jaylar
Corrine checked into the Guest House, put down her bag and came onto the porch to gaze at the sea. Suddenly, a fabulous woman, riding a motorcycle, drove in.
The woman wore no helmet, her tawny hair pulled back, her face in a smile, as she tossed a remark at the man who was her pillion.
Corrine hadn’t noticed him, although he was large and muscular.
The woman came quickly up the stairs, gave Corrine a smile and greeting and went inside. The man paused as if getting his balance, then came onto the porch.
He wasn’t handsome, but seemed nice, for when she said; “You don’t like riding a motorcycle?”
“I don’t like being pillion on a bike driven by a mad woman,” but he said it good naturedly, then went inside.
