Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
As the machine works, I swear I can feel his eyes on me. I busy myself with a cloth. The room is suddenly too warm and too small, and my thoughts are dedicated too much to him.
When I finally turn, he says nothing. He just looks at me, looks at me like he can see right through my skin, through flesh and bone, to the very core of me.
It’s unnerving. So penetrating.
I set the cup down in front of him.
“Merci, Primrose.”
His hand wraps the tiny vessel, and he stares up at me. I know what you look like with no clothes on, his gaze seems to say. I know the sounds you make when you’re at your most vulnerable.
And I realize I know neither of those things about him.
“De rien,” I answer brightly.
Luc’s eyes narrow almost infinitesimally. But any fool can say “you’re welcome” in French. Can’t they?
“Bravo!” Sylvie claps her hands together like a delighted kindergarten teacher. “Vous parlez Français, Primrose!”
“I can speak a little French,” I mumble, turning back to the machine.
“How much French do you have?” Luc asks in French.
My back to him, I give a shrug. “You speak too fast.”
“How much French do you know?” he asks in English this time.
“Just what I learned in school.” Over seven years and multiple holidays here. I’m not fluent, but I do okay. Not that I’ll ever tell.
“I will teach you!” Sylvie insists. “I am a very good French speaker, right, Papa.”
“You never shut up,” Felix grouses.
“Perhaps we can all help Primrose learn how things are done in France.”
There’s a particular note in his tone, one I’m not touching—not with a ten-foot pole. Zoe appears back in the kitchen at that moment, sliding a fair-sized square bandage into my hand.
“That’s to protect the burn, and this,” she says, pressing a spiky bit of aloe vera plant into my hand, “is to cool it.”
I frown. “What?”
“Primrose burned her neck on her straightening irons this morning.” She gives a playful roll of her eyes and a tsk.
Bless her for trying to protect my job. She might not have been fooled by such tosh, but she obviously thinks a man would be. Just not the man responsible for administering it.
“How unfortunate.” His eyes darken as they drop to my neck.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” I quirk a brow. Your fault.
“May I get you some breakfast, sir?” Zoe asks as she shoos me to the other side of the island. I take a seat at the far edge this time.
“Non, merci. Actually,” he adds, “I think I will have eggs.”
Zoe cocks her head to one side. The bloke doesn’t usually eat around this time.
“I appear to have quite an appetite this morning.”
No. Nope. Not touching that and not lifting my head.
“Bien sûr. Baked or…”
“An omelette, I think.”
Zoe nods and makes for the cold store.
“With chives,” he adds, causing her to halt.
“I’ll get some from the garden.” She swings around.
The door closes, and Luc turn my way, reaching to pull the towel slowly from my neck. I have the good sense to fight the resultant shiver.
“Eggs? That’s very a very English breakfast.”
“Is it? You’re not eating?” His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there for a beat.
“Err, no. I mean, not yet.”
“I do not like porridge,” Sylvie announces. “Or kippers.” Along with the long, rolling r, she gives a shiver of distaste.
“Then you should not have ordered them at the hotel,” Felix answers.
“I had to find out how bad they tasted. And they taste very bad!”
“Let Primrose eat her breakfast,” he says, loading a small plate with pastries and fruit from the platter. I can’t hide my surprise as he places it in front of me. Or my mistrust. “Eat.” His expression softens.
“I…” I nod and do as he says. Mainly because it’ll give me something to do.
“You should take better care.” His voice is as dark and rich as the coffee he’s ignoring as he watches me chew.
I press my hand to my pastry-filled mouth “Obf?” Hmm.
“Perhaps you might invest in better straighteners.”
“You think?”
“Hmm. The current pair seem to be unusually possessive. Leaving their mark on you.” His eyes dip and darken.
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to pay attention before further endangering myself.” My words sound as thick as the jam I spread on the remains of my croissant.
“I’m going to put on my swimsuit.” Sylvie scrambles down from her stool. “Primrose is taking me swimming!”
He smiles his daughter’s way. “Lucky you.”
“It’s just the pool,” Felix mutters, helping himself to another glass of juice.
“Don’t you want to swim?” I ask him.
“I don’t need to be supervised,” he mutters. “But thank you,” he adds as an afterthought. No doubt, he wants to keep me on side so I won’t divulge our little tête-à-tête last night. “I’m going to my room.” He throws back his juice, the stool legs protesting against the terracotta as he pushes it back.