86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) by Peggy A. Edelheit

blank. “I can’t remember.”
    “See what I mean? Your social life is looking pathetic. Come to think of it, so is mine. We both need to get out!”
    I had to agree with her. I had become so absorbed in the mystery of the gardens that it left me very little time for anything else since I arrived.
    I laughed. “I’ve had the marriage ring, the relationship fling and the flirting thing. And you want me to take another social plunge?” I sighed heavily and finally gave in. “…Okay, but only this once. You know how I hate this. I feel like live bait out there, waiting for a hungry fish to come along.”
    “What’s wrong with that?” Then Martha gave me a side-glance, now laughing, too. “You’re afraid of getting hurt by putting yourself out there, aren’t you? That’s it, isn’t it?”
    She’d had hit her target directly and knew it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How ridiculous!”
    “I knew it! Hey, worse things could happen.”
    I almost asked her what, but knew better from past experience. I physically brushed her aside. “Excuse me. I’ve got to get ready for a soirée. ”
    Martha laughed again and walked away, saying, “She who protests too much is telling more than she realizes.”
    I smiled. “She who talks too much is walking a mighty fine line between here and the airport.”
    The one great thing about having a good friend is that they usually know you better than you think.
    Eye rolls included.

 
     
     
    Chapter 27
    Up Close And Personal
     
     
    I felt completely ridiculous standing there, as the band began playing. We were all sipping wine under the lights. I reached up to touch the flower in my hair once more for the tenth time, sorely tempted to rip it out. I couldn’t do it.
    Jean had made a big, gallant show of pinning one to Martine’s belt, one to Martha’s shoulder on her blouse and the last one in my hair. “Ah, the three most beautiful women at the dance tonight.”
    If I refused, I would have hurt his feelings. At least it coordinated with all of our clothes. He had bought three exquisite white orchids. He was such a gentleman and quite the dancer Martine had said, laughing.
    Jean turned to Martine. “It would give me great pleasure to have this first dance with you, mon cheri.” Arm in arm, they happily drifted away from us, a perfect May/December love match.
    Martha smiled, gushing, “Isn’t that so romantic?”
    Just then, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned. “May I?” he asked in a deep baritone voice.
    Both of us were dumbfounded. It was Luc. He looked transformed, wearing a white shirt and tailored slacks. His hair was combed back and his elegant cologne drifted in our direction.
    Martha stood there speechless, and then said, “Well, come on. What are we waiting for?” And then the two of them also disappeared into the dancing crowd.
    I stepped back and turned, about to make a dart for the exit when I smacked right into him . As my eyes traveled upward, it got better and better. Ooh, la, la! I know this sounds clichéd, but he was what we girls like to describe as tall, lean and handsome, and like a few times before, I might add, in a lethal kind of way, too.
    Catching me off guard, his lips came within a hair’s breath of mine. “That flower in your hair,” he said with a heavy French accent, “doesn’t do you justice. No orchid could compare to this vision that stands before me. Would you care to dance?”
    This guy was smooth. Despite my inner reservations, I still found myself replying, “I think that can be arranged.”
    He gallantly escorted me to the dance floor, and then...?
    The damn music stopped!
    He looked down at me, disappointed. “What a pity!”
    I swear, I actually pouted, repeating his, “What a pity!” I couldn’t believe I said that. There must be something in the French wine. I tried to get a grip, but I was getting lost in those blue eyes of his. “Thanks anyway,” I finally said, reluctantly