LaCasse Family Series Read online

  It took her a while to realize she was no longer hear­ing the monotone of Gayle’s voice. Turning, she raised her head. Gayle was staring at her with a murderous look on her face.

  “What?”

  “Don’t what me,” she snapped. “I have been talking for ten minutes, and you zoned me out again.”

  “I’m sorry, Gayle, what were you saying?”

  “I was asking you to reconsider this trip. I have a bad feeling about it, and I don’t think you should go so far away, for so long.”

  “A bad feeling?” Daphne retorted. “What are you now, a soothsayer?”

  “Okay, be funny if you want to, but I believe you should remain here and work out your problem here, in the United States.”

  “You think so, huh? Well, believe it or not, I’m almost all packed to go, and nothing you or anyone else says will make me change my plans.”

  “Not even if I say I’ll miss you...like crazy?”

  “You have Robert to comfort you and keep you com­pany. You’ll hardly know I’m gone, and by the time you wink, I’ll be back pestering you.”

  “That’s where you are wrong; I’m already missing you.”

  “Please don’t do this, Gayle. I need your support in this. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Oh, all right, when you put it that way, I have no choice.”

  “Thanks,” Daphne said. “I owe you one.”

  “Just you keep that in mind,” Gayle responded, “because you know me. I will collect.”

  Daphne had zoned out again. Armed with her conversational French book and a dozen new bathing suits, she was ready to par-tay. She intended to have nothing but fun in Martinique, whatever the form.

  She wasn’t worried about the language. She was able to understand French, if it was spoken very slowly, and she could make herself understood, if in a spot, but she knew she might encounter a problem with the native Creole. The dialect was more widely spoken on the island, and it was not easy to understand.

  In doing her research, she’d found out most of the people on the island spoke English, but she was not taking any chances. The French did not look kindly on imbeciles who wouldn’t even try to speak their native language when asking for assistance.

  The New Daphne was leaving nothing to chance. She was taking control of her life now, and to take a phrase from the French Creole, she planned to, laissez les bons temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

  T wo

  It was a five-and-a-half-hour flight from Miami International Airport to Fort-de-France, Martinique, with a one hour layover in San Juan.

  Daphne spent most of the first leg on conversational French, using it like mouthwash to rinse out the bitter aftertaste of Michael.

  She also kept reminding herself that the first rule of having fun was no permanency. Before Michael, she’d looked for commitment in her relationships, but that hadn’t worked. Now, she was going to be happy and heart-whole, doing everything just for the fun of it and her own selfish enjoyment.

  She took advantage of the layover in San Juan to grab a sandwich. Her appetite had declined and still not returned, but she made herself have one meal a day. She needed it in order to help keep away migraine headaches.

  Just then, the flight PA system came on with the pilot informing them they would be landing in fifteen minutes. She adjusted her seat, fastened her seat belt, and raised the window shade, so she could look out.

  Daphne looked down at the island rapidly emerging from the clouds. So this is Martinique. Wow! It’s gorgeous, even from the air! And the ocean is more turquoise than blue, almost green.

  As the island became more visible, she could see its topography. Martinique was surrounded on three sides by steep hills covered with lush deep green plants, all sitting amidst the clear blue waters. She was straining to see more when the plane landed on the runway, and she had to give her attention to exiting the plane. She was looking forward to experiencing the French Caribbean culture of the island.

  Arriving at Fort-de-France, she went through immigration with no problem. She knew a driver from the hotel was to meet her. Sure enough, she spotted a short, middle-aged man, holding a card with her name on it.

  He greeted her in English, and she answered him in kind. She was pleased he could speak English and spent her time asking him questions about the island. He was very well informed about the place and suggested some good restaurants for her to try.

  When she arrived at her hotel, she was impressed with the place. Everything was top-notch. The staff was nice and friendly, and everyone spoke English. There went her plan of practicing her French. She did notice they spoke with each other in French or the Creole dialect, not English. She wouldn’t have a problem in this hotel.

  The first order of business was a shower and a change into more appropriate clothing. After that was done, she made her way down to the hotel restaurant to have a bite to eat. It was dinnertime, and she was starved. She’d paid for an all-inclusive package, which meant meals were included, and she was curious to see what the fare would entail.

  Daphne picked up a menu, and even with her limited French, she was able to make a few good selections. She ordered a full course dinner. It began with an avocado and cucumber salad. A seafood consommé preceded an entrée of rice and chicken pilaf. For dessert, a chocolate crumb cake, a la mode, accompanied by the complimentary planter’s punch the hotel gave to all the guests. The entire meal was delicious, and the refill on the drink was a treat.

  She sat alone in a corner of the restaurant, enjoying the ambience of the place and watching the other diners who got up to dance after they finished eating. They moved so sensuously against each other. She wanted to try dancing but was afraid of making a fool of herself. In the end, she did attempt one dance with one of the guests. One who was bold enough to ask her. She felt uncomfortable dancing so close, as thoughts of Michael kept coming into her head, threatening to ruin her mood.

  After her first attempt at dancing, she made her excuse of a headache to the gentleman who had approached her again, and then she retired to her room.

  She watched a bit of television in French while she perused the hotel activities brochure. She planned to spend time relaxing on the beach but was definitely going to try out the island's nightlife. She called down to the front desk, arranged for an early morning coffee tray to be delivered to her room, and retired for the night.

  Daphne was up at 5:00 the next morning, and by 6:00, she was on a bus, headed for one of the more secluded beaches she had read about in the brochure. She had her bag stocked with a thermos of fresh coffee and hot beignets with lots of powdered sugar for breakfast, two bottles of sun block, two romance novels by her favorite author, and one of the hotel’s fine picnic lunches. She was all set for the day.

  The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon, and the trees and flowers were still damp with dew. After getting off at her bus stop, she made her way to the beach. It was a good ten-minute walk, but she didn’t mind; it gave her the opportunity to admire the flowers and the beautiful landscaped lawn of the few houses she passed by on the way.

  She was seeking a secluded spot, walked past the public area, and kept going until she came upon a sort of hedge. She climbed over it and walked a bit farther until she found a perfect spot. It was hidden by thick shrubbery. She could see the water, but the shrubbery provided her some privacy. Spreading out her towel, she took out one of her books and settled down to read.

  There was a stillness about the island that was peaceful and relaxing, as she lay gazing up at the almond trees that shaded her secluded spot. She was enjoying the silence and the freshness of the early-morning breeze that caressed her skin. Enjoy it now, she told herself. It’ll be gone as soon as the typical ninety-five-degree heat sets in.

  Although her book was opened, she was gazing out to sea, following the movement of the waves, when a movement out in the ocean caught her eye.

  Someone was swimming rapidly toward the shore. Had it not been for t
he wake the person made, she doubted she would have seen it at all it was so far away. She kept watching as the person came closer and closer to the shore. This was a very strong swimmer. She could not make out the features to tell whether it was a man or a woman, but book forgotten, she took out her watch and began timing the swimmer. Her every instinct told her it was a man; no woman could swim so powerfully, but she would wait and see. Women had been known to accomplish most feats, often better than a man. This swimmer appeared to be alone in the wide-open ocean, which in itself was daring.

  He or she kept up a rapid pace. When the swimmer was close enough for her to make out his features, she was not surprised to see it was indeed a man. He had completed the swim in ten minutes from the time she began timing him. She retreated farther behind the shrubbery, not wanting him to see her observing him.

  She did not want to encroach on his time; neither did she want him encroaching on hers. As she watched, the swimmer turned on his back and began floating toward the shore.

  Daphne could see his hair floating in the water as he lay as still as a log. After the frenzy of movement, it was a sight to behold, how still he lay in the water. He allowed the current to move him to the shore. She expected him to swim the last couple of yards, but no, he continued floating. If he was going to stay here, Daphne thought, she’d have to give up her spot because, so far as she could see, there wasn’t another human being in sight. She didn’t feel comfortable being alone with the stranger.

  She was about getting her things together when he went under the water one last time before walking out of the ocean like a Greek god. He was as naked as Michelangelo's David, not a stitch of clothing on.

  Daphne sprang from her sitting position hurriedly and retreated farther into the shrubbery. However, the picture he presented intrigued her. He exhibited no sense of modesty of any kind. She found herself leaning forward to get a better view. He used both hands to push the hair away from his face—and what a face. The man was drop-dead gorgeous. She couldn’t tell the exact shade of his hair because it was wet from being in the ocean, but his skin was a perfect bronze shade with not a blemish in sight, and he was all muscle.

  He appeared to be over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a flat muscular chest, and narrow waist. He was more lean than bulk, but every muscle was well defined. He had a narrow waist some women would die for, but that wasn’t his most impressive feature. What currently hung between the long sturdy columns of his thighs was. This man was definitely well endowed. She tried to think if she’d ever seen the like and had to admit a resounding no!

  She was mesmerized by that part of his anatomy and had difficulty focusing on anything else. With a con­centrated effort, she moved her eyes back to his face. His square jaw was covered with a faint hint of shadow, possibly a day’s growth of beard, but rather than distract from his appeal, it enhanced it, making him appear wild and sexy.

  Daphne found herself hyperventilating. Just looking at this man did strange things to her body. He was not overly hairy, but his pubic hairs were thick and dark. She found her eyes riveted to that patch of hair, specifically, what appeared to be growing from it. He was still walking in her direction. If he came any closer, it would be damn near impossible for her to remain hidden.

  She said a silent prayer of thanks when he veered off toward another patch of thick shrubbery. She was given an unobstructed view of his rear. It was as equally hot and just as impressive as the front. Right, not really! He walked in long, unhurried strides, the muscles in his legs expanding and contracting with each step. The indentations in his butt gave the impression that his butt was permanently contracted. When he reached the shrubbery, he pulled out a towel, which he used to wipe the water off his head, before retrieving a pair of shorts, which were lying behind the shrubbery, and stepping into them. Then, without missing a step, he and his towel, made his way down the beach, away from her.

  Daphne watched until he was only a speck in the distance. Then, finally letting out her breath, she sat back down on the towel. If he does this every day, this might turn out to be a very interesting vacation. I can barely wait for tomorrow.

  T hree

  After the excitement of the morning, it turned out to be a very uneventful day for Daphne. She took a couple short swims, read a little, and enjoyed her picnic. At 5:00 p.m., when the heat of the day was beginning to cool down, she packed up and made her way back to the main road to catch the bus back to her hotel.

  After taking a shower and changing into one of her new sundresses, she went down to the restaurant. She was surprised to find she was hungry and looking forward to the meal. She had not had any interest in food in several weeks, and there she was, hungry and looking forward to a meal.

  Her second meal at the restaurant was just as delightful as the first. She enjoyed it tremendously. There was a buffet style set-up, but she opted to be served from the menu. She ordered balsamic glazed salmon and asparagus, accompanied by a glass of Chardonnay. Afterward, she sat back and relaxed with a glass of Porto wine and a dish of freshly made coconut ice cream. The glass of Porto was the perfect wine to have with her dessert and a fitting end to her first day on the island.

  She was reluctant to retire to her room, so she took a seat in the lounge and whiled away a couple hours enjoying her dessert.

  Daphne was watching the other guests coming and going when it occurred to her she had only thought of Michael twice during the day. Once when she’d seen the front of the naked swimmer and then again when she’d seen his back. Her thoughts were occupied with a man, but it was not Michael. The image of the man on the beach was firmly engraved in her mind.

  As a general rule, male bodies didn’t usually affect her because she’d seen several in her time, though none had been as awe-inspiring as the swimmer’s.

  The nude swimmer was crowding Michael out of her thoughts. This did not sit well with her because, for several months, Michael was the only man she thought about, as she had anticipated a future with him.

  She had to admit to being intrigued, and to her everlasting shame, thinking about the swimmer did bring on a physical reaction. She was swollen and wet between her thighs every time she thought about him striding out of the water that way, and even though he hadn’t had an erection, he was still impressive, having just exited the water.

  She tried to tell herself that her reaction to this man was the result of her prior frustrating sexual episodes with Michael. Why else would she react this way to a total stranger? He had not touched her, nor given her any indication that he was even aware of her presence, yet she was as hot as if he’d made passionate love to her.

  After finishing her drink and ice cream, she made her way to the hotel nightclub and spent some time watching the other couples dancing. The way they moved against each other looked very sensuous. She most definitely wanted to try it out.

  She couldn’t help looking at the men who walked into the club, in the hopes of identifying her nude swimmer. She didn’t know how she would recognize him fully clothed, but a girl could try. After a couple of hours, she gave it up and took the elevator to her room. Not only was the day’s events catching up with her, she was usually in bed by then.

  She soon found out going to bed did not mean going to sleep. She couldn’t get to sleep. Lustful thoughts with images of the naked swimmer kept her awake. With each thought, a surge of lust would flash through her body, causing her to clench her thighs together. He presented such a magnificent picture, standing on the sand with the water at his back and the early morning sun on his gorgeous body. If she were an artist, she would have painted him. But though she was not an artist, she had a photographic memory, and the visuals of the man as he came out of the water could not be erased from her memory.

  She was a bleary-eyed, horny toad the next morning, but nothing could keep her from going to the beach. Her failed relationship with Michael was already beginning to seem like a thing of the past. The new Daphne wouldn’t have it any other way—she was
like someone driven, obsessed with a naked stranger.

  As she exited the bus, there was no question she would again return to her secluded spot on the beach. A part of her hoped to see the swimmer again and part of her didn’t. To begin with, seeing him like this had started a hunger in her for things she hadn’t hungered for until now.

  She did try talking herself out of returning to that particular spot on the beach. But it was as if she was being pulled in two directions, and the stronger one was the one with the more lustful nature, and she won.

  Walking rapidly, she could barely contain her excitement. She was looking forward to observing him. This time she would be prepared to enjoy the picture he made and damn the consequences.

  She settled down behind the shrubbery and, picking up her book, prepared to wait. She didn’t know if he was going to appear today, but something told her he would. And she was not disappointed. At around seven-thirty a.m., she spotted the movements in the distance. He was really far out. Her heart rate accelerated, and she began to sweat.

  He was coming in fast with the same long strokes through the water. When he got close to shore, he did exactly what he’d done the previous morning, rolled over onto his back and floated. And just as before, he dove into the water before surfacing on the beach; the waves lapping at his feet. The same process of walking to retrieve his shorts and getting into them before making his way down the beach was repeated.

  Daphne admitted she had a fixation with the swimmer. After three days of observing him, it felt almost as if she knew him. In a way, she did. She knew his body very well.

  Observing the stranger had lit a fire in her body. All it took was a glimpse of him to set off the familiar throbbing between her thighs. It was taking her longer and longer to regain her composure after he’d walked away.