I relax back into my wicker chair and try to focus on the cool breeze brushing against my bare arms. But the hum of the camera equipment is impossible to ignore. Alain’s lens is practically begging for a “romantic moment,” an exchange he can feed to the show’s hungry fans. It makes my skin itch.
I tip my head back in frustration.Are we seriously expected to do this until bedtime?
Antoine sets his glass down and moves closer to me. Despite his ridiculous shirt, he looks much too handsome for comfort.
“Follow my lead,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m going to flirt with you. Flirt back.”
I stare at him, confused.
He gives me a reassuring nod. “Trust me.” He drapes his arm over the back of my chair, letting his long fingers brush my bare skin. I hate how much I like his touch.
“Did you enjoy the dinner?” he asks, his voice low and husky.
I play along. “Yes. Especially the dessert.”
“I noticed you like sweets.” His gaze locks with mine.
For a moment, I forget we’re pretending. “You did?”
“You eat dessert like you’re making love to it.”
I snort.
He isn’t entirely wrong, though.I’ve never had sex as satisfactory as a slice of goodmoelleux au chocolat.
Antoine begins to stroke my shoulder with a featherlight touch. The cameraman loves it. He’s literally eating up Antoine’s unhoped-for display of seduction. I go along with his little game, even though I can’t help but wonder.
He’s too good at this.
How does he make it feel so natural? I could almost believe that he really wants me. If it weren’t for his heads-up, I’d think he was into me, even though he’s spent the last two days trying to convince me otherwise.
Antoine’s lips are whispering in my ear again. “I’m going to suggest we move to the bedroom now, where they can’t follow.”
He stands up, trailing his fingers across my back. “How about we finish this wine and our conversation, somewhere quieter?”
I grab the bottle and my shoes. He picks up our glasses. We head back into the suite, the camera crew shadowing us. Alain literally vibrates with anticipation of what we’re going to do next to soothe the viewers’ bangxiety.
You’re in for disappointment, buddy.
Antoine reaches the bedroom door first. He opens it and gestures for me to go in. I step inside.
He turns toward the crew. “No cameras, sorry!”
And then he shuts the door—right in Alain’s face. There’s a soft thud as a piece of equipment bumps into the wood on the other side, followed by frustrated grunts, and retreating steps. I smother a giggle.
Antoine inclines his head theatrically. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you!” I set the bottle and my sandals down.
“Hey, they wanted a show and we gave them one.”
“An anti-show, rather.”
“Would you like me to run you a bath?” Antoine asks out of the blue.
I blink at him, caught off guard.
He shrugs. “You’ve been followed by cameras all day. You deserve to relax.”
