Page 10 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

I was dreaming of fire-breathing dragons as alligators ran for their lives when I heard his sickeningly sweet words.

“ ?a va, mon chèr ?”

I prayed to every deity I knew, hoping and begging that I had imagined his voice.

It couldn’t be.

Seriously, the universe had a truly sick sense of humor.

I refused to believe it. Like, I’d rather believe the pigeons outside were plotting world domination than accept this reality.

“I’ve missed you,” his thick Cajun voice declared, a low rumble that somehow managed to be both seductive and disgusting, like a perfectly good chocolate bar with a tiny, crunchy cockroach hidden inside.

“Fuck,” I whispered, mostly to myself, attempting to maintain a dignified level of shock. But when he chuckled—that deep, throaty chuckle that could melt glaciers—I knew I wasn’t dreaming.

My worst nightmare had arrived, wearing a ridiculously charming smirk and smelling faintly of sandalwood and impending doom.

“Happy to see me, Bébé .”

“About as happy as I am to learn I have an STD,” I grumbled, because honestly, that’s pretty much how I felt.

“I’ve missed you, Bébé . It’s time to come home.”

“I am home.”

My apartment, albeit cluttered with questionable stuffed gators and a half-finished model of the Eiffel Tower made entirely of spaghetti, was definitely my home.

What? It isn’t like I have a vibrant social life. I have to do something to occupy my mind!

“ Non, Chèr . Home is wit’ me.” He said it with such infuriating confidence. It was like he expected me to just pack a suitcase full of artisanal cheeses and follow him to... well, I had no clue where ‘ wit’ me ’ was. Possibly a secluded island populated entirely by alligators and French bulldogs.

I turned and looked at the big bohunk.

God damn it to hell! He was still handsome enough to make a Greek statue blush.

Thick black locks, the kind that would probably attract stray birds looking for nesting material, and eyes the color of a summer sky just before a hurricane.

It actually hurt my eyes to look at something so beautiful, mostly because the contrast with the rest of my life was so stark.

Regardless of his awesomeness, I blurted out, “I am not going anywhere with you.”

“ Pauvre ti bête .” He smiled, leaning closer with a predatory grace that was both terrifying and weirdly alluring. He boxed me in, his presence radiating a potent blend of charm and menace. It was like being trapped in a romantic thriller written by a particularly sadistic librarian.

Fuck me. I almost swooned. The man had the power of suggestion down to an art form.

Fucker knew I enjoyed hearing him speak those French sweet nothings.

Had no fucking clue what he was saying half the time, but they sure sounded purdy coming from those lips.

It’s like he was speaking the language of pure, unadulterated temptation.

Wait a damn minute and hold the front fucking door!

What did he just say?

“Hold on,” I said, inching away, only slightly because, damn it all, he still had that aura of delicious danger about him.

“If you’ve missed me so much, why are you wearing that ridiculous suit?

” The bold yellow and purple plaid number was something only a crazy person or a fashion icon would wear, and I knew for a fact he was neither.

His smile widened, showing off a set of perfectly straight, suspiciously white teeth.

“You always did have an eye for fashion, Bébé . I knew you’d notice.”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion growing. “Notice what? That you’re dressed like an extra from a bad disco movie? Or that you’re standing there, spouting nonsense about me going home with you when you know damn well I’m not leaving my spaghetti Eiffel Tower unfinished?”

“Ah, but, Bébé , you know you can’t resist me. And deep down, you know it’s time to come home.” His voice dropped to a low purr and damn if my knees didn’t weaken just a little.

“I—” I began, but then I caught myself. I refused to be swayed by his good looks and that damn accent. “You will not charm me, you manipulative—” I paused, searching for the right word. Something that conveyed the full extent of his manipulative, charming, infuriating ways. “—Cajun guttersnipe!”

He threw back his head and laughed. The sound filled the room and made my heart do an embarrassing little flip. “Oh, Bébé . I love it when you spout sweet nothings. You can run, but you can’t hide from me forever.”

As he leaned forward, I leaned back, my heart pounding.

“I can try,” I muttered, already knowing it was a losing battle.

“Oh, but I think you won’t, ma chérie ,” he purred, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

I wanted to scoff, to laugh in his face and tell him exactly where he could stick his ridiculous plaid suit and his overinflated ego.

But the words lodged in my throat as his gaze held mine, those summer sky eyes boring into my soul.

Damn this man and his infuriating ability to get under my skin.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded, crossing my arms and willing my heart to stop its ridiculous fluttering. “You think this is a game? Well, I’m not playing.” I gestured to the half-built tower of spaghetti behind me. “I have important work to do here. My Eiffel Tower needs me.”

Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded ridiculous, but I was past the point of caring. He took a step forward, his movements fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Your tower can wait, Bébé . I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to come home, to the life you were always meant to have.” His voice, thick with promise and a hint of something dangerously seductive, washed over me, and I felt my resolve waver just a little. “You know you can’t resist me forever.”

I gulped. “I can try.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he purred, yanked me toward him, and planted a toe-curling kiss on me that evaporated everything around me as my body betrayed me.

As his lips brushed mine, my heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of desire and fear.

I knew I should pull away, but my body had a mind of its own.

His hands, strong and confident, held my face gently as if I were something precious.

I felt myself melting into him, my resistance crumbling.

Then, as suddenly as it started, he broke away, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You see, Bébé , it’s pointless to deny what we both want. ”

I sat there, breathless, my tower and my resolve forgotten. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to follow him, to leave everything behind and step into the unknown life he offered. But something held me back, a nagging voice of caution in the depths of my mind.

I shook my head, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“I can’t just leave,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I have responsibilities, a life here.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of amusement and challenge. “And what kind of life is that, Bébé ? A lonely apartment with no man to warm your bed, a job that you hate. Is that truly what you desire?”

I bit my lip, knowing he had a point.

My existence had been dull and predictable, a far cry from the adventure and passion that seemed to follow him like a shadow. “I—” I started, searching for the right words.

“You don’t have to decide now, Bébé ,” he interrupted, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just know that the offer stands. When you’re ready to embrace the life that awaits you, I’ll be here.”

As he walked away, his confident stride putting distance between us, my heart twisted in my chest. I knew he was right; my life had become stagnant and predictable.

The routine of my days had lulled me into a false sense of security, and I’d begun to believe that this was all there was.

But now, in the wake of his offer, I felt a restlessness stirring within me, a longing for something more.

I wanted to embrace the unknown, to feel the thrill of adventure, and to experience the passion that seemed to surround him like an aura.

Yet, I was afraid.

Afraid to let go of the familiar, to step into the unknown, and to admit that perhaps I wanted the life he was offering.

“Wait!” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it, and he turned, his eyes locking with mine.

I saw a spark of something in their depths—anticipation, perhaps? Or maybe it was simply amusement at my expense. “What if I need more time?” I asked, my voice small and uncertain.

A smile played at the corners of his mouth, and he took a step toward me. “Time is irrelevant when it comes to matters of desire, Bébé . When you’re ready to embrace your true destiny, you’ll know it. And I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he turned and continued on his way, leaving me alone, my heart torn between the safety of my apartment and the allure of the unknown.

Sitting there, I bit my thumbnail.

What if he was right? It wasn’t totally inconceivable.

The man had to have one working marble, right?

What if I was just too damn chicken to take the chance? Sure, I could stay in Rosewood and wallow in my misery and raise these babies by myself while staying in a dead-end job with no chance of genuine happiness. But was that what I really wanted?

Hell no, it isn’t.

I wanted the dream. I wanted a chance at everything.

The chance to have my happily ever after.

So what if my prince drove me mad to the point of murder?

Every relationship had their trials and tribulations, right?

I took a shaky breath, my mind whirring.

I knew he was offering me a chance at something extraordinary, a chance to escape my mundane existence.

But was it worth the risk? I thought of my quiet life, the predictable routine that had lulled me into a false sense of contentment.

Was it really enough to keep me from taking a leap of faith?

As I sat there, torn between my fears and my longing for adventure, I realized that sometimes the greatest risks lead to the greatest rewards.

With a surge of determination, I stood up, my heart pounding with anticipation. I knew I had to take a chance on myself and embrace the unknown.

Wade had his flaws, that was for damn sure, but I was up to the challenge. If not, I was almost positive that Louisiana had cast-iron skillets I could use to beat him into submission.

Life was a risk, right?

I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, each step heavier with the weight of my decision, yet lighter with the promise of change.

The night was chilly as I stepped outside into the cold mountain air only to find Wade leaning casually against an old truck, the soft glow of a streetlamp catching the sharp line of his jaw.

His smile was a mixture of smug amusement and challenge, as if he already knew I had made up my mind.

“Took ya long enough, woman,” he said, his voice low and tinged with a Southern drawl that could melt butter.

It was at that moment I knew I was up a Cajun creek without a paddle!