Bourbon Street Heat

By Beth Hale

Santanna leaves Dallas for New Orleans, determined to put her recent breakup behind her and move on. Her friend Laurel invites her to a delicious new club, where she is introduced to Graham and a new, interesting lifestyle. Michael follows Santanna, desperate to make things right. When he discovers she's found a new side of herself, he has to decide: Is the new Santanna too much for him, or is he willing to explore with her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tuscumbia Hill Press
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9798223249504

Book preview

Beth Hale

for Lauren.

Thank you for the support and friendship.

CHAPTER ONE

She could feel another crying jag coming on.

Santana Mitchell furiously willed back the tears and snapped her seatbelt into place. She’d be damned if she’d waste another tear over him. It was the beginning of a brand-new year, a brand-new start, and she had three weeks to explore it.

She backed her blue Toyota FJ Cruiser out of the driveway and headed east. It was a seven-and-a-half-hour drive from her apartment in Dallas to New Orleans; a long car trip, but worth the tight, cramped body she’d have at the end of it. Time with her best friend, time away from her job and Michael, was just what she needed.

As she merged onto the interstate, Santana’s thoughts circled back to Michael Nunez and their recently ended two-year relationship. She loved him and had been willing and ready to take things to the next level.

He hadn’t.

They had fought, she had cried, and in the end, they had called it quits. No harm, no foul, Michael had said. They could stay friends and coworkers, and everything would be okay.

Her lips twisted into a wry sneer. It was a week later, and it still wasn’t okay. She tapped a short, unpainted nail against the steering wheel, her thoughts swirling.

Santana loved her job. Being a paramedic at Dallas Fire and Rescue Station #58 kept her busy and gave her a sense of accomplishment. But working the same shift as Michael, having to be so close to him after the breakup, was playing havoc on her nerves. And her heart.

Maybe she’d ask for a shift change, she mused, or a transfer. Maybe being away for three weeks would help.

She knew seeing Laurel, being able to talk it over with her best friend of twenty-one years, would help.

The thought of seeing her friend cheered her up a bit, and Santana pressed harder on the gas pedal. She turned the radio up to an ear-splitting volume and partied with Prince like it was 1999 again.

SANTANA KILLED THE engine and climbed out of the FJ, glad the drive was over. She grinned when she saw Laurel hurrying toward her, arms outstretched. They caught each other in a hard embrace and swayed together for a moment. Finally, Laurel pulled back.

You look tired. And hungry, she added.

I’m both, Santana admitted. It’s a long drive, but I’m so glad to see you.

Come on. Let’s take your suitcases up to the apartment. You can freshen up and then we’ll eat.

That sounds perfect. I’ve only got these two cases and a duffel. Santana hefted the suitcases out of the backseat and stood still, taking in the atmosphere special to New Orleans.

The spicy scent of Creole food teased her nose as the sounds of jazz and blues mingled together and spilled out into Dauphine Street. She looked around, delighting in the uniqueness of it all.

She followed Laurel up a set of wrought iron steps and into the apartment that sat above a cigar store. After tossing her luggage onto the bed in the guest room, she dug for a hairbrush. Laurel leaned against the doorframe and studied her friend.

Santana’s deep blue eyes still held a trace of hurt, but her cupid’s bow mouth was curled into a real smile. She ran the brush through her blond hair and left it down to frame her face.

Why do you have to be so much prettier than me? Laurel complained.

Santana laughed and tucked her hands into her pockets. Why can’t I be tall and statuesque like you? she teased back. It was common banter, and she felt better for it. I’ll unpack later. Where are we eating?

Louisiana Bistro, Laurel answered. It’s just a few doors down. They make this one dish, Puppy Drum Pontchartrain, that’s out of this world good. Laurel led the way down the sidewalk, Santana following as she sniffed the air appreciatively.

They settled into a table, ordered an appetizer of fried green tomatoes and a bottle of Merlot, and began to catch up.

I can’t believe he said you were moving too fast. Laurel waved her fork for emphasis. It’s been two years, for Christ’s sake.

Santana shrugged and knocked back more wine. I’m dealing with it, she said. I can’t believe you own a sex shop. Well, wait. Yes, I can. It’s totally a Laurel thing.

Laurel laughed. It really is, she agreed. I love it. Moving to New Orleans was the best decision I’ve ever made.

They continued talking as their entrees arrived. Laurel cut some of her fish and transferred it to Santana’s plate. Santana did the same with her duck and watched Laurel hum with pleasure when she bit into it.

Oh, man. She took another bite. That fig whiskey glaze is delicious.

Santana agreed, then sampled the fish. This is good, too, she managed between bites.

Their plates were almost empty—and so was the wine bottle—when dessert was offered.

I can’t. Santana sighed. The white chocolate bread pudding sounds divine, but I can’t eat another bite.

Next time, Laurel decided. Let’s go be fat and full on the couch.

Santana nodded her agreement and followed Laurel out of the restaurant.

CHAPTER TWO

D amn it, Laurel sighed the next morning. I really should hate you. Look at those curves.

Santana laughed and tugged her poppy-colored sweater over her head. I’m five feet, three inches, she pointed out. You’re five feet ten and look like a goddess.

Laurel preened a bit, brushing at her dark brown hair and fluttering her sea-green eyes. A goddess. I like the sound of that.

What are our plans today, oh goddess?

Laurel snickered. I may make people start calling me that. First, a stop at Café Du Monde. You can’t visit New Orleans without having some of their beignets and cafe au lait. It just wouldn’t be right.

Agreed.

"We’ll wander around the Quarter for a while, have a nice