The Outlaw Edition Read online

  He stepped back as more people crowded around, but instead of leaving, he lingered to watch Chantal take a quick slug of coffee, not missing her reaction to the brew. She paused, then drank more deeply, her smile far broader after she sat the cup down again.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said with a quick wave, the shoulders of her heavy jacket bunching up beneath her wavy blonde hair.

  It only took a few moments for the cameras to roll after that, and Luc remained watching as Jack began, his smile effortlessly chagrined. “You probably were the start of everything,” he said to Chantal. “Me getting away with things, anyway. Without you, I would have been stopped in my tracks before I even got out of high school.”

  “Oh, please.” Chantal’s expression of patent skepticism was completely unfeigned. “You were Teflon since you were two years old. Getting away with things was what you did. That day at Hassel’s, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Jack grimaced. “Wrong place, wrong time, you mean. Breaking into the old man’s garage to take his Ferrari for a joyride wasn’t exactly our smartest move. He called 911 before we even got the locks cut. If you hadn’t shown up before the cops did…” He shook his head. “That would’ve been bad. Instead…they found you. With your head so deep under the hood I thought you were going to fall in.”

  Chantal leaned back in her seat, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “You weren’t the only one who wanted to take a look at that car. I never saw an engine like it before—or since, you want to know the truth. Sweetest piece of machinery I’d ever come that close to. The fact that it landed me in jail for five days until Hassel took pity on me was just a bad stretch of luck.”

  There was something in her voice that cut at Luc, but he didn’t know why. Still…five days? For breaking into someone’s garage?

  Jack seemed to think so too. “Five days,” he groaned. “While we just had to stay hidden in the shadows until the cops grabbed you, then sneak out the back. We got out of there scot free, but you missed a ton of school. And then they expelled you for no good reason.”

  Chantal’s laugh was short, and wry. “Oh, they had plenty of reasons. This was merely their first opportunity.” She lifted the mug again. “They made the most of it.”

  “Well, I’d like to make it up to you.”

  “And I’ve already told you, I don’t need a payoff after all these years.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Jack spoke with genuine earnestness now, almost awkward as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a card that he handed to Chantal. Up to now the conversation hadn’t seemed to be staged, exactly, but it’d still felt like a script to Luc. But as Chantal took the card, she seemed truly surprised.

  “What is this?” she asked, then blinked. “Oh, my God, Jack. Twenty thousand dollars?”

  Jack actually reddened, waving off her response. “It’s for the Trips for Kids bike rally. I’m happy to do it,” he said gruffly, then paused a moment before he continued. “I didn’t know it at the time, but you didn’t have the easiest home life, am I right?”

  Chantal was clearly distracted by what was on the card, so when she answered it seemed genuine…achingly genuine to Luc.

  “That would be no,” she said, looking up to meet Jack’s eyes. “Dad left early, Mom didn’t want to deal with me after all the…” she shrugged. “Well, I was trouble.” She said the words without inflection, and Luc just stared, unable to believe his ears. Her mother had kicked her out of the house?

  “Yeah, I figured that explained your interest in the rally.” Jack smiled, again waving awkwardly at the card. “I also figured I could help with that.”

  Chantal looked from the card to Jack, and straightened slowly in her seat. “You’re going to ruin my rep, Cooper.” But there was a smile playing around her lips, and she looked even more beautiful in that moment than she had when she’d first walked into his shop, Luc decided. Her wide green eyes touched with Jack’s apparently unexpected grace.

  “So long as those kids don’t turn out like you, I figure we’ll be okay,” he said with a wink.”

  "Coming from someone who starred in T-Rex on Deck, you have no room to talk," Chantal said dryly, but she didn’t let go of the card...and a moment later she was firmly back in professional promotion mode. “I didn’t do so bad. Hassel’s Ferrari was the one of the first fully customized cars I had a chance to really look at, and now I make it a living. Sex Machina lets me do what I love, and the open road is always right there, waiting for me. There are worse things than working on some of the best bikes in the business, knowing that at any moment I can take off and head halfway around the country. It’s a good life.”

  Listening as the two of them continued chatting, Luc felt a twinge in his gut. Chantal Green might not be the big shot movie star that Jack Cooper was, but she also wasn’t going to be hanging around La Boulangerie for longer than it took to finish her cup of coffee. Some women just weren’t the type to watch the same sunset from the same strip of beach day after day after day. Some women probably never thought about the sunset at all.

  Rolling his eyes at himself, Luc turned back toward the front of the shop.

  Chapter Two

  Chantal gratefully waved goodbye to Jack an hour later, then watched for a second as the man was besieged by a tide of makeup people, assistants, and hangers-on, all of them buzzing about the remainder of video they’d be taping to round out this segment. She wouldn’t want to have Jack’s life, no way. No matter how much money he made, there were way too many bodies in way too small a space, all of them conspiring to keep him trapped into their schedule. The mere thought made her shudder.

  She pushed back into the main part of the bakery, surprised to see how crowded it had become. People were posted up at the two dozen little tables and either talking over croissants and coffee or hunched over their computers—the latter wearing enormous headphones to drown out the bright chatter. Another line of people stood at the counter, and the hot guy—Luc—was there again, taking orders with an accent as thick and rich as pound cake. She wondered if they served such a simple dessert here. Given that it looked like they could make anything in that tiny little kitchen…probably so.

  Luc hadn’t seen her yet, and Chantal moved away from the door and around the back of the dining room, taking her time so she could check him out a little more. No matter how comfortable he was behind the counter, taking orders with an easy confidence that made it seem like everyone he talked to was a regular, the man didn’t just look like a baker. He said he’d been in the states since he was a kid, but no way had he been here that long, in this tiny little beachside town. Right?

  Shaking off the questions her brain kept serving up, Chantal stepped into line behind a half-dozen eager customers. Luc looked up and saw her, but he didn’t break his focus, other than giving her a quick smile that warmed her all the way to her toes. Back it down, girl. He’s not on the menu.

  Granted, she hadn’t dated in a year and change, ever since she’d dumped Dave the Disaster—who’d at least been an upgrade from Granger the Grifter—but it wasn’t like she was jonesing for a guy these days. She had a full slate of rally stops and the shop was getting called round the clock for custom jobs. In fact, they had so many work orders already, they could stop the road trip this week and still have enough to keep them busy for the next year. But she liked the rallies, so that wasn’t going to happen.

  Eventually, though, they’d have to stop touring and start working. She’d hired enough gear heads to do the bulk of the custom work—she was totally front office these days—but she still enjoyed hanging out as the new bikes came in, or seeing the new designs suggested from the manufacturers of the boutique clothing labels she patronized. That meant they all needed to be heading back to Phoenix in a few months—right after a return trip through Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas.

  Her phone buzzed and she pulled it free of her jacket, smiling as she realized she’d missed easi
ly a dozen texts in the hour she’d been doing Jack Cooper’s dog and pony show. More work, more offers by rallies who’d heard of her growing rep, more whining from the guys about how hungry they were. Well at least she could solve that last problem easily enough.

  Chantal was still scrolling through email when she reached the counter, but this time she was ready. She looked up into Luc Martin’s maple-syrup eyes and waved her phone. “My team is demanding their bodyweight in pastries. I hope we don’t clean you out.”

  “We live to serve.” Luc grinned, gesturing to someone in the back of the kitchen. She expected to see the tiny Patrice to toddle up alone, but with her was a bright-eyed, white haired man, his smile setting his whole face alight. Each of them bore enormous white boxes wrapped in clear plastic bags. “These are my great aunt and uncle, who insisted on creating your order themselves—on the house, so long as you tell everyone at the rally where you got the food.” He shrugged when she blinked at him in surprise. “It’s good advertising. There’s a typed list on each box of what’s inside, but it’s a little bit of everything.”

  “You will like it! You all will like it,” the old man insisted, his English better than that of his wife’s. Patrice beamed at her husband in clear delight, and Chantal suddenly found herself swallowing hard at the affection shining in the woman’s eyes. When had she seen such obvious, heartfelt love before? She wondered. Pretty much never.

  Still, the boxes were a more immediate problem—one she hadn’t really thought through all that well. “You know, I may have screwed up here. I have the bike, and—”

  “We deliver!” Patrice announced. “The big van. We can use that.” Her head practically bobbed with excitement, and Luc’s rich laugh rolled over them.

  “Not the van, Tante. Our regular truck will do just fine.” He turned to Chantal. “I’ve got a driver who can take them both to the bike rally, if you don’t mind. I assume that’s where you’re set up?”

  “I—yes,” Chantal said lamely. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Not possible. These two love everything about this little town. Spring breakers, snowbirds, bike rallies, festivals, you name it. Delivering to a tough motorcycle crew is a dream come true for them.”

  Chantal snorted. “We’re not all that tough.”

  “We won’t let ‘em know that.” With a wink, he flipped the register toward her, one of those tablet screens. “How long will the rally be? They’re usually a week or so, right?”

  “A week, yeah. And let me at least pay something for this.”

  Luc looked like he was going to protest, then nodded, seeming to get that she didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt, not even for something so small. She appreciated that.

  Chantal set her phone on the counter and reached for her wallet, surprised that her hand was shaking. Maybe she did need something to eat.

  “That coffee was amazing,” she said, trying to cover her jittering nerves. “Probably more caffeine than I technically required, but I’m this close to getting a second one.”

  “We’re sending a hotbox along with the pastries,” Luc said, and sure enough, a young, clean-cut kid strolled up with a coffee container balanced on his hip, his right hand clutching a set of keys. “If you guys will be in town for a while, maybe you can recommend our shop or stop back in.”

  The statement was offered in a general, off handed way, but Chantal made the mistake of glancing back up at Luc as he spoke. Their gazes connected, and she caught her breath at the sudden surge of warmth that spiraled up from her center, melting everything in its path.

  Oh yeah, I want more of anything you want to serve, the reckless side of her brain fairly purred.

  Quit it, the sane part shot back.

  “I—we’ll do that, for sure,” she managed, fumbling her card out of her wallet and handing it to Luc, totally bypassing the iPad register as she tried to fight back her own blush. He took it from her without touching her fingers and swiveled the iPad back toward him to complete the transaction for her, and Chantal immediately felt like she’d missed out on something, not touching him.

  Yeah. It had been way too long since she’d been with a man. Something she’d need to fix. Soon.

  Luc glanced up again, thankfully unable to hear her inner dialogue. “When does the rally start?”

  The question was neutral, and Chantal answered it as evenly as she could. “Not for another day or so, so your aunt and uncle are probably going to be underwhelmed,” she said, managing a rueful head shake. “Mostly it’s just a bunch of vendors setting up. The actual riders and fans won’t be coming in until tomorrow.”

  “Probably for the best, actually. Otherwise they’d come home wanting to buy a motorcycle. They still might.”

  Chantal shot a look at the tottering pair being herded out the door by the kid with the coffee box, and didn’t bother hiding her grin. “They’d be awesome on a bike—maybe only in the sidecar though.”

  “Don’t give them any ideas.” Despite the admonition, Luc’s voice was warm, and he flipped the iPad back toward her a final time, betraying none of the nerves that Chantal was fighting. “Sign and touch the button about the receipt—we can email it to you or print it here, whatever is better.”

  “Printing is fine,” she mumbled, hitting the button after she added a sizable tip.

  A perky white receipt popped up from the machine beyond the iPad, and Luc pulled it free, then handed it over with her card. She reached for it, and he placed it in her hand. Then his other hand came around and closed over her palm, a move that seemed vaguely formal and maybe a little European, but none of that mattered because he was finally touching her.

  Her gaze snapped up to meet his and he smiled. “Thank you so much for coming in to our shop today, Ms. Green,” Luc said. “I hope to see you again here, soon.” He squeezed her hands, then let go, and Chantal blinked. Had he just invited her back to see him, or was that how he always sent off new customers? If so, there was no doubt why his bakery was so popular. Luc Martin was every bit as dangerous as the stuff behind the glass counters, and was definitely good enough to eat.

  No! No, don’t think that. Just back…away…um, fast.

  Chantal managed a final nod without lunging at the man, and bolted for the door.

  It was only with Herculean effort that Luc didn’t jump over the counter and attack the fleeing Chantal Green—effort and the line that had bunched up behind her. He didn’t even see her push open the door, barely looked up for another several customers, in fact, his usual late-morning rush seeming to have made the effort to come early just to bring him back down to earth after he’d all but salivated over Chantal Green’s eyes, her mouth, her unbelievable curves.

  “Oh, no—someone left their phone.”

  Luc blinked as the reed-thin Mrs. Bartles held up the black and silver case, half turning to see the couple trundling out ahead of them. “Martha, this isn’t your phone, is it?”

  “I know whose it is,” Luc pulled the device out of Mrs. Bartles’ hand before she could peer more closely at it, knowing that when she did so, she’d see the logo of SEX MACHINA emblazoned down its back. “I was hoping she’d come back when she realized it was missing, but we’ll get it to her.”

  He glanced at the clock on the far side of the dining room. Chantal had been gone twenty minutes—and so had Patrice and Jerome. He trusted his summer counter guy, Mike, to take good care of his great aunt and uncle, but how long should he let the two of them loose on the town? The last time he’d allowed them to go to a festival, they’d come back to the shop with a balloon maker who’d entertained the bakery guests through the lunch hour—all on the business’s dime. Not that Luc minded, of course, but a thirty-dollar-an-hour balloon guy was a far cry from a custom motorcycle outfitter. He shouldn’t have sent Patrice and Jerome out unsupervised.

  Now he had an excuse to go get them, but the bakery really was slammed, and he wasn’t about to take yet another set of hands away. He contented himself with te
xting Mike, who shot back an immediate reply that the biker guys loved the food and Patrice and Jerome were having a blast. Mike probably was too—being out in the sunshine always trumped working inside on a beautiful summer day—so Luc messaged him to let Chantal know he’d be bringing her phone to her after the lunch rush, or she could come get it.

  Then returned his focus to his customers.

  Chantal didn’t come back for the phone, but it was another two hours before the bakery quieted again, his aunt’s quiche the culprit. They’d started experimenting with heavier food items the previous spring, and the response had been solid, with most of their clientele clamoring for an even greater expansion of the menu. Today’s quiche was a sell-out, so maybe he needed to give that idea more thought. One of many ideas, honestly, he needed to give more thought to—like the expansion of the patio and dining area, the brand new food truck everyone was after him to finally start using, extended weekend hours…

  For the moment, however, Luc only wanted to focus on Chantal Green. Pulling off his apron, he left the shop in the hands of his remaining staff and headed for his truck—this one not emblazoned with La Boulangerie’s logo.

  The pickup wasn’t much to look at. Luc could afford something far bigger and tricked out, but he’d never taken the time to deal with it. There’d always been something to buy for the business, or upgrades to his aunt and uncle’s place to make, or his beach house to fix up, all of which seemed more important than buying a new set of wheels.

  Now he surveyed the vehicle with a more critical eye, wondering what the owner of a glitz and glam motorcycle shop would think of the simple truck with its faded paint job, long-since dead radio and dinged-up bed. Probably nothing beyond “oh, good, there’s the guy with my phone.”

  Luc chuckled wryly over that thought as he pulled into Festival Park, where most of the rallies and special events were staged, close to the beach but not right on top of residences. As Chantal had said, there weren’t much in the way of tourists yet, but the place was jam packed already with vendors catering to motorcyclists of all stripes.