Page 72 of My French Love Affair

I don’t even bother to change properly. I just slip out of my dress, grab the nearest sleep shirt and climb under the soft hotel sheets.

The last thing I hear before I drift off is Leah murmuring something about how this is what life should feel like - glamorous, carefree and exciting.

I’m prone to agree.

Because for the first time in days, everything is peacefully, blissfully simple.

* * *

Of course my subconscious has to go and ruin it.

Because he’s there, in my dreams.

Frederic.

His hands on my waist, the way they were last night. But this time, they linger.

This time, they pull me closer.

His breath, warm against my ear.

His hands, hot and rough as they tilt my chin up towards him.

His lips, soft and gentle and just barely ghosting over mine -

I jerk awake, heart pounding, my whole body burning.

What. The. Fuck.

I blink up at the ceiling, mortified, my skin way too warm despite the cool sheets.

I refuse to let my brain do this.

I throw the covers away from my body, not even thinking about the possibility of disturbing Emma from where she’s sleeping next to me.

Instead, I squeeze my eyes to a tight close, like I can force the memory out of my head through sheer will.

But I swear I can still feel it.

The weight of his hands. The heat of his breath.

The almost-kiss that I will never admit to anyone,ever, underanycircumstances.

I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.

Thiscannotbe happening.

I am notthat girl.I've barely even spared a thought to my ex-boyfriend of nine months since I've arrived here - I do not dream about infuriating, cocky French men.

I roll over, pulling the covers back up and forcing my eyes shut.

After all, if I don’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen. That’s the rule.

Well, that’smyrule, anyway.

And I will not break it for him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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