Page 150 of My French Love Affair

Like it will put me even more at his mercy.

I shake my head slightly, my fingers brushing against the ribbon handles as I glance back at him.

"You really didn’t need to do this."

"Of course I did,” he says, one brow lifting as he tilts his head. “It would be criminal to invite a woman as beautiful as you to dinner and arrive empty-handed."

My breath catches, and I fight the warmth creeping up my neck.

"You didn’t exactly come empty-handed," I argue, dragging my gaze away from his and trying my best to find my footingin this ridiculous, glitzy,surrealevening. "You did send four massive bouquets of roses to my room."

He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. "English gentlemen must be doing something terribly wrong if this isn’t the kind of treatment you expect."

I freeze for a fraction of a second, his words sinking in.

I don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right.

I’ve never expected this kind of treatment - not from Noah, not from anyone. Noah had come from a reasonably wealthy background, sure, but the most extravagant thing he’d ever bought me was flowers on Valentine’s Day.

And even those had been from a supermarket.

This?

Chanel swimwear, luxury bouquets, dinner arranged, a personal driver, a Cartier gift waiting for me on the table…

This is something else entirely.

My fingers tighten slightly on the Cartier bag before I finally inhale and carefully pull the ribbon loose.

Frederic watches me intently, his expression unreadable, his blue eyes sharp and focused as I lift the lid of the box inside.

A soft gasp catches in my throat, and I resist the urge to both slam the lid shut and hide my face from view.

A delicate, golden bracelet - simple, elegant and understated yet impossibly expensive-looking - rests against the velvet lining.

I run my fingers over it lightly, my stomach twisting with something unfamiliar.

It’sbeautiful.

"You didn’t have to…"

Frederic leans forward slightly, his voice smooth, leaving no room for argument.

"Here - allow me."

I swallow, my pulse jumping as he reaches for it.

For a second, I hesitate, eyeing him carefully from across the booth.

And then - slowly - I stretch my arm out toward him.

His fingers brush against my skin as he takes my wrist, his touch firm yet careful. His thumb lingers against my pulse, and I know he feels it racing.

The bracelet is cool against my skin as he fastens it around my wrist, his fingers grazing me as he locks it into place.

It’s nothing, really. Just a simple touch.

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