The Frenchman
by Lesley Young
(Crime Royalty Romance #1)
Publication date: December 2nd 2014
Genres: Adult, Romance
(Crime Royalty Romance #1)
Publication date: December 2nd 2014
Genres: Adult, Romance
Fleur Smithers rarely veers off the straight and (excruciatingly)
narrow. So moving to the seaport town of Toulon to live with her newfound
biological mother—an inspector with the French National Police—for one year is
a pretty major detour.
Son of France’s crime royalty family and international rugby star,
Louis Messette, is devoted to his sport, famille and nothing else.
But the carefree American he meets one night changes everything. She sparks a
desire in him like no other. Possession takes root. She will do as he
commands.
Bit by bit Fleur slips into the Frenchman’s realm of wanton
pleasure agreeing to his one condition: that she keep their affair secret. She
serves up her heart without reservation in the hub of the glittering Côte
d’Azur, and the along the soulful Seine in Paris, unaware of the danger she is
in. For her new lover’s family business will pit her against her mother, the
police woman sworn to bring down the Messettes. And by then, far more than
Fleur’s heart will be on the line.
READER WARNING: This novel contains explicit sex.
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My
chest hurt from a strange new kind of anxiety, high-pitched, full of woe. Dread
closed in on me. I’d never felt so exposed standing before one human being
before. And realization that he could desecrate me with a mere cold shoulder
sank in.
And
maybe that was his point. But why?
“Is
that what you want? Do you want me to go?” I whispered, trying to keep my voice
steady.
I swear a universe of emotion flickered in his
eyes, but it presented itself so quickly, and was hidden from view, I wondered
if it existed at all.
I
waited.
He
shrugged. As if I was asking him what color tie he wanted to wear.
I
gasped. The floor opened up beneath me, and, as I fell, I knew it then. He was
the keeper—the keeper of our connection. And he’d decided to punish me, without
explanation, to prove a point that he refused to explain.
I
recalled thinking once that he was a rotten man. What had happened to that
idea? It was suddenly clear and present again.
I
rushed into my dress, zipping it up on the way to the door. I stumbled because
tragedy lay before me.
Was
I going to leave?
My
heart was up in my throat, and tears ran down my cheeks.
Why
was he so mean?
I
didn’t understand!
I
was steps from his door. Yes. I was running home. To my mother. Like the child
he clearly thought I was. The lump in my throat ached, as with one last gasp of
disbelief, I pulled on the handle, desperate for him to stop me and desperate
to get away, but . . . the door wouldn’t budge.
I
tugged again.
Oh.
His
hand was above me, holding it closed. The tattoo glared down at me. He’d moved—fast.
To stop me.
He
didn’t want me to leave after all.
I
didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified or angry.
I
felt, only, numb.
When
he stepped into me, my body moved of its own volition as close to the door as
possible.
Seems
he’d gotten what he was so desperate to have. I was scared of him.
He
buried his face in my hair, and my chest burned. Tears of hurt streamed down my
face. What had just happened? My heart was pumping so fast it was going to
burst and spray black everywhere, and I didn’t even know why!
“Fleur,”
he whispered.
No.
I shook my head, but his body had drawn close and followed mine as I tried to
shift away against the door.
“Fleur,”
he whispered.
I
paused. We stood there, barely touching, me trapped in a standstill of
. . . hope. So much hope. Pure hope. It was a field of azure
bluebells on a Texas highway promising to bud every spring without tending or
mercy. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, not by the way he had said my
name, or in general, anymore, and I didn’t care, not as long as he wanted me.
Slowly,
gently, he pulled me into him, and I let him.
I
let him.
And
. . . time began again.
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