The bar was crowded, heat and perfume mingling with the bite of bourbon and fried food. Lorraine eased her way through the throng, clutching their empty glasses, until she reached the polished mahogany counter.
She had just caught the bartender’s eye when someone stepped up beside her.
“Well, well. Look who it is.”
She turned—and recognition jolted her. Black hair, dark eyes, stubble shadowing a sharply handsome jaw. The man from the voodoo shop. The one the shop girls had practically thrown out.
Roman.
For a heartbeat, she remembered how Betsy had practically purred over him, her flirtatious energy spilling everywhere. Lorraine’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to prove Betsy wasn’t the only one men looked at.
“Hello again,” she said, her tone light
