Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance, Natasha Boyd [e reader books .TXT] 📗

a tad shorter than I’d like, but not indecent, and a navy and white striped three-quarter sleeve shirt. Totally nautical. I looked the part. And frankly, I’d had to work with what I had when packing.

I dragged a comb through my dark hair that was even darker when wet and slicked it back to a low bun. The dark hair and pale skin made my gray-green eyes stand out more. Grabbing my make-up bag, I put on moisturizer, under eye concealer so I didn’t look ghoulish, and lip balm, then stared at myself in the mirror. “You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “You are capable of anything.”

I took a deep breath and headed out of my room to find my way upstairs.

Chapter Nine

I followed the reverse route of the one I’d come down with Andrea.

One level up was the main living area we’d walked into upon arriving on the boat. No one was around, but a delicious smell of grilled fish and garlic wafted from somewhere, and my stomach grumbled. It had been a long time since that baguette on the train. I turned to the stairwell and continued up, holding onto the brass handrail. Outside the windows, the sun was low in the sky and gleaming off all the other boats bobbing in rows. The third deck was a smaller sitting room with three steps to the bridge where I saw the captain, Paco, pouring over some large unrolled maps.

I knocked lightly on the highly varnished wood paneling on the wall next to me, and he looked up. “Hi,” I said. “I didn’t realize people still used paper maps to navigate.”

His swarthy face split into a grin, revealing perfectly straight, though tobacco stained, teeth. “Ah, yes, but I am also a treasure hunter. Old charts are the way to find the old bays and caves.” His English was good, but his accent was hard to place.

My eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Yep. If you’re lucky you’ll see old annotations and symbols. Dauphine likes to come up here and look over the charts and let me know where she thinks treasure might be.” His kindly eyes crinkled up as he smiled. “Is everything to your liking in your cabin?”

“Yes, thank you. More than comfortable. Am I allowed to keep the window open?”

“As long as the weather is good and we are anchored, I see no problem with that. We have air-conditioning though.”

“It’s more that I need to be connected to a wide-open space. Fresh air.”

“Ah.” He nodded with understanding, then his eyes flicked to the ceiling. “He’s waiting for you.”

I gave the captain a casual salute and turned toward the stairs.

As my head emerged on the top level, the evening breeze cooled my damp hair. My attention was immediately captured by a sparkling turquoise plunge pool glowing with underwater lighting in the twilight. Wow. A pool on a boat. The sounds of chatter, music, and clinking silverware drifted from the port-side restaurants. The smells were heavenly—garlic, charcoal, baking bread. I dragged my eyes toward the presence I could feel to my left, and the skin on my neck tingled.

Xavier Pascale sat at the teak table, leaning back on a matching chair, watching me. His face was expressionless, his blue eyes—glowing with the last of the setting sun hitting his face—were intent. He wore his white linen shirt from earlier and had changed from jeans into a pair of navy shorts and canvas white-soled boat shoes. His toned legs were tanned and sprinkled with dark hair and crossed at the ankles. An arm, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal corded forearms, was slung casually over the backrest of the chair next to him.

My stomach muscles clenched of their own accord, my ovaries jerking like racehorses in a starting block. I swallowed hard. Being attracted to my boss to this extent was going to be very, very dangerous. It was just lust, I told myself sternly, and pressed two fingers against the pulse on my wrist as if I could force my heart to slow down. And given one of the reasons I’d just dropkicked my career, also really ironic that I’d think my boss was hot. I just hoped I didn’t make a fool of myself.

He had papers and a phone spread in front of him, but the other end of the table was set with three dinner places.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” His voice broke the silence between us. It was gravelly yet smooth, like a bed of wet pebbles.

“Hi,” I managed, clearing my throat and feeling as if I’d been caught ogling.

My belly gurgled again.

His brows furrowed.

“That I’m very, very hungry,” I answered with a half-truth, smiling with embarrassment. “It’s been a while since I ate.”

He didn’t respond, and I wasn’t sure if I’d somehow stumbled into a cultural faux pas.

“Okay, well, um, also I’d like to know what you expect of me as Dauphine’s nanny.”

He inhaled through his nose, and then slipped his arm off the chair next to him and sat forward in a slow and deliberate movement. “Take a seat.” He gestured to a chair opposite him.

Obediently, I pulled it out and sat.

Several seconds passed as he perused the papers in his hand. My eyes were drawn to the long fingers and short clean nails of his hand that held the pages, then to his wrists. He wore a wide band stainless steel watch that glowed silver against his tanned skin sprinkled with dark hair. The scent of him danced elusively as I inhaled the sea air permeated with all the smells of the port. I breathed again deeply, trying to catch the thread of something that brought to mind worn leather, eucalyptus, and bad decisions. Was that what an honest-to-God pheromone smelled like?

He set the stack down, and I caught sight of my name amid upside down typed French. Then he leaned forward and clasped his fingers together. Blue eyes drilled me. “Why are you here?”

“Uh.” I blinked, my