Page 22 of Sinful Temptations

She raised her glass. “Bonsoir.”

Her casual acceptance of me and her brimming grin had me believing Pierre provided her with abundant gossip. This was my chance to add to it, I just hoped she understood English. “Pierre is a lying cheating bastard. He told me he was divorced.” Then with my hands clenched at my sides, I strode up the street—my ass on full display and my tits bouncing so hard it was a wonder I didn’t topple sideways.

A giggle caught in my throat.

Soon it broke free, and I was laughing like a crazy person who’d escaped a mental asylum.

I kept walking, hoping like hell I didn’t end up on the evening news. Or worse, one of those clickbait Facebook thingies where they choreographed my bouncing boobs to dreadful music.

The timing of my dash was perfect for introducing me to all the locals. I smiled up at them and waved, acting like itwas all normal. They smiled and waved back like my appearance was an everyday occurrence. On the inside, I was dying.

At the end of the narrow lane, I paused, tucked my tits back into the apron, and glanced left and right up the new street. Confirming I wasn’t about to walk into a field of strangers, I turned and crab-walked along the brick wall. The end of the wall met with a timber fence. I inched along that, aware that one false step could insert splinters into my ass.

I reached the end of the fence without needing to add tweezers to my list of requirements and peeked around the corner. The back fence to the courtyards stretched forever and bordered onto a grassy playground with children’s swings.

Great. ‘Peeping Tom-girl’ flashed through my mind.

I scanned the park for movement. Bright lights created as many shadows as they did light. But at least I could confirm it was clear. No little kids and overprotective parents. No sexy men in expensive suits. No angry wives.

I walked sideways facing the children’s playground, my ass to the timber, my tits hidden beneath the flimsy apron.

I’d hit a new low.

Shrill sirens cut through the air.

I froze. The hairs on my neck bristled.

I glanced left and right, searching for the source of the squeals.

Forcing myself to keep moving, I picked up my pace and my crab walk became a weird sideways jump that had my bouncing tits hitting my chin.

The sirens grew louder. What if the sirens were for me? The thought hit me like a wrecking ball.

Faaarrrk.

Chapter Five

Icontinued my dash, peering between the palings, hoping to spy my clothing in one of these courtyards.

Halfway along, I just about squealed with joy.

There they were. My lacy pink bra had landed on a clothesline and was draped over a pair of skin-tone knickers big enough to double as a parachute.

The sirens abruptly stopped. I froze again. My heart pounded in my chest. I expected to see a squad of policemen sprinting toward me with riot gear and Tasers ready to fire.

But nothing happened. I let out a long, slow breath. All was clear.

Clothes located.Check.

Police evaded.Check.

Now I just had to figure out how to get into that courtyard.

Glancing around offered zero solutions.

I sized up the fence. It was at least six feet high. I was five feet tall. My vertical challenge was one problem. My top-heavy proportions were another. Leaping over the fence in a single bound was not an option.

I scanned my surroundings again, and in the distance, I spied a milk crate nestled into the grass.

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