Having grown up in Louisiana ’s French Triangle, Serena had picked up the odd word and phrase, but he spoke too quickly for her to understand anything more than the implication. That was clear enough by Gauthier’s reaction-another laughing and coughing fit and a slap on the shoulder for his barbarian friend.

Serena felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as the man sauntered to the end of the counter and leaned a hip against it, all the while assessing her blatantly with those lazy amber eyes.

He took a leisurely drag on his cigarette, exhaled, and delivered another line to keep Gauthier in stitches. Serena gave him her coolest glare, defending herself with hauteur. “Excuse me, but I was raised to believe it is extremely rude to carry on conversations not all those around you can understand.”

One black brow sketched upward sardonically and the corner of that remarkable mouth curled ever so slightly. He looked like her idea of the devil on steroids. When he spoke to her his tone was a low, throaty purr that stroked her senses like velvet. “I told him you don’ look like you’re sellin’ it or givin’ it away,” he said, the words rolling out of his mouth with an accent as rich as Cajun gumbo. “So what could I possibly want with you? I have no interest in americaine ladies.”

He drawled the last word with stinging contempt. Serena tugged at the lapels of her blazer, straightening the uniform of her station. Her chin went up another notch above the prim collar of her fuchsia silk blouse. “I can assure you I have no interest in you either.”

He pushed himself away from the counter and moved toward her with the arrogant grace of a born athlete. Serena stubbornly stood her ground but her heart fluttered in her throat as he stared down at her and raised a hand to smooth it back over her hair.