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thirty-five she was so nervous about having breakfast with a man. It certainly wasn’t the first time. Maybe because Marc Doucet wasn’t like any other man she’d ever been with. He was certainly a thousand miles from Craig.
    She couldn’t chalk it up to sex, either, although she didn’t ever remember a man who rocked her boat the way Marc Doucet did. Lordy, he was an incredible lover. Her body still hummed with the aftereffects of all the things they’d done, at how he’d removed all of her inhibitions one by one. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the springy curls on his hard chest, the heat of his body against hers, his arms sculpted with hard muscle holding her. Feel his thick, swollen cock filling her completely and the intense, unbelievable orgasms she’d shared with him. For the first time in her memory, a man paid attention to her needs, her desires. A little shiver skated over her as scene after scene flashed through her mind.
    Remember, this is nothing but an interlude. You wanted to have fun at Mardi Gras, find a sexy guy, and wipe Craig out of your mind the way Jocelyn told you to.
    Craig who? She asked herself the question, and her mouth curved in a little smile. But yes, she’d do well to keep it in mind that this was temporary. A fling, or whatever she wanted to call it. Something to get her past the current disaster of her life.
    Still….
    Forget it. Go with today and forget about tomorrow.
    The past two mornings they’d had breakfast on the balcony of her room, watching the activity on the street below as the French Quarter woke up for another day of Mardi Gras. This morning, though, he was taking her to Cafe du Monde for café au lait and beignets. She could soak up the ambience of Jackson Square and maybe wander through the marketplace afterwards. When the knock came at the door, she took a final look at herself in the mirror and went to let Marc in.
    He grinned at her, dimples flashing, and pulled her into his arms for a hard, hot kiss. When he lifted his head, she saw the hunger still flickering in his eyes.
    “You taste as good in the morning as you do at night.” As if to punctuate his words, he brushed his lips over hers again. “Yup. Damn good.” Then he released her. “Okay, sugar. Let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”
    On the walk to Jackson Square from the hotel, he kept his fingers linked with hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze now and then. The warm, secure contact wiped away the turmoil that had gripped her when she’d discovered Craig’s duplicity. Too bad this was nothing but a brief interlude in her life, because she could certainly use a good long dose of this spicy Cajun man.
    “You never said if you lived in New Orleans or somewhere near the city,” she reminded him.
    “We lived in the city,” he told her, “but we had lots of relatives in places like Kenner and Thibodaux and New Iberia. Some even in tiny bayou towns too small to be on the map.”
    “It must have been great growing up here.”
    He laughed, a rich, full sound. “There’s good and bad, chere. My cousins and I got into all kinds of trouble. Gave our parents a bunch of fits till we grew up.”
    She loved the colorful stories he told, the tales of Mardi Gras as well as nights in the bayou and “swampin’,” as he called it. She couldn’t help but be fascinated. And he was an unending source of information about the city, letting her see it through his eyes.
    “So tell me, Miss Daisy Karr,” he began as they sat with their beignets and cups of café au lait, “what do you do in the real world?”
    She chewed a small bite of the warm, doughy, sugary treat and tried to figure out how to make her work sound less than boring. Usually when she said she was an accountant, she could almost see the Boring sign flash in their eyes. Numbers to her had always been sexy, fascinating, their uses so myriad she never got bored with her job. Running the numbers for the accounts at the investment firm