Page 252 of My French Love Affair

Publicly. Without hesitation.

Without asking me.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

Ireallyliked it.

I’m still trying to process it, to make sense of the strange fluttering in my chest, when a staff member suddenly appears at the VIP lounge, standing just inside the doorway.

They clear their throat before addressing me directly.

"Mademoiselle Taylor?"

I blink, startled.

Usually, when Frederic summons me, it’s discreet - meant only for me. But this time, the staff member’s voice is clear, deliberate, carrying across the entire lounge.

"Monsieur Moreau invites you - and your friends - to join him."

There’s a split second of silence before the girls begin to chirp excitedly.

Emma grips my arm like she might faint.

“Fuckinghell,Pops,” she squeals, and I try not to wince at her tight gripandher choice language in the middle of the fancy lounge. “Your boyfriend has summoned us all!”

"Guess I don’t have a choice, then," I mutter, cheeks burning as I stand.

"Nope," Jas smirks. "Now get moving before Emmacombusts."

* * *

The staff member leads us through the paddock, weaving between fans, media personnel and special guests.

The energy is still buzzing from the race, the high of Frederic’s victory vibrating in the air.

I keep my head up, trying to act casual, but my heart is hammering in my chest.

It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve spent so much time with this man over the past few weeks, have had his hands on me in ways that should make me immune to feeling this flustered.

And yet, there’s something different about this.

Being invited into his world like this, brought into his inner circle, his team - it’s another level entirely.

Finally, we arrive at a private Mercedes hospitality suite, and the moment I step inside, I spot him.

He’s still in his race suit, and his damp hair is pushed back, his face flushed from exertion. There’s a champagne flute dangling loosely in one hand as he talks to a small group.

But the second he sees me,everythingchanges.

His entire expression shifts, his smirk slow and knowing as his eyes lock onto mine.

He sets his drink down, moving with the kind of confidence that makes my stomach tighten, that makes my pulse hammer against my ribs.

The room, the people, the chatter - it all blurs into the background as he crosses towards me, every step deliberate, every movement dripping with purpose.

My breath catches the moment he reaches me.

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