By Sandra Hill
Tiring of the pretentious global of haute couture, version Selene heads to New Orleans for one final task and is transported again in time to the previous South, the place she meets beguiling planter James Baptiste. unique.
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Additional info for Frankly, My Dear
Marie Laveau smiled enigmatically, but refused to answer. Selene quickly left the small house, almost tripping over a sleeping cat the size of a ten-pound sack of potatoes. Inexplicably, she harbored no doubts in her mind that Marie Laveau was correct in all she had said. And Selene felt reassured by the black woman's words that she would not have to remain in the city to return to her own time. Now she could go to James's plantation with some degree of certainty that she wouldn't be closing the time door behind her.
With a whoosh of skirts, he threw her onto her back on the soft mattress and, quick as a wink, tossed her skirts up to her waist. " Selene shrieked and tried to get up, but he held his left palm on her chest, holding her down firmly. With the forefinger of his right hand, he traced the band of her pale skin from hip bone to pubic bone and back to the other hip bone. He shook his head back and forth in wonder. " "No kidding. " His eyes locked with hers in challenge. "Perhaps I should examine all of your body.
He's not a nice man, make no mistake about that. " Selene sighed wearily. "I'm sorry about all this, James. " he remarked enigmatically and stood, then pulled her up beside him. As they walked along the banquette, the sun beat down on them in unrelenting waves and Selene could feel perspiration beading at her armpits and between her breasts. She squinted up at him, noticing that the grim lines of bitterness had returned to etch his eyes and mouth. " she persisted. " He shrugged. " "Alors! You ask a lot of questions.