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

couldn’t believe I could be turned on again so quickly. Nor that he’d gone so long without sex. With the stamina and skill he had, it was a crime to deny the world so long. Ugh. Jealousy thumped me in the gut quick and hard.

His hand left my back and his finger pressed between my eyebrows. “What happens in your mind when you get this line?” he asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s stupid.”

He waited, gaze on mine.

“I was jealous of all the other women. Past and future.”

Seconds passed and then he flopped onto his back, both arms coming up to cradle his head, and he stared at the ceiling, letting out a long breath.

A chill swept over me at the loss of his heat.

Me and my big mouth. I shifted, wincing at the feel of him, sticky and slick between my legs. I’d never let anyone do that. It was so intimate. And dangerous, to be honest. But this man could get anything from me. I should clean up. Finding the towel from my earlier shower bunched up beneath me, I made a move to get up and cover myself.

His hand shot out to my arm. “Reste un moment.” He shook his head. “Stay? S’il te plait.”

I grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it over me and rolled toward him.

“Don’t hide.”

“I’m not. I’m cold.”

Looking down his body, I saw he was hard again.

He followed my gaze and chuckled. “Lots of time to make up for,” he joked.

“Surely … surely there have been others. Other chances?”

His smile faded. “My life has been all about Dauphine and work. I know it seems easy from the outside. Other single parents have it harder. After all, I have a mother and plenty of staff who want to look after her. But,” he paused, brow furrowing as if thinking how to express himself, “I was scared. Scared I would not be a good father, and Dauphine would grow up being like her mother. I … keep looking for the signs. I don’t … it doesn’t seem like much else is important. I have my work. Many new challenges. Inventions. And I have my daughter.” He seemed to be dancing around something else. “I don’t like the way people—women—look at me. Like I’m broken. Tragic. A man to be pitied. Or saved. I am broken. I’m very aware of it. But it’s my business. And I don’t like to see it in people’s faces. In women’s eyes who think they can fix me. I don’t want to be fixed. I don’t trust easily. Not after Arriette. And I want to keep it that way. It’s safer. It works. But that hasn’t left me many opportunities. Women always want more.”

Wow. Offense taken. I was equally awash with pity for him and sadness for us. And hurt. As if he was rejecting me personally. “Everyone should want more. Everyone should expect more.”

He didn’t offer a response.

It was one thing knowing the man you were with had walls. Quite another being personally told about their height, their breadth, and their utter impenetrability. And being warned not to try and scale them lest I be just another one of those women. Was I supposed to feel lucky he picked me? I was on the verge of feeling used. Irritation bubbled. No. I knew what the parameters were. What he wanted them to be anyway. I swallowed the bitter sting of rejection and hopelessness that rose up in me and tried to lighten the mood. “And now I get to be the lucky girl who enjoys this for a few days?” I reached out and closed my hand around his girth. Internally, I winced at the superficiality of my response. It sounded hollow to my own ears. But what other response could I have?

He took my hand off him and brought it to his mouth and kissed the back. Then he sat up. “I should let you get ready. We’ll be docking soon.”

Whatever connection we’d found during our lovemaking, because I was sure that’s what it had turned into, had waned in the aftermath. “Sure,” I said. “Are we still going to dinner?” I asked because, frankly, after what he’d just said, it would be anyone’s guess. I mean, wasn’t taking a woman you were sleeping with out for dinner kind of romantic? A way to get closer? Talk more? Have her ending up wanting more?

“Yes, of course,” he said.

Right. “What should I wear?”

“Not that gold thing, or we won’t leave the boat,” he said with a laugh as he pulled his shirt from the floor and punched his arms through.

“I don’t have a lot to choose from, but I’ll figure something out.”

He stood and pulled on his underwear and shorts, fastening the button. He raked his one hand through his dark hair, then leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “You always look beautiful. Wear whatever you like.” Then he winked and unlocked the door and left.

I flopped back on the bed.

Good God, I was confused.

We docked in a small port near Calvi that sat nestled beneath plunging cliffs and a huge, ancient wall. “Whoa,” I breathed out the word, shading my eyes as we approached. The sun was setting across the ocean behind me, to the west, and the light danced up the limestone cliffs, making the rocks look like pure gold.

Andrea joined me on the bow. “You look lovely,” she said.

I’d embellished my simple black linen dress with a gorgeous jade green and turquoise necklace I’d bought with Andrea in St. Tropez. It brought out my eyes, if I did say so myself. I’d borne witness to that in the bathroom mirror after my second shower of the afternoon. “Thank you.”

“You doing all right?” she asked.

“Stratospheric,” I replied.

She gave a grim smile. “That’s a long way to fall.”

“No kidding.” I squeezed her hand. “Enjoy your time off.”

“You too.” She winked and left me.

I was due to join Xavier on the top deck,