She cleared her throat again, trying to school her expression. “So sorry to interrupt, Monsieur Pascale, “she said, her voice a little squeaky. “But Captain said we might hit some rough water soon and wanted to make sure everyone was, ahem, not about to go overboard.”

My cheeks burned and I pressed my cool fingertips against them to calm down. I had a leprechaun in my belly leaping up and down, flinging rainbow confetti all over the place.

Xavier turned, his expression nonchalant. Bored even. God, I really needed to know how he did that thing where he wiped his expression clear as a poker player. “Thank you, Andrea. Please tell Chef we’ll need only aperitifs this evening before docking in Calvi. Mademoiselle Marin and I will be having dinner in the port.”

“We will?” I whipped to face him.

His eyes locked with mine, and I saw only a flicker of warmth and familiarity I’d seen moments before our kiss. But it was enough to know the man I’d kissed was still in there and apparently not regretting it.

I turned to Andrea, lifting a shoulder and fighting a grin. “We will.”

I had a feeling he’d presented it as a fait accompli to reduce the chance of my refusal. As if I would. But it made my heart swell to think that was something he was worried about. I vowed to peel back that gruff exterior in the next couple of days and understand the man underneath.

“Very well.” Andrea returned my grin and spun on her heel, leaving a scowly Xavier on the deck.

“You don’t like them knowing, do you?” I asked, still unable to scour the giddy grin from my face.

“There’s not much the crew of this boat doesn’t know, but oui, I have never forced them to witness my social life.”

My grin finally eased. “I’m assuming by social life you mean the women you date?”

Xavier’s hand came up and a thumb pressed a smoothing caress between my eyebrows. “Interesting,” he mused with a slight chuckle. “Un peu jalouse?”

Jealous? I wasn’t answering that.

His grin spread wide.

I blinked. “When you smile at me like that, my heart skips a beat,” I told him.

He stared at me, his expression growing serious again. I began to second guess my honesty. God, this was definitely supposed to be just a fling, and here I was having conversations with myself about finding the man inside and talking out loud to him about my heart. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “It was just a turn of phrase.” I shook my head, my cheeks warming again, but this time with embarrassment.

“Protect it.”

“What?”

“Your heart. Please. I cannot be responsible for it.”

My throat clogged. “Of course, I—”