The alarm on the bedside table began to beep much louder than it had seemed the day before. Sandra reached over and shut it off, her head buried under her pillow as she stretched her arms above her head and groaned. Memories of last night began to filter through her mind and she smiled happily, reliving them for the millionth time since returning to her hotel room. Creighton was a thousand dreams come true, a true gentleman, the magnificent lover she had always read about, fantasized about, always dreamed of meeting. They ate the most delicious supper of pasta e fagioli and linguini with clam sauce. They lounged in plush cushioned chairs on the upper deck, sipping double caramel cappuccinos, while enjoying a soft piano concerto that echoed through the ship from the expensive stereo system. Creighton returned her to the hotel shortly after three o’clock this morning, kissed her gently on the cheek, and made certain she was locked inside her room, before leaving with the promise of seeing her today.

Sandra sighed, rolling over to her back and looked up at the clock. Nine o’clock showed in dark-red numbers causing her to sigh. She had barely slept four hours and was tired beyond words, but more than eager to see him again. When he kissed her good night, he told her he had a big surprise for them this afternoon and to dress for comfort.

With a soft giggle, she rolled back over hugging the spare pillow to her chest. After that magical kiss, she would willingly go anywhere and do anything he asked. Just the memory of being in his arms gave her a sudden warm sensation that traveled along her spine, down her stomach, and into her lower regions. How could anyone kiss like that, with so much passion and so many unspoken promises? How did he learn to do something that incredible, and how could she get him to do it again?

Excitement ran through her veins like hot chocolate drizzling down frozen ice-cream, bringing her out of the bed with an eagerness that threatened her usually calm exterior. Sandra glanced at the clock again. She found herself counting the hours until they were once again together, wondering if he was feeling the same sensations, the eager butterflies that played havoc in her stomach, or was he calmly going through his morning? Was he even awake? The thought of him in bed, perhaps naked, made her blush scarlet. What was it about this man that made her think of him nonstop, creating erotic dreams, even her favorite novels or movies never had? She had dated other boys over the years, been kissed and groped by them, but never had she felt so alive, so cherished or filled with so much want.

She needed something to pass the time, something to distract her thoughts and knew exactly what would help. Sandra quickly slipped on a pair of tight jogging shorts, a white sports bra, and a yellow tank top before she tugged on her running shoes and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She rolled on some deodorant, grabbed her iPod and room key card then headed out the door, and down the hallway. She hurried to the main lobby, around a corner, and down the long hallway toward the gym.

Once inside the large mirrored room filled with weights, treadmills, and a variety of exercise machines, she set the timer on her iPod for sixty minutes, then turned on her usual workout playlist and jumped on a treadmill near the back of the room. She was thankful that she was the only one there to take advantage of the equipment. She needed time to think and didn’t want to be interrupted by conversation or people staring at her. She knew she would feel the muscles tomorrow and frankly, she just didn’t care. She felt the need to work off the calories from last night’s supper and she wanted to give herself a moment to focus. All she could think of was Creighton Ashford. His warm smile, his sparkling sapphire eyes, his tall muscular frame, and that chuckle. It was a sound she was quickly becoming addicted to. Cathy’s warning echoed in her ears again, don’t fall for the first guy you meet. Remember this isn’t a trip to find a summer romance.

She pushed a button on the treadmill’s control panel and began to walk, slowly increasing to a jog as the intensity of the machine picked up. Was Creighton just a summer romance and if he was, would she ever be able to get over him when she went back to Kansas, or would she mourn him the same as Cathy did her Italian lover? She had not considered saying goodbye, or how she would feel when she left France. With another press of the button, the treadmill once again sped up and she began running at an easy pace. She couldn’t handle the thought of leaving Creighton, not yet, not when she felt like the future had finally opened up for her. The thought of never seeing him again was too difficult to think about, but long-distance relationships never worked out. Besides, how did she even know he would want to see her after today? After that kiss, that wonderful, extraordinary kiss, she could easily have awoken this morning in his bed instead of her own, but was she prepared for something like that? Was she willing to lose herself, her morals and virtues, her very soul in a man she had only just met?

The alarm on her iPod went off and she pressed the button on the machine, slowing her pace down on the treadmill to a steady decline until she was once again walking, returning her heart rate to a normal tempo. She had spent the past hour thinking about Creighton Ashford but had not been able to clear her mind or calm her nerves. A few minutes later and she shut off the machine completely. She was surprised nobody else had joined her, but it was still early and most of the hotel’s guests had spent the night enjoying the festivities and excitement Cote d’Azur had to offer.

Sandra retrieved a towel from the rack on the sidewall and was drying the sweat from her face and neck when two women entered the gym, laughing like silly schoolgirls. Her solitude was over, though she was finished and didn’t much care. She glanced to the two women and sighed. They were the typical model type Creighton had thought her to be. Extremely slim, deeply tanned and very blonde, bottle blonde as her grandmother would say. From the tone of their voices, Sandra could surmise easily they were French, either locals taking advantage of the hotel’s facilities, or possibly employees. They definitely didn’t look like the tourist type.

She tried to ignore them as she played with her iPod, shutting it off and tossing the soiled towel into the nearby hamper. Something from the way one of the women stared at her made Sandra look up at the blonde, watching her perhaps a little longer than she should have. The woman was really quite beautiful, and Sandra couldn’t help but feel as though they had met somewhere before, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly where or when. With a quick smile, the woman walked toward her, and Sandra froze, a slight frown pulling her delicate brows together.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle Dennis,” she said in a lilting tone. “How have you been?”

“Fine - thank you,” Sandra said as she looked into her pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” The blonde smiled sweetly.

“I am Michelle Dubois. We met in Kansas when my company was looking for some land to build a new factory. Remember?”

Knowledge enlightened her, and Sandra briefly remembered a European company wanting to purchase three hundred acres of her grandfather’s land just outside Hoisington for a telecommunications firm. She didn’t remember meeting everyone, but she did remember meeting this woman…briefly. It was Cathy who had more intimate contact with the group than she had. Mayor Nelson wanted the firm to build in Kansas. It meant a considerable amount of new jobs to the area and an increase in local revenue. Since Cathy worked at the Mayor’s office, it was only natural that she would know them better than she did.

“I do remember you,” she lied, forcing a smile to her lips. “How are you?”

“Très bien, merci,” Michelle said, unaware she had answered in French and quickly corrected the mistake with a blush. “Why are you here?”

“I’m on vacation, er, holiday. It’s a lovely place. Are you staying here at the hotel?”

“Oui, my boss owns this hotel. He is here as well. I'm sure he would like to see you again. I can arrange a time to meet with you, if you would like?”

“Yes, thank you. That would be nice.” Lying was becoming a habit, she scolded herself, but quickly thought that meeting this boss may help Cathy and the mayor somehow. “Maybe tomorrow, I have plans until then.”

“Good, yes, I will call him and let you know. It was nice seeing you again. You look great, by the way. You’ve lost weight, I think.” Sandra smiled at the woman’s observation.

“I have, thank you. Well, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, just leave a message where and when your boss can meet with me with the front desk.”

“I will and have a good day.”

Sandra walked away quickly, the smile remaining on her lips as she hurried back up the hallway toward the stairs. Out of all that, the only thing she could concentrate on was the very beautiful Michelle Dubois noticed she had lost weight.

Sandra felt much lighter on her feet after her visit to the gym as she hurried to her room. Once inside, she turned and walked into the bathroom, pulling the long strands of hair loose from the pony wrap. She didn’t want to be late meeting Creighton and she really needed to be fresh when he arrived, not sweaty and smelling like an old gym sock.

She turned on the shower faucets and stepped beneath the sting of water. It was cool and invigorating, soothing the muscles she had just worked out. She lathered the loofah with her lilac body wash, rubbing it gently across her tanned skin before pouring a generous amount of shampoo into her hand and scrubbing her long reddish-brown hair. Her mind was too consumed with what she should wear to pay much attention to what she was doing as the water rinsed her clean. She wanted to look good for Creighton, but she wasn’t certain if she had anything to impress him with. Most of her clothes were simple and consisted of jeans and old tee-shirts, but then again, he did say to dress for comfort.

Sandra shut off the shower and reached for the very soft towel, rubbing it across her slender frame before wrapping her long hair inside it and going back into the bedroom. She gathered together her blow dryer and brush and quickly pulled her hair straight, before pulling it into a ponytail at the back of her head. She applied only a touch of lip-gloss to her slightly kiss-swollen lips and a little mascara to her long lashes. She was never much for cosmetics and rarely wore more than a little blush for work, maybe a bit of color on her lips, but not much else. Cathy always said she looked better without makeup, so she never attempted anything elaborate.

Walking back into the bedroom and rummaging through the assortment of clothing she had brought with her, Sandra quickly realized she only had one pair of jeans and those she had worn on the trip out here. They were wrinkled and in need of laundering, completely unsuitable for an outing with a handsome admirer. She checked the clock next to the bed. Ten fifty-eight. She should have enough time to run to the lobby shops. She was sure to find a suitable pair of jeans appropriate for whatever Creighton had planned. Slipping on a blue-flowered sundress and a pair of low-heeled sandals, Sandra grabbed her wallet and key card, hurrying out of the room and down the stairs again.

The hotel had four shops for their guests’ convenience; a jewelry store, a clothing store, a gift shop and a shoe store along with a hair salon where you could have your hair cut while getting a manicure and pedicure. There was a massage parlor where a person could get any type of massage one could dream of, a facial and site-specific waxing and a shop for souvenirs with trinkets, knick-knacks, toiletries, magazines, books and shirts that read My parents went to France and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt. She found the clothing store near the front of the lobby and walked in, glancing around at the many racks of dresses, skirts, and bikinis.

A very attractive brunette woman smiled as she entered. She was tall, at least five feet ten inches, very slender and dressed in a tight lime green skirt and simple white sleeveless blouse. She was wearing a pair of flat black shoes. Her hair was short with curls draping her heart-shaped face. Her bright red lips and heavily painted brown eyes shone in her tanned face.

“Bonjour,” she said politely. Sandra blushed. Why hadn’t she taken some French classes before coming here?

“Hello…um, bonjour,” she answered. “Do you speak English?” The smile widened on the young woman’s face.

“Oui, I speak some,” she answered, and Sandra sighed in relief.

“I am looking for a pair of jeans, you know, pants?” Sandra said, running her hands down her legs.

“Oh, oui,” the woman said nodding, turning and leading the way toward the center of the store.

Sandra reached a wooden rack of hanging pants and sighed. That was easier than she thought it would be.

“What is your dimension?”

Sandra frowned, trying to comprehend. The clerk held her hands up to indicate large to small. Oh, size, thought Sandra.

“I’m not sure in French. American four…quatre?” she answered shyly, remembering at least one word in the woman’s language.

“Oui,” she said and started to look through the rack of pants. ”Couleur?” the clerk asked, holding up a pair of silky black pants and another pair of soft white cotton.

“Blue,” Sandra told her, and the woman turned back to the rack. She moved one hanger aside at a time and shook her head.

“Un moment,” she said and walked toward the back of the store, leaving Sandra to look through the items on her own.

Communication was a lot harder than it should have been, but then she quickly remembered she was the one who was out of place here, not the saleswoman.

Sandra looked through the rack finding every type of material and style she could think of but didn’t see anything even similar to jeans. She turned around eying several other racks of clothing before walking over to a rack with blouses.

There was one in particular that caught her eye. A bright robin’s egg blue with tiny little white pearl buttons down the front, short puffy sleeves, and a very delicate lace around the low neckline. It was stunning, and after she held it up to her torso, she was sure it would fit. She was looking around the store for a fitting room when the young brunette returned carrying four pairs of blue pants. She handed them to Sandra and smiled.

“Try on?” she asked, and Sandra nodded, returning her smile.

The woman led her to the side of the store and motioned behind a curtain. Sandra walked through and saw four narrow white doors. Choosing one of the rooms, she stepped inside and closed the door. It was small with bright white walls, feeling almost sterile, with a dark brown wooden bench, several coat hooks, and a full-length mirror on the back of the door.

Quickly, Sandra slipped off her dress and buttoned up the blue blouse before turning to look at her reflection. She stood in front of the mirror in just her white cotton panties and a new blouse. The shirt was even more stunning against her tanned features than it had been on the hanger. With the form-fitted waist and low neckline, it was definitely something she believed would impress Creighton.

She pulled on a pair of pants the saleswoman had given her, not jeans but soft brushed cotton and very attractive. They were dark blue, almost suede in feel and as she zipped them up, she smiled. She liked them a lot, the cut hugged her tiny behind and long slender legs, making her feel very comfortable and very sexy. The pockets on the back had small pink and white flowers embroidered on them and were deep enough to hold her phone or ID.

She tried on the other three pairs, one a denim-type blue, but not jeans, in the same soft material as the first pair. They were the palest blue she ever saw, nearly white with just a hint of color with pink rhinestones lining the outer leg hems and front pockets. The last pair was so dark they were almost black with silver thread used for the stitching of the hems, a small fleur-d-lis on the back pockets. She liked them all and silently began estimating how much they would cost in American dollars, wondering if she could afford them all. The price tags were in euros, of course, and she had left her conversion chart and cellphone in her room, so she couldn’t calculate the exact cost. They didn’t look that expensive, she thought, but this was France after all and everything here cost more than back home.

Slipping back into her dress, Sandra gathered the clothing together and made her way back toward the main part of the shop. Maybe she should get the blouse now and come back another time for the pants after she had a chance to convert the prices, but she didn’t have time to consider it any further. It was almost twelve o’clock and Creighton would be there to pick her up in a few minutes.

Sandra stepped out from behind the curtain and froze in mid-step. Leaning against the counter was the very handsome Creighton Ashford, his dark hair mussed just enough to look carefree, his chin and upper lip covered with a soft dusting of beard and a pair of dark sunglasses hung around his neck. His gray tee-shirt and dark-blue jeans hugged him perfectly, showing off his muscular limbs and torso. He was breathtaking, and Sandra almost forgot what she was doing, until he turned to her and smiled. Damn, she cursed herself, she could feel the blush start a slow creep up her neck.

“Hello,” he said in a cheerful tone and she found herself taking a hesitant step forward.

“Hi, sorry I’m running late,” she said shyly. Creighton’s smile increased, and he shook his head.

“Not a problem. I don’t mind waiting for such a lovely lady. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Her throat was suddenly dry as she looked in those dark-blue eyes.

“Um, not really. I needed a pair of jeans, but I did find some very nice pants, thanks to the clerk.”

“Jeans, eh?” he said and turned to the woman, speaking to her in French.

The clerk smiled, replying in her native language, and walked into the back of the store again.

“What did you say to her?” Sandra asked suspiciously.

“I told her you were looking for a pair of jeans. She couldn’t understand what you wanted. Her English isn’t very good. They usually don’t keep the jeans on the rack, but rather in the back room. They have them, but the French are very proud of their fashion designers and don’t usually display simple clothing.”

“Oh,” was about all she could think of saying.

Her thoughts were distracted when the young woman returned with two pairs of jeans, one dark blue and one a medium blue with faded thighs. She handed them to Sandra and waved back toward the fitting rooms.

“We have time, go try them on,” Creighton said and reached for the clothes she held in her arms. “Are you getting these?”

“I’m not sure just yet,” she answered honestly, turning and walking back into the fitting room before her blush could give her away.

She couldn’t very well tell him she wasn’t sure if she could afford them, but she couldn’t buy them if she didn’t have enough money on her card. She didn’t want to admit to a man, who owned a Mercedes limousine and private yacht, that she was on a very limited budget. He probably had never heard of such a thing.

Sandra slipped the jeans on and smiled. They were very snug but not in an uncomfortable sort of way. They hugged every curve making her look very mature, very feminine, and like the other pants, she really liked them. Now she had to try to make up her mind as to which she wanted and could afford. The contest that brought her here may have been all-expenses-paid, but that just meant it paid for food, travel, and entertainment, not shopping trips. Still, she was sure she had enough to pay for one pair of pants and the shirt.

Back in the main body of the shop, Sandra watched the woman smile brightly at Creighton. She truly was quite lovely but listening to them speaking casually in the saleswoman’s native language, Sandra realized this man was seriously out of her league. She was nowhere near good enough for him.

“Didn’t you like them?” Creighton asked, bringing her out of her bout of self-pity.

“Oh, no, I like them a lot, they fit wonderfully, it's just…”

Before she could finish her sentence, he reached for the pants, and handed them to the woman, saying something to her in French. It’s now or never, Sandra thought. She had to admit she didn't have enough money for all of them and hope she could hold her head high when they laughed at her.

“Creighton, I don’t need all of these and I can’t afford them,” she said quickly, hoping to stop the woman from placing the clothes in the bag.

“Nobody asked,” he said as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “Consider them a gift.”

“You can’t…I mean I can’t…that is…” she didn’t know what to say, she had never had a man buy her clothes before, except for her father or grandfather. She wasn’t sure what she should say so she just stood there staring dumbfounded as he took the receipt and signed his name.

“Don’t argue,” he said in a tone that told her the subject was finished. She watched as he touched the soft material of the blue blouse. “I figure I’m going to benefit more from these than you will. Are you going to wear this today?”

She stared at him unable to move. She was trying to make her mind function, trying to find the right thing to say. How was she supposed to accept such an expensive gift from a man she barely knew? What would Cathy say?

“I can’t accept these,” she finally found herself saying in a soft tone, blinking at the frown on Creighton’s handsome face.

“You can’t return a gift. It’s rude and refusing would only insult me. That’s not exactly the best way to start off a relationship, now is it?”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at the man, blinking. Relationship? She thought they were just going…where were they going?

“I…what I mean is…”

Creighton chuckled softly then reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.

“Once you can figure out the words to refuse, maybe I’ll listen. Until then, I think you need to get dressed so we can go. We have reservations and I don’t want to be late.”

He handed her the bag and led her out the door of the shop to the staircase before pausing.

“Are you alright with my coming up to your room, or would you rather I wait here?” She blinked again, blushing as his eyes darken.

“You can come up if you’d like.”

He tipped her chin up with his forefinger and thumb and smiled down at her.

“I promise not to ravish you,” he whispered before he leaned closer to her. “If we didn’t have plans, I would definitely consider it though.”

He kissed her briefly before slipping the bag from her arm onto his and taking her hand, then began walking up the stairs beside her. Strange, she thought with a nervous quiver in her limbs, she never realized how many steps there were, or how difficult it was to walk them.

Sandra slid the key card through the device on the door with a shaky hand. The sensation of Creighton was there, present in every nerve ending as he stepped across the threshold and shut the door behind them. She blushed deeply. She had never had a man in her room before, and her inexperience made her heart begin a wild dance within her chest. She glanced back to him and found him watching her, a small grin on his full lips, his eyes dark with hidden emotion. She cleared her throat softly and looked around the room. At least it had been cleaned, so she didn’t have to worry about clothes strung all over the place.

“You need to get dressed,” he said, his tone deep and husky. “We have reservations for two o’clock.”

“Two?” she asked in surprise. “Then we have plenty of time.”

Instantly, she regretted saying this, watching an unnamed look cross his eyes. He closed them briefly and when he opened them again, he appeared to be contemplating his response.

“Get dressed and let’s get some lunch. I have a very full day planned for us and pack your bathing suit. You’ll need it too.”

She took the bag he handed her and hurried toward the bathroom. Just before she could cross into the tiled room, she felt his arm on her elbow causing her to turn back to him.

“Wear that blue shirt, please?”

His voice was more of a demand than a request, but she nodded regardless, closing the door behind her.

Sandra pulled the dress off over her head and tossed it carelessly on the counter, leaving her lacy bra and matching panties on. She kicked her sandals across the bathroom floor, scarcely noticing as they landed under the vanity. With shaking hands, she pulled her new blue blouse across her shoulders. She took the pants from the bag and frowned again. She didn’t know which pair she should wear since she still didn’t know where they were going. A small voice in the back of her mind asked which pair she wanted to be found in, should she wake up dead tomorrow. She quickly dismissed the thought and pulled the faded blue jeans across her hips, turning to inspect the image that was reflected back to her. She looked good, but only because she was in very expensive clothes. Like some rich boy’s plaything, she scolded herself.

She didn’t think she would do much more with her hair and her makeup looked fine for a day of activities, regardless of what they may be. She gathered up the rest of her new clothes as well as her discarded dress and shoes and stepped back into the outer part of her hotel room.

Moving quickly to the clothes rack, she hung the items before turning back to see Creighton sitting in the chair near the door to the balcony, his right leg crossed over his left knee, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. The curtains were pulled open across the door, allowing the sun to shine through. It was another bright sunny day, causing Sandra to sigh contently. She really loved this weather, not like back home. It was not dry and dusty.

“You look great,” he told her with a bright smile.

She was blushing, she knew it, she could feel the heat spreading up her neck. She thanked him quietly then slipped her mother’s earrings and the cross necklace off, setting them on the dresser. She let her sandals fall to the floor, before looking at him again.

“Should I wear my sandals or my running shoes?”

“Your running shoes will be perfect,” he assured her, standing up and walking toward her.

She nodded, trying to keep her mind off the fact that he was standing at the foot of the bed, then gathered a pair of socks out of the dresser drawer.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Fear and excitement echoed in her tone as she sat down and pulled her socks and shoes on.

“To lunch,” he said with an innocent shrug.

“Then what?” she asked with irritation. It was like talking to a child.

“It’s a surprise, but I think you’ll like it…eventually.” Sandra frowned up at him. “Trust me?” he asked walking to her, holding his hand out for her to take. She slipped her fingers into his tender touch and stood.

“Should I trust you?” she asked again, causing him to laugh.

“You are such an intriguing young woman, do you know that, Sandra?”

He briefly kissed her knuckles. His touch sent waves of heat up her arm and into her spine.

“You take my breath away.”

“Do I?” she whispered. When had she become such a tease?

The man didn’t miss the implication, even though it wasn’t intentional - at least she didn’t think it was. His hand released hers and quickly, gently wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his strong embrace, one hand on her lower back pressing her up against the length of his body, the other on the side of her face caressing her cheek in a tender touch. His eyes locked with hers as he lowered his lips close to her mouth, she could feel his breath, sweet and warm as he brushed her mouth with his.

“If only we had more time,” he whispered, an unspoken promise hung between them as he pressed his lips against hers.

The touch was gentle and soft, and he slowly traced her bottom lip with his tongue before thrusting it between her teeth, teasing and tasting her acceptance.

Sandra felt braver today than she had last night and quickly joined in the kiss, her tongue caressing his, battling in a wordless tournament of desire and want. Several long moments passed by and Sandra could feel his desire grow against her thigh, straining through the restraints of his pants. With a deep moan of regret, he pulled away from her, leaving her panting as he nuzzled her neck with his warm, moist lips.

“We can’t do this,” he said in a hoarse whisper so soft she wasn’t sure if he had actually spoken, barely able to hear him over the thrumming of her heart in her ears. “This isn’t the right time, but it is getting very hard to resist you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire, a silent promise echoed in the curve of his lips.

“We need to get out of here before it’s too late,” he told her, a little louder than she expected, and she suddenly realized she was very disappointed in his reaction. She didn’t want to leave, she wanted to stay there, and she wanted him to continue kissing her.

“The day is young,” he said as he slipped her hand in his again, stepping backward out of her arms. “We have plenty of time. Right now, we need to get something to eat before we miss our reservation.” He began to walk toward the door, escorting her by his side.

“Where are we going?” she snapped, irritated by his rejection.

She didn’t feel very agreeable and knew she sounded like a sulking child, but she didn’t care. There was a heat warming areas of her body she didn’t know even had a thermostat. He stopped by the door, frowning as he looked down at her, and then smiled again.

“Do you open your presents before Christmas?” he asked with amusement.

“Yes, I do,” she lied, hoping he would answer her question, but instead he laughed cheerfully. The sound reverberated around the quiet room and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly.

“Good thing this isn’t Christmas then, eh?”

He opened the door and held it for her, waiting as she retrieved the key card and slipped it into her shoulder bag along with her cellphone, bikini, camera, wallet, and passport. She was feeling slightly less angry than a few moments ago, but she was still irritated.

Sandra looked at the carefree expression on his face, the heart-melting smile and twinkle in his dark blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile. If this man wasn’t so damned handsome, it would be easy to accept him as a friend. As it was, she would rather accept him as much, much more.

Lunch was light and quite frankly, delicious as they ate at a small sidewalk café on the border of Nice. The sun was warm and the breeze soft, barely more than a whisper as it caressed their cheeks and necks. Sandra placed her fork down on the plate, pushing the remains of her Salade Nicoise away, while Creighton slid his empty plate of Steak Fritas toward the vacant seat next to him, and reached for his espresso.

The café was nearly deserted, so they chose to sit beneath the warm sun, but their solitude was quickly interrupted by a small group of teenagers. The restaurant was quite nice, very modern in design, but there was little spoken between them as the five teenagers sat nearby laughing, talking and listening to music on their cellphones. Sandra reached for her diet soda and took a reluctant sip. She felt really full and wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. It was difficult to consider how much to eat when she still didn’t know where they were going.

“Why did you choose France as a holiday spot?” Creighton asked a few minutes later after the table of young people finished their meals and finally left, taking their noise with them. They were now alone on the patio and able to speak without shouting at each other in order to be heard.

“I have always wanted to see the French Riviera,” she answered him, taking another sip of her soda. “My parents honeymooned here, and I loved listening to my mother talk about the clear water and friendly people. It became a dream of mine when I was younger, and after my parents died, I promised myself I would someday come here. I guess I just wanted to find something in common with them.”

“How did your parents die?”

His tone was soft as he leaned back in his chair, looking across at her. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought about their deaths for so long and it seemed odd to discuss it over a casual meal with a near-perfect stranger, like reviewing a movie or a new book release.

“A tornado,” she answered simply, lowering her eyes from his intent gaze.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push you?”

She sighed. She didn’t mind talking about her parents and to speak of them with him somehow felt…comfortable.

“It was during my junior year of High School. I was barely sixteen. I ran track in school and had a meet in Kansas City, but my mother was sick with the flu. She couldn’t go with me, and my father didn’t want to leave her alone. It was the first time they ever missed one of my track meets.”

Memories began to filter through her mind, and she closed her eyes for a moment, controlling the onslaught of visions.

“My older sister, Cathy, went with me instead,” she continued a few moments later. “We left on Friday and were going to return on Sunday, but Saturday morning a tornado hit the town and canceled the meet. My parents weren’t able to get to the cellar in time. They were found together on the stairs. My father was lying partially across my mother as though he was trying to protect her when the ceiling fell in.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

She shrugged her shoulders. She just didn’t have any emotion left.

“It was a long time ago. My maternal grandparents took us in and finished raising us, so it wasn’t like we were alone.”

“How old was your sister?”

“She’s eighteen months older than I am, so she was eighteen when they died, a senior in High School. She was old enough to start her own life, but it was our parents’ desire that we both go to college, so she went to Barton Community and graduated with her business degree.”

“Did you go to college as well?”

“Yes, I went to Barton too. I majored in English Literature. I love books.”

“What kinds of books?” he asked, his eyes locking with hers.

“Oh, all sorts I suppose. Jane Austen, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson. You know, the classics.”

“Ah, light reading,” he teased, causing her to chuckle.

“I like other things too, romance, mysteries, sci-fi.”

“You have a very eclectic taste. So, what about your family? Are your grandparents still alive?”

“Yes, and very spirited,” she answered with a smile. “Besides the farm, my grandfather bowls every Tuesday with a league, plays poker on Friday, and pool on Saturday. My grandmother organizes quilting bees and calls bingo at the senior center and makes award-winning jams and jellies.”

“What about your sister, where is she now?”

“She’s still in Hoisington. Cathy works as the Mayor’s personal assistant, but she’s more into research and politics and has been talking about running for mayor herself next term. She’ll probably win. She's very popular and everyone really likes her.”

“What about you? Are you popular back home?”

Sandra blushed and shook her head.

“I’m popular with the local children. I spend my days at the library reading stories and stocking shelves. At night, I go home and help my grandparents with the chores and retire to my room with a book and a glass of wine, dreaming of adventures and romance. I have a pretty exciting lifestyle.”

She watched the man’s smile cross his very kissable lips and knew she was blushing again.

“I’ll bet you’re far more interesting than you want to admit,” he said, leaning forward and picking up her hand from the table where it had been sitting next to her soda. “I find you fascinating.”

“Naw,” she said shyly. “My sister is the interesting one, the pretty one, the outgoing one.” Her heart began to thrum in her ears as he stroked the back of her knuckles with his long fingers. “I’ve never been much for crowds or social activities.”

“I can’t imagine her being prettier than you,” he said with a wink. “Then I can assume I’m not treading on anyone’s territory by dating you? No boyfriend or would-be lover?” he asked with a seductive smile. She blushed again - damn, he was so good at making her turn colors. She shook her head softly. “Well, I’m very happy about that, but I’d still be willing to fight for you. It would be worth it.”

“What about you?” she asked, hoping to distract him from embarrassing her further. “I assume you’re from England. I mean the accent and all.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers, one at a time.

“I am from England,” he nodded, setting her hand back on the table and tipping his chair on its back legs. “In fact, I’m from a small farming community just outside Yorkshire.”

“What? A farm?”

“Yep. Cows, pigs, sheep, crops, the whole works.”

She smiled at the pride that echoed in his tone.

“You don’t strike me as a farm boy,” she said with a chuckle, watching his cheeks turn slightly pink. Well, this was a change she thought.

“I am a country boy at heart. I love the simple life, knowing your neighbors, the fresh air. I like the idea of going out to the garden or hen house and collecting what you need to make a meal. You know where the food came from, no chemicals, no pesticides, and no preservatives.”

“What about your family?”

“My parents live in Yorkshire with my two younger sisters and still work on the family land. My father’s father died when he was a young man, so he dropped out of school to take care of the farm and helped raise his sister and brother. My Nana Ashford died when I was three. My mother’s father died when I was in grammar school and my Gram Armstrong died two years ago.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four in all. Two elder brothers and two younger sisters, I’m in the middle.”

“How did your parents meet?”

“So curious for information,” he said chuckling as she smiled back at him. “My mother’s father was a horse breeder, very successful in fact. My father met her when he was in need of a horse for the farm. They fell instantly in love and were married a month later. Exactly nine months after that, my brother, Derek, was born.”

“So romantic,” she said softly. Creighton looked at her with a steady stare and she blushed yet again.

“What do you want out of life, Sandra?” he asked softly, and she frowned. That was a question she had never been asked before.

“I’ve never thought about it,” she answered honestly. “I just move through life one day at a time.”

“Isn’t there anything that you’d like to do with your life besides reading children their storybooks?” She frowned again.

“I don’t really think of the future much,” she said honestly. She looked at the handsome man across from her who seemed to be waiting patiently for a deeper answer. “If you really want to know, I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure,” she admitted at last. “I read books and fantasize about being the main character, living on another planet, hunting safari in the darkest Africa, sailing the winds of the Atlantic. I’ve always been that way, I guess. Whenever I had a bad day, I would think about it before I’d close my eyes at night and imagine a different outcome, a new ending.”

“Sounds like you’re tired of the type of life a small-town offers," he said. “Ever try to do anything different?” She shook her head sadly.

“My grandparents aren’t getting any younger and they need help around the farm. Besides, Cathy is the one who goes on adventures. I just read about them.”

“You’re too young to be sitting at home growing old.”

He had an underlying amusement etching his tone, but she couldn’t help frowning. He was right of course, though she couldn’t change who or what she was, just for a weekend of spontaneity.

“How about you?” she asked, turning the conversation to another path. “Do you have a serious girlfriend…or perhaps a boyfriend?”

He laughed at the latter of her comment as the waiter joined them, bringing the check and a refill on their drinks. Creighton glanced at the piece of paper, handed several bills to the man, and said something in French. The waiter thanked him and walked away with their empty plates.

“I’m not into the mirror-mirror thing,” he told her, and she frowned.

“What’s a mirror-mirror thing?”

“You know, girl to girl or guy to guy. I have nothing against it, it’s just not my way. I’m very much into girls, but I do not have a wife and kids waiting for me back home if that’s what you’re asking. I’m very single.”

“Have you ever had a serious relationship?” she asked, and immediately regretted it. She didn’t think she wanted to know that he had been in love before.

“I’ve had a couple, but not the whole altar, white veil or flowers sort of thing.”

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked with a blush.

“I thought I was once. I was seventeen and she was sixteen, the daughter of a neighbor. Her father was German, a quiet man, but big, really big. All the local kids were afraid of him, but his daughter was absolutely gorgeous. Her mother died giving her birth, which made him very protective of her. She was his only child.” He smiled as old memories began to filter in front of his eyes.

“She had long blonde hair and big blue eyes and a cute little figure. I spent nearly a month during early spring trying to get her attention before she finally acknowledged me.”

“Were you lovers?” Sandra watched his lip twitch in an amused smile.

“Yes, she was my first and I was hers. It was an absolute disaster.” He laughed, causing her to smile as he relived his first sexual experience. “She invited me into her barn one day. She kissed me and led me to the loft, where she would spend most of her days hiding from her father, masturbating.” Sandra blushed scarlet when she heard this.

“She had an unquenchable appetite. She loved orgasms. We had the worst sex any two people could possibly have. It was too quick and far too one-sided. I really didn’t think I’d ever see her again, but a few days later she showed up at my bedroom window around midnight. She said she had thought about it and felt we needed more practice.”

“So, did you? Practice I mean.”

“Yes, nearly every day for about six months, until her father found us. He beat me so hard, he nearly killed me. I spent two weeks in hospital and another six at home recovering from my wounds, and a year of plastic surgery to return my back to normal. When I was finally able to move again, I learned she had gone to Paris to an all-girls boarding school. Her father moved back to Germany before I came home from hospital.”

“You never saw her again?” she asked, feeling sorry for the boy who had lost his first love.

“I was at University in London when she showed up on my doorstep, completely unexpected. She said she had thought a lot about me over the years. She wanted to help me, so I would know how to please a girl properly. It seemed she learned a great deal at her girl’s school. She spent the next three days teaching me things I never knew was possible. I learned the most incredible techniques and discovered things about a woman’s body that I have never regretted learning.”

“Like what?”

She couldn’t believe she had just asked him that. Creighton smiled very seductively and leaned across the table, his eyes capturing hers as a willing prisoner.

“Things that would drive you wild,” he whispered, standing up and reaching his hand out to her. “We have to go, or we’re going to be late.”

She took his hand and stood on very shaky legs. As they headed toward the street, to the black Mercedes convertible, she made a remarkable discovery that shocked and excited her to her very core. Creighton Ashford was the adventure she had spent her life looking for and she wanted him to drive her wild.