by Terra Little
Laurent leaned forward, determined to stay on the horse, but then old Chester came down and kicked out his back legs. The movement threw Laurent for a loop as he felt his body sliding off in one direction while trying to keep his grip on the reins.
A second later, he was lying on his back looking up at Tracee as she smiled down at him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He moved a little to make sure nothing was broken. “I don’t think old Chester likes me,” he said before coming to his feet.
“Something must have spooked him,” the instructor said as she walked up with Chester. “You don’t look none the worse for the wear, though,” she said after looking Laurent up and down.
He brushed his pants and jacket off. “I’m fine. Maybe a little bruised ego, but I’ll survive.” To show he had no hard feelings toward the horse, he reached out and swatted old Chester on his hindquarter. The horse’s tail swung up, and Laurent jumped back.
Tracee bent over laughing.
“Can we go now?” Laurent asked while biting his lip and trying not to laugh at himself. His ego couldn’t take much more of this place. He thanked the owner and assured her again that he was all right. He couldn’t wait to get back behind the wheel of the car—somewhere he felt as if he had control.
“Well, that was an interesting experience,” Tracee said as she buckled her seat belt.
Laurent did the same, then started the car. “I like the horses at Belmont Park better,” he said before glancing over at Tracee. She held a hand to her mouth, and they both opened up and laughed as loud as they could.
“I can’t believe I actually fell off a damned horse and onto my ass out there.”
“Oh, but you looked good up there. It’s the dismount that was so entertaining.” She started chuckling again.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, Tracee pointed him into the right direction.
“You’re still laughing at me,” he said playfully.
She put a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “She said old Chester, like the most we’d get out of him was a trot.”
“Yeah, that sucker almost broke out into a sprint with me on him. That was dangerous, you know. What if I’d been a kid who fell and hit their head?”
Tracee slowed her laughter until she stopped. “You’re right, that was dangerous. I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself. Maybe old Chester needs to be retired.”
“Or I need riding lessons, one or the other.”
“Well, there’s a little klutz in all of us,” Tracee said.
He straightened his arms and gripped the wheel. “Not in Laurent Martin. I’m the most coordinated, balanced individual you’d ever want to meet.”
“Uh-huh, like when you turned your drink over at brunch last Sunday?”
He nodded his head and sucked his teeth. “So, you wanna bring that up. How about you stumbling back into my arms?”
She turned in her seat and opened her mouth wide. “Ah! That wasn’t my fault. You opened the door on me!”
He shook his head. “Yea, there’s a little klutz in all of us.”
After they enjoyed another good laugh, Laurent asked, “Okay, where to now?”
She sniffed the air. “Smells like we need a shower. Those horses rubbed off on us.”
Laurent glanced over at her with nothing but explicit things on his mind. “That sounds like a good idea. Your place or mine?”
* * *
Tracee stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to dry off. She had thirty minutes before Laurent returned. He’d gone to his hotel to shower and change, and then he’d be back for her. As she lotioned up, she thought about how much fun she’d had with Laurent in the last two days. If he lived in Danville, she’d have to give him a run for his money, but he was only in town for a short time. She couldn’t remember what he said his business was, but whatever had delayed him, she hoped it kept him around a little longer. He was funny, good-looking and well educated—she could tell that from their conversations.
As she slipped into a fresh pair of jeans, the phone rang. She hoped it wasn’t Laurent saying he wouldn’t be able to make it back. She checked the caller ID before picking up her home phone.
“Hey, Mae, what’s up?”
“I’m at the hospital, and I may have secured another corporate account for us. I’m going to check back with the director of food services later in the week.”
“That’s great! This afternoon I’m going to start on a few batches of cookies for the church. I volunteered to provide my lemon cookies for tomorrow’s dinner service.”
“Girl, you’re going to get the church folk addicted to those cookies now. The last time I brought home a batch, John ate all but two and begged me to have you bake some more.”
Tracee laughed. “And I did. Stop by tonight and I’ll fix him a box.”
“Thanks. So, what else you got up for today?”
Tracee held the phone between her ear and shoulder while she pulled a few tops from her closet, trying to decide on one. “Well, I have a dinner date with a very nice man.”
“The guy from the hotel. What’s his name?”
“Laurent,” Tracee said in her best French accent.
“Yeah, him. You mean you’ve seen him since Tuesday night and didn’t tell me?”
“I know how busy you’ve been. I was going to tell you. He called me yesterday for a tour of the town.”
“Yesterday? I thought he was only in town for a couple of days.”
“Whatever he’s working on has been delayed, so he’ll be here for a few more days. I’m not sure how long. I’ll ask him tonight.”
“It sounds like you’re digging this guy.”
“He’s nice, and he makes me laugh,” she said, settling on a thin black and white sweater.
“Well, enjoy him while you can. I’ll drop by later to get those cookies.”
Tracee said goodbye and ended the call, tossing the phone on her bed. She looked back at the clock on her nightstand. Laurent would be there any—
Her doorbell rang.
Laurent had changed into a dark gray sweater and black pants, which was perfect for where Tracee had in mind.
Minutes later, they entered Tracee’s favorite pizzeria. “They have the best pizza in Danville,” she told Laurent as they walked in. A little food, a little dancing and a little something to drink was what she had in mind. As the night rolled on, it seemed as if everyone in Danville had the same idea. The restaurant was so crowded they had to share tables, forcing Tracee to almost sit in Laurent’s lap. His arm stretched around her shoulder, and his mouth was practically in her ear when he spoke.
“Any live music around here?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, if you like country music,” she said with her nose touching the lobe of his ear. They were too close. The smell of his cologne made her whole body shiver.
He shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
The DJ at the pizzeria was going to have to do for tonight. He played top-forty pop, with a little hip-hop mixed in. Tracee managed to get Laurent to the dance floor a couple of times before they were afraid they’d lose their seat for good if they got up again. After the pizza, she was about to order some tiramisu when she remembered she had to whip up several batches of lemon cookies once she got home.
“Are you a dessert kind of man?” she asked.
He shrugged. “That depends. What did you have in mind?”
She put her lips as close to his ear as she could, again while resisting the urge to kiss his neck, and said slowly, “Rosemary-lemon shortbread cookies, from scratch.”
He pulled back and stared down at her with wide eyes. “You’re baking them?”
She nodded. “I need to bake four dozen before the night’s over.”
He tilted his head and put his lips to her ear. �
��Let’s go.”
Laurent paid the check, and they exited the noisy pizzeria and headed for the rental car.
On the ride to her condo, Tracee wondered if she was doing the right thing by inviting Laurent over. After spending so much time with him, she still didn’t know very much about him. The one thing she did know was that she was extremely attracted to him, in a dangerous kind of way.
Chapter 9
The minute Tracee walked into her condo, she turned on the bright living room lights. She thought about texting Mae or somebody in her family to let them know Laurent was there, but she felt silly doing that. Besides, Mae would be swinging by later to pick up the cookies.
“Come on in.” She tossed her purse and jacket on the couch before going into the kitchen, turning on all those lights as well.
Laurent walked in and followed her into the kitchen. “You have a nice place here.”
“Thank you. I love to decorate.”
He took a seat at the kitchen table. Tracee stepped into the powder room across from the kitchen and washed her hands. “Would you like something to drink?” she called out.
“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”
When she returned she noticed how relaxed he looked sitting there with his legs wide-open and his hands clasped in his lap. “Not a problem at all.” From the cabinet she pulled down two wineglasses, holding them up. “Red or white?” she asked.
“White.”
She set the glasses on the counter and opened the refrigerator. “The cookies won’t take long to bake, and if you want you can turn on the television in the living room.” She walked over to hand him a glass of wine.
“I’m cool right here. I’d like to watch the master at work.”
She smiled and took a sip of wine. “Uh, if you stay in here, I might put you to work.”
Laurent held his hands up. “Work me, baby. I’m all yours tonight.”
Tracee glanced up at the ceiling for a brief moment. If only. Then she set her glass on the counter. “Okay, Mr. Martin, wash up and we’ll get to baking.”
Laurent jumped up and walked into the bathroom. Tracee proceeded to pull out her pans and the ingredients she needed from the refrigerator. She also started to preheat the oven.
“Okay, what do you need me to do?” Laurent asked when he returned.
“First, look inside that closet and get an apron out. You’re going to get something on your sweater for sure.”
He opened the closet door, pulled a large apron from the peg inside and tugged it over his head. Tracee watched him tie it in the back before joining her at the counter. He glanced down at the Eiffel Tower on the front and smiled.
“Nice apron,” he said.
“Paris is my favorite place in the world.”
“Have you ever been there?” he asked.
“Yes, I have. When I was in culinary school, I spent two weeks in Paris taking baking and cooking classes. It was wonderful. Isn’t Laurent a French name?”
He nodded. “It is. My grandmother was French Canadian from Montreal. All the men in my family have French names.”
“You want to lightly butter that pan for me?” she asked him. “You said you have two brothers, right?”
He pulled the paper back from the stick of butter and began working. “Yep, two older brothers. Marquis and Aubrey.”
“Did you spend much time in Canada as a child?”
“Several holidays, but that’s about it. My mother was happy to leave the cold for California, so my grandmother came to visit us more than we went there.”
“Is your father from Canada, too?” she asked as she zested a lemon.
“No, Chicago. Evanston, Illinois, actually, north of Chicago.”
Laurent reached over for a paper towel while Tracee turned on the food processor to pulse the lemon, sugar and rosemary. After wiping his hands, he walked over and picked up his wineglass. She continued to blend the butter, salt and vanilla.
“Ça sent bon,” Laurent said while leaning against the counter. “That smells good.”
Tracee smiled. “Um, that sounded good. French is such a beautiful language. Are you fluent?”
He shook his head. “No, but I remember some things. Do your neighbors ever come over looking for something sweet? Because with smells like this going on, I’d be knocking on your door all the damned time.”
She laughed. “Occasionally a neighbor will say, ‘it smells mighty good up in there,’ but no, no one has ever asked for something to eat.” She turned off the food processor. Laurent stared at her with those mesmerizing eyes, and she almost missed the pan when she turned the dough out.
He quickly set his glass down and caught the pan, preventing it from sliding off onto the floor.
“Thank you. Now we need to make as many round balls as we can to fill up these cookie sheets.”
“How many are you making?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “We are making four dozen. Don’t be shy, get your hands in there. You did say you were all mine tonight,” she said, lowering her voice.
Laurent smiled and took a step back. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I’d better get comfortable.” He turned around and removed the apron before pulling his sweater over his head.
The hairs on Tracee’s arms rose and her heart thumped hard against her chest. But she was slightly disappointed, because he had on a black T-shirt under the sweater.
“I hope you don’t mind, it’s getting a little warm,” he said, standing there with his sweater in one hand and the apron in the other.
A tingle ran through her body. “No...not at all. It, uh...it is a little warm in here. The oven heats up the house after a bit.” His short-sleeved T-shirt showed off his muscular arms and the frame of his chest.
He draped his sweater over the back of a chair before putting the apron back on. “Okay, where was I?” he asked, rubbing his palms together.
“You were about to dip your hands into this bowl and start making some lemon balls. Just place them on the sheet, like those.” She’d formed a few already for him to follow.
He picked up the spoon she’d been using and scooped a spoonful into his hand. “Believe it or not, this is the most time I’ve spent in the kitchen in a long time.”
“I hope you don’t eat a lot of frozen dinners.”
“No, but I dine out more than I should. Something like this intimidates the hell out of me.”
“And this is easy. Once we’re finished, we’ll bake two sheets first for twenty-five minutes. While we wait, you can make the icing.”
He wiped his hands again while she placed the pans in the oven.
Next, she let him help her with the icing before setting it in the refrigerator to chill.
She walked over and picked up her wineglass. “Laurent, exactly what is it you’re doing at the hotel?” she asked before taking a sip.
“I’m meeting with people and kind of assessing the hotel’s brand.”
“Okay, so how do you do that?” she asked.
“For instance, I conduct thorough property visits, look into labor trends, resolve staffing issues and stuff like that. Then I report back to our executive team.”
She nodded again. “I see... So, what happens when you find a problem?”
“Well, it might be time for some new operational policies.”
Tracee tilted her head. “Who do you work for again?” His job sounded more important than what she’d initially thought he did. It sounded interesting.
Laurent laughed. “Martin Enterprises. You look like I’ve confused the hell out of you. I promise I didn’t mean to.”
“You should have just said you were a hotel spy. That’s what it sounds like.”
Laurent shook his head. “I’m not spying on anybody. I’m very out in the open with my questions and observations
. You’d be surprised how much knowledge you can gain just by asking questions.”
Laurent retrieved his glass of wine before turning to Tracee. “What now?” he asked once they were finished.
“Now we wait. We can go back into the living room, away from the heat.” She’d said it, but she doubted she could avoid the heat her body was giving off by being in his presence.
After Laurent saw Tracee’s CD collection on her bookshelf, they took each other down memory lane. Tracee played CDs, and Laurent pulled up some of his favorites from his cell phone. When the first batch of cookies was complete, they took them out and put another batch in the oven before returning to the living room.
“What’s this section over here?” Laurent asked, picking up a stack of CDs Tracee had set aside.
“Oh, that’s my UK invasion stack. Are you familiar with any of the artists?”
Laurent leafed through the stack, nodding his head, then stopped. “Who’s this?”
He handed Tracee the CD. “That’s Labrinth. You’ve never heard of him?”
“Don’t think I have.”
“Then you have to let me play you something.” She jumped at every opportunity to play her favorite music for someone. She played “Beneath Your Beautiful,” by Labrinth, featuring Emeli Sandé, one of her favorite artists. She sat cross-legged on the floor listening to the lyrics hoping he could appreciate the beauty of the song as well. Tracee cut her eyes at Laurent, who was staring down at her from his side chair. She glanced away, wishing the nasty thoughts running through her mind would go away.
“That was beautiful,” Laurent said after the song ended. “I like songs like that. About stripping down to who you really are and not putting on airs for somebody.”
“And I like the part about not being perfect. That’s deep.” She set the CD aside and looked around for another one of her favorites.
He grabbed his cell phone from the side table and slid down on the floor across from Tracee. “I’ve got one I bet you’ll like. It’s old-school. You may not know this group.”
