Page 243 of My French Love Affair

Andfuck, he looks good.

The race suit fits him perfectly, hugging every inch of his lean, powerful frame. The sleek black and silver fabric clings to his broad shoulders, his sculpted arms, his impossibly strong thighs.

The top half is unzipped slightly, the sleeves tied loosely around his waist, revealing the black compression shirtbeneath - thin enough that I can see every defined line of his chest, every contour of muscle.

He was built for this.

For racing. For commanding attention.

For making every single person in this venue watch him, wait for him.

Even with the world’s eyes on him, somehow, he still manages to steal all of my focus, too.

And yet, somehow, he makes me feel like I’m the only one in the world.

I love our game. The chase, the teasing. The way he commands me so effortlessly, how I push back just enough to keep things interesting.

I love how he enjoys my defiance, how he bends me to his will without ever forcing me, how I always,alwaysend up right where he wants me.

But I also love the other side of him.

The man who sends me flowers and gifts - not just as grand gestures but as quiet reminders that he’s thinking of me. The man who orders me cars and makes sure I have everything I could possibly need before I even have to ask.

The man who fucked me against the door of an abandoned room with reckless, possessive hunger - only to check on me afterward like I was something to be cared for, something to be cherished.

And that’s the part that gets to me the most. That’s the part that terrifies me.

Because I love being with him.

And I can’t bear to think about the fact that in just a few moredays, we’re supposed to go home.

I don’t know what that means for us.Fuck; I don’t even know if thereisan ‘us’.

All I know is that I don’t want this to end.

Just then, he spots me.

Even from this distance, I see the flicker of recognition in his face - the slight narrowing of his sharp blue eyes, the way his lips twitch before curving into a slow, wicked grin.

That grin does something to me.

I barely have a second to prepare before he lifts a hand, exaggeratedly puckers his lips and blows me a kiss.

I burst out laughing, shaking my head at his audacity.

Arrogant bastard.

And yet, my stomach flips, warmth creeping over my skin.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He always does.

Still smiling, I raise a hand in a small wave, my heart hammering against my ribs.

There’s movement behind me, and I glance over to see Jas watching me with an all-too-knowing expression. Her head is tilted slightly, her arms crossed as she leans against the doorway of the lounge, and I roll my eyes, stepping back inside, my fingers still tingling as I sink into the seat beside her.

“What?” I ask, my smile still lingering.

Jas just shakes her head, her expression soft, her eyes warm.

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