Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  “Merde! No.” He released me so abruptly, I swayed back against the wall, my legs almost giving out.

  But it was too late. The sensations had gathered and built, and the pressure had mounted so high, my brain no longer controlled my body, if it ever had around him. I shattered past the point of no return. It was exquisite. It was maddening. It was shocking. And so very, very … empty of him.

  His mouth dropped open and his hands caught me around the waist as my entire body quaked, and I slipped down the wall.

  He cursed again and hauled me against him.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, my breath choking out of me. I managed to get my palms between us on his hard chest and pushed away. Jesus. Had anyone seen? Shame swamped me, erasing all the incredible sensations that were ebbing away too fast. My face burned. My head whipped left and right. The groups of people in the dark shadows of the upstairs area seemed to be absorbed in their own business. They either hadn’t seen us, or people up here were used to giving and demanding discretion. We hadn’t kissed, maybe they really did think we were dancing. Jesus. We hadn’t even kissed.

  An aftershock wracked me. I was dizzy. I suddenly wanted to laugh hysterically.

  “No one saw,” he answered my unspoken question. “But we need to go. Now. That cannot happen again.” His tone sounded shocked. Awestruck. Horrified.

  No kidding. “I didn’t start it,” I said, sounding like a petulant child. I was shaken to my core. In literally every way.

  He grabbed my elbow and we started toward the stairs. “The fuck you didn’t with that dress.

  “Are you kidding me, right now?” I wrenched my arm free.

  He turned to me, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Please,” he said. “Not here. I’m sorry. That was … inappropriate. I can’t think. I was wrong. Can we go?”

  We glared at each other.

  I folded my arms. “I swear to God, Pascale.”

  “Xavier.”

  I ignored him correcting me. “We better be having a normal conversation when we get back to the boat. And no telling me to fuck off again in French.”

  His brows knitted in confusion. “I didn’t tell you to fuck off. When—?”

  “You did! That night on the top deck. We were talking, and then you told me something in French that meant—”

  He stepped right up into my space, his voice dropping. “I said I wanted to fuck you.” He cocked his head. “Not that I wanted you to fuck off. A very important difference.”

  What was left of my breath was sucked right out of my chest.

  He inclined his head at whatever he saw on my face. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. “And, yes, I was mad about it. At myself. Not you. And yes, it’s crude. But it’s true. I can’t work. I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking think straight with you around. You are destroying me. And I cannot let that happen. Not for me. Not for Dauphine. That’s why I sent that email. Now, unless you want a picture of us arguing in a nightclub splashed over Voici or Stars tomorrow morning, I suggest we get out of here.”

  The mention of the tabloids was like a bucket of ice water. There was no way I wanted to invite that kind of media scrutiny into their lives. Or mine. I snapped my jaw tight, the words he’d said bulleting around my brain, causing maximum damage.

  “You leave first,” he went on. “I will be a few minutes behind you. Head straight for the quay. Don’t stop to talk to anyone.”

  I nodded. I could do that.

  “I’ll have Evan meet you at the gate. It has a code.” He leaned forward and whispered the number in my ear.

  There was no way to remember a gate code for fuck’s sake. I hardly knew my own name. I brushed past him. This was all too much. And his words were too much.

  “Joséphine,” he said.

  I turned back.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. His eyes swept over my dress and back to my face. “You are beautiful. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  The night outside felt different. I felt eyes crawling over me, the breeze like pin pricks on my skin, the sounds jarring. My flip flops smacked on the cobblestones, and I almost fell. I moved to the flatter concrete sidewalks where available, dodging people, and then crossed to the quayside. I followed what Andrea and the guys had done when we passed the security gate and waved like I knew where I was going. They weren’t concerned about pedestrians since all the jetties where the mega yachts were had coded gates. Oh shit. I couldn’t remember which one it was. The third or fourth jetty? Or was it the fifth one?

  Now, if only I could go back and erase the last twenty minutes. I’d known my life would change before I’d gone up the stairs to him at the nightclub, but I hadn’t been prepared for this. For him. To discover that he was struggling with his attraction to me as much as I was to him. My brain could barely compute. And I hadn’t been prepared for the way I’d fallen apart for him, leaving me feeling like roadkill. I said a prayer that it had been far too dark for anyone to have gotten a clear photo or video. My heart climbed up my throat with nerves and shame.

  “Josie.” Evan’s voice, amplified by the concrete and water reached me right as I was starting to sweat with panic. “You okay?” he asked as I reached the gate where he stood. He opened it before I had to try and remember the code.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “I thought you guys would stay out for a while, have a chance to—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “He’s a good guy—”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t feel good. Dizzy or something. Maybe I still have that mally-thing.”

  “Mal de démbarquement?”

  “That. Tell him I’ve gone to bed. Tell him … goodbye. How early can we leave in the morning?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I know about him asking Tabitha about canceling my contract, okay? I have to resign. I can’t work for him.” I couldn’t work for him when I felt the way I did. Especially not now. Not after what happened. “I can’t.”

  “Josie. Don’t do this to him.”

  “To him? What about me? I don’t know what to do here. I didn’t sign up for this.” My hysteria grew. “I can’t have an affair with my boss,” I hissed with a squeak.

  “Okay. So you resign. But you don’t leave.”

  “Evan. God. Listen to what you’re saying. This … this is too much for me. Is that why he kept me around and didn’t fire me because he was hoping he and I could have a thing?” I cringed as the words came out.

  “Fuck, no. Xavier would rather die. Jesus. You have to talk to him. It’s not my place. Just please don’t leave before you’ve talked to him.”

  I knew I’d told him I wanted to talk to him, but my mind was a mess, and I felt crushingly embarrassed by what had just happened. Weak. In danger. Like I’d throw away everything I was if I stayed. I’d become his concubine. His concubine that looked after his daughter. An unpaid escort as well as a child minder. And I’d do it willingly just to feel that all again, this time with him inside me.

  No. No. No. And no.

  Evan cleared his throat, the look on my face clearly unsettling him.

  “Please, Evan. Just promise me that if I do decide to leave, you’ll drive me.”

  He let out a long breath. “Okay.”

  I nodded and turned to the gangplank.

  “Josie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve been a wonderful addition to Dauphine’s life. And a pleasure to have on the boat. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  I blinked and blew out a wobbly breath, suddenly swamped with emotion. “Me too.”

  “But I’m not saying goodbye to him for you. You need to do that yourself.”

  Downstairs I checked on a sleeping Dauphine, taking a moment to press my lips to her hair. Then I went to my cabin and flung my tiny cross body purse that held my phone and money on the bed. Our shopping bags from earlier were pla
ced neatly by the door. I emptied them and carefully packed the little trinkets among my clothes in my suitcase. I had a quick shower, threw on a long t-shirt, and packed the gold dress. Then I unpacked it again and hung it in the closet. It would always remind me of him, and I couldn’t fathom ever wearing it back home. Some things just didn’t travel well. Summer flings and little gold clubbing dresses among them. Maybe Andrea would wear it.

  I stood still, shifting from foot to foot. Was he back on the boat? He’d moved back up to the master stateroom, so I didn’t have to worry about him sleeping in the cabin opposite me. I checked my email, but there was nothing from Tabitha. And no more texts from Meredith. I debated calling her. Especially if I was going to start traveling back tomorrow, but I couldn’t face talking about it. I didn’t know how to articulate everything that had happened and the things I was feeling. The sound of my name, the way he’d whispered it, was on a loop in my brain, making me feel weak. “Joséphine.”

  I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and climbed under the duvet, and flicked off the light. Light streamed in from the busy port, and the boat was mostly still.

  Closing my eyes, I was immediately back in the darkness of the club and the intensity of his gaze, watching me as I fell apart. The memory of the feeling as I couldn’t catch myself falling over the edge had me losing my breath again. Arousal swam through me, squeezing my insides. I cringed. The memory was almost as intense as the reality. I curled to my side and bit my fist.

  “Joséphine.”

  He hadn’t meant for us to go that far, I knew. Not in public. Maybe not ever. I couldn’t be angry. He was right that we should have both been terrified of our physical attraction. It was the kind of connection that could burn the world down around us. And he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Not with a daughter to take care of.

  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 the staff stairwell, passing Chef who was on his way up.

  I frowned and made myself an espresso and asked Chef to make me an egg white omelet.

  He grunted. “No problem, Monsieur,” he said in a tone that made me wonder if he would spit in it.

  “Great. I’ll take it on the top deck in fifteen minutes. Everyone all right this morning?” I asked.

  “Oui,” Chef responded in a decidedly “no,” tone.

  “Okay, then,” I muttered sarcastically. “I’ll just
go get cleaned up.”

  I’d just gotten out of the shower when Dauphine came slamming into the room.

  “Excuse me,” I grumbled. “I’m getting dressed.”

  Her face was thunderous, and she stamped her foot. “I don’t care!” she screamed. “Why did you let her leave?” Her face collapsed into a loud sob and she ran forward to bury her face against my stomach.

  “What are you talking about?” I hugged her to me with one hand as I held up my towel with the other.

  “It’s all your fault!” She pushed off me and began pummeling my stomach. “Ow,” she complained. “Your stomach is too hard.”

  I laughed. “I’m tensing so you don’t hurt me.”

  “Stop laughing. It’s not funny. I knew you didn’t like her. I knew it. Why, Papa? Why?”

  “Christ.” I let out a long exhale and tightened my towel firmly around my waist and then padded into the bedroom. I pointed at the couch. “Sit.”

  My daughter stomped over and sat.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Josie has gone away.”

  My stomach dropped to my toes, and my heart felt like ten tons of concrete. “She … left?”

  That’s when I noticed a folded letter crumpled in Dauphine’s small fist. She smacked it on my leg. “It’s in English. Read it to me.”

  “Dauphine! Do not speak to me like that,” I warned and took the letter.

  Instead of her normal chagrin when she knew she’d pushed me too far, I got a look of pure sparks. I sighed and looked at it. Monsieur Pascale was written in delicate cursive. She even had beautiful handwriting. “This is to me. So I think I should read it.”

  “Andrea and Evan both already read it so it’s not private.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Oh, they did, did they?” I was going to have words with both of them. “Well, you are not reading it. It is addressed to me. Not you. Did she not say goodbye to you?”

  “She did.” Dauphine nodded dumbly, her tears still streaking hot and fast down her cheeks, her small chin wobbling.