As my head emerged on the top level, the evening breeze cooled my damp hair. My attention was immediately captured by a sparkling turquoise plunge pool glowing with underwater lighting in the twilight. Wow. A pool on a boat. The sounds of chatter, music, and clinking silverware drifted from the port-side restaurants. The smells were heavenly—garlic, charcoal, baking bread. I dragged my eyes toward the presence I could feel to my left, and the skin on my neck tingled.

Xavier Pascale sat at the teak table, leaning back on a matching chair, watching me. His face was expressionless, his blue eyes—glowing with the last of the setting sun hitting his face—were intent. He wore his white linen shirt from earlier and had changed from jeans into a pair of navy shorts and canvas white-soled boat shoes. His toned legs were tanned and sprinkled with dark hair and crossed at the ankles. An arm, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal corded forearms, was slung casually over the backrest of the chair next to him.

My stomach muscles clenched of their own accord, my ovaries jerking like racehorses in a starting block. I swallowed hard. Being attracted to my boss to this extent was going to be very, very dangerous. It was just lust, I told myself sternly, and pressed two fingers against the pulse on my wrist as if I could force my heart to slow down. And given one of the reasons I’d just dropkicked my career, also really ironic that I’d think my boss was hot. I just hoped I didn’t make a fool of myself.

He had papers and a phone spread in front of him, but the other end of the table was set with three dinner places.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” His voice broke the silence between us. It was gravelly yet smooth, like a bed of wet pebbles.

“Hi,” I managed, clearing my throat and feeling as if I’d been caught ogling.

My belly gurgled again.

His brows furrowed.

“That I’m very, very hungry,” I answered with a half-truth, smiling with embarrassment. “It’s been a while since I ate.”

He didn’t respond, and I wasn’t sure if I’d somehow stumbled into a cultural faux pas.

“Okay, well, um, also I’d like to know what you expect of me as Dauphine’s nanny.”

He inhaled through his nose, and then slipped his arm off the chair next to him and sat forward in a slow and deliberate movement. “Take a seat.” He gestured to a chair opposite him.

Obediently, I pulled it out and sat.