As
we neared the yacht, I could see only lights from a few windows of
the cabin area. Near the bow, men were lingering, smoking. I was
shaky as I walked across the sloped plank, and it wasn’t from the
cold wind coming off the sea.
Louis’s
entourage joined me on the deck. I was struck by how much larger the
entire boat seemed once you were on it. My escorts pointed in the
direction of the lit cabin with encouraging nods. Just outside the
doorway, looking down into the deep inset cabin, I spotted Louis
sitting at an elaborate bar, sipping a highball.
He
was poised, on the edge of a stool, in black dress pants, one long,
thick leg stretched out, the other bent underneath the stool. The
sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up, which, I noted, might
be a habit of his. He spun the whiskey around in his hand, watching
the golden elixir reflect light. I wondered if he was trying to read
his fortune in that glass, he stared so intently at it. I recalled
the night we met, at the bistro, how he gave off animosity. But now I
knew better: it was power.
He
glanced up and watched me step down into the cabin. His silent
magnitude left me breathless. He took in my dress quickly, eyes
steady, and when he broke into a smile, my heart skipped a beat.
“You
came,” he said in English, standing up, looking ginormous in the
tiny room.
“Bien
sûr,” I answered. Why would he think I wouldn’t?
He
was already near. It was odd: his face was sketched with relief. He
reached for my hand and pulled me to him, brushing his mouth close to
mine with a mere greeting. He paused, hovering near, suddenly
shifting his lower half up so close I could feel the heat coming off
of him. He clamped his lips down on mine with two-ton force. I was
crushed under all his intensity as he nudged my mouth open and tasted
me. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I kissed him back, tasting
the whiskey on his tongue, smelling his cologne and natural musk. We
lingered a moment, before he pulled back and, clasping both my
cheeks, planted two more soft kisses on my lips.
***
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 bluebonnets 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.
This is
the first book I've read by Lesley Young. I was drawn to The
Frenchman, the first book in The Crime Royalty Romance series because
of the international setting for the plot. This was a much welcome
and refreshing change from what I've read recently.
Fleur
LaSalle Smithers is in Toulon for a year in an attempt to build a
relationship with her biological mother. She's lived a sheltered
life with her adoptive mom in Austin, Texas and is now spreading her
wings to find her family roots in France. Fleur came across as
unworldly and rather naïve at times. Her attitude and responses
made her seem far younger than her twenty-three years.
Louis
Mesette is an enigmatic man. To the outside world he's a
professional rugby player with an aristocratic background, not
forgetting his playboy notoriety. To others he's a member of a crime
family involved in underworld activities. After all his family own
the Port of Toulon, a perfect place to illegally smuggle drugs!
Sparks
eventually fly between our protagonists after Louis originally
rejected Fleur to protect her innocence, completely misreading that
underneath her naivety is a passionate woman screaming to escape. It
isn't long before their differing worlds collide as their mutual
family connections clash. Is it possible for the daughter of a
police inspector to find happiness with a man with criminal
connections?
Overall
this was an entertaining book and if you are unfamiliar with the
French language you will learn a phrase or two as you become
embroiled within the storyline. I
struggled for the first third of the book to get into the story as it
was a little slow, but the pace did increase to keep my focus and
attention. The suspense aspect was as unexpected surprise added a
welcome dimension to the plot. I
particularly liked that the author showed the cultural differences
between Fleur and Louis during their interactions, giving examples of
what is fine and acceptable in US is definitely not au fait in
France.
I
know that the next book in this series is based around an Australian,
but would be interested to know if the author will re-visit the
Mesette family again because I'm sure Georges, Henri and Philippe
Mesette have interesting stories to tell too.
3 ¾
stars – would have been
4 stars if not for the slow beginning.
***arc received in exchange for an honest review***
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