Ravenous On The Riviera, A steamy story of instant attraction.

Changing the subject, I morphed into Mr. Nonchalant, working on keeping my expression bland and the hopeful note in my voice checked.

“So, uh… When did you say your school starts the classes up again?”

Jules had spilled that first day we’d met out on the sidewalk that she was an elementary art teacher—working out of the same century-old pile of bricks that I myself had spent many a miserable childhood moment. Made sense… I figured hot teacher must be pretty popular at her profession, being all bubbly and outgoing and shit. Patient, too, as me and my busted wrist could attest. Bet the beauty was absolutely beloved by her roomful of rug rats.

I flicked a fast glance at the explosion of holiday crap assaulting my vision wherever I looked, all of it culminating in that huge, monstrously decorated Maine balsam.

Not too sure about her actual creative talents, though…

Tinsel mama laughed, gesturing carelessly.

“School? Oh, on January the third. Or, wait, is it the fourth? Gad, I’ve lost all track of time since my move! But don’t worry, PF. I’ve already spoke to admin and explained that I’ll need an extra two-week extension, on account of the cantankerous neighbor man I’m nursing back to health.”

White teeth flashed between rosy lips as she grinned widely.

“It’s cool; I have a stack of unused vacay owed to me from this calendar year. And there are a whole heap of substitute teachers waiting in the wings eager to log in hours, so I can rest easy, knowing my kiddos are covered.”

“Hold it right there…” That newsflash had me pushing away from the table and lumbering to my shitkickers, wincing as my spine spasmed. Supporting my casted wrist with left hand and trying to ignore the pain, I shook my head.

“That’s great you have time coming to you, and I hope ya enjoy it, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna be mopin’ around here cramping your style until the middle of January. That’s nuts! I have my own crap to get back to… Hell, you heard how long I was on the horn yesterday, scrambling to find drivers to pick up my load. Customers are legit going off the deep end with me not showin’ up.”

I stuck my cast in the air, waving it around for emphasis.

“It’s just a few broken bones, lady. Jesus, I’m not a damn vegetable.”

Her beautiful puss drooped as Jules bit her lip, looking as if I’d just informed her Santy Claus is a fraud.

“Oh, but, PF. Having you as my guest, it’s no trouble at all. Truly, I enjoy the company.”

She peeped at me through thick, sexy lashes.

“And it hasn’t exactly been torture these past three days, has it? Getting assistance with your icepacks and pre-shower rigmarole, enjoying three square meals and snacks, partaking in our relaxing happy hours in front of the tree?

No, I do not have to admit, and fuck yes, it’s been torture… pure and undiluted. Are you kidding me? Clocking your fineness everywhere I look, inhaling your sweet honey scent until I’m dizzy, struggling not to eyefuck your lips and your legs as you sit sippin’ your glass of pinot…

“Besides, think of all the bonding you can do with George once he gets here!”

Imaginary smoke instantly steamed out of my eardrums.

George! Woman, are you on goddamned crack?

I blinked down at the little lunatic, convinced that Jules was either as naïve as an infant when it came to testosterone wars, or was evilly intent on stirring the pot for her own personal kicks.

Bonding, my ass! Oh yeah, I’m sure Georgie Porgie will be over the moon to find a big, bearded fucker crashed on his lover’s sofa when he winds up his cross-country trip. If the guy doesn’t take a swing at me the second he strolls through that door, he’s either a closet gay or a saint-in-training.

“Listen up, Jules…” I thumped the back of my chair with my left fist, nixing the agenda I’d been bamboozled into accepting by a pair of seductive eyes and platters of inventively frosted cutouts.

Delicious, homemade holiday cookies I’d never once tasted as a kid.

“I’m initiating a new abbreviated timetable here and now. A couple more days, that’s it. Christmas Eve morning, I’m out of here. Before noon at the latest. Even that’s wearing out my welcome, but yeah, I’m a sucker for your tasty meals, and yeah, fumbling with wet plastic bags on my own is gonna suck. But hell, no goddamn way am I gonna play third wheel when your live-in shows his face.”

“Third wheel! No! No, wait, listen. George is…”

Jules protested, stepping forward to bop me or something. Except that one of her goofy slippers skidded on the hardwood and she lost her balance, crashing sideways toward the dining buffet with its avenue of dumb, battery-lit ceramic houses littering the top.

“Hey, whoa!” My arms shot out, grabbing her around the waist, the impact on my wrist jarring.

Wrist? Ha. Fuck me, the impact on assorted other body parts was a helluva lot more jarring.


She landed hard against my chest, a petite bundle of sweet curves—our thighs sliding together, her tight, juicy tits searing me through my flannel.

“Shit, you okay?” My question grated out like sandpaper, my uneven breaths disturbing the silky strands of hair tucked six inches below my beard.


Jules pushed back a little, blinking wide eyes. She brushed a curl off her cheek, laughing awkwardly.

“Yes, fine. Freaking klutz that I am!”

This of course was the point when I should’ve chuckled in return and released her. Should’ve taken a polite step back, sat my ass back down. Or, alternately, excused myself to go bash the hard-on swelling like a torpedo behind my zipper into submission. But I swear to fuckin’ God that my arms wouldn’t work right, not with the soft, warm present they were squeezing so tight.


Purring my initials, Jules laid her palms on my pecs. My heart slammed beneath them, pounding so fast I felt lightheaded. Unsure how to reply, I grunted a non-word, something along the lines of:


Those big eyes dropped from my own down to my mouth, studying it closely as ten small fingers curled into the cloth of my shirt. Then Jules whispered a question that blew me into the next stratosphere.

“PF. Do you, do you want to kiss me?”

Positive I hadn’t heard correctly, I choked out another cavemanish sound, sweat trickling down my battered tailbone.