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When Suzette Michaud reels into the arms of a man she wouldn’t ordinarily look twice at, she reexamines her priorities. Fed up with the social limitations her parents, and her French boarding school background impressed upon her, she decides it’s time to take a walk on the wild side. Handlebar Hank and his Honky Tonk are just the distraction she needs.

She doesn’t count on falling in love with the rough around the edges man, especially when he insists on treating her—a forty-six year old divorcee—like some blushing virgin. And she certainly doesn’t suspect that his big body, heart and sense of humor hide a bigger hurt than she ever could have imagined. Can a wounded bar owner and a bitter French debutante/divorcee make each other feel whole again, or are they just reeling into more heartbreak?

Rosette
23 Pages, Sensual

Excerpt:

Sitting in her car outside Handlebar Hank's Honky Tonk, Suzette Michaud drew a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing pulse.

"Give me strength," she muttered. Her gaze shot upward, and came to rest on the hideous neon lights outlining an enormous red cowboy boot, complete with a sterling silver toe and glittering spurs.

"Andlebar 'Ank's 'Onky Tonk," she sneered, her French accent becoming more pronounced than it usually did whenever she got emotional, obliterating the H in Handlebar, Hank and Honky.

A dark haired man sprang from the pick-up truck parked three slots down from hers. Her hands remained locked to the cool leather of the steering wheel. As he walked toward her car with the loose-limbed stride of a natural athlete, her grip tightened. She wished she could curl her fingers around his neck.

What was she even doing here? Everything about the place screamed tacky, from the stupid neon sign to the faux hitching posts spaced along the front of the building. If she went in--which she had no intention of doing--she'd be surrounded by beer swilling men there to play cowboy. If a man wanted to cheat weeks before his wedding, with his fiancé's best friend, the least he could do is choose a classier establishment for the clandestine meeting.

When he was but a scant step away, she swung her car door open. If he hadn't been so quick on his feet, the corner of the door would have--well, it would have done exactly as she'd intended. He stared pointedly at the door, then at his crotch. She wondered if he'd read her intention in her expression. She wasn't known for her poker face. He, on the other hand, must have been blessed with Oscar winning acting skills. Here he was, ready to embark on the worst sort of deceit, wearing a grin as relaxed and nauseatingly charming as ever.




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