Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal Read Free Page B

back to his computer.
    He needed to escape the memories of Marlaison. But he had no money. He thought he’d learned his lesson as a teenager when he quickly went broke after his first bestseller. When money came pouring in again, what did he do? Throw it around as if he were an oil baron. His excuse, to himself, was that the inspiration for the wildly successful book caused him to feel he had exploited Colette and therefore did not deserve his good fortune.
    Never mind that no one alive—save for Raymond—knew the real story.
    He knew.
    His many literary awards were now packed in a box and hidden at his sister’s after he threatened to destroy them.
    In
The Deer Park
, Norman Mailer wrote that life demands that one must grow or else pay more for remaining the same. Was it possible to change now? Would he ever get the chance to even try?
    “Am I disturbing you?”
    Isabella’s sultry voice blocked out the sound of the soft rain caressing his office window.
    Swiveling around, he took in her good looks as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed to accentuate her cleavage as she tried to warm herself up in the cool night air. She was still in her pink and red flowery dress; still woozy. Her hair and skin were damp.
    “Do you need something?” he asked in what he hoped was a detached tone. “Forgive me for any oversights. This is a one-man operation.”
    “Are you a one-
woman
operation as well,” she asked, “or are you still juggling several at once?”
    “My tempestuous cruel Muse rules me now. If I do not spit out another book soon…” He swept his arms around the room. “I will lose everything.”
    “You are exaggerating.”
    “I am not. The grass here is not greener, Isabella.
It is scorched earth.”
    She responded with equal intensity. “I will take any kind of earth over the quicksand I am in.” She did not break her intense gaze.
    “Isabella, you are a beautiful, talented, smart woman. I thought you had more sense. Robbie may not be what you want, but he is what you need.”
    She shifted, pouted. “He was out the moment his head hit the pillow. If I hear him snore one more time I’ll—”
    “Wait until you hear me lose my temper.”
    “It is a sign of passion!” She paced his office; her sexy black sandals, click, click, clicked across the pine floor. “He is boring. And he wants to marry me! I cannot do it.”
    “Then don’t. But do
not
drag me into this.” He turned back to his work.
    She walked behind his desk that was in the middle of the large room, faced him, and leaned over with a look of such longing he had to glance away. He silently asked his Muse to give him a sign. His answer was a warm sensation between his legs.
    “Fine,” he said, “if you decide not to make your plane tomorrow, you are welcome to stay.
But not for long.
I must write.”
    Alyce woke with a start, momentarily disoriented. Where was she? Oh, right. The villa of her new hosts. She glanced at
French is Fun
, face down on her chest. She’d read three words and fallen asleep. The window in her bedroom was open. She could feel it was cooler now, and much later. What time was it?
    She checked her cell. Even though it didn’t work here, not even for texting since she turned off her phone plan to save money (and not be tempted to call Nelson), she could use it as a camera and clock. Five o’clock. Wonderful. Now she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep tonight. And she was just getting over her jet lag.
    She eyed
French is Fun
again. She had nothing to worry about. She already had the printed version of Tylenol P.M.
    She changed into jeans and a light fleece jacket and ambled onto the patio. A young man wearing sunglasses was stretched out on a lounger. On closer inspection, she found him to be quite cute in his baggy cargo pants and Bob Marley sweatshirt. As he listened to his iPod, he nodded to the beat, causing his long brown hair to fall into his face. It didn’t take long for him to sense her