Chapter 1

I have an active imagination. I'm not sure if it's hereditary or just one of those things that comes with being a healthy, heterosexual, perpetually horny Chinese-American man. I keep having this vision. Sometimes it appears during my sleep, and sometimes during the day when I lose focus on what I'm doing and start to daydream.

The dream is a woman, of course, naked, standing on a sandy beach, the hot sun beating down on her. Her back is to me, her legs spread about a foot, and her arms are outstretched with her hands limply hanging down. Her head is turned, and I can see one eye as she looks back over her shoulder at me with the sexiest look you could possibly imagine. Oh yes ... she is black and her body is shiny, as if it had been oiled.

She has one of "those" bodies. Perfection! Fabulous hips and glorious ass. Long, beautifully tapered legs with sculpted calves. I can see little of her breasts, but I'm sure they are faultless as well. Her shimmering black hair is slightly more than shoulder length, falling in sensuous waves as it caresses her skin.

I was sitting in a sidewalk café in Ste. Maxime, France, when she walked by. It isn't very often that I am totally distracted by a woman, but in this case it was no ordinary woman. In the three or four seconds that I saw her, I had already concluded that she was my version of the perfect female form. She was the woman in my dreams.

The brain can assimilate a lot of information in a very short period of time, and mine was currently in overdrive as she turned and stepped into the café. She was about six feet tall, extraordinarily voluptuous in every dimension, and blessed with a flawless dark chocolate complexion. Expensively dressed in business attire, she had a large, black leather handbag slung over her shoulder, black patent high heels, and my last glimpse of her was her shiny black hair in a cut reaching just past her shoulders. Strikingly familiar.

I turned my attention back to yesterday's European edition of the New York Times. I'd read the first sentence for almost the tenth time when I saw her walk out of the shop toward the sidewalk tables, a cup and saucer in hand, searching for a seat. A quick look told me there were none, and before anyone else could pre-empt me, I stood and gestured to the open chair at my table.

She smiled, capturing me by that simple gesture. She walked toward me, accepting my offer. I was surprised at her size. She was only a couple of inches shorter than my six-foot-four.

"Bonjour," I said, using one of only a handful of French words I knew.

"Hi yourself," she smiled again.

"You're not French," I reasoned instantly.

"Ha, no ... and neither are you with that accent."

I waited for her to be seated before I sat. "I'm Harry Zheng," I said, offering my hand.

"Savannah Wilson," she replied, taking it gently.

"You're dressed for business, not as a tourist."

"Yes, I'm a representative for a cosmetics company. I'm here to help launch a new product line."

"Huh! The last thing I would expect would be an American showing the French how to sell perfume."

"The times are changing, Harry. This part of the world is full of very discriminating women who only want the latest and best. They don't really care where it comes from any more."

"How's it going?"

"Very well, thank you. Of course, it never hurts when some of the glitterati at Cannes feature your product. We're doing fine. I'll hate to finish up, really. I'm enjoying the south of France and this lovely May weather."

"I know what you mean. Where are you from, New York?"

"No ... not at all. Naples, Florida. And you?"

"San Francisco, originally, but Seattle right now. Just about as far from Naples as you can get."

"And what brings you to Ste. Maxime?"

"Just cruising around, looking for something to do."

"You don't look like you're a typical underemployed."

"Yeah ... well ... it's a long story."

"I've got some time. Tell me about it."

She seemed to be sincere and since she was far and away the best looking woman I'd had a conversation with in many moons, I went for it.

"I am ... or was ... a marine biologist. I worked for the University of Washington, gathering and identifying specimens in the North Pacific. It's what I always thought I wanted to do, so when I got my masters, I just stayed on as a paid employee.

"What I didn't realize was the amount of time I would be spending on an eighty-foot boat in forty-foot waves in the Gulf of Alaska. I toughed it out for a couple of years, but cramped quarters and constantly battling the elements just wore me out. It was never a fun job, but I was determined to follow my dream. Now that I've done that, it's on to something else."

"Wow! I can get seasick just listening to that."

I nodded solemnly. "You don't know the definition of seasick until you've been where I've been."

"No need to explain," she said quickly.

I laughed. I was enjoying our conversation.

"So, where do you go next? Back to Naples?"

"No ... Monte Carlo, then Milan, Rome, then Naples ... the one in Italy."

"How long?"

"Another ten days. It isn't hard. It's almost like a vacation. I don't dare tell the other girls how much I'm enjoying this when I get back to the office."

She paused, sipping her espresso, just looking me over I suppose.

"What's next for you?" she asked at length.

"Don't know. I haven't been to Monte Carlo yet, so I'll stop there. Then ... I'm not sure. I really don't have any plan."

"It's not cheap in this part of the world. Are you looking for work?"

"Not really. I lost my parents a few months ago, and that prompted me to quit the job and look after their estate. When that was done, I just wanted to get away on my own, see the world."

"I'm sorry ... about your parents."

"Yeah ... me too. They were on their annual vacation. Their plane crashed in the Indian Ocean ... near the Seychelles. It was a big shock to me, my sisters, and my grandparents."

"Oh ... that must have been hard. I lost my dad a few years ago. I know how hard that was on Mom ... and me. We weren't expecting it. He just dropped one day."

"Yeah. I was thinking though ... my parents ... if they had to go, I'm kind of glad they went together. I don't think either one would have survived without the other. They were so close ... for so long."

"You said you have sisters?"

"Yeah ... two ... Jeannie is the oldest. She's married with two children, a boy and a girl. She still lives in the San Francisco area. Her husband is some kind of earthquake specialist doing construction work. Charlie ... Charlotte ... has just finished college. She's busy saving the world. You know ... Ban the Whales, Save the Bomb ... that stuff," I joked. "She's either going to join the Peace Corps, Doctors without Borders, or the Red Brigade. I can't tell which."

Savannah was laughing at my description of my younger sister. "She's a little bit left-wing, huh?"

"Yeah ... just like Genghis Kahn was a moderate conservative."

My charming dark companion was laughing and enjoying our little conversation. She had perfect brilliant white teeth which contrasted beautifully with her dark-skinned features. She was incredibly lovely in every way.

"Are you working nearby?" I asked, attempting to keep the exchange going.

"No ... in St. Tropez this afternoon. I told you, this isn't a very demanding job."

"Is it always like this? I mean ... easy?"

"Yeah, to tell the truth, it is. I'm hired because they think I project the right image for the company. I look right, I talk right, I dress right ... you know ... all the superficial things you need to sell a superficial product." She said it with a hint of disapproval.

"What would you rather be doing, if not this?"

"I don't know. Something more ... worthwhile, I suppose. This is so shallow. Dress nice, put on a big smile, pass out some samples, get some pictures taken with celebrities and show the product name ... you know ... that kind of shallow."

I nodded in understanding. Glamour had its shortcomings, it appeared. "Well, for what it's worth, you look fabulous. If I were a celebrity, I'd want to get my picture taken with Savannah Wilson. It would be good for my image ... and my ego."

"That's a very nice compliment. Thank you," she smiled.

"When are you going to Monte Carlo?"

"Tomorrow. A car will pick me up and take me there. I don't think it's very far from here."

"Where are you staying tonight?"

"At the Azur in St. Tropez. It's very nice. What about you? Where are you staying?"

"Don't know. Haven't looked yet. I should be able to find something."

"If you have a problem ... there's room at the Azur. It's expensive though. Maybe a little rich for you right now," she said cautiously.

"Not a problem. If you're going to be there, maybe I can talk you into having dinner with me." I was curiously calm about this invitation. She should have had me shaking in my boots — as attractive as she was.

"Are you sure? You said you were unemployed. You don't want to spend all your money in one night."

"I'm fine. I was the executor and chief beneficiary of my father's will. He ran a very large, very successful import business. I'm on this trip to try and make up my mind what to do with the rest of my life. I'm financially set ... enough that I don't have to work if I don't want to. I need something to keep me occupied. I just haven't decided what it is yet."

"I guess in a way, that's good, Harry. You can take your time to decide. No pressure. Look until you find something."

"Yeah. That's the plan. I'm not cut out to be a businessman. I don't have the right instincts. But I don't want to be just another playboy, piddling away my inheritance. I would like to find something that's significant."

"I feel the same way. This job ... it doesn't make me feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I should be jumping for joy. A chance to travel and meet interesting and glamorous people, well paid, a big clothing allowance. It should be everything I ever wanted. But ... it doesn't seem very important. If I'm just a pretty face, then ... well ... as I said ... it's pretty shallow." Savannah seemed a bit down as she talked.

"OK then ... how about this big Chinese guy takes you out for a nice dinner? Maybe we can find a jazz club or a night club and have a bit of fun? If that doesn't work ... heck ... there's always tomorrow and Monte Carlo," I grinned.

"Yeah ... let's do that Harry. At least I won't have to struggle having a conversation. I'm still trying to learn enough French to make a reasonable presentation." Savannah was rolling her eyes as she spoke.

"Don't look to me for help. I've only been in France since last Sunday, so you heard a big part of my vocabulary when I said hello."

"How are you getting around? Do you have a car?"

"Yeah. I have a rental. Lots of room for you if you want a ride after you're finished."

She didn't hesitate. "Great. Why don't we meet here about one o'clock. I'm sure I'll be done by then."

"Sure. I'm just going to wander around the town. See the sights."

"Me too. Why don't we do that together?"

"Done! It'll be good to have some company ... especially such good-looking company." I hoped I wasn't laying it on too thickly.

I guess I should describe myself, so you can get an idea of who Savannah was looking at. I mentioned I'm six-four, about two-twenty. I let my hair grow long when I was on the boat, and when I came ashore, I had it cut to the back of my neck, but left it long otherwise. It's thick and jet black of course, so it wasn't a problem just to comb it straight back. When I looked in a mirror, I didn't think I'd frighten anyone.

I have all my own teeth and they're mostly straight. I had picked up a bit of frostbite on my ears and cheekbones, and the skin was a bit mottled as a result, but not so badly that it would bother anyone. My complexion was a bit darker, thanks to all the outdoor activity and the fact that my ancestors were from southern China. All in all, I cleaned up fairly well.

As we left the little café, she slipped her hand into mine and looked at me with a smile. She was telling me she was comfortable with me, I suppose. Comfortable is good. I was anything but comfortable. My erection, which had been coming and going in her presence over the last half hour, was now reasserting itself. But something else was happening too.

The woman in my recurring dream. The black woman with the shining skin on the sandy beach, walking into the blazing sun. She was back. The image was vivid as I walked quietly with Savannah along the narrow ancient street.

I must have been frowning and Savannah picked up on it.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh ... nothing. Just something I was thinking about. No problem." I smiled, perhaps not quite the same way as I normally would.

Savannah looked a bit dubious, but said nothing.

"It's warm for this time of year, isn't it?" she commented.

"I think so. The tourists usually wait until June, but my guide book said it gets so crowded that it's takes away from the experience ... whatever that means."

She nodded agreement. "Yeah. Naples is like that in the winter and early spring. So many visitors from the north, most of them well off and older though."

"Well, it's not something you and I have to work on, is it?" As soon as I said it I cringed, hoping I hadn't offended her. Her tinkling laugh put me at ease.

We wandered through the mid-town streets, admiring the ever-present displays of bougainvillea and hanging plants with their brilliant color. I could smell the sea, but it took us a few minutes to find a portal to the waterfront. We were near a very large marina, and when I looked at the guidebook map I realized we were less than two blocks from the café where we began our stroll.

It was nearing noon. I suggested we stop for a light lunch, and Savannah agreed. We found a very nice little bistro. We dared to have a glass of wine with a light salad, some cheese and a fresh baguette. I must have been smiling through the entire lunch, because Savannah was watching me and reacting to my mood.

"You have been grinning like a Cheshire cat for the entire lunch, Harry. What's going through that fertile mind of yours?" Savannah was smiling just as much, of course.

"Hah ... I guess I'm pretty transparent, huh? I was just thinking how much I am enjoying this. It's the first time in a while that I've really had a chance to relax and appreciate what's going on around me. I've been pretty tied up in my own little world. You seem to have found the key to kick me out of it."

"Good. I'm glad. You look so much more handsome when you smile," she said shyly.

"Thank you. I'll try to do it more often if you like, Savannah."

She looked at me, just a flicker of a smile on her lips. "My friends call me Vannie. I think you can consider yourself a friend."

"Thank you, again. I'm honored." I flashed my biggest smile. I raised my glass in salute and she responded. "I'm afraid that just plain old Harry is all anyone calls me."

"Didn't your mother call you Harold when she got upset with you?"

"No, Harry is my full, proper name. Different, huh?"

She shrugged. She looked at her watch and I got the hint.

"Time to go. We're only five minutes from my car, so we'll be in St. Tropez in plenty of time for your appointment."

"Good. Let's go. If my meeting doesn't last too long, we can check you into the hotel and go for a swim on the beach. Then we can eat and play later," she said brightly.

"I'm with you." I stood and steadied her chair as she rose. I marvelled at how well she had navigated some of the old stone sidewalks on her high heels. It was hardly ideal footwear for this town.

It was barely a fifteen minute drive to the harbor in St. Tropez, and with almost an hour to kill, we decided I would check into the Hotel Azur, unload my overnight bag and park the car. We could retrieve it later if we needed it.

As soon as I was checked in, it was time for Savannah to go to her meeting. She chose to take a cab for the five minute ride. I promised I would meet her back at the Azur when she was done. The more I thought about it, the more a swim in the Mediterranean was appealing, especially if Savannah chose to wear a bikini.

I waved as she left in the cab and went inside to find the concierge. I needed a swimsuit and he pointed to the shop adjacent to the lobby. No need to go anywhere, it seemed. I walked in and began to look among the shelves. An attractive older woman approached me.

"May I help you, Monsieur?"

I was pleased that she spoke English and asked her about swim suits. I had in mind a pair of baggy shorts, but she frowned and shook her head.

"No, Monsieur. That will not do for you. You are too handsome. You would look much better in these," she said, holding up a suit that was little more than a jockstrap. I must have looked aghast because she laughed.

"Do not be embarrassed. All the handsome men wear these. Even some of the not-so-handsome men."

I shook my head and she frowned, but then smiled. "Perhaps this, then," she said, holding up something I would have called a Speedo. At least it offered some cover at the back. I looked at it, vacillating back and forth about what Vannie might think, but gradually, under the approving eye of the clerk, I succumbed, and she smiled.

I went to my room to try the suit on and after looking in the full length mirror, I decided that if it wasn't indecent, it was not far from it by American standards. However, this was France, and if it was OK with them, it wouldn't get me in trouble. I stepped into a pair of cargo shorts and pulled on a t-shirt and my almost-new sandals. With one more look in the mirror, I picked up my wallet, passport, Euros, room key, and sunglasses and headed downstairs. I had at least an hour to kill after checking my valuables with the front desk. I wandered along the waterfront and enjoyed the view.