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“Very easily,” I said, closing my eyes. “There was a younger
woman who had better tits and was at his beck and call.”

Bastien made the
tsking
sound under his breath again.
“Then he’s a
bioque.”

“A what?”

“An idiot, angel.”

“I love the Cajun dialect, everything is so colorful.”

Bastien smiled lazily as he continued to trail his fingers
over my body. “Well, New Orleans is a very colorful, vibrant, city.”

“I bet. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“It’s the best place in the world.”

“Then what made you leave the Big Easy for…for here? Not that
there’s anything wrong with here, but it’s not as exciting as New Orleans and
certainly not warmer.”

Bastien chuckled. “No, it’s certainly different. I like
Canada, it’s why I became a citizen. I’ve been up here for seven years, but
only in your town for a year.”

“So why leave New Orleans?”

His smile disappeared when I asked the question. His whole
demeanor changed and I regretted prying into his personal life, but it only
lasted for a moment. He shook his head and his boyish smile returned. “I needed
a change. Besides, London is
c’est magnifique,
great.”

“You’ll have to teach me some more. They’re quite colorful.”

“There’s a lot I can teach you, angel.”

“I need some more curse words for my ex.” After my
disastrous marriage I often wondered why I had married him, we didn’t fit
together. Bastien’s began to stroke my leg with the back of his knuckles and my
mind was soon wandering to other things, more pleasant thoughts like being on
top of him, pinning him to the mattress and riding his cock slowly. His fingers
trailed down to massage the inside of my thigh and I soon abandoned all
thoughts of my ex-husband. Now was not the time to be thinking about him.

“What would you like, angel?” Bastien asked dreamily.

“I think…I think I would like to go for a ride if you don’t
mind.”

He flashed a brilliant smile and I knew he wasn’t bothered
by my request at all. He moved away and lay on his back, preening. Bastien had
every right to be smug. I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom,
opening the package and unrolling the condom down his hard, ebony cock. My
pussy grew wetter as I anticipated the thought of burying his hard shaft deep
inside me. Leaning over him, I straddled his hips. Bracing my weight with one
hand, I reached down and grabbed the base of his cock guiding it to the
entrance of my cunt. Bastien inhaled sharply as I rubbed the head of his cock
against my labia.

“
Cherie
, you’re killing me.”

I smiled. I had been waiting for him to use that particular
endearment. I had always found his Cajun accent sexy, in particular that word.

“Please,
ma cherie,
” Bastien begged.

It was all the encouragement I needed. I lowered myself onto
his cock. All the way down until he was buried deep inside me. He let out a
moan and some more Cajun words that I would ask him about later.

I moved my hips slowly, sliding up and down his cock.
Bastien’s hands grasped my hips as I rode him. His hand slipped down and found
my clit, he began to rub it in time to my movement, and soon I began to quicken
the pace.

“Angel,” he moaned as I moved faster. I could feel my orgasm
building deep in the pit of my stomach. Bastien began to thrust upward, holding
my hips with one hand. His fingers digging into my flesh, holding me tight
against him as I fucked him, his other hand circling my clit as I came. My cunt
clenched his cock and Bastien’s body tensed as he came soon after.

I collapsed against his chest, listening to the beating of
his heart as a pesky thought crept into the back of mind, scaring me, thrilling
me.

I could really fall for a guy like Bastien.

Chapter Six

Bastien was sleeping, lying on his stomach with arms tucked
under his head, only a thin sheet covering his taut butt. He stayed the night—I
hadn’t meant for it to happen. This was just supposed to be a quickie, and now,
watching him sleeping, my mind began to entertain the idea of seeking something
more.

After he made to love to me, we had been spooning, but I
slipped away. I had to separate myself from him. When my husband had left me, I
had guarded my heart against ever falling into the relationship trap again. I
didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment and heartache—and I had wanted
no strings attached.

I left and had a shower and changed, but this time into
something “more me”. The clothes I lived in every day, comfy jeans and a
T-shirt. My hair was still damp and in a ponytail, and not a bit of makeup on
my face. My usual attire, the way I felt the most comfortable. I think my
non-glam appearance was one of the reasons my husband left me.

“You’re an embarrassment. Why can’t you dress up the way
other wives do?”

Shaking my head, I dispelled him from my mind. Frankly, it
had been relief when he left me. I often chastised myself for not pulling the
plug on our relationship sooner, but I had been afraid of being alone back
then. After a year of marriage to my ex the scales fell of both of our eyes and
we realized we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. When he left, it
lifted a huge burden off my shoulders. I welcomed the solitude of my quiet
home, but now, after sharing a day and a night with Bastien, I never realized
how empty my house actually was.

And it frightened me.

Watching Bastien, I wondered if that was the image he
preferred as well. Someone who wore designer clothes, the elegant and
feminine-looking woman who would meet him at the door with his slippers and his
pipe, waiting for him to come home, just like my ex had expected me to do.

I didn’t expect any relationship from Bastien when I offered
him sex. I barely knew him really. He was just my mailman.

A fling.

Now I wanted to know more. I wanted him for more than just a
fleeting moment of ecstasy. The real question was if a thirty-two-year-old man
would want to a divorcée hurtling toward forty.

“Hey,” he said a bit dreamily as he rolled over to his side
and looked at me through sleepy eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s nine a.m., do you have to be somewhere?”

“No, angel, I don’t. I just didn’t want to sleep the day
away and not be able to sleep tonight.” He sent her a querulous look. “What are
you doing way over there?”

“I didn’t want to sleep the day away either.” I stood up.
Afraid of taking the chance, the doubt overtaking my common sense. “I have
deadlines to meet, so I thought if you were resting I would get some work
done.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Well…yeah I should grab a shower and
head out. My roommates are probably wondering if I’m dead or something.”

I smiled, trying not to betray the disappointment.

What did you expect? You gave him the brush-off.

Bastien strode over to me, cupping my face in his strong,
rough hands. He was staring down at me with an odd look on his face.

“What?” I suddenly felt very self-conscious about the way he
was looking at me.

“Nothing, angel.” He leaned down and kissed me gently on the
lips. The kiss was tender, like a butterfly kiss. It was as if he was saying
goodbye, maybe thank you. It tasted bittersweet. He smiled at me again, his
thumb brushing over my cheek, and then he walked away from me, heading to the
bathroom for a shower.

Even though he hadn’t left my house, I felt empty—like he
was already gone. As I looked around the room I saw the package, the thing that
had started it all. It had fallen to the floor. I walked over to it and gave it
a swift kick so it slid under my bed. Out of sight and unused. I couldn’t look at
it.

Bastien had been right—he was exactly what I had needed and
I was terrified.

* * * * *

I couldn’t bear an awkward goodbye. So, like the coward I
was, I left a note. Even though I knew I was being an idiot, which was the
biggest pet peeve in my business. Yet, I had done it. I had left a note making
an excuse about having a meeting, and thanking him for a wonderful time. For it
was what I set out to do. No-strings-attached sex. I decided to be brave for
once in my life and break out of my shell.

Now, as I sat behind the wheel of my Jetta,
parked
in the mall parking lot and listening to boring talk radio, I regretted the
path of stupidity that I had just ventured down.

I’m like a too-stupid-to-live heroine.

“If I were a character from one of my books, by all rights I
should be dead.” Groaning, I gripped the steering wheel and proceeded to bang
my head against it. I knew if I had written a character like this, it wouldn’t
have been the leading lady. It would have been a secondary nuisance whom I
would’ve killed off by now.

Why am I doing this?

I should be at my house, facing the fear of rejection and
telling Bastien that I wouldn’t mind seeing him again—seeing if it could lead
anywhere. Turning the key in the ignition, I drove home, hoping I wasn’t too
late.

As soon as I pulled into the driveway, my stomach was in
knots. I opened the door and hurried inside, but he was already gone. His
sneakers were no longer by the door and the note had disappeared from the
entrance table.

What did you expect?
Still, my heart sank. Such was
the fate of the too-stupid-to-live heroine. They made idiotic mistakes that
cost them dearly and made readers want to punch them out before they threw the
book at their wall.

Right now, the way I felt, I deserved that punch in the
head. I dropped my keys on the table and made sure the front door was locked. I
climbed the stairs slowly, like I was on some sort of forced march. The silence
of my bedroom was overwhelming.

The emptiness had never bothered me before, even when I had
been married. I relished the evenings when my ex worked late. I loved the
solitude.

But after a day and a night in Bastien’s arms, I resented
the empty bedroom. It felt too quiet. The bed was too large and seemed cold. It
was then I saw the package was on my bed. Bastien had retrieved it from
underneath. I couldn’t help but think it was a message from him.

Finality to the ecstasy we shared?

I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. I had blown any chance
I might have had with Bastien—and my mistake was a bitter pill to swallow
indeed.

* * * * *

The weekend was hard. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I
sat in front of my blinking computer screen, angry with myself, and reliving
the pleasure Bastien had given me over and over again. The connection we had.
The fates were taunting me.

The more I mulled it over the more I came to the realization
he was the type of guy I could really fall in love with—if I had been smart of
enough to give it a chance to develop more and hadn’t been dumb enough to blow
it.

When the doorbell rang it stirred me out of my morose
thoughts, making my heart skip a beat. I hoped it was him, the two days we had
been apart were hard. In a way I had dreaded Monday coming, I was afraid to
face him, but I knew it had to be done.

As I opened the door I was expecting him to be standing
there, like he always did with that incorrigible smile and the mail in his
hand, yet no one was there. But something had been left on the steps. A single
red rose, and as I bent down to pick it up I saw him at the end of my driveway,
leaning against his Harley.

My knees began to shake at the sight of him in leather and
denim, with big shit-kickers.

“Hi there,” he said pleasantly enough, but he didn’t smile
and I couldn’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses.

“Hey, yourself, don’t you have work?”

“I took the day off…I needed to figure some things out.”

“Things?”

Bastien didn’t answer. He reached behind him and held out a
helmet. “Want to go for a ride?”

“Sure. Let me just grab my purse.”

I ran back into my house, grabbed my purse and keys and
locked up. Bastien was already sitting astride the bike, his strong legs
holding the machine up. The helmet I was to wear was sitting on the seat. He
didn’t look back as I fastened the helmet, jammed my purse in the saddlebag and
slipped behind him. I got the feeling his was pissed off, and rightly so. I was
still beating myself up over my cowardice. I wrapped my arms around his waist.
He turned the key and the bike shook with the rumble of the motor. Without a
word to me he gunned the throttle and took off down the road.

Even though I had already ridden on his bike, I still wasn’t
used to it. I clung to Bastien for dear life, resting my head against his back
and closing my eyes, praying for a second chance as he drove us somewhere.

Bastien drove for at least any hour before finally pulling
into a small wooded park on the beach. Lake Huron’s blue water sparkled under a
high noon sun. The beach was deserted since it was September and the kids were
back in school. I was thankful for the solitude.

“Why are we here?”

“I like the water,” Bastien said quickly. “I grew up in New
Orleans. I have to be near water every once and a while. It clears my mind.
Helps me think.” He put the kickstand down and took off his helmet. “Come on,
let’s go for a walk.”

I set my helmet down beside his. He stood there waiting for
me, his arm extended. I took his hand and we walked toward the beach, still
within sight of his motorcycle.

Bastien said nothing. I could feel the tension between us. I
wanted to say something, but I knew it would only make it worse. I was the
villain here after all. We stopped and Bastien looked out over the water. The
only sound was a few gulls circling and the water lapping against the sand.

“I don’t think I really told you the reason I left New Orleans
and came to London, did I?”