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

wasn’t about how mad he was about the girls. Not like the way you drive me so mad with wanting.”

“How mad?” I asked.

“Out of my mind,” he admitted. “I was torn between being addicted to seeing you every day, knowing I would not, could not, touch you and sending you away so you didn’t torture me anymore. But then, of course, it would hurt Dauphine.”

“Yet, you let me resign and walk away.”

“I’m sorry. You became too much. And after the club,” his finger traced the shell of my ear, “J’ai paniqué.”

Giddiness fizzed in my belly. “I’m assuming that means you panicked. Why?”

“My daughter is everything to me.”

I nodded, understanding. “I know.”

“And I have not allowed myself to get distracted. Or to be apart from her.”

“And now?” I asked as I licked my lips. “What changed?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze caught on my mouth and his finger moved from my ear to my cheek and over my bottom lip. “I’m still trying to figure it out. After you left, I was telling myself it was for the best. But I felt … I felt like I had made a terrible mistake.”

“I bet Dauphine made you feel bad,” I teased.

He chuckled. “Everyone did. Even Chef could hardly look at me. And Evan? Mon dieu. He’s lucky we have a long history.”

I smiled. It was nice to know I had allies beyond Andrea, that people were rooting for us. I wondered what they’d say if they knew he’d already put an expiration date on us of two days.

“I thought I’d been given a second chance when you returned today, but my own mother was going to keep you away from me,” he said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “And then I knew my need for you was too strong to resist. I wasn’t sure you would agree after the way I’d behaved. Or if everyone would see through me and know what I wanted and laugh. But I took a chance. And now you are here. I can barely believe it.”

“Me neither,” I whispered. “I’m glad I’m here. I want to be here,” I affirmed in case there was any doubt. “I’m glad I had an asshole boss back home, or I wouldn’t have been here. I wouldn’t have met you. Or Dauphine.”

We gazed at each other, understanding the gravity of our admissions. Then his mouth descended and covered mine. His lips were soft and demanding.

My hand on his belly gripped tight as if I could tangle myself into his skin.

His tongue dipped into my mouth and I groaned, arching into him. The low banked fire that endlessly burned for him, blazed up.

“I had dreams of you,” he whispered between kisses. “Like that night you came up here in your miniscule pajamas.” Kiss. “I sat in this chair.” Kiss. “And I fantasized that you came over and took your clothes off and crawled on top of me.” Kiss. “And made me forget the pain in my heart.”

I shifted toward him, and then slipping my leg over his, I sat up and straddled him. “And in French you told me you wanted to fuck me. But I didn’t understand.” My bare thighs squeezed his waist, and the bed covers slipped down my back. I still wore his linen shirt, and now I unbuttoned the two places holding it together. “But I would have. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you with your daughter in the train station. Every cell of my body wants yours. And I cursed the fact that we were meeting under the circumstances of me working for you.”

His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth slightly parted as his hands joined mine and he spread the material and bared me to his gaze. Beneath me, his hips bucked up and pressed against my naked center, drawing a moan of aching need from my throat. He whispered something in French.

“Why do you switch to French when I can’t understand?”

He gazed up at me, his voice thickening. “I said, you are an angel under the moonlight.”

My shaking hands made quick work of his shorts, flicking open the button and zipper and drawing him out, hot, hard, and heavy in my hand. “I need you.” I gasped, lifting up enough to slick him through my wetness once, twice, and then sinking down slowly, taking him into my body.

His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me down and driving himself up until I was full to the hilt and utterly breathless.

His gaze pinned me, the look feral, hungry, haunted and pleading. Pleading for something he said he didn’t want me to offer. My heart.

Two days was just not fucking enough with this man. It was going to kill me when it was over. I squeezed my eyes closed. It was killing me now, my heart willingly running to its own doom in my chest.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I awoke to the sound of seagulls screeching and cartwheeling overhead. I realized I was alone, wrapped up on the chaises where we’d fallen asleep in the wee hours.

The sky glowed blue with low morning sun even though the bay was shadowed by the massive peninsula. My body was hot and clammy, sticky under the duvet. My face felt damp and cool in the morning air.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Xavier’s voice had me turning to see him stepping up the last step onto the deck, two cups on saucers in his hands.

“I really hope that’s coffee.” I blinked groggily. “That was too much wine and not enough sleep.” And maybe too much sex? Was there such a thing? I ached. But in a good, delicious, satisfied way. “Oh my goodness, did you shower already?”

Xavier was wearing navy shorts and a fresh light pink linen shirt that made his skin glow. He looked utterly masculine and delicious against its soft hue. His hair was wet and shiny in the daylight, and he smelled of cool verdant forests as he leaned toward me delivering a kiss to my forehead