No Time like Mardi Gras. Kimberly Lang

turned to look at him, mild confusion wrinkling her forehead. “What was what about?”

      “The phone. The photo.”

      “Oh.” She shrugged. “Just in case I go missing, Kelsey has your photo and name to give to the police,” she answered matter-of-factly. “This may not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t have to be completely stupid about it either.”

      Bold but cautious. Funny and smart. He put a hand on her back as he shouldered through a group gathered under a balcony begging beads from the people above.

      Nope, no regrets at all.

      * * *

      I, Jamie Vincent, am a complete idiot. Her biography, if it were ever written, would carry the title But It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.

      She was alone, in a still-strange city, during one of the biggest street parties in the world, with a man she’d met ten minutes ago as her only guide.

      But Colin didn’t seem creepy or shady—he hadn’t triggered any of her internal alarms—and it was broad daylight. She was sober, he was sober and there were, quite literally, thousands of people and police around. Surely it was safe enough to just watch a parade. Hell, Kelsey was so infatuated with David, she wasn’t exactly holding up her end of the buddy system anyway.

      She couldn’t even get angry about it, either. Kelsey was just someone who’d agreed to rent her a room when she answered Kelsey’s ad. They weren’t exactly besties or anything. Kelsey didn’t owe her a good time, because Jamie was technically infringing on her Mardi Gras celebration to start with.

      If I end up dead in a Dumpster, I’ll have only myself to blame.

      She had a basic map of New Orleans in her head, but she’d only been here two whole days—and she’d spent most of that just trying to get settled in—so it was patchy at best. Chartres would cross Canal and become Camp, and Camp would get her home. That much she knew. As long as she stayed on the main streets, she shouldn’t get too lost or turned around.

      The crowds got thicker as they approached Canal, and she found herself pressed closer to Colin. That wasn’t exactly a bad thing, she admitted to herself. Amid the general smell of stale beer and teeming masses of people, Colin smelled nice—like clean laundry. Plus, Colin had a rather nice body to be pressed against—athletic, but not muscle-bound. A girl could do much worse.

      “Here, hold my hand.”

      The instruction startled her, and she looked up at him. Colin grinned as he held out his hand. He had a great smile that caused little crinkles at the corners of bright blue eyes. A shock of dark hair—just long enough to curl around his ears, as if he was a few weeks late for a haircut—was held back from his face by the sunglasses perched on his head.

      Goodness, he was just damn pretty.

      But that didn’t mean she was going to hold hands.

      The sentiment must have showed on her face, because Colin laughed as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m not trying to get fresh. I just don’t want to lose you in the crowd.”

      It was a fair enough statement, but before she could reply, he flashed her another lady-killer grin. “Either that, or you could just stick your hands in my back pockets.”

      Without thinking, her eyes flicked down to the pockets in question, and damn, did he have to have a cute butt, too? That was tempting. Way too tempting.

      For safety’s sake, his first idea was probably the best one.

      Jamie put her hand in his and Colin’s fingers threaded through hers, bringing them palm to palm. His hands were warm, the grip firm but not painful, and there was one brief ridiculous moment where she was sure her skin tingled like the heroine’s in some romance novel.

      She almost wished he would get fresh.

      No!

      But he’s so cute.

      Down, girl. Have we learned nothing?

      She had. And the lesson had been painful enough to ensure she wouldn’t forget it.

      She continued to tell herself that as she was hauled up against Colin’s side, their clasped hands pressed against his chest as he maneuvered through the crowd. Jamie just did her best to keep up.

      Colin finally stopped near a streetlamp. “This should be good. Rex will come this way, but the trucks turn the other way up Canal, so to see them, you’ll have to go up a few blocks.”

      Although crowds lined the barriers on both sides of the street, there was no sign of a parade. “So where is it?”

      “Ah, timing can be a tricky thing. You never really know how long it will take for the parade to get to a specific spot. There are delays, the floats break down, you name it. But this—” he gestured to the crowd around them “—is part of the experience, too.”

      “So we wait?”

      “We wait. Do you want a drink or anything?” When she shook her head, Colin sat and leaned back against the lamppost.

      Although there was no telling how nasty the sidewalk might be, Jamie sat as well. She felt a little awkward now, this good idea faltering a bit as she tried to decide how to make small talk with a stranger—regardless of how pretty he might be. One thing she’d never been very good at was cocktail party chitchat.

      Thankfully, though, Colin didn’t seem to have the same problem. “Is this your first time in New Orleans?”

      “No.” She’d been down here a few years ago with Joey for a game before he’d moved up to the majors. Before everything had gotten crazy and gone to hell. But there was no way she was going to mention that. “It was a very short trip, though, on business with my boyfriend, so I didn’t have much time to explore.”

      That eyebrow went up again. “Boyfriend?”

      “Ex,” she clarified.

      Colin winked at her. “That’s good to know.”

      Was that flirting or just charm? It was so hard to tell. She’d been out of the game for so long she didn’t remember how to play. And she certainly didn’t know how to respond. Joey had been the jealous type—possessive, actually, she amended with hindsight—so her flirting skills were rusty from disuse. Maybe she should delay even easing back into this.

      Colin stretched long, tanned legs out and got comfortable. “So, where’s home?”

      Oh, it was going to be tough, though.

      “South Carolina,” she answered automatically, dragging her attention from those nice calf muscles. As he nodded, she realized that she’d just led Colin to believe that she was only in New Orleans for a short visit. Still, the statement wasn’t entirely false. South Carolina was home, even if she didn’t live there anymore and hadn’t for a while. She’d followed Joey to five different cities and they’d never felt like home, and while she was here now, New Orleans didn’t feel like home yet, either. So it wasn’t entirely a false statement, and considering the circumstances, it probably wasn’t a bad thing to let Colin keep that misunderstanding for now. She didn’t trust herself not to flirt herself right into trouble accidentally. And since he could be an ax murderer for all she really knew, some vagueness about her living situation was probably wise. “And you?”

      “Born and raised right here in New Orleans.”

      “A real ragin’ Cajun, huh?”

      His mouth twisted as if something was funny. “Something like that.”

      Oh, she just needed to slap a warning label right across his forehead. A good-looking, charming, self-professed ragin’ Cajun bartender who just happened to have no plans on Fat Tuesday other than to escort a woman around... Oh, the dangers were piling up, and Jamie knew she should just cut and run. But, oh... She could feel her libido crank its engine. Talk about her own personal Kryptonite. It was what had