Taking the wine, I clinked against his glass softly, then took a small sip. The tart chill slipped over my tongue. “How about you tell me about your latest hotel project?”

“Ah. Hard to keep a secret in this town, eh?”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the concrete kitchen counter. “About as hard as keeping a secret on a boat.”

He chuckled and nodded.

Setting my wine aside, I clasped my hands. “I don’t want to work for Tate ever again. I would have thought you’d known that.”

“I did.”

My eyebrows pinched together. “So why ask him to give me my job back or risk losing the business entirely?”

“So you could have the pleasure of telling him to fuck off.”

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I reveled in the ballooning joy and love that was filling my chest. “Ah,” I said. “And why would that be?”

“I figured that was the best gift I could give a woman who doesn’t need anything.”

“You bought an entire hotel project worth millions just so I could tell someone to stuff it?”

“I wanted him to recognize how talented you were, how much he’d lost, how short-sighted he was, and I wanted him to beg. Did he beg?”

“For him, I think it was begging.” I shrugged, trying to fight the smile that was desperate to break out.

“Some men don’t know how to beg,” he said quietly, rounding the counter top. He stopped when we were face to face. His eyes roamed all over me, leaving sparks in their wake. Taking a lock of my hair, he twisted it around his finger.

“Is that so?” I asked, my breath choppy. “Are you one of those men?”

He bit his lip as if deep in thought, then looked me square in the eyes and slowly got down on his knees.

I laughed nervously. “Xavier, get up. I was joking.”

His fingers wandered up my thighs and hips to my waist and then encircled me, his forehead coming forward to rest against my belly.

I swallowed, my mouth dry and my heart racing. My fingers danced through his soft hair.

His lips found my skin under my shirt.

I hissed in a breath.

“Please,” he begged against my skin, peppering soft kisses and taking small tastes. “Will you be with me? Will you be with Dauphine and me? Will you let me love you? Will you love this broken heart of mine? And forgive me for hurting you? Let me wake up every morning to your smile, to the smell of your skin, to the sound of your love?”

“I don’t—ouch!” I hissed. “Did you just bite me?”

“Mais, oui. You said something that did not sound like yes.”

“Maybe you aren’t that good at begging.”

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, mischief dancing in his darkening eyes.

“Also, I actually do want to consult on that project.”