Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
The bracelet is cool against my skin as he fastens it around my wrist, his fingers grazing me as he locks it into place.
It’s nothing, really. Just a simple touch.
But it feels electric.
His eyes flick up to mine as he adjusts the clasp, and I suddenly forget how to breathe.
There’s something in the way he looks at me. Something dark and knowing. Something that says he enjoys this - that he enjoys making me squirm.
When he finally releases me, I don’t move immediately.
I should.
I should pull my hand back. I should put some space between us.
I should say something.
But I can’t.
I sit there for a moment, my wrist still in the space where his fingers just were, my entire body feeling like it’s caught in some kind of spell.
His spell.
And that’s dangerous.
I snap out of it and glance down at my wrist, pulling it back towards me and turning it slightly so that the golden bracelet catches in the soft candlelight.
"Thank you," I murmur, my fingers brushing over it lightly. "I mean it. You really didn’t have to."
Frederic leans back in his seat, watching me with a small smirk, his arm draped lazily over the back of the booth.
"I wanted to."
Before I can respond, a waiter appears at the entryway to our booth, dressed immaculately in a pressed white shirt and black waistcoat.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Moreau. Mademoiselle," he greets us smoothly as he steps inside, placing two large glasses of wine down on the table. “Are you ready to order?”
I glance at the menu on the table, realising I haven’t had the chance to read it yet.
Frederic seems to notice, his lips twitching slightly in amusement as he looks over at me.
"Would you like me to order for you?"
I blink. Order for me?
I’ve never let anyone do that before. The idea should irk me, should irritate the control freak in me; but the way he says it - so casually confident - makes me hesitate.
And against all logic - against everything I should probably say - I nod.
"Alright," I say, surprised at myself. "Go ahead."
The waiter waits patiently as Frederic smoothly places our order.
He orders tartare de bœuf to start, followed by magret de canard - something about seared duck breast, I think. I try to listen, but I’m too distracted by the way his voice curls effortlessly around the French words, too caught up in the fact that I just willingly handed over control to this man and somehow, I don’t hate it.
The waiter nods, collecting the menus, before stepping back and disappearing as quietly as he arrived.
I exhale, leaning back into the plush booth as I shake my head slightly.
"This whole thing feels surreal," I admit, more to myself than to him. "Fancy restaurant, expensive gifts, you ordering for me like this is some kind of classic romance novel -"
He lifts a brow, his smirk widening. "Are you admitting I’m romantic, mon ange?"
I scoff. "Not in the slightest."
His chuckle is quiet, indulgent. "I would think that sending flowers and jewelry is quite romantic."
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue. Instead, I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
"So, is this what you do?” I ask. “Lure unsuspecting women into fancy restaurants with expensive gifts and smooth words?"
Frederic exhales a quiet laugh, swirling his wine glass between his fingers. "If that were the case, you’d hardly be unsuspecting, Poppy."
I narrow my eyes, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling. "That’s not an answer."
He takes a slow sip of wine, his light eyes twinkling with amusement over the rim of his glass.
"You’re assuming I take women out to dinner often."
I raise a brow. "Don’t you?"
He sets his glass down with deliberate ease, his smirk widening. "Would it bother you if I did?"
I roll my eyes, but before I can deflect, he leans in slightly, resting his forearm against the table.
"Let me guess," he muses, his voice dripping with amusement. "You’ve already made up your mind about me."
I arch a brow. "I think I have a pretty good idea, yes."
He hums thoughtfully. "Go on, then."
I drum my fingers against the table as I look over at him.
"You’re used to getting exactly what you want,” I say. “You’re arrogant, insufferably smug, and you have a habit of pushing people just to see if they’ll push back."
His lips twitch upwards. "Go on."
"You’re incredibly competitive,” I say, thinking of his career. “You can’t resist a challenge. And you definitely think you’re charming enough to talk your way out of anything."
Frederic chuckles, shaking his head. "Not bad."
"Not bad?" I echo. "So I’m right?"
He tilts his head, considering me for a moment.
"You’re not wrong," he allows, his voice teasing.
I lean back, crossing my arms with satisfaction. "I knew it."
"But," he adds smoothly, "you forgot something important."
I feign surprise. "Oh?"
His gaze dips briefly to my lips before flicking back up to meet mine.