Page 64 of My French Love Affair

It’s been hours since she walked away, her chin lifted high in that stubborn, defiant way of hers, the last words she threw at me still ringing in my ears.

"Turns out I’m not into tortured poets."

I should be irritated. Should be brushing her off.

Instead, I’m amused.

She’s a damn menace. Sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed, constantly looking at me like I’m something she’s already figured out. Like she thinks she’simmune.

She’s not.

The car glides through the streets of Monaco, the city still alive with the hum of nightlife, the glow of streetlights flickering across the windows as I lean back into the leather seat.

I should be thinking about my training tomorrow. I should be focused.

Instead, I can still feel the warmth of her waist beneath my hands, the way her body fit against mine, the way she moved with me even when she fought it.

Because that’s the thing - she didn’twantto enjoy it.

She wanted to scowl, to roll her eyes, to tell me off in that clipped English accent that makes everything sound a little more severe than it really is.

But despite that, she still followed my lead.

I exhale sharply, forcing my gaze out the window, watching as we pull up in front of my hotel.

It feels strange, heading back here instead of staying at the Moreau estate. Myhome.But my life doesn’t fit there right now. The hotel is where my team is, where the schedule is locked in, where my days are planned to the minute.

Where I keep my discipline intact.

I step out of the car, giving a brief nod to the doorman before heading inside, my mind still running in circles. A few lingering guests throw glances my way as I make my way to the elevator, hushed whispers that I pointedly ignore.

I don’t have time for it. Not tonight.

The second I enter my suite, I start stripping off my shirt, tossing my keys onto the counter, rolling my neck to relieve the tension creeping down my spine. The place is pristine: cool, crisp linens, floor-to-ceiling windows offering an uninterrupted view of the city.

It has everything I need.

So why the hell do I feel so restless?

I should go to sleep. Let the exhaustion pull me under, push everything else from my mind.

But I can still see her. I can stillfeelher.

That slight hitch in her breath when I pulled her in. The way her fingers twitched against my shoulder before she caught herself. The way her lips parted, just for a second.

I swear I can still hear her voice.

"You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?"

I smirk slightly, shaking my head as I head toward the bathroom, unbuttoning my trousers, stepping out of them as I turn on the shower. She knows who I am now - I have her friends to thank for that - but it certainly didn’t change anything about the way she spoke to me, the way she behaved around me.

The moment the water hits my skin, I let out a slow exhale, rolling my shoulders, willing the tension away.

But it doesn’t leave.

Shedoesn’t leave.

I see the way she looked up at me, bright eyes flashing with irritation and something else she refused to name.

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