The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) Read Free

Nothing is absolute.” His voice slowed as he looked at me. “We’re just…getting to know one another.”
    I held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary and then quickly nodded and went to translate. “Wait,” I asked. “I don’t know your name. What do I call you?”
    He grinned. “Vannier. Erard Vannier.” He was sitting back in his chair, as lazily relaxed as if he was lounging around at home. His eyes gave something that I almost would have said was a twinkle, if I hadn’t known better. Guys didn’t twinkle their eyes at me, especially not ones like him.
    I cleared my throat. “Mr. Vannier says….” I began. I saw his smile widen and wondered why. I plunged on and the meeting began.
    The first few minutes were terrifying. I barely had time to look at Erard, because most of the talking was done by the others and I had to laser-focus on them, making sure I didn’t miss a word. Then I’d spin and repeat what they’d said to Erard, and he’d nod and smile and think for a second and then trot out a short reply.
    On about the tenth exchange, I caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface of someone’s laptop lid. I could see him quite clearly, sitting next to me, but he wasn’t looking where I was, down the table towards the others. He was looking to his side. He was looking at me.
    I swallowed and felt the heat rise in my face. No, not my face…my whole damn body. And it wasn’t the same kind of embarrassed heat I usually got when someone stared at me. This was coming from somewhere deeper inside, somewhere right at the core of me.
    I turned to Erard to translate for him and he smiled so patiently and indulgently and goddamn gorgeously that I mistook décennie (ten days) for décade and told him the negotiations would take about ten years to complete. His smile broadened for a second, but he didn’t call me on it and I was very grateful for that.
    After a while, it started to get easier. I could feel long-disused cogs starting to turn in my brain, dusty vocabulary being trundled out of the archives and into the sunlight. My initial fear burned away and I started to relax a little. I even began to enjoy myself. I can do this, I realized, amazed. And this is so much better than working at the diner. Listening to Erard’s words was like bathing in honey—I would have closed my eyes, I enjoyed it so much, if that wouldn’t have made me look even weirder. I actually forgot he was speaking to me in French, the translation began to flow so easily.
    That’s when Erard threw me the first curveball. “Tell them yes on the media department but there’ll need to be concessions on their side when it comes to purchasing. Also, I want to delicately lick your breasts until you come.”
    I got as far as translating concessions before the end of the sentence registered in my brain. My head snapped back to Erard as if on a spring.
    He was grinning at me. And not in a teasing, evil way. In a teasing, sexy way. As if he actually meant it.
    My whole body seemed to vibrate, as if someone had strummed me like a guitar string. The heat flashed through my body, soaking into every part of me. I swallowed and gaped and then translated just the first sentence.
    “None of them speak French,” Erard told me.
    I looked around at the eight other people at the table. No one looked shocked or amazed at what he’d said…but would they? What if they did understand and were just hiding it?
    My mouth moved, but no words came out.
    “Have I offended you?” asked Erard. “That was not my intention.”
    Yes, I thought automatically. Of course you have! You can’t just say something like that to a woman!
    “I meant what I said,” Erard told me.
    The heat roiled and swelled inside me. I closed my eyes for a second. He’s just taunting you, I thought. No one’s interested in a woman who looks like you. He’s kidding.
    I opened my eyes and met his gaze. Oh God. He wasn’t kidding.
    I swallowed. I looked