Morgan grinned. “You learned to cook?”

  Her laughter was still like magic to his ears. “No, but Anton did. Do you believe it? I thought the man would go mad without his café au lait and beignets, but he has adjusted quite well.”

  When she turned to leave, Morgan caught her hand and pulled her close. “I have missed you, ma petite.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. “And we have missed you, darling.” She disengaged and tugged at his hand. “Come, let’s go to the house. Anton will have drinks waiting.”

  While the children napped, the three friends relaxed on the lanai and chatted about old times.

  “I have missed you both more than you know. You are ever on my mind. New Orleans is not the same without you.”

  Lillith ran her foot up his thigh. “And what of Therese?”

  “Gone. With Fabiene dead, she felt no need to stay. I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to vacate the home you and Anton so generously left to me.”

  “You are not obligated to keep it, Morgan. Sell it and leave the city if being there no longer suits you.”

  “And go where, petite?”

  “Why, here, of course. With us.”

  “Yes,” Anton concurred. “Why not? Etienne and the others can manage New Orleans. People get sick and die here, too, mon ami. And you should see the women who flock to the surf resort at the other end of the island. Very well put together, as Lillith would say. You’ll meet several at the party tomorrow.”

  “Matchmaking?” Morgan teased. “The two of you?”

  “More like enticement, darling,” Lillith said. “We miss you, too, Morgan. And the girls adore you already. ”

  *

  Lillith worked alongside Malia helping set up the bar for the barbecue. Anton and Sevu had been out all morning shopping for fresh seafood at the local market on the wharf. Sevu’s brothers and cousins arrived to help with the party and had been working since the previous evening, preparing and monitoring the firepit. There was a pig, wrapped in burlap and banana leaves, roasting at the bottom of the pit, ready to come out of the ground by late afternoon. A smaller pit, also lined with rocks, awaited for the cooking of lobster, clams, potatoes, and corn on the cob.

  Lillith looked up, laughing as Morgan chased the twins up and down the water’s edge. They were supposed to be collecting seaweed for the clambake but were collecting more sand than anything else. Sevu and Malia’s children, along with their various cousins, joined in the frolic, keeping Morgan on the run lest he be overcome by the sheer number of little ones attempting to trip him and send him splashing into the surf.

  Malia chuckled. “That one will be worn to a frazzle before the day is out,” she said. “It is good he like the children so much. He make a fine father one day.”

  Lillith laughed. “If our children don’t give him a heart attack first! Come, let’s go see what the men brought back from the market.”

  Rock lobsters, a bushel basket each of crabs and clams, prawns, fresh corn, sweet potatoes, and mangos filled the bow of the Whaler.

  Meal preparations were in high gear as boats began to arrive. Some dropped anchor off the beach and took Zodiacs to the shore, while others tied up at the long dock on the lagoon. Finally, the seafood went in the ground, wrapped in seaweed and banana leaves. Lillith greeted the guests as they arrived, directing them to the bar or hors d’oeuvres set up in a large, white tent, keeping her eye open for one guest in particular. She exclaimed with delight when the Zodiac sped up, beaching itself on the shore, and hurried to help the occupant pull the little craft onto the sand.

  “Who is that?” Morgan asked Anton.

  “That would be Simone. She’s a marine biologist who lives on one of the smaller islands. Came here as a graduate student and never left. Lillith dotes on her.”

  Morgan watched as the two women embraced, then laughed as Lillith practically dragged the woman to meet him.

  “Simone Tissant, meet Morgan Michaud.” Morgan lifted her hand to his lips as Lillith continued talking. “Morgan is our friend from New Orleans.” She turned to Morgan. “Simone is originally from Paris, but she fell in love with Fiji as a graduate student and never left.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Simone,” Morgan murmured, continuing to hold her hand.

  “Likewise.” Simone freed her hand. “And how do you like Nagigia, Morgan?”

  He gave her his most dazzling smile. “I find I like it more and more with each passing hour.”

  India Masters

  India refers to herself as an old, Southern hippie. She is happily divorced with one no intention of rectifying the situation because sometimes she can barely stand her own company, much less someone else. She has one grown daughter who she still refers to as “Doodle,” and lives in a rapidly developing rural area in Florida where she shares her domain with all manner of wildlife, a swimming pool that is a breeding ground for a seemingly virulent strain of algae, and a black snake that likes to surprise her when she turns on the outdoor faucet and picks up the black water hose.

  India developed a love for writing while earning her B.A. in Criminal Justice from a northern college. She refers to herself as a late bloomer, as she married late, gave birth late, and got started writing late in life. She developed her love for all things quirky from doing psychiatric social work in both the community and corrections fields. She has always loved a good romance novel but found them lacking because all the good stuff was cloaked in euphemisms or happened behind closed doors. It wasn’t until she joined a critiquing group that she discovered romantic erotica, and her first book, The Soul Collector, was born. She credits her success to the caring support of the women — and one, lone man — in her critique group, but especially to one member who took her under her wing and helped her learn everything from point of view to manuscript formatting.

 

 

  Unknown, India Masters - The Soul Collector

 

 

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