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The moment he slips into his suit coat, the man transforms from the bare-chested beast who fucked me, to the slick black wolf dressed in crisp wool. Devastatingly handsome. I’m certain now that the childhood stories I heard growing up, Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs--they were all designed to scare me away from men like Thierry. Shady wolves. The shameless villains of the story who take what they want.
“I’d enjoy yours more,” I tell him.
“It’s too long a drive to have you annoying me the whole way.”
“I promise I won’t. You have my word. Scout’s honor.”
“I don’t think you were a scout, chère.”
“Okay, you’re right. That’s a lie, but I swear I won’t annoy you.”
With a onceover, gaze dipping toward my feet and back, he smooths his hand over his suit coat. “Do you have something to wear, is the question?”
“I’m guessing one of your dress shirts and hunting boots is unacceptable.”
Ignoring that, he slides on his shoes, which are as polished as the rest of him. “You never took me up on my offer, I take it.”
“Francescas? No. But I suppose it’s fitting now that you’ve had your way with me.”
His lips curve, as if the thought of that pleases him. “Throw something presentable on, and we’ll make a quick stop on the way.”
* * *
His idea of presentable probably wasn’t a pair of cut-off shorts and a Nirvana Tee, but even after doing a couple of laundry loads on the boat, I still don’t have much to choose from.
Thierry turns the truck into one of the parking spots just off the main street, in front of a quaint little boutique. Francescas is a fitting name for all the girly pink accents, flowers, and painted trim that adorn the outside of the building.
After throwing the truck in park, Thierry sets his hand on my thigh, and I pause in my turn toward the passenger door. When he wordlessly exits the truck, and rounds the front of it, I have to cross my legs. The man looks like a killer, with that confident, almost cocky stride, and the subtle way he scopes his surroundings reaffirms he’s not one often taken by surprise. He opens the door for me, taking my hand as he helps me out of the truck, like I’m something special. Something more than the chick he banged three times the night before.
With a grip on my hand, he leads me into the boutique, our presence setting off the little bell overhead.
A slender, elegant woman emerges through a curtain, wearing a gorgeous, beige wide-legged, halter-topped jumpsuit and strappy sandals. Bronze skin gives her an enviable glow. “Ah, Thierry! Comment ça va, mon coeur?”
“Ça va bien.” Stepping aside, he nudges me toward the beautiful blonde, who I’m guessing is early fifties, just based on the maturity in her face, but the lack of wrinkles makes her appear younger. “Francesca, this is my friend, Céleste.”
The warmth in the woman’s eyes puts me at ease, as I reach out a hand to shake hers. Her gaze lingers on my hunting boots, but she doesn’t crinkle her nose, like most. Instead, she flashes me a bright, white smile and winks. “It’s very nice to meet you, Céleste. Very nice.”
“Enough of that,” Thierry chides, striding toward two, pink velvet couches set before a wall of dressing rooms, with their half-opened curtains. “She needs something decent to wear. Thought you could help us out.”
“Of course! Come with me, chère.” Taking my hand in hers, she guides me toward a rack of clothes that look to be well out of my price range.
A quick glance back at Thierry shows him scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the discomfort rolling through me right now, as I lift one of the price tags on a simple yellow shirt and find it’s more than I made in a week back at Roy’s camera shop. Two weeks, as a matter of fact.
“Um. Do you happen to have anything less pricey?”
Brows winged up, she glances to Thierry and back. “I don’t think you have to worry about that with him.”
“He usually spends a lot on the girls he brings here, I take it.”
“I’ve never seen him with another woman, chère.”
“Oh. I just … assumed that, since he had your card … that maybe …”
“His mother and I were best friends. Grew up together, here on Chevalier. I’ve known Thierry since he was just a p‘tit bébé.”
It’s then that I remember his sister’s name. Frannie. Named after this woman, I’m guessing.
“You choose whatever you like, and don’t you worry about the price, okay?” With a wink and a smile, she gives a soft pat to my arm. “Take your time, and I’ll get you set up in one of the dressing rooms.”
