Back Broken French
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Full Page Image
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-One
  45. Chapter Forty-Two
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-One
  55. Chapter Fifty-Two
  56. Chapter Fifty-Three
  57. Chapter Fifty-Four
  58. NEXT
  59. EXCERPT STOLEN ENGLISH
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. ALSO BY TASHA BOYD
  62. About the Author

“I heard.” Paco took my baggage up to the steps, and Rod grabbed it and took it inside. I stood in the breeze on the main deck as Paco and Xavier stowed the tender. Above us, on the cliff, I searched out the balustrade of Madame Pascale’s home and saw her and Dauphine standing at the railing, looking tiny from this distance. I waved. They waved back.

Xavier soon joined me, and we stood silently next to each other as the engine turned over and Paco pulled the anchor, then maneuvered us out of the bay. A cool wind had picked up, and goosebumps erupted over my bare arms. Or perhaps it was standing next to this man.

He made a soft throat clearing as if he was about to speak. When nothing came, I turned to him, waiting, as he looked out over the water.

“I don’t know what I am to you right now,” I began. “I mean, are you still my boss? Am I your guest?”

His face swung to mine, blue eyes as complex as the ocean beneath us, fixing on me “What do you want to be?”

My heart bobbed into my throat, shutting off air.

He shook his head suddenly. “I’m sorry, I—” cutting himself off. He winced his eyes shut. “I know you must be angry—”

My head bobbed back in surprise. “Angry? Why would I be angry?” That was the last emotion I was feeling.

“After last night. After what I did. And then you left. I didn’t stop you. I let you leave, thinking …” he trailed off.

“Thinking?” I prompted.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this. I thought I could. I …”

Panic flared. But for exactly what I couldn’t tell. I simply acknowledged the feeling, knowing I’d have to examine it later. “Can’t do what?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He swallowed and looked away.

Clarity hit me. He’d asked me back on the boat. Without Dauphine. My stomach flipped. And I knew.

He looked vulnerable all of a sudden. As rich and powerful as he was, he was also just a man. He was attracted to me. He’d admitted it. Shown me, actually, in no uncertain terms. To be fair, he probably just wanted to get laid. But my relationship with his daughter had complicated things.

And now, for whatever reason, he didn’t know whether or how to proceed. That was what he meant by not being able to do this.