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

helplessly at him, my eyes wide. In my mind, his head was right there, his hair against the side of my neck, those soft, strong lips at the sensitive skin of my breasts. Until you come, he’d said. God.
    He gave me another of those smiles and, this time, those eyes definitely did twinkle. At me.
    “Tell me not to do it again,” he said, “And I won’t. Or just ask them whether they’d consider opening up their distribution pipeline to us.”
    My heart thumped once. Twice. Three times.
    I turned to the rest of the table. “Mr. Vannier asks, ‘Would you consider opening up your distribution pipeline?’” I said.
    I could feel Erard’s eyes on me but I didn’t dare look at him. I focused on the answers the others were giving, but it didn’t stop my mind from screaming at me: What have I done?! I could feel the arousal throbbing through me, twice as strong as before. But none of this made sense! Guys like him weren’t interested in girls like me!
    I translated the answers back to Erard. He nodded, watching me carefully. I realized I was leaning forward in my seat, desperate to know whether he was going to throw in another comment. He stared at me for a long time. The others probably thought he was thinking on their answers, but I had a strong suspicion that he didn’t care about them at all.
    “Tell them that is mostly acceptable, but they need to rethink their branding. And….”
    I held my breath.
    “…that we need to discuss merging administration.”
    I turned to translate, my head spinning. Suddenly, it was all business. What was he doing?
    Everything was normal for another few minutes, and then, “Ask them whether they’d consider moving their Swiss office,” he said. “And tell me, are your breasts as gorgeous underneath that uniform as I imagine?”
    I flushed and stammered my way through the translation and then cast a couple of quick glances his way. Yep, he actually did seem to be waiting for an answer. My eyes whipped around the other people at the table. What if one of them did speak French?
    I took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I told him. “I don’t know what you’re imagining.”
    “Then you leave me no choice,” he said. “I’ll have to get you naked and find out.”
    He gave me another one of those dazzling, maddening smiles. How could he be so calm?! I was caught halfway between panic and a swirling, building heat.
    This is insane. He’s rich and hot. Why would he want me? God, right there at the table, two of the three women were definitely giving him the eye, and they had legs up to their armpits and tight, slender bodies that fitted neatly into their beautifully-cut designer jackets. I had—I looked down—breasts that attracted far too much attention and an ass squeezed into a hideous waitress uniform. He wouldn’t pick me over them. I shouldn’t even be on his radar. So why was this happening?
    Maybe he’s just having fun at my expense. Pretending to be interested so he can make fun of the big girl. My insides twisted—for a second, I was right back in the playground and when my eyes closed for a second I could almost hear the chanting. But, when I opened them again and studied Erard…it didn’t feel like that. I was paranoid about people making fun of me. I could sure as hell spot it when it happened and, unless he was the world’s best actor, that wasn’t what he was doing.
    Which means this is for real. My heart did a somersault.
    There was another few minutes of normal discussion. And then Erard threw in, “This table is just the right height for fucking you on.”
    My eyes bulged.
    “Have you ever done it on a table?” he asked.
    I shook my head. I glanced down the length of the table. Everyone was waiting patiently, but one woman was frowning. Not as if she knew what we were saying, but she seemed to sense something was going on.
    Erard nodded to me as if in understanding. And then he told me to tell the others that the meeting was over. A few of them