SOME LIKE IT SPICY {Now Published}

Chapter 1

BARRY HALE HAD NO IDEA what the petite middle-aged woman standing beside his seat was saying.

Usually, he could pick up one or two words if one spoke French slowly to him. But this lady was speaking so fast that he was utterly and completely lost. To make matters worse, passengers boarding the plane kept interrupting the lady to get her to move so they could get to their own seats.

"Je suis désolé." Barry strung together the few French words he knew, threw in some English, and sprinkled it with a healthy dose of apology. "Je suis American. Parlez only English. Désolé."

But his words did nothing to ease the woman's frustration. She said a lot of words that once again flew over his head. Since she kept pointing to his seat and herself as she rapped, he assumed that she was saying that he was in her seat.

"No, no, no." He shook his head. "C'est... This is my seat. Chaise? Moi." He pulled his boarding pass from between the pages of his passport and flashed it before pointing to himself. "See. Moi."

"Non. Tu ne comprends rien." The lady kissed her teeth in annoyance before launching into another tirade.

Even though he didn't understand seventy-five percent of what she said, he caught the 'tu', which, when used on a stranger, was quite disrespectful. Whatever this lady wanted from him, she was being very rude about her demands.

Still, he chose not to be offended. He repeated, "This is my seat. I'm sorry. I don't think I'm mistaken."

Again, the lady said something, but her frustrated tone made it clear that she didn't understand him either.

Barry's gaze swept away from her in search of a flight attendant, but they were all busy helping other passengers.

"Hé!" The lady poked his shoulder to drag his attention back to her. She furiously tossed several French sentences at him.

As she spoke, he had to wonder how she'd survive in the good ol' U.S. of A when she couldn't speak English. Then he remembered that he'd just spent a week in Paris while knowing less French words than he could count on his hands. Touché.

Amused by his own thoughts, he grinned.

The woman must've assumed his amusement was because he was laughing at her. Her expression became stormier and her speaking speed doubled.

He was just about to pull out his phone so he could access the translation app, when someone interrupted them.

"Excusez-moi!" A black woman stopped beside the raging harpy.

And instantly, Barry was entranced.

He'd seen beautiful women before. Heck, he'd even dated some of them. And yet, there was something so unique about this woman's beauty that his heart skipped a beat.

Even though she was wearing a pale pink, baggy hoodie over a white t-shirt and black leggings, it was easy to tell that she had a figure that many runway models would sell their soul for. At almost six-feet tall, she towered over the woman who'd been harassing Barry. Add in the deep chocolate hue of her perfect, shiny skin, and the hair that had been teased into a huge afro... it was no wonder that she stood out.

She had the most striking eyes he'd ever seen; brown, large, lively, and sparkling with curiosity. Her cheekbones were high and sharp enough to cut glass. Her nose was soft and petite when compared to her luscious, plump, kissable lips.

When she spoke to the French 'rapper', her voice was low and sensual. "Est-ce que..."

Barry had always been skeptical of the assertion that French was a sexy language, but when this lady spoke, it evoked thoughts of sultry nights, creased sheets, and tangled limbs. He had no idea what she was saying, but his senses decided that they agreed with her. Whatever she was saying, she was right!