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WHITE-HOT

Deborah Leblanc

Published by Deborah Leblanc at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Deborah Leblanc


The eye never did fit right. It bulged out too far from the socket, and the iris was the color of dirt instead of deep mahogany like Odel’s real, right eye. She supposed she shouldn’t complain since it hadn’t cost her a cent, thanks to Medicare. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t come with a price, one she’d been paying since she was thirteen. Nothing in life was truly free.

Odel hadn’t inherited the physical attributes society used to define beauty, and a bulging eye certainly didn’t help the matter. Left up to her, she would never wear the damn thing. It just wasn’t natural for a person to have a glass marble stuck in their head. But people had a tendency to get squeamish around an empty eye socket. Not that she really cared what others thought. Most people were only interested in one thing anyway. Themselves. How they felt or looked, what they wanted or needed. Normally, the only interest they had in anyone else was what they could get out of them. It was one of the reasons she’d moved out of the French Quarter, where her family had lived for generations. Being the last twig from her infamous family tree, she’d grown tired of people always hounding her for one thing or another.

But Odel had special company coming tonight, and she wanted to look as nice as possible. She’d sensed him searching for her earlier, but it wasn’t until about twenty minutes ago that she got a sharp mental image of the guy. He looked good for a white man. Thirty-three or four years old, six feet tall, give or take an inch, with an average build and collar-length blond hair. His hazel eyes held a fire in them that excited her, as did the mustache that framed his full lips and ended at his strong, square chin.

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