"Stop," Jean-Pierre commanded, catching Greta by the waist just in time. "Go," he said to Laurence.
"I don't ever want to see you again!" Greta shouted after the girl.
Laurence climbed into her car and slammed the door shut, started the engine, and rolled down the window. She look as though she were about to shout a retort, but then she thought the better of it. Or so it seemed, until she lifted her closed fist and ever so slowly raised her middle finger at Greta.
Greta made another lunge for the girl but Jean-Pierre's hold on her was too strong to break away.
Laurence laughed heartily at this little show of helplessness, then gunned the engine and she raced away in her BMW, kicking up a great cloud of dust in her wake.
Jean-Pierre pulled Greta inside and closed the door. Before she could say anything, his mouth was on hers. She struggled out of his grip and fixed her shoulders squarely against the door.
"What is this - what the hell is going on here, Jean-Pierre? I don't like the way this looks."
He considered her with some amusement, gave her his sexy look.
"What the hell's so funny?" she said. He touched his finger to her little horseshoe charm and her breath caught and held, and she felt at once like she wanted to hit him and kiss him.
"You are, Greta. You are overreacting," he said, leaning closer.
He kissed the charm, his breath hot on her throat, then lower.