Page 100 of My French Love Affair

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

His eyes drop to my lips.

Lingering.Daring.

My heart hammers against my ribs, so loud I swear he must be able to hear it. The room feels smaller, the air thicker, now - charged with something dangerous and electric.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s about to close the distance, like he’s waiting for the moment I’ll stop him.

And I should.

I should say something,dosomething. I should raise my hands to his chest and shove him away, should put an end to whatever this is before it spirals any further out of control.

But I don’t.

I just stand there, pinned between his body and the door, my pulse roaring in my ears, my breath uneven, my lips parting.

Waiting.

“I’ll make this easy for you,mon ange,” he says softly. “You have two choices.”

Oh, good. We’ve already established how much Ilovegames.

“Choice one: You turn around, walk out of this room, and I won’t speak to you again.”

I swallow hard, barely breathing as his fingers ghost over my waist, like he’s already preparing himself for the possibility of letting go.

“I’ll stay away,” he continues. “I’ll leave you alone. And you have my word: you’ll never have to deal with me ever again.”

A pause.

Quite possibly the longest pause of my life.

“Or?” I whisper, barely able to find my voice.

His lips twitch - just slightly, just enough to make mystomach tighten - but there’s nothing playful about the way he looks at me now.

He leans in, his movements slow and deliberate. His nose skims the edge of my jaw, his breath warm against my skin.

“Or… you stay.”

My pulseroars, pounding so hard I can feel it everywhere.

Frederic brings a hand up, the backs of his fingers barely grazing my jaw before trailing lower, following the delicate line of my neck, down, down - until they reach the thin strap of my dress.

His fingers toy with it, his touch featherlight, his knuckles brushing against my bare shoulder as he exhales slowly, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“But if you stay,” he murmurs, voice like velvet, low and lethal, “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

A shiver rolls down my spine.

The silence between us is charged, borderline suffering and thick enough to drown in. My breathing is shallow, my skin is on fire, and my entire body is screaming at me to make a decision.

But there’s no decision to be made, because I already know the answer.

Ishouldleave.

Ishouldwalk away.

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