Kara Lennox - A Second Chance

If he messed up by hurting Loretta, all the goodwill he’d been building would go right out the window.

LORETTA WASN’T a big-city person-she’d discovered that during her wanderings with Jim. She didn’t like crowds, noise or smog. And on those few occasions she had to travel into New Orleans, she dreaded it.

Today had been different. For one thing, Luc was driving, so she didn’t have to worry about freeway traffic or parking. He handled his SUV with skill, smoothly shifting from lane to lane. She found herself looking out the window at the city, marveling at the signs of rebuilding that were everywhere. The city was coming back after Hurricane Katrina’s devastation, despite what the naysayers had predicted, proving once again how resilient the people of Louisiana were.

The meeting with Melanie Marchand and her husband, Robert, went amazingly well. Melanie wasn’t anything like the snooty chef Loretta had imagined. She was friendly and funny and accessible, and she treated Loretta as if she were a new best friend. Though Loretta was just a small-town baker who worked out of her home, Melanie and Robert acted as though she were on a par with them.

Loretta had brought them some samples of her bread, and the couple had oohed and ahhed over them, swearing they were as good as anything available in the French Quarter. Melanie was brimming with ideas on how to do the dinner, and in a very short time they had a menu worked out. Melanie promised to e-mail Loretta with a list of the ingredients, utensils and volunteers she would need for the dishes that would be prepared on site. She made everything sound so easy that Loretta found herself relaxing for the first time in two weeks.

The only curious thing was the relationship between Luc and his cousins. While Luc was normally relaxed and charming with just about everybody, he was a bit stiff and formal with Melanie and his other cousin, Charlotte, who managed the hotel. They all seemed to be overly polite and wary around each other.

Loretta was dying to know what their history was. But to ask would be rude, and Luc wasn’t volunteering anything.

When the meeting was finished, Luc took Loretta to the Café 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 café 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.