A Late Summer Bloom by Cherrie Mack Page A

enthusiasm. “In
my time, a guest is usually invited in for café au lait and treated with kindness.”
    He watched her eyes follow him.
    “Yeah? Well, in my time, we don’t have guests. If we do have a visitor with
no prior phone call, text or email, they’re usually a serial killer. So, if you
want coffee and a roll, I suggest the café on the corner.”
    Ha! He flashed a quick smile. “Miss Mercier, my name is
Simon Granvil . I am a traveler. I came by order of
the master to inform you that, although appreciated, your help is not needed with regard to the tenth power. You have been
forbidden to travel to Cottonwood Landing.”
    He watched her blink, long lashes fluttering against her smooth creamy
skin. When she laughed, it was like music, soft and low, that flowed inside his
head. “I am forbidden? Did you just use the word forbidden? With
me? Are you serious? I don’t listen to you. As a matter of fact, I don’t
listen to anyone. What kind of game are you playing?”
    Simon shook   out of his daze, perching himself on
the edge of an armchair. What is
happening to me? Clearing his throat, he answered her. “I don’t play games,
Miss Mercier.”
    “Yeah? Neither do I, especially Simon Says—and if I want to travel to
Cottonwood Landing to help my friend, then that’s what I will do. Got it?”
    Simon stood up slowly and approached her. He lifted her chin so her
eyes would meet his. “You can certainly try. mon amour . As a matter of fact, I encourage
it. But be warned, I take all the master’s assignments very seriously, and I
will subdue you by any means necessary.”
    “First of all—I am not your love, so don’t use seductive French words
on me. They just creep me out. Second, who the hell is
this master anyway? I’ve heard the stories and the legends, but who is he
really? Do you even know who you take orders from, Simon?”
    He clucked his tongue at her. “The master, at one time, was said to be
a great wizard, a sorcerer of epic proportions, but the simple truth is , he is a prophet. He is pure and emanates a great light
under which we can all find peace.”
    “That’s great. So, what now? Do you plan on camping out on my couch
until the demonic army of warlocks rise up from the dead and destroy our race?”
    “Such confidence you display in your friend, Giselle. Do you not
believe in her?”
    He watched her closely, trying to read her expression. Her answer was
simple, “I want to believe in her, but I’m afraid I don’t.”
    ****
    Simon lay awake on Desiree’s couch, his legs curled beneath him . It was after midnight, last he looked, and still the sounds of the city
kept him awake. He lay wondering if it was the noise that kept him from sleeping, or the memories that taunted him awake. Frustration
made him change positions and punch his limp pillow. Resting his head, Simon
closed his eyes and tried hard not to think about her. But here in New Orleans, it was impossible to take a breath
without seeing her everywhere. And as the hours passed, he spiraled deeper into
grief.
    When the door to Desiree’s bedroom opened, he sat up. Focusing on the
doorway, Simon stared ahead into the darkness. With only the lights of the city
casting shadows into a small window, he could see Desiree move toward him, seductively
touching her body. He widened his eyes in disbelief when she called out to him
in French. And he froze.
    As Desiree came close, Simon watched her. Quietly, he moved over,
allowing her to sit. There was no denying her talent for the craft and this
could surely be a case of trickery. Desiree reached out to him, placing her
hands on his thighs.
    He remained still, guarded.
    As her hands found their way to his groin, she applied a gentle, yet
direct pressure to his cock, blurting out words he recognized. “ My body aches for yours.”
    Simon lurched up from the couch, snapping on
the light. Aimee?
    He studied her posture, her eyes giving away
her obvious trance-like state. He bent down