Page 87 of My French Love Affair

I groan and tilt my head back towards the sky, my eyes squeezing shut.

This is fine. I can ignore him. I can pretend he’s not here. I can -

"You know," he says, shifting again, "despite your little performance, I think you actually like me being here."

My eyes fly back open as I turn to face him once more. "Have you lost yourmind?"

"You tell me,mon ange. After all, you're the one who keeps ending up in my presence."

"Excuse me,” I scoff, unimpressed. “Youkeep appearing whereIam."

"That’s one way to see it," he shrugs.

"It’s theonlyway to see it!"

“I was here first,” he says, clearly amused. I narrow my eyes as he lifts his glass, studying the liquid casually, like this conversation is completely beneath him. "Like I said before - perhaps it’s fate after all."

I lean forwards to snatch a cocktail napkin from the side of the bar and whip it at his face as quickly as I can.

Despite my speed, he just laughs, dodging the napkin easily.

Ugh.I mean it - Ihatehim.

I hate himso much.

But for one reason or another, my ridiculous brain refuses to ignore the way he’s lounging so effortlessly, how the bright afternoon sunlight catches the edge of his sharp jawline -

How his stupid, infuriating smirk is so dangerously attractive it should be illegal.

He tilts his head and looks at me -reallylooks at me - and something in his expression changes.

"You're staring," he murmurs, his voice lower, now; almostplayful.

I quickly snap out of it.

"I was not."

He lifts a brow. "Hmm."

I hate the way that one noise makes my face heat.

I clear my throat and straighten my posture, trying to regain control of this entire situation.

"So," I say, voice flat. "Do you spend a lot of your free time terrorising women on yachts?"

"Only the ones who steal my car, accuse me of stalking them, and claim I'm a mechanic pretending to be a driver."

I momentarily close my eyes and shake my head from side to side, my lips rolling together as I cling to the last of my patience.

"Iknewyou were never going to let that go.”

"What can I say? It was an excellent moment for me."

"And aterriblemoment for me,” I grumble.

"See? Balance," he grins, sipping his drink.

And then - because apparently, I’m incapable of shutting up - I blurt out, "you're really not as charming as you think you are, you know."

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