Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance Natasha Boyd (i read books .TXT) 📖

I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought from the dark recesses of my mind. We shouldn’t. But I could only press forward, wanting more.

My fingertips slipped up his neck and into his hair. My nails raked across his scalp and a tremor rolled down through his entire body. The body that was now against mine, hard for me, pressing against my belly.

Please never let it stop.

His mouth slowed, and I whimpered my disappointment. His lips slid to my jaw, the heavy sound of his breathing brushing the lobe of my ear and down my neck, reminding me I actually had skin, and a body, and I was standing on something solid and not floating like a mess of inflamed and combustible atoms somewhere.

“Mon dieu,” he said, then went on in French.

I wanted to know the meaning of his words, but just the music of them, breathy and desperate, sliding over my skin was enough.

He inhaled, sliding his nose up the side of my neck, making my entire body shudder.

And suddenly a throat cleared next to us. We both leapt apart, Xavier turning to face the railing and me to face the visitor, my breath laboring in my lungs.

Andrea stood there, her eyes wide, cheeks bright pink and trying to bite down on a gleeful smile.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I covered my mouth with my fingertips. With Xavier turned away and facing out to sea, Andrea and I shared a moment. Her mouth dropped open in exaggerated surprise. Then mouthed, “Oh my God!”

My expression, I hope, communicated, “I know! Crazy right?”

She cleared her throat again, trying to school her expression. “So sorry to interrupt, Monsieur Pascale, “she said, her voice a little squeaky. “But Captain said we might hit some rough water soon and wanted to make sure everyone was, ahem, not about to go overboard.”

My cheeks burned and I pressed my cool fingertips against them to calm down. I had a leprechaun in my belly leaping up and down, flinging rainbow confetti all over the place.

Xavier turned, his expression nonchalant. Bored even. God, I really needed to know how he did that thing where he wiped his expression clear as a poker player. “Thank you, Andrea. Please tell Chef we’ll need only aperitifs this evening before docking in Calvi. Mademoiselle Marin and I will be having dinner in the port.”

“We will?” I whipped to face him.

His eyes locked with mine, and I saw only a flicker of warmth and familiarity I’d seen moments before our kiss. But it was enough to know the man I’d kissed was still in there and apparently not regretting it.

I turned to Andrea, lifting a shoulder and fighting a grin. “We will.”

I had a feeling he’d presented it as a fait accompli to reduce the chance of my refusal. As if I would. But it made my heart swell to think that was something he was worried about. I vowed to peel back that gruff exterior in the next couple of days and understand the man underneath.

“Very well.” Andrea returned my grin and spun on her heel, leaving a scowly Xavier on the deck.

“You don’t like them knowing, do you?” I asked, still unable to scour the giddy grin from my face.

“There’s not much the crew of this boat doesn’t know, but oui, I have never forced them to witness my social life.”

My grin finally eased. “I’m assuming by social life you mean the women you date?”

Xavier’s hand came up and a thumb pressed a smoothing caress between my eyebrows. “Interesting,” he mused with a slight chuckle. “Un peu jalouse?”

Jealous? I wasn’t answering that.

His grin spread wide.

I blinked. “When you smile at me like that, my heart skips a beat,” I told him.

He stared at me, his expression growing serious again. I began to second guess my honesty. God, this was definitely supposed to be just a fling, and here I was having conversations with myself about finding the man inside and talking out loud to him about my heart. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “It was just a turn of phrase.” I shook my head, my cheeks warming again, but this time with embarrassment.

“Protect it.”

“What?”

“Your heart. Please. I cannot be responsible for it.”

My throat clogged. “Of course, I—”

“I cannot … I am not able to give more. You must forgive me.” He shook his head, his French accent stronger with his distress. “We have two nights and two days. Just two. Just us. Give them to me?” he asked.

My breathing stuttered, and heat in my belly grew. “Is that a request or a demand?”

“You can say no.”

“God, no.”

His expression dropped. “No?”

“No! I mean yes. Yes. Oui. Two days.” My face blazed. “Two nights.” I blew out a breath and a self-conscious chuckle. “Good to see how disappointed you were though.” I sucked my lips between my teeth.

He growled. God. That sound. Then he brushed a finger across my bottom lip and down my throat to hook into my t-shirt. He tugged me close and pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t enough and he’d already pulled back. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured. “You can change your mind at any time. You don’t owe me anything.”

God, I appreciated him saying that so much. I smiled. “You can change your mind too, but I’d really hate it if you did.”

He gazed down at me, his blue eyes honing in on my mouth again. “I have to try to get some work done now,” he said. “Mon dieu, aide-moi. But meet me for champagne on the top deck at seven?”

I licked my lips and nodded, my hand reaching for the railing as the boat dipped into another wave. “What did you just say in French?”

“Mon dieu, aide-moi. It means, God, help me. Because I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on work. It’s been impossible for weeks already.”

“Huh.” I grinned, pleased. “Oh, by the way. How do you say ass in French?”

“Ass?”

“Yeah, like ‘he’s got a fine ass.’”

“I do?”

“Shut up.