Simone noticed the handsome, dark-haired man trudging up the stairs to the old cottage as if he were bearing a great burden on his shoulders. Yes, she sensed pain clearly in this young man. She adjusted her slight weight within the low-lying branches of the old magnolia, admiring him through the heavy leaves. He tried to disguise the torture he felt within, and most would not notice his anguish, but Simone felt his pain.

Simone's delicate fingers combed back several sinuous tendrils of chestnut hair heckled by the sultry breeze. She retied the errant locks back into their satiny restraint. The ends of her burnished hair reached nearly to the gentle curve of her hips. She liked to keep her hair tied back loosely at her nape with the blue ribbon Luke had given her before she went away.

Her Grandmere said Simone was born with the gift of inner sight, much like many of the kin of old Pierre LeVay. She was able to inhale an impression, weeding through the falsities until she found the truth. She sought the weakness or the pain and was able to soothe away the blemish on the soul, that is if she felt the person was worthy of her gift. Simone was born with the gift of inner sight, yes, but she was also born into a world of fear. Many fights she had against those who feared her differences, but no battle was worse than the last one.

Mitch Vargas needed a vacation. Maison Cadeaux seemed to be the place he could be alone to think and forget about the downward spiral his life had just taken. He was heartbroken after last week's emotionally draining fight with his fiancÇe, or his ex-fiancÇe now. She had begged and pleaded, said how much she had regretted it, that it would never happen again, but he just couldn't get the picture out of his mind. He broke off with his fiancÇe and for a damn good reason. He had walked in on her giving his best friend a blow job. What hurt even worse than their betrayal was the fact that she had never given Mitch a blow job in their fourteen months together, saying she could never do "that." He was forced to realize Eve was a no-good, dirty bitch after his money and nothing else. She even admitted she felt more for his bank account than for him when she came to realize that Mitch was standing firm and wasn't going to forgive and forget.

His secretary had looked over all the travel brochures for him and convinced him to stay at Maison Cadeaux, a whitewashed plantation which lounged beneath centuries-old moss-draped oaks, and a four star kitchen with a world renowned chef overseeing the preparation of fine creole cuisine. The place was beautiful and historic with more than a little scandal surrounding the past to make the trip interesting. What the hell, he thought. Something different.

Mitch requested the isolated cottage behind the main house. He was not in the mood to chat with any well-meaning tourists or locals about the weather or other mundane subjects, he just wanted to be left alone to think. The recent blow to his self-esteem had depressed him more than he wanted to admit.

Once Mitch crossed the threshold of the quaint cottage a feeling of relaxation began to ease through his exhaustion. The cottage was luxurious. The main room held a cherry wood dining room table adorned with an old lace runner, an ornate silver and crystal candelabra holding court over a bowl of polished fruit, sugared pecans and butter mints. A large sideboard set with sparkling crystal goblets and other glasses stretched along the left wall. He caught his haggard reflection in the mirror above the sideboard, pausing a moment to push a strand of dark hair from his forehead. Several impressive antiques were placed among freshly polished wood floors and side tables strewn with old volumes of some long forgotten book. Every piece within the cottage was placed with a loving and expert hand. The kitchen was small but efficient. The bedroom impressed him the most. An antique rice bed rose up from the hardwood floor, its tall, phallic-like four posts nearly touched the ceiling. Mosquito netting draped over the posts, framing the beige and gold silk lover's nest, giving him another reason to feel depressed. He will be sleeping alone, again.

Mitch climbed the small step stool into the massive bed. He tried to gather an image in his mind, an image of he and Eve in happier times, making love in his sleek-lined bed, a bed so different from this giant. He couldn't picture their times together anymore, he only felt pain. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Simone left the shade of the ancient magnolia, fondling one of the fragrant saucer-sized blooms. Sun warmed the grass under her bare feet as she strode closer to the cottage. A lazy breeze licked her bare skin, its tongue the diaphanous gown she favored. The touch of the fabric against her skin brought a sigh from her mauve lips. Light brown nipples rubbed against the thin material as the breeze playfully wrapped around her. The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs stood out under the clingy pale gown.

Simone wanted to ease this handsome stranger's pain. She didn't want him to grieve any longer, not if she could make him forget for a few hours. She walked to the cottage door and knocked lightly against the red panel, plucking a gardenia from the potted shrub by the door.

"Yes?" His warm cinnamon eyes questioned.

"Good morning, cher'. How was your journey? I trust it was well?" Simone edged by Mitch before he could protest, making her way to the tiny kitchen and the pitcher of Mimosas that was kept chilled for all the new guests. She placed the pitcher on the sideboard, reaching for a crystal goblet.

Mitch was momentarily speechless as this slight woman strode past him as if she owned the place. Weren't southern women supposed to be demure? "Hey! What the... " Mitch stammered as he looked her over, stopping momentarily to gaze at a brown nipple peeking at him through her garment.

She tilted her head and smiled slowly, waiting for him to look from her breasts up into her brown eyes. When he finally did, she continued on in her soothing way. "M'sieur, you were not told? I come with this cottage. I am here to make your stay pleasant and relaxing. My name is Simone." She held the cut glass goblet for him to take. "Mimosa?" Simone smiled into his confused eyes as he sipped the orange juice and champagne.

"Thanks...uh...this is good."

"You have never enjoyed a good Mimosa, cher'?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Ah, cher'... we drink these for breakfast on Maison Cadeaux. It is a tradition. Before, during and after our morning toilette. You must not be from around here. "

"Actually, I'm from Denver. Read about this place... wanted...um...what are you doing?"

Simone slipped the gown from her shoulders, letting it puddle to the floor. She stood in front of him confidently, a slight touch of coyness added for his enjoyment. Her skin warmed under his stare. She hoped his morals would not stop him from taking her gift. "Why don't you let me show you how we live on Maison Cadeaux? Is this not your vacation? You must enjoy your time spent here. Let me help." She turned and padded into the bathroom, kneeling at the claw-footed tub to draw a warm bath.

"I... ah... I don't think all this was part of the package."

"You are weary from your journey, let me bathe you and feed you. You did not realize room service meant me?" Simone pouted prettily up at him, her firm rear resting on her heels. She could see that he was battling with himself, wondering how he could possibly take advantage of this situation after his recent experience.

She raised up off her knees and leaned over the tub, reaching for a bottle of bath oil. Wantonly, she arched her slender back enough to lift her dainty rear, revealing a glimpse of what could be his.

Simone watched the iridescent ribbon of scented oil become engulfed with the warm running water. He needed to be undressed, perhaps that would sway him her way.

Her sinewy legs unfolded into a stand. Her profile was one of grace and dignity, primal and animalistic at the same time. She felt his eyes drink in her nakedness, from her tiny feet to the heavy curves of her breasts. Her color was the same all over: pale cafe-au-lait. Her brown nipples stood taut and erect as she walked slowly toward him. She couldn't stop the smile which threatened to bubble forth into a laugh when he blushed at her show. She flirted with those warm cinnamon eyes as she unbuttoned his shirt. She eased it off his shoulders, sliding her hands up his chest and shoulders before slowly traveling down his arms to push it from him. She placed a tender kiss on his chest over his heart, hesitating long enough to feel it quicken. He smelled so good, much like Luke did, sandalwood and soap. She dabbled his chest with more soft kisses while she unbuckled his pants.

She rubbed her palm against the hardness of his cock before springing it from the confines of his clothing. His cock stood tall and proud, a dewy drop of his juice balancing on the tip. Simone took that as a good sign and began plying him with her lips and tongue. Lower and lower she slid until she knelt before him and his engorged cock. His unbridled groan further encouraged her as she played gently with his scrotum, pulling it closer to the thick shaft of his cock. His fingers dipped into her unbound waves which drifted against her face and back. She pulled him in deeper to her mouth, rolling her tongue up and over the shiny head of his cock. She splayed one hand across the back of his thigh for support, resting her fingers on the hardened muscles of his rear. She could feel the tension building within him, ready for release, physical release. She moved her free hand rhythmically up and down his slippery shaft, moaning a little here and there when his cockhead hit the back of her mouth. The throbbing started, slowly at the very base of his shaft. Mitch moaned and shuddered, pulling from her mouth. His cock jerked several times, pumping heavy spurts of semen on her neck to drip over and between her breasts.