Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
In the meantime, I could seduce her. We could have regular sex here in the hotel. I’d love for our first time to be at a club, though. I want it to be an actual scene. That’s who I am, and I believe it’s who she is as well.
One bad scene doesn’t change a submissive. Doesn’t change the soul of who she is.
I towel my hair dry and dress in a clean pair of jeans and a black Jacobite shirt.
I check emails, deal with some business, and then it’s time to take Mary to dinner. I already called my grandmother to tell her we were coming. She promised me the best table in the house and a tasting menu that would give Mary the best of Creole cuisine.
I make sure I have my wallet and key, and then I leave the room, locking the door. Then I knock three times on Mary’s door, which is directly next to mine, though not an adjoining room.
She opens it, and—
My God…
Black leggings, silver sandals, and a white tunic that shows a touch of the lace on her bra and her cleavage. Simple, really, but on Mary, it’s elegant. Her auburn hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and on her ears are simple silver hoops.
I didn’t think it was possible, but she looks even more beautiful than she did last night at the club in that burgundy dress.
“You look nice,” she says.
I gaze at her, my groin responding. “You look amazing. Are you ready?”
She nods, and I hold out my arm. She links hers through it, and together we walk down the stairs and out of the hotel to the cab waiting for us.
“Where is your grandma’s restaurant?” she asks.
“Near the underbelly.”
“What does that mean?”
I narrow my gaze. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet about my grandmother.”
She tilts her head. “What’s that?”
“Not only is she the best cook in all of New Orleans, she’s also a Voodoo priestess.”
Mary’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.
“Is that a surprise to you, New York girl?”
She smirks at me. “Ronan, I don’t believe the hotel is haunted, and I don’t believe in Voodoo.”
“You don’t have to believe in anything.” I help her into the cab. “I only ask that you respect the fact that others do.”
“Of course. I would never disrespect anyone’s beliefs.” She scoots to the opposite side of the backseat.
I sit down beside her, and the driver closes the car door. “My grandmother is very unique. In fact, you remind me of her.”
She laughs a little. “I remind you of a Voodoo priestess?”
“Not that part, but that you’re unique. Like the way you love the Rockefeller Center more than the Empire State Building.”
“And the way I like ketchup on my fries?” She shakes her head. “I’m hardly unique, Ronan.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Regardless,” she says, “I’m sure I’ll like your grandmother.”
I squeeze her hand. “I have a feeling, Mary, that you’re going to absolutely love her.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mary
“So your grandmother is Creole?” I ask once the cab is moving. “Or Cajun? I don’t really know the difference.”
“That’s a good question,” Ronan replies. “The two words are often used interchangeably, but they’re two distinct groups. The Cajun come from the French-speaking Acadians who were kicked out of Nova Scotia by the British in the eighteenth century. A lot of them settled in southern Louisiana and developed their own unique culture and cuisine.
“Creoles, where I come from, are a mixed-race cultural group who were born in Louisiana and are descended from French, Spanish, African, and Native American ancestors. Creole cuisine, in my humble opinion—though I may be biased—is more refined than Cajun cuisine.”
“More refined?”
“It uses a lot of butter, cream, and wine.”
“That makes it refined?”
“Okay, it just makes it delicious.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “My grandmother uses a lot of fresh seafood, vegetables, and herbs. Sauces and gravies are also big in Creole.”
“Interesting. What kind of things does your grandmother have on her menu?”
“Shrimp creole is one of my favorites. Her crawfish étouffée is amazing as well, though that’s more Cajun than Creole. But she serves it anyway because it’s popular around these parts.”
My stomach lets out a well-timed growl. “What else?”
“Gumbo, of course. But don’t worry about any of this. I’ve already told her what to serve us.”
I give him a side-eye and lean toward him, lowering my voice. “I may be a submissive, Ronan, but I don’t want you ordering for me.”
“I’m asking you to trust my judgment. I grew up here. I know this food, and I know what my grandmother makes best. Let me ask you this. Is there anything specifically that you won’t eat?”
“Brussels sprouts. And lamb.”
“You eat all the other meats? Seafood? Mushrooms?”
“Yeah. I love most meat and seafood. Most vegetables. I’m not crazy about beets.”
He nods. “I don’t think there are lot of beets in Creole cuisine. Or Brussels sprouts. You’re going to be fine, Mary. Please. Trust me.”