When the meeting was finished, Luc took Loretta to the Cafe du Monde, where they drank strong coffee with chicory and ate beignets. Though it was October, the weather was still pleasantly warm with only the slight hint of a fall breeze. In short, it was perfect.
Loretta forced herself to stop speculating about Luc’s family relationships and focused on the man himself, who had visibly relaxed the moment they were away from his cousins.
“Your beignets are better than these,” Luc said.
“Don’t be silly. These are the most famous beignets in the world.” And she took a bite. The deep-fried pastry was pure fat and empty carbohydrates, and she loved it.
“I like yours better.” He reached across the small cafe table, paper napkin in hand, and gently wiped at her upper lip. The gesture was very intimate-the kind of thing a lover would do. Yet Loretta felt perfectly comfortable with having him touch her that way.
“Oh, dear, have I made a mess of myself?”
“Just a little powdered sugar. Not that you don’t look cute with a white mustache…”
She quickly fished a mirror out of her purse, but she saw no trace of anything on her face that shouldn’t be there. What she did see surprised her: bright eyes, flushed cheeks, plump lips. She looked more alive than she had in ages. Younger, too. She saw traces of the optimistic teenager who she’d thought had died right along with Jim and all her romantic dreams.
She quickly put the mirror away. What was she thinking? She’d made the decision long ago that she would not get involved with another man. She had a full life-Zara, her parents and their honey company, her own rapidly growing business. She had no time for men, nor any inclination to adjust her life to accommodate one.
Even in the early days of her marriage, when things were still good, she’d been surprised by all the adjustments she’d had to make to please Jim. She’d grown her hair out long for him because he liked long hair, even when she thought it was a pain to take care of. When it came time to fix a meal, she knew Jim expected certain things on the table, and she had to put them there-whether she liked them or not. When she decorated and furnished their home, she couldn’t go with anything too feminine.
He hadn’t been unreasonable, and he had made some adjustments for her. He’d quit smoking when Zara was born, at least around the baby. Making accommodations to please your spouse was just part of marriage, her mother had explained. Any marriage, even the best.
When Jim had taken off, she’d been sad and lonely, of course, but she’d also enjoyed the freedom to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She could wear ratty old nightgowns to bed, watch weepy movies on TV, eat cheese-and-tomato sandwiches for dinner if she didn’t feel like cooking.
Maybe it was selfish, but she didn’t want to give up those small freedoms-not for anyone. She and Zara were doing fine on their own. And Zara-how would she react to sharing her mother with someone else? She was already headstrong. Despite Zara’s vague longing for a “daddy,” Loretta couldn’t imagine she would welcome a new authority figure in her life.
So that was it. No men, not even Luc. But when she looked at him, her stomach swooped and her chest tightened.
“I have a couple of stops to make before we head home,” Luc said after draining the last of his coffee.
“Sure, no problem.”
It turned out his errands were all in the French Quarter, so they walked. He picked up some fancy scented soaps and potpourri at a funky little boutique, two cans of cherrywood stain from a woodworking shop, and a large canister of pecan pralines, which he put on his guests’ pillows when he did turndown service, instead of the traditional chocolate.
His arms were full as they headed back toward his car, and Loretta grabbed one of the bags to help him out. She was having the best time, and it struck her as slightly amusing that he could discuss lavender-scented versus citrus-scented potpourri with a grandmotherly lady in a froufrou shop and not give up a single ounce of his masculinity.
Luc was as comfortable in his own skin as any man she’d ever known.
Bourbon Street was slightly crowded in the late afternoon, and they had to dodge various tourists with bulging shopping bags and the occasional party animal who was getting an early start on Happy Hour.
Loretta heard the motorbike before she saw it. She turned, and there it was, skirting around a car here, a pedestrian there, hopping up on the sidewalk when the driver couldn’t get through any other way.
It was coming right at them, and Loretta was so shocked she froze in place, unsure which way to dive.
“Jeez!” Luc grabbed her and pulled them both flat against a brick wall as the motorbike whizzed past, not giving them a second look. The breeze blew up Loretta’s skirt and ruffled her hair.
Several other pedestrians shouted at the maniac and waved their fists at him, but Loretta had already forgotten the reason Luc had pulled her against him. The sounds of the raised voices receded into the background along with everything but the sensation of her breasts pressing against Luc’s hard chest, his arm clenched protectively around her shoulders, their legs tangled together.
They’d have fallen over if not for the wall supporting them.
She looked up into his blue eyes, and her breath froze inside her lungs. She couldn’t inhale or exhale, and she wondered if she was going to simply expire right here because she’d forgotten how to breathe.
When he bent his head down to capture her lips against his, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The shopping bag she’d been holding slipped to the sidewalk as she met the fervent kiss with enough heat to singe her eyebrows.
Where had this come from?
He briefly lifted his head from hers to suck in an almost frantic breath, but Loretta wasn’t letting him escape. Pure instinct took over as she stood on tiptoes to claim another kiss. She’d become a tigress, and she didn’t care that they were on a public street.
Hey, it was New Orleans.
A nearby car honked, startling them and finally bringing them to their senses. They pulled apart at the same time, and Luc looked down at her with a sort of shell-shocked expression. She expected to see that mischievous grin of his, but it was curiously absent.
“Loretta-” he began, but his voice broke.
“Uh…” She had no idea what to say. Should she apologize for behaving like a floozy? Thank him for opening up the rusty valves inside her, allowing her to feel something deeply for the first time in years?
“Are you okay?” he finally managed.
“I think so. You?”
Gradually he loosened his grip on her. “That guy could have killed you.”
The
He leaned over to pick up the bag she’d dropped. Fortunately it was the one with the potpourri and a couple of tea towels, nothing breakable. “Shall we keep walking?”
Loretta wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up. But she took one tentative step, then another, and she didn’t crumple to the sidewalk.
He took her hand. The gesture was oddly innocent, given the incendiary embrace they’d just shared. Wasn’t the hand-holding supposed to come before the kiss?
“That was maybe a little sudden,” she said, and chanced a look at him.
Finally his grin returned. “I couldn’t help it. You were right there. And I’ve been thinking about it all day. When you had that powdered sugar on your mouth at the French Market, all I could think about was kissing it off.”
Oh, my.
“We can forget it happened if you want,” he reassured her. “In fact, maybe that’s the best thing. Doc told me you had no interest in dating, and I’ll respect that.” He paused a beat. “If I have to.”
Was it true? Yesterday it had been. Today, she wasn’t so sure. “Did Doc tell you why I don’t date?”
“He told me how your husband died. It must have been rough.”
Loretta sighed. She loved her small town, but gossip came with the territory. It would be nice if everyone didn’t know her tragic history. Sometimes she wanted to sweep it under the rug, pretend it never happened. Pretend she was normal, with a woman’s wants and needs.
