In the Blood [ON HOLD]

"Nice Enough"

The ride was quiet. There just didn't seem like there was very much to say.

Charlie ran her fingers absently along the stitching of the dark leather seat, the growl of the engine creating just enough noise that she couldn't get ensnared too easily in her own thoughts. As they rolled down crowded Bourbon Street, she watched in amusement as a number of people whipped around to stare at the car.

Neon lights slid like water over the dark paint on the hood, the curves of the car's body sensual and dramatic.

"This is new," she finally said, lifting a hand to indicate the car around them.

Remi shifted gears, slowing down and making the growl of the engine mellow to a purr. He nodded. "I took a liking to the new McLarens. I had it shipped from the UK months ago."

"Isn't seven cars enough?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

He grinned, pulling into a parking garage. Charlie crossed her arms, waiting as he found a place to park.

The car finally stopped, the engine dying gently before he leaned across the space between them, mouth slanting over hers before she had the chance to pull away. Her fingers slipped around to the nape of his neck, playing with his soft hair. When he pulled away, he whispered, "Come on, Charlie, you know enough doesn't really mean enough."

Charlie rubbed at the corner of his mouth with her thumb, removing the lipstick that had smeared across his skin. "You can have too much of a good thing."

His gaze dipped back to her mouth. Lower. That grin turned to something nearly diabolical. "I beg to differ, cher."

She bit at the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to just have him right there in the car and skip dinner completely. The heat in his eyes told her he was thinking along the same lines.

So she stepped outside, letting the cooler air of the parking garage settle her thoughts. She walked out toward the middle of the aisle, waiting for him to join her. A laugh might have come from him as he got out of the car, locking it before he draped an arm across her shoulders.

He was tall enough that, even with her in heels, she didn't feel like he was dragging her downwards. Grayson was only a little taller than her, and walking with his arm on her shoulders had always been uncomfortable.

It wasn't with Remi. He tucked her into his side, claiming her, but not leashing her.

She tilted her head to study him as they left the parking garage and he directed them back toward Bourbon Street. They strolled along with the other pedestrians, neither of them in any particular hurry. It was early enough that there wasn't an overwhelming number of drunk tourists to avoid.

A small smile tugged at her mouth when he slid his hand down to the small of her back, guiding her toward a familiar sight.

"Nice enough?" he asked as he opened the door to Galatoire's, more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Charlie shook her head at him, walking into the French Creole restaurant. She was a little overwhelmed by the roar of conversation for a moment. Then the smell of lemon, spicy sauces and something savory made her mouth water. She looked around with curiosity as Remi spoke with the hostess.

The dining room was crammed with small, square tables covered in white linen. Red-backed chairs were filed in around each table. Light fixtures hung from the ceiling, fan blades swirling lazily overhead. The walls were green and white, the floor made of small white tiles surrounding green tile florets every few feet. The place was completely packed.

Charlie watched, brow furrowing as the waitstaff had to practically squeeze themselves through the narrow aisles, masterfully balancing trays or sliding past one another as they relayed orders to the kitchens.