #11)

Gage

S he moved like the wind!

The sway of her hips, the curl of her auburn hair around her shoulders, the heat in her honey-brown eyes as she lost herself in the music—Naomi LeBlanc was special.

Since I got her into my bed, she’d constantly surprised me—no more than two days ago when she told me she was in love with me.

She wasn’t the first woman who’d asked me for a commitment, and I decided to do what I always did—make it clear that it was non-negotiable. I wasn’t looking for a wife or a girlfriend. My relationships with women were about sex and companionship. I wanted a woman, not the woman.

Sure, I hadn’t slept with another woman since that first night ten months ago when Naomi gave me a blowjob for the ages, but I’d been clear with her that we were not exclusive.

As long as she was safe and I was safe, I didn’t give a fuck who she fucked.

Easy for me to say because Naomi was no player, and I didn’t doubt mine was the only dick she was sucking off while we were together.

Since she’d whispered the three dirty words while we were coming down from an orgasmic high in her apartment above her store on Royal Street, I’d all but ghosted her.

Not that I had to make much of an effort because Naomi didn’t cling, nag, or demand my attention.

She lived a full life, and if she were free, she’d let me know, and I did the same.

When I looked back, I realized I reached out to her more often than she did me, which I preferred. I liked the control.

Being with Naomi was easy.

She was cheerful, not prone to depression or the blues or whatever else so many women I’d been with seemed to be beset with from time to time, whether it was that time of the month or not.

She didn’t accuse me of being crude or a misogynist because I’d made my opinion about long-term relationships and monogamy clear to her. She appreciated my candor and requested that I always use a condom with her. No problem there. I didn’t fuck raw, ever .

Naomi laughed as the band began to play a song she liked. I felt it in my dick.

Ten months, and this woman still wound me up.

Ten months, and this woman was who I wanted to sink into, even though I’d made it a point to be where she would be tonight with a date.

Naomi needed to understand that exclusivity was not in the cards with me—more now than ever because she’d said those three damn words .

“One more?” A server asked when she saw my empty glass of Sazerac. I nodded. “The same.”

She looked at Claudine, who was snuggled up to me in the booth where we were sitting with a clear view of the stage and the bar. “I’ll have another skinny margarita.”

I watched Naomi as she sat on a barstool, listening to one of our common friends sing on the stage of Maison on Frenchmen Street. Aurelie and her band, Bossa Bayou, played Brazilian jazz, and Naomi never missed their performance if she could help it.

I knew she’d be at Maison, which was why I’d brought Claudine here with me.

We’d had dinner at the Italian Barrel, and then I’d suggested walking to Maison.

I met Claudine at a job site that my company was restoring on Chartres Street.

She worked for the property management company that had hired us.

Since she’d been showing her interest loud and clear, and we were done with the job, I asked her out.

She was blonde, hot, and available —just my kinda woman.

So, why the hell am I watching Naomi while Claudine has her ample boobs pressed against my arm?

The band took a break, and I braced.

When Naomi turned from the stage, she’d see us. I’d set it up that way. I wanted her to get a crystal-clear picture. Then we could keep doing what we had been doing.

I felt her gaze on me.

I dipped my head, caught Claudine’s lips, and kissed her. It was calculated but necessary.

Claudine’s arms went around me; she pushed her tits against my chest.

I didn’t like the way she tasted. I didn’t like the way she smelled. It was loud.

She was loud.

She wasn’t like Naomi—subtle, delicate, strong….

I pulled away and saw Claudine’s eyes glazed with arousal. In the past, this was the look that told me I’d have a long night of fucking ahead of me. Not this time. I had a sour taste in my mouth and stomach.

Fuck! I was going to throw up.

“ Gage .” Claudine cupped my cheeks, wanting to draw me back in, but I managed to smile and pull away, using the excuse of the server showing up with our drinks.

Finally , after I took a fortifying sip of my Sazerac, I turned to face her . Instead, I was confronted by Aurelie’s accusing eyes. The guitar player, Phillip, I think that was his name, stood next to her, glaring at me.

Where was Naomi?

I looked around, panicked. Then I saw her at the second bar in the back, talking to the bartender.

I sighed in relief. She hadn’t run. She was still here. I could still… ?

What?

I’d done what I needed to do, hadn’t I?

The band came back after the break, and Naomi, no quitter, that one, was back at her barstool.

I couldn’t see her face.

I couldn’t see how she was feeling.

“Should we go to my place?” Claudine urged huskily.

I looked at her as if suddenly realizing she was still there.

I’m an asshole!

She slid her hand up my thigh, but before she could cup me and find out that my dick was as flaccid as it would be after a dip in some icy water, I grabbed it, brought it to my lips, and kissed her knuckles. It was a gesture to protect my manhood and my pride, but it was what Naomi saw.

This time I saw her face.

She was pale under the brass lamp lights of the bar.

Her eyes were glassy.

Her lips pressed tight.

She was hurting. She wasn’t hiding it.

She gave me a wan smile.

My breath caught in my chest.

She raised a hand in a small wave of greeting and went back to watching the band.