Her Mediterranean Makeover

‘I believe I was meant to meet you,’ Leonie said. ‘That you were meant to show me that I’m still alive.’

Jacques lifted his head and looked at Leonie the way no man had ever looked at her before. His gaze roamed all over her, making her feel exposed and desired.

He stepped forward, took hold of her shoulders, and lightly touched his lips to hers. He kissed her with all the passion she could have wanted. As his mouth drifted over hers all the questions she’d asked herself, all the debates she’d been having with herself, the constant back-and-forth, should-she-shouldn’t-she? ended in that one exhilarating moment.

He gathered her into his arms and she sank into him, savouring his taste, inhaling his warm, masculine scent, feeling the heat of his body and the strength of his arms encircling her. His kiss sparked into life parts of her that had been dormant for a very, very long time.

Like many authors, Claire Baxter tried several careers before finding the one she really wanted. She’s worked as a PA, a translator (French), a public relations consultant and a corporate communications manager. She took a break from corporate communications to complete a degree in journalism and, more importantly, to find out whether she could write a romance novel—a childhood dream. Now she can’t stop writing romance. Nor does she plan to give up her fabulous lifestyle for anything. While Claire grew up in Warwickshire, England, she now lives in the beautiful city of Adelaide in South Australia, with her husband, two sons and two dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s either reading or swimming in her backyard pool—another childhood dream—or even reading in the pool. She hasn’t tried writing in the pool yet, but it could happen. Claire loves to hear from readers. If you’d like to contact her, please visit www.clairebaxter.com

Dear Reader

If you’d had one sweetheart for your entire adult life—from high school to raising a family and building a business, through illness and finally his death—and you’d never had a moment’s doubt that he was the love of your life, what would you think were the chances of falling in love again?

No chance at all? That’s what Leonie thinks too.

Falling in love for the second time after thirty years with one man is scary. It’s like going skydiving again after crashing into the ground the first time. It takes courage, but it’s exciting, and it can be surprising…

Falling in love is fabulous—at any age.

Best wishes

Claire

For my mother, with love.

IT WAS so good to hear her daughter’s voice. Leonie cradled the phone against her ear and wondered what she’d been thinking when she’d enrolled in a course on the other side of the world.

Yes, her children were legally adults, but they still needed her. And she needed them too. She’d never been separated from them before. Not for this long. No longer than a school camp, really.

‘You could have sent me a text message, Mum. You didn’t have to ring me again.’

‘I just wanted to check that you’d worked out how to operate the washing machine. It’s tricky if you’re not used to it.’

‘Yes, Mum. Your instructions were spot on.’ Sam hesitated, then asked, ‘Is that the real reason you called, Mum?’

‘Of course!’ Leonie winced at the fib. Samantha had always been the sensitive one. Even as a toddler she’d had the ability to pick up on her mother’s moods. ‘Well, to be honest, darling, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘Yes, Mum, I’m all right. You don’t need to worry.’ Sam stressed the last few words.

‘And your brother?’

‘Kyle’s fine too. Well, he’s as obnoxious as ever, but we’ll manage till you get home. It’s only a matter of weeks, after all. This is your time, Mum, and you deserve it. Enjoy it.’

Easier said than done.

‘It’s not a matter of weeks, it’s nearly three months! That’s what a trimester means.’

‘And there’s only four weeks in a month,’ Sam said, laughing. ‘It will fly by. That’s what you used to tell me when I didn’t want to go back to school after the holidays, remember?’

She remembered. Oh, yes, she remembered. If only she could have that time over again. Fighting back tears as she said goodbye, Leonie clicked off the call, then went to the wide-open French doors that led to the single-person balcony of her oneroom apartment. She couldn’t see much of Nice, only the buildings across the narrow street. That was her fault for choosing to stay in the old town instead of a modern apartment in the city.

She’d rejected the idea of living in the residences at the language school just outside Nice, in favour of renting her own furnished apartment, figuring it would make for easy sightseeing. But she wasn’t sure now that she’d made the right choice.

The apartment was so much smaller than it had looked on the internet. She’d thought it would be quaint, and it was, but to someone who was used to a spacious family home on a generous block of land in suburban Australia this apartment, with its kitchenette in one corner and a tiny shower off the main room, was quite a shock. As was the local custom of hanging washing on poles outside the window. She wasn’t at all keen on displaying her underwear for passers-by to inspect.