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

I couldn’t either.

I heard when he got back. The low voices of him and Evan. I imagined Evan relaying my message, and I wondered about Xavier’s reaction. Would he be disappointed? Angry?

Without thinking I slipped silently from my bed to the door. And for the first night since I’d arrived, I released the catch that held it open and quietly swung it closed.

The latch clicked loudly in the silence, and I laid my palms and forehead on the back of the door, breathing slowly, and counted to ten.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

XAVIER

I stood outside the closed cabin door belonging to my daughter’s nanny, staring at the wood and gripping the door frame. It didn’t escape my notice that she’d closed it for the first time since she’d arrived. She couldn’t have sent a louder message. A message my libido wasn’t hearing. My heart was in my throat as I rested my forehead gently against the varnished wood and began to count in an effort to chill the fuck out. “Un, deux, trois …”

She was giving me an out—maybe even forgiving me for crossing the line.

And I was going to respect her closed door.

I was.

And yet … and yet.

I’d revealed my attraction.

And she shared it.

I hadn’t experienced this kind of intensity in so long. Had I ever? Perhaps it was so strong because it had been so long since I’d felt anything.

Now I knew the feel of her under my hands. Her curves under that ludicrous scrap of material. The quake in her body. Those tiny sounds she made in my ear like the whimpers of a small trapped animal. The heat between her legs. The smell of her. Christ. The way she’d fallen apart just from our connection.

I’d just had the most erotic experience of my life, and no one had been naked. I felt like a sixteen-year-old again. As desperate and as clueless as one anyway.

What sounds would she make when I stripped her naked? When I flipped her onto her belly, wrapped my hands in her hair, and drove myself into her body? Fuck. My stomach clenched and my head grew light. I shook it to clear the image.

But the image remained. It got dirtier. Sweatier. Would she scream? I wanted to know. I needed to know.

I was drowning.

I felt out of control and I didn’t like it.

Walk away from the door, I told myself. Walk the hell away. Nothing good can come from this.

An uncomfortable thought suddenly slid under my skin, making me want to peel it off. I shuddered. Was this how it started for my father? Wanting to fuck the nannies and unable to leave them alone until he had them? No. This was different. Wasn’t it? I wasn’t my father. He had nothing to do with this. I was basely and purely attracted to her, dammit. I would have been even if I’d just met her in the street. Or seen her over a video conference, a little voice reminded me.

What if I fired her? Then she wouldn’t be working for me. That would solve that at least. Then I could—

You asshole, I raged at myself. What kind of man fires someone so he can sleep with them? My clenched my fingers on the door frame.

“Papa?” Dauphine’s voice came from behind me and I jerked upright. “What are you doing, Papa?”

I sucked in a breath and scrubbed my hands down my face. “Um, ah. I was thinking.” Shit.

She cocked her head sideways as she let out a yawn.

“I was resting,” I amended. “I had a headache. Come on, let’s get you back in bed. What are you doing awake?” I gently steered her back to bed. Straightening her duvet, I pulled it open and she crawled in. My throat felt thick, like I’d been caught stealing. At least Dauphine’s appearance had doused my raging lust.

“I had a nightmare,” she said.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. “It was just a dream.”

“I dreamed you were sending Josie away. I love her so much, Papa. Do you think she can come with me to Grand-mère’s? I really want Mémé to meet her. I think she will love her like I love her.”

Guilt flooded me, and I tried to swallow it down my already closed throat. I tucked in the duvet around my daughter’s small body to stall. “Shh. It’s time to sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.” I kissed her head again. “Goodnight, mon chou.”

“Good night, Papa.”

My shoulders slumped as she let me off the hook. I left Dauphine’s room and walked straight to the stairwell and went to my stateroom, ripping off my clothes. There was no fucking way I was going to have a tawdry affair with the nanny and sneak around on my own damn boat and try to hide it from my own damn daughter and everyone who worked for me.

I was not my father.

I didn’t screw the help.

I flicked off my light and lay under the sheet. Immediately sensations and images assaulted me. I was harder and longer than a circus tentpole. Sleep was impossible.

I finished my morning workout, feeling tired, troubled, and out of sorts. The boat felt … empty. Or maybe that was me. A ping on my phone told me Evan had taken the Mercedes out of our parking bay in St. Tropez. He would be running some errands and picking up some stuff for me at my office in Sofia Antipolis and meeting us at my mother’s later. But Evan often left the boat, and it didn’t leave the place feeling like something was missing. My gut felt troubled.

Andrea sat at the table in the galley with a cup and saucer and didn’t say anything when I walked in. It was her day off, so I could hardly complain. But it was totally out of character.

“Good morning,” I tried, anyway.

She stood and took her coffee to the sink and poured it away. “Is it?” she asked cryptically, and then disappeared down