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

“Excuse me,” I said. “I have to check in with Evan and make a few calls.” I leaned down and kissed my mother on the cheek and turned my back, striding toward the patio doors that led inside. I didn’t need to sit there while I was needled passive aggressively by my own mother. “Do you have to leave right away?” I heard her ask Josie. “Perhaps you could stay in the area a few more days. You know I’m on several preservation committees, and I can point you toward some wonderful areas to visit.”

A few days? She was here for one more night. That was it. The sooner she left, the sooner I could forget the feel of her under my hands and get her out of my head.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I entered the cool interior of the house, my shoes squeaking slightly on the marble floor.

“Was just coming to find you,” said Evan, rounding the corner. “Should have just followed the cursing. What’s up your bum?”

“I hate that expression.”

“I know. That’s why I use it.”

“Are you seriously telling me you couldn’t figure out a way to get her to Paris for her flight? We have a helicopter for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that. You insult me.”

I blew out a breath and scrubbed my face. “Sorry. But she must have felt like shit having to come here and face me after … after …”

Evan cocked his head sideways. “After she found out you wanted to have her replaced, against my advice by the way? Or after what happened last night at the club?”

My head whipped up and I narrowed my eyes. “What about last night? What did she tell you?”

He raised his palm and smirked. “Jeez. Calm down. I was guessing. She didn’t tell me anything. But you just did.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Right.”

“It didn’t,” I insisted. Not really. Except it did, didn’t it? She fell apart under my hands, and the memory of it even now made my legs weak. “Anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“But you wanted something more to happen?”

“Evan. I know you’re my friend and I tell you a lot of shit. But if you don’t stop talking right now, we’re going to have to explain to my mother why your teeth are on the floor.”

He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take my chances. You have a few days. Even if I can get her to Paris, I can’t get her on a flight until Thursday at least. Maybe you’ll change your mind by then.”

“Thursday?” My stomach flipped. That was four nights of having her close without Dauphine as a buffer. “She can stay here. Or on the boat and I can stay here, or a hotel in Nice, or—”

“That bad, huh?”

I was being ridiculous. Seriously, what was I going to do? Barge into her cabin like a caveman and ravish her because I couldn’t control myself? No. I wasn’t a beast. At least, not normally. But also, she closed that door on me last night before we had a chance to talk about what happened. That told me there was little chance she’d give me another chance. Yes, she was beautiful and sweet with my daughter, and smart, and fun. So were a lot of people. I could handle a few days, just she and I if she stayed on the boat. I’d probably hardly ever see her either. I had work to do, same as always. She could eat with the crew. I’d have meals on shore. In fact, she could go and do her architectural sightseeing or whatever during the day. “Whatever,” I said and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. So she stays until Thursday. And maybe we should get her to Paris by Wednesday so there’s no problem getting her to her flight.”

One less night with her on the boat.

“How very thoughtful of you,” Evan deadpanned.

I lifted my shoulders again with casual nonchalance, though the tightening of my insides told me I was trying to fool myself as well as Evan. “All right then,” I said. “Let’s go say goodbye to Dauphine and pick up the stowaway.”

I turned toward the exit, and Evan stopped me, a hand on my arm. “X, wait. You deserve some happiness. Or at least some good sex. Not one of us will judge you for it.”

“I don’t need your permission,” I snapped and shrugged him off. He put his palms up and continued walking.

But there was no way to lie to myself. The idea of being alone with Josephine Marin on a boat, with the tension between us, was making me feel all sorts of things again. Physical things. Things I’d long denied myself. Now that it was decided she was staying an extra few days, a thrill pricked at me—that little tingle I got when I could tell I was on to something at work that was going to be a game-changer. A challenge that would be worth it. Maybe Evan was right. Maybe I did just need to get laid. Josie was no longer working for me, so I could mentally cross that off my list of reservations. If, if, we had a fling it would have a built-in expiration date, which was about the only way I could contemplate it.

And the chemistry between us told me it was going to be good.

Oh so, so good.

I stepped back as Evan opened the patio door and discreetly adjusted myself. Okay. I took a breath. I was going to do this. If she still wanted me, that was. My heart thundered with terror.

We walked outside, and I shaded my eyes in the afternoon sun.

“Great news,” my mother called. “Since you no longer need her on the boat, Josephine is going to stay here with me for a few weeks and help me with my foundation work. Isn’t that wonderful? You don’t mind, do you?”

Chapter Thirty-One

JOSIE

Xavier Pascale had mastered the art of