Page 203 of My French Love Affair

I should say something. I should act normal.

In fact, I should tell him that sending someone to collect me is the most obnoxious thing he’s ever done.

Instead, all I manage is a stuttered out -

“You look…”

My words trail off as he stops inches away, and Frederic lifts a brow, grinning.

“Go on.”

I snap my mouth shut, hating myself.

He laughs softly, reaching up to pull the zipper of his suit a little higher. It’s like he’s teasing me, and I have to wonder just how much he knows this will be affecting me.

“Well?” he drawls, his blue eyes dancing over my face. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

I blink, forcing myself to focus.

Right. The race.

“Uh, yeah. Congratulations.”

He smirks. “That was convincing.”

I exhale, rolling my eyes. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to throw myself at your feet?”

Frederic hums, tilting his head. “Not your worst idea.”

I glare, though I’m very much fighting back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, reaching out, his fingers brushing lightly over my wrist, “here you are.”

A shiver races up my spine, my pulse thrumming beneath his touch.

Because for the first time today, it’s just us.

No glass barriers. No roaring crowds. No flashing cameras or blurred images on a screen.

And he knows it.

His fingers skim my wrist, light as air, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle over my skin. His blue eyes flick over me, taking me in.

It’s an innocent enough touch, an innocent enoughlook,but the heat behind his hands and his eyes is unmistakable.

And everything about it burns.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice low, smooth, “what did you think?”

I blink, trying to focus.

“What?”

He smirks. “Of the session.”

Shit.

“It was…” I clear my throat, forcing my voice to work. “It was fast.”

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