Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  His face swung to mine, blue eyes as complex as the ocean beneath us, fixing on me “What do you want to be?”

  My heart bobbed into my throat, shutting off air.

  He shook his head suddenly. “I’m sorry, I—” cutting himself off. He winced his eyes shut. “I know you must be angry—”

  My head bobbed back in surprise. “Angry? Why would I be angry?” That was the last emotion I was feeling.

  “After last night. After what I did. And then you left. I didn’t stop you. I let you leave, thinking …” he trailed off.

  “Thinking?” I prompted.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this. I thought I could. I …”

  Panic flared. But for exactly what I couldn’t tell. I simply acknowledged the feeling, knowing I’d have to examine it later. “Can’t do what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” He swallowed and looked away.

  Clarity hit me. He’d asked me back on the boat. Without Dauphine. My stomach flipped. And I knew.

  He looked vulnerable all of a sudden. As rich and powerful as he was, he was also just a man. He was attracted to me. He’d admitted it. Shown me, actually, in no uncertain terms. To be fair, he probably just wanted to get laid. But my relationship with his daughter had complicated things.

  And now, for whatever reason, he didn’t know whether or how to proceed. That was what he meant by not being able to do this.

  My heart seemed to swell into a heavy beating beast as I contemplated whether to help him bridge the gap between us. I’d be risking my heart, I knew it. It might be just lust for him, but I was attached. To both him and his daughter. Shit. It would hurt when I left. It had fucking killed me this morning, saying goodbye to Dauphine and leaving without seeing Xavier one last time. Maybe it was better to leave us uncomplicated.

  “You asked what I wanted to be to you,” I said quietly. I watched his hands on the railing clench tight. “How about …” God. This was it. Make the first move, or not. After the way I’d felt leaving this morning, after what we’d shared last night. No. I couldn’t do it again. “How about … just … friends.”

  He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes.

  “Of course.” Then he pushed away from the railing. His hand went up to his hair, and he turned away, then back. Then he turned away a final time and went inside.

  His departure was like a flame being snuffed out. I was a chicken shit.

  I stood there, breathing in the wind, and wondering if I’d made a mistake. I examined my hesitancy. And his. Yes, Dauphine complicated things. I wasn’t a stranger. I had attachments to his family. But I also wasn’t living here. I was going home, if not on Thursday, then in a few weeks. No one was asking for a commitment. I wasn’t. I couldn’t. I had a life to head back to. A career to rebuild. This wasn’t some fairytale. Who said we couldn’t just enjoy each other for a couple of days? Get it out of our systems and move on? For a second I let my tightly-reined in mind go and conjured the image of him and me together.

  The chemistry of last night.

  No clothes between us.

  My belly went into free-fall, and I struggled to catch myself and turn off the images.

  I drew a shaky breath and replayed our conversation. I’d offered simple friendship. Of course, he’d said. Had his reaction been relief or disappointment? This was Xavier Pascale we were talking about. He was the kind of man who went after what he wanted. He hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by not going for it. He didn’t wait for permission. He created opportunity. So what was different about this situation? Didn’t he trust me to not make it emotional?

  Was I capable, at this stage, of not making it emotional?

  I shook my head at myself. Of course. I wore my emotions out there for everyone to see. And he could see mine. He saw my love for Dauphine. I wasn’t “no-strings-attached” material. That was definitely dangerous territory for a single dad. Certainly one in his position. I sighed. This was probably for the best. I tried to hang onto the sense I’d talked into myself last night when I’d gone back to my room and made the decision to leave. The attraction between us was dangerous. It felt reckless. And if it felt like that to me, it must feel worse to him. He had so much to lose. A little girl’s heart to break for one.

  We rounded the headland, and the low afternoon sun washed gold across the deck and over the water. The yacht cut through the waves, undulating gently. I cast my mind to what I’d read about Corsica to distract myself.

  Behind me the door opened again. Andrea probably. I turned around.

  It was Xavier. He stopped and we stared at each other.

  The sun was blazing fire around his dark hair, and his eyes glowed, spitting gold in the afternoon light. He was so beautiful, it actually hurt my chest.

  Then he came toward me and kept coming until he was inches away.

  My breath froze.

  His arms caging me against the railing. “Friends,” he said gruffly.

  Prickles swept up my arms.

  God, he was so close. “If … if that’s what you want,” I managed. He smelled so good—cedar wood and ocean salt melted into my senses. “I mean, you could always use another. Friend, I mean.” I was trying to tease, but coming off all wrong.

  He shook his head. And then he swayed forward and his forehead came down on mine. “But that’s not what I want. Je veux … I want your mouth.” He paused and I inhaled his breath. “This delicious but annoying mouth. I want to devour it. I want to invade it. That might be a little bit more than friends, non?”

  I had no legs. I was just fizzy air and lust melting against him.

  His hand threaded into my hair, loosening the messy bun, and then twisting the locks around his hand. He mumbled some things in French, then English. Things about my hair. And if Meredith’s translating skills were to be believed, something about my ass. I was delirious.

  He could be telling me he was about to dangle me over the side, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.

  He tilted my face up.

  My mouth watered.

  His eyes burned. “And what do you want?” he rasped.

  I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. Not now. “You,” I managed soundlessly. “Please. Please kiss me.”

  And then sweet merciful angels, his lips closed the distance and slanted across mine.

  I grabbed onto his shoulders and the lapels of his cotton shirt. Was this really happening?

  He was kissing me. Finally.

  God, was he kissing me.

  His lips were heavenly—soft in touch, hard with intent—the stubble of his chin sending shots of flames cascading over my skin and into my belly—burning me from the inside out. His lips nipped and tasted. They pulled, and then opened. His tongue slipped against mine.

  Oh God.

  A moan filled my ears. Mine. Then his.

  I opened to him. Tasting him. My body flooded with heat. My tongue pressed forward, needing more, and he took. Deeply. His hands held my head, they tipped my jaw, his thumb opened my mouth farther like he couldn’t get enough, and his tongue delved in. Caressing. Drinking. I was being devoured and I loved it.

  This was what kissing was supposed to be. I’d never be able to kiss ever again and not compare. I felt it throughout every cell of my body as it burned its way through, leaving ashes in its wake.

  Jesus. It was heady. Addictive. I was ravenous. I didn’t think I could get enough of this. Of him. Of his mouth. I never wanted to stop. My breathing was so erratic I was getting lightheaded. But I didn’t care if I passed out kissing him.

  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 disappo
intment. 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. You know you do. Soo, what is it? What’s the word in French?”

  “Cul.”

  I laughed. “Meredith was right.”

  “Meredith?”

  “My best friend back home. I heard you talking to Evan, and she said you were talking about my ass.”

  He chuckled out a breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Nobody can keep a secret on a boat.”

  “So you were?”

  “Talking about your ass?” He winked, and his hand slipped down behind me and grabbed a handful, bringing me hard against his body.

  I squeaked.

  “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Oh yes. This playful Xavier was a really nice surprise. “I’d rather not have my anatomy discussed by the boys in the locker room.” I feigned annoyance, even while the heat of his hand burned through me.

  He laughed, teeth gleaming and eyes crinkling, making my heart rate triple.

  “D’accord. I’ll only discuss your ass with you.” He leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss on my lips.

  My hand left the railing, and I clutched the lapels of his shirt. The boat dipped again, and my stomach whooshed. It broke the kiss.

  He scowled, looking out to sea. “It’s getting rough. Do you get seasick?”

  “I haven’t before today. But then again, I don’t really like boats, so I have little experience to know if I will.” I shrugged and brushed a strand of hair that suddenly blew across my face. The wind had picked up.

  “You like my boat.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “But I like you,” I added. “And Dauphine. And everyone who works for you. Well, I guess you’re right. I like your boat. Anyway, you better go and get that work done before I climb you like the jungle gym at my favorite playground.” I reluctantly let go of his shirt and smoothed it out.

  He frowned, a smirk playing around his mouth. “Jungle gym? Is that some American thing? It sounds kinky.”

  I laughed, loving that he could actually joke with me after the rather gruff demeanor he’d worn since I arrived.

  “All right.” He stepped away, his palms up. “I’m going. I have to rearrange all the meetings I blew off to stay in Corsica for two nights. The water is getting very rough. If you feel sick, ask Chef for ginger tea. Look out at the horizon. Or come find me.”

  “I will.” I nodded,
processing what he’d just said. He may have needed to go to Corsica tomorrow, but his decision to stay an extra night was made with me in mind.

  I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to fight the grin.

  As soon as he ducked inside I turned and dragged in a lungful of sea air. I replayed the last hour, and with it giddy anticipation swirled. Two nights. My skin prickled with lust. I pressed my thighs together to quench the deep ache that had settled between them. I knew what this was. A two-day affair. That was it. I had no doubt it would be highly sexed and searingly hot. I just hoped my heart could handle it when he turned it off after time was up. Would I be able to do the same? And then what? Should I go home? Or did I take up his mother’s offer to stay on a few weeks with her? That seemed far more of an intimate prospect now than it had before everything had changed between me and her son. I chewed my lip. I should call Meredith for advice. But somehow I didn’t want to. Telling someone, even Meredith, that I was planning to have a two-day affair with my ex-boss on his yacht made it feel … sordid somehow. And of course, there was Tabitha. I didn’t know what this situation fell into. Technically, I was no longer his employee. But it was still Tabitha’s reputation that could be affected if people knew about us. They wouldn’t care about the technicalities. They would still only see that Xavier Pascale boned his daughter’s nanny.

  Land was a distant blur and around us was nothing but wide-open ocean. A shiver rippled through me. Now that Xavier wasn’t out here distracting me, and we were farthest from land than we’d ever been, the reasons for my dislike of boats came back strong. My stomach lurched queasily.

  I left the railing and made my way inside to find some ginger tea.

  In the galley, Chef was wedged into the banquette reading a newspaper spread across the table.

  “I think I’m getting seasick. I held the edge of the table. Do you have some ginger tea I can make?”

  “We have sachets, but best bet is I make you some fresh. Also, we have anti-nausea meds if it gets bad, and,” he pulled himself out of the booth and grabbed a basket from a small bottom shelf, “we also have these. Acupressure cuffs. They actually work great.” He held up a package of rubber bracelets in light blue.