Farrah Rochon - A Forever Kind of Love

Is he her favorite mistake?

Fifteen years ago, Mya Dubois couldn’t get out of her small Louisiana town fast enough. Especially after Corey Anderson showed her what heartbreak really was. Now a family tragedy has brought Mya home to Gauthier—and the man she vowed to forget forever. But when memories flame into rekindled desire, Mya is ready to flee again…before Corey discovers her painful secret.

Or the love of her life?

In high school, Mya was Corey’s girl. Now she’s a sought-after Broadway designer who won’t give the former pro-baseball player the time of day. Until they’re brought together to revive their close-knit community…and their passion is reawakened. This time, Corey isn’t letting her get away. Not when he has a second chance to win back his first—and only—love.

“We always did make a good team,” she said, her voice husky.

“Always,” he agreed. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

“Corey,” she whispered against his lips. But it was spoken too softly to be a protest. He took it as encouragement.

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, reacquainting himself with a mouth he had not tasted in fifteen long years. He bathed her lips with his tongue, back and forth, molding his mouth to hers, urging her to open for him. With excruciating sweetness her resistance relented, making way for his tongue to sweep in.

Corey slipped an arm around her waist and settled his hand at the small of her back.

“God, you taste good,” he whispered against her lips.

The soft moan that rumbled deep in her throat traveled along his skin like a caress. She brought her hand up to the back of his head and held him in place.

Corey’s body ignited with sparks of desire. They ricocheted against the walls of his chest, imprisoning his breath. He clamped his palms on Mya’s firm backside and pulled her flush against him, nearly dying at how perfectly she fit into the cove of his body. She was soft and warm and woman, smelling like spring, tasting like heaven.

Just as he remembered.

FARRAH ROCHON

had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code. When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

A Forever Kind of Love

Farrah Rochon

Dear Reader,

When I was a little girl I was fascinated by the big city, with its bright lights and tall buildings. It wasn’t until years later that I came to appreciate the true charm of small-town life. The mom-and-pop stores, friendly faces and yes, even the gossip—they all combine to create a sense of community that warms my heart.

That’s what I’ve tried to depict with the fictional town of Gauthier. I drew upon my own experiences growing up in a tiny town on the Louisiana bayou to show how supportive close-knit communities can be. May you feel as at home in Gauthier as I do.

I hope you enjoy this first book in my Bayou Dreams series. Look for Always and Forever, the second book in the series, in early 2013.

Be sure to look me up online at Facebook, Twitter and my website, www.farrahrochon.com.

Blessing,

Farrah Rochon

Many thanks to Pat Duncan at the Louisiana Office of Cultural Development: Division of Historic Preservation for generously providing her expertise.

Any mistakes regarding historic building preservation and the National Register are my own.

Dedicated to the residents of my small hometown.

The community of believers was one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had.

—Acts 4:32

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

The tips of black four-inch heels sank into the soft earth, blades of grass fanning around the base of the slim pedestals. The shoes were the first things he noticed about her, but now his eyes traveled upward, taking in the thin, gold ankle bracelet underneath stockings so sheer they were almost invisible.

Her black skirt was shorter than most in this small town deemed decent for such an occasion. It hugged her hips and cupped her perfect rear end. His eyes continued their slow trek, passed her delicately rounded shoulders, to her unyielding neck and finally to the wide-brimmed black hat tilted at an angle atop her proud head.

Mya Dubois stood before the charcoal-gray casket holding a single-stemmed white rose he’d seen her slip from the generous spray draping the head end of the casket. She’d stood in that same position for the past ten minutes, preventing the cemetery workers from lowering the coffin into the ground. He’d caught several shared looks of agitation between the workers, but they seemed resigned to it. They must be used to guilt-laden family members holding up their day.

Corey Anderson pushed away from the wall of the stone mausoleum he’d been resting against and walked over to where she stood, stopping a foot behind her.

“Welcome back home, Peaches.”

Her back became even straighter, that proud neck stiffening even more.

“And here I was hoping to get through the day without speaking to you,” Mya said without turning around, her bland words laced with sarcasm.

“And here I was hoping you’d left that sass back in New York City,” Corey replied, unable to keep the tinge of amusement from his voice. Not really appropriate given where they were standing. “Come on, Peaches. These guys need to finish their work.”

“Can I finish saying goodbye to my grandfather?” she snapped.

Corey looked over at the two workers. One held up his gloved hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. He heard a delicate sniff, and Corey’s heart softened just a bit as he saw Mya’s shaking hand wipe at the trail of tears that had begun cascading down her cheek.

She looked over at the two cemetery workers. “Thank you for waiting.” Then she did an about-face and headed in the direction of the church hall.

Corey was next to her in three strides. “Mind if I attempt to be a gentleman and escort you?”

“I can manage,” she answered.

“Peaches, don’t be this way.”

She stopped and turned. She sauntered up to him, one delicate brow raised over her topaz-colored eyes. “That’s the last time I hear you say the word peaches,” she said with quiet warning. “Even if you’re eating one, you’d better call it a plum. You hear me?”

This time Corey didn’t try to stop the smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. Very few people in the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, could talk to him in that tone of voice and get away with it.

And only one could look so good while doing it.

Damn, he’d missed her. As far as he knew, this was Mya’s first trip back to Gauthier since she’d left over fifteen years ago, and Corey doubted she would stay one minute longer than necessary. She probably had her boarding pass tucked inside that little black purse she’d been clutching throughout her grandfather’s funeral service.

Mya took off again for the church hall. Corey followed a few steps behind, admiring the view. How she managed to balance on those sexy heels once they reached the gravel parking lot was beyond his comprehension, but that was the case with just about everything Mya Dubois had ever done in her life. Why should this be any different?