Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  We stared at each other stupidly. My cheeks hurt from grinning. When I was close enough, his hand reached out. I took it and he hauled me to my feet. My toe scraped on something hard and I hissed. It was still about thirty feet to the small beach. I let my feet touch down onto the submerged rock he was standing on.

  “You okay?” he asked, an arm closing around my waist and locking me against his body.

  “Fine,” I said, watching a bead of salt water trickle to the edge of his top lip.

  “It looked like you got hurt.”

  “My foot. But your body is a good painkiller.” I licked my lips and winked.

  He chuckled. Water swelled around us, and he adjusted our stance to keep our balance on the rock.

  His erection pressed against my bare belly, and my stomach melted.

  Then his lips, salty and cool, were on mine and his tongue, hot and sweet, licked into me.

  I groaned, and letting his arm lift me, wrapped my legs around his waist so I was a barnacle on his body. I held his head in my hands so I could get enough of his damn mouth.

  “Ta bouche,” he said on a groan and I giggled, pulling back for a moment, trying to remember the word. Mouth.

  “I love yours too,” I said. “I was thinking that exact thing.” And I gave him another deep kiss, my tongue tasting his.

  He growled and his hand slipped behind my neck.

  My bikini straps slithered down my chest, and his erection pressed hard between my legs.

  He licked his lips. “How much of what I say in French do you understand?” His fingers played over my nipple, pinching gently and making me arch into him with a sharp inhale.

  “I mean …” I gasped as his mouth followed his fingers, and then chuckled. “I get some contextual clues. But not a whole lot.”

  His other hand slipped down my waist to my butt and he squeezed a handful, pressing me into him. “Ton cul,” he began, and then let out a stream of words.

  “Tell me in English,” I managed as we rocked together. “Or is it too dirty?”

  “It’s too much of everything. You’re too much of everything. It’s the first thing I noticed about you. I stood there in the train station and thought … I can’t have you here distracting me away from trying to be a good father. Trying to be a good man.” His joking tone had slipped, and his hands gripped, and his mouth took mine savagely.

  He swayed in the water and I gripped his body tighter.

  “God, I want you inside of me,” I said breathlessly as he gave up my mouth for a second. I gazed into his unblinking eyes, his lashes sparkling with sea water. “But I don’t want this to be over,” I said. “This. Right here. This ache and need I have for you is the most delicious and painful thing I’ve ever experienced,” I admitted. It was excruciating and overwhelming and almost otherworldly. In that moment, I understood how desire could make people do stupid, thoughtless, insane things. Murder, break up families, or take countries to war.

  He brought a hand up to my face, cradling it, everything slowing and gentling. His thumb ran over my lips and then dipped inside. I sucked the tip of his thumb into my mouth, watching as his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. He swallowed heavily.

  “Let’s go to the beach,” I whispered.

  We found a tiny strip of sand hidden from the boat by a boulder. Above us was nothing but cliffs and blue sky. Even the sun was blocked here. With a hand to his chest, I pressed Xavier down to the sand and worked his turquoise swim shorts down. And there he was. Huge, and hard.

  “Joséphine,” he started to say and then the rest of his words disappeared into a groaning, breathless, flurry of French as I took his length into my mouth.

  I wondered if he knew all the different ways he said my name. Like it was not just my name, but a prayer. “Joséphine.”

  Every lick and suck pulled more words from him.

  His hand tangled in my hair, firm and pleading. His hips strained up.

  My hand gripped him hard, mimicking my mouth, touching where my mouth couldn’t reach, and the sounds he made sang in my blood, spurring me on, flooding me with hot and wet heat. I couldn’t help that my other hand slipped between my own legs, edging my bikini bottoms aside and slipping against my swollen, slick skin.

  I sucked him deeper, harder, faster, moaning with the sheer thrill of feeling his pleasure, his vulnerability, and his loss of control. For a few moments, he tried to stop me—muttered things in French I could barely understand like he couldn’t, or I couldn’t, or God knew what.

  Then suddenly his fingers squeezed to a fist against my scalp, his breathing stopped, and his entire body tensed for two seconds before his breath stuttered and he started to pull my mouth away. I fought him, determined to have him.

  I wanted everything.

  He let out a strangled sound, and he jerked and erupted down my throat, shuddering violently through his orgasm.

  Time slowed and then came back.

  The waves lapped gently up the sand in whispering rushes. Birds cried.

  “Merde, Joséphine. You will kill me,” he added after a few moments, his voice cracked.

  “I wanted it. I wanted you.” Every single piece of you I can get, I added silently. Because I love you. I sat back, and his eyes opened and swept down my body.

  Suddenly his eyes narrowed at the hand that was still between my legs, and he grabbed it.

  Xavier’s flushed face turned agonized as he sucked my fingers into his mouth. “Pour moi,” he said. “I should punish you for trying to take your pleasure away from me when you just stole mine. You cannot have it all.”

  Jesus. His erotic words sent me even closer to the edge without laying a finger on me.

  Then his fingers replaced mine, then his mouth, and as I gazed up at the cliffs a few moments after that, I realized how fleeting my control was.

  We pulled ourselves up the ladder onto the swim deck, laughing and out of breath from racing each other. The music on the boat was still playing. It was slow and powerful, and the woman’s voice sang familiar lyrics in an echo of the feeling I’d just had on the beach with Xavier about it being strange what desire could make foolish people do. I inhaled, feeling the words hit my chest as she cried out desperately that she didn’t want to fall in love. “Is this ‘Wicked Game’? I only know the Chris Isaac version,” I added, my voice nonchalant in a bid to draw attention from the fact that the words were the theme to our entire relationship. And that I was going to fucking cry if I stopped to listen to them.

  “The artist’s name is Ursine Vulpine,” Xavier said, handing me a towel from the stack Paco must have left out for us.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as my hair stood on end, and goosebumps raced over my skin. “Haunting. But you need to turn it off.”

  Xavier stopped and swallowed. He seemed about to say something and stopped himself. Around us the female singer’s voice grew and enveloped us in her desperate plea to not fall in love.

  I watched as Xavier understood what I meant, the words registering, and surprise and regret rippled across his face.

  Turning my back on him, I bit down hard, and pretending I needed further drying, concentrated on my legs and arms.

  Then his arms were around me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “You are amazing.” He swallowed loudly. “But—”

  “I know,” I said quickly, desperate for him not to finish that sentence. I squeezed his forearm. “It’s okay. I meant what I said at lunch. I know what this is. It’s just … this thing between us … it’s more than I planned … it’s difficult.”

  He inhaled deeply. “It is,” he admitted. “It is for me too.”

  I turned in his arms, and for a moment I could believe he might give us a chance for something beyond two days if he only knew how I felt. It was a scary leap for him. What if I made it first? “I … I’ve never felt like this before.” My voice broke on the admission.

  “I’m sorry, Josephine,” he murmured, instead. “I don’t know if I can ever
… you deserve so much. You deserve a whole heart.”

  His eyes were fixed on mine, begging me to understand.

  I laid my hand on his chest. “I’d be content with your broken one,” I whispered.

  His throat bobbed thickly, and his eyes closed.

  Water filled my vision, spilled down my cheeks, and dripped to the deck.

  “Monsieur Pascale!” Paco’s voice suddenly broke the silence. “You are back. Thank God. I was about to sound the emergency horn.”

  We both swung around to Paco. He’d aged fifty years since we’d seen him two hours ago.

  “There has been an urgent call from the mainland.” He stopped, his face crumbling. “It’s Dauphine,” he said.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I wasn’t a mother, but even I knew as the shaft of terror cut through me that there was nothing worse than this.

  As the anchor clanged back up into place, Paco haltingly repeated what he knew. Madame had taken Dauphine to see the Roman ship exhibit. Arriette’s brother had approached Madame while she waited for Dauphine to return from the restroom. While they talked, someone else must have somehow managed to get to Dauphine. She’d disappeared into thin air. Dauphine was missing.

  Xavier’s knees buckled. Both Paco and I lurched forward to grab him. Immediately he shook us off, but his eyes went to another place. His mind had disconnected from his body. We were strangers to him. I followed as he scrambled to find his phone, cursing and yelling as he threw things across his desk to look for it. I saw it peeking out from his pink shirt lying across the bed. Grabbing it, I held it out. He snatched it from me and seconds later was barking down the phone at Evan.

  I didn’t know whether to stay or go. I was invisible right now, and I was okay with that. I just wasn’t sure what to do. How I could help. God, I hoped Dauphine was okay. Surely, her uncle wouldn’t hurt her. Especially if money was what he wanted. I yearned to say this to Xavier, but it seemed inadequate comfort for the terror rolling off him in waves. I could tell he was contemplating how to get back to his mother’s house faster.

  Why hadn’t people invented teleportation yet?

  The boat was moving at a fast clip. The afternoon waves were rough, and my stomach lurched. Wondering how best to help, I reluctantly left Xavier on the phone and went to the bridge, clinging tight to every handrail.

  According to Paco, the boat needed to refuel before heading back on the hours long trip to the mainland.

  “I should have done it this morning,” he cursed, his face scrunched in agony, and I could see he was on the verge of tears. “Why did I not do it this morning?”

  I squeezed his wrinkled hand where it gripped the wheel.

  Paco had already called Andrea, Rod, and Chef, and we would pick them up at the dock in Calvi as soon as we could get around the headland.

  Every moment counted.

  Feeling helpless, I went downstairs and slipped the rubber seasick bracelet back on my wrist. I quickly stripped off my wet bikini and holding onto the towel rail for balance against the rocking motion, rinsed the salt off my body. I pulled on shorts, a t-shirt and running shoes, and threw my wet hair up into a bun. Then, trying to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted, I packed all my belongings, unsure where I’d be sleeping tonight or if I’d be sleeping.

  Poor little Dauphine.

  God, I hoped she wasn’t scared. What kind of monster might this uncle of hers be? Xavier had mentioned he’d had problems.

  My stomach twisted in fear, I felt ill. What must Xavier be going through?

  I wanted to be with him and comfort him through this. Trying to think how I could be most helpful, I thought through what we might need when we found her, or what the night might bring. She’d probably have to talk to the police. There’d probably be a lot of waiting. I went to her room. It was freshly made up. A few of the animals she’d left behind were sitting on the bed. I could pack a bag with a change of clothes for her. I went and grabbed the beach bag she and I had been using and took a set of clothes and pajamas from her drawer. Then I selected a small, soft, clingy monkey from her animal collection. In the bathroom, I went through her drawer to see if she’d left an old toothbrush. I found a new unopened one and threw that in the bag too. Going back to my room, I dug out my sketchbook and rolled up a few blank pages with two pencils and used one of my hair-ties to secure it and laid that in the bag too.

  I could feel the weight of Xavier’s desperation and fear emanating through the entire boat. Taking the bag I’d packed for Dauphine, I headed up to the galley and threw in a bottled water and a granola bar. What if it wasn’t her uncle? What if his appearance was coincidence? What if some sick fucker had taken her? Not for ransom, but for terrible, unthinkable, unfathomable reasons. My stomach heaved, and my heart pounded. It had to be a thousand times worse for Xavier. And what about Madame Pascale, his mother? She’d lost Dauphine on her watch. God, this was agony. Outside the window was open ocean. I couldn’t tell how close we were to picking up the crew and refueling.

  This second night in Corsica had been for me. If I hadn’t been here, Xavier would already be heading home. He might even be there already. My skin grew clammy with the thought. Was it my fault?

  I slung the bag on my shoulder and left the galley to the sitting room, so I could see if we were almost back to Calvi. We were. This was taking too long. I went to Xavier’s room.

  It was quiet and his door was open. Poking my head around the door, I scanned the stateroom, expecting to see him on the phone.

  “Xavier?” I called softly.

  There was no answer, but I heard a muffled sound. I entered and rounded the bed, rushing to Xavier’s aid.

  He was hunched over, rocking, his head hitting the ground. He jerked when my hand touched his bare spine, sucking in a hitched breath.

  “Shh,” I soothed, falling to my knees next to him, and rubbed his back, my own eyes filling with stinging tears. “Shhh. We are going to find her,” I whispered. “She’s all right. She’s going to be all right.”

  He leaned sideways, his head finding my lap and his arms coming around my waist. He was shaking—a full body tremble. He was in shock, I realized, and probably also having a panic attack and some form of PTSD episode. I bit my lip as I gave in and cried with him, holding him as tight as I could.

  I didn’t know how long we sat like that, but the phone he was clutching in his hand behind my back suddenly rang, loud and shrill.

  Xavier jerked away from me.

  I barely got a look at his face before he scrubbed it with his arm and got up.

  “Oui,” he barked, stalking away. He was still in his swimsuit. “Bon. Immédiatement,” he said and hung up.

  Getting up off the floor, I realized he needed some things too. I picked up the pink linen shirt on the bed. “You need to get dressed. Can I help you with anything?”

  “Non,” he said. He turned toward me but walked straight by me to the bathroom. He closed the door.

  I sank down to the end of the bed, holding his shirt. There was nothing worse than this feeling of impotence to help. I got my phone out of my shorts pocket and thought about texting or calling Madame. My fingers ran over the texture of Xavier’s shirt, and I brought it to my nose and inhaled the comforting scent of this man I loved—the father of the little girl I adored.

  Then I started praying.

  Please, God. Please let Dauphine be safe. Please touch the heart of the person who has her and ask them to return her to her father, safe and unhurt. He needs her. They only have each other. Losing her will kill him, she’s all he has left. Please, please. Please. Please.

  I swiped the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

  The bathroom door snapped open and Xavier came out.

  “You’re still here,” he said in a flat voice.

  “Have you heard anything more?”

  “No.”

  I swallowed. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked helplessly.

  He gave a bitter laugh
as he buttoned his cuff and headed to his desk. Papers were all around it from his earlier frantic search for his phone. “You’ve done enough.”

  “Wha-what do you mean?”

  He blew out a breath as he leaned down and began gathering paper.

  I stood and bent to help him.

  “Leave it,” he barked.

  I raised my hands. “S-sorry.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have even been here.”

  My fear exactly. Guilt tore through my stomach. All of our beautiful and sensual moments turned sordid and dirty. Like we were being punished for stealing these selfish moments of pleasure. “I-I’m sorry,” I said. And I was.

  I wished I could rewind time and plan to stay with Dauphine and Madame Pascale until my flight.

  I would have been with her. I would have been an extra set of eyes. Extra protection. She would be safe right now.

  My hand settled on my belly, feeling the pain and guilt settle deep in my gut. Oh, Dauphine, I’m so sorry. I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “How soon can the boat make it back tonight?” I asked. How many more hours of agony will we endure waiting and unable to do anything to help find her?

  “I’m having my helicopter pick me up from Calvi. The boat will follow.”

  “Oh. That make sense.” Gesturing to the beach bag I’d packed, I stood. “You should take that. I packed some things for Dauphine for … when you find her. In case it’s late and you have to speak to the police or something. There’s a change of clothes and things.”

  “Thank you,” he said and then looked down at his phone, scrolling, his brow furrowed.

  The engine of the boat changed, and I knew we were approaching the port. He pulled out a small brown leather bag of his own and threw in some clothes, then took the beach bag I’d packed and reached in to add the contents to his bag. He transferred the monkey and the clothes and the toothbrush.