Page 72 of Catching Trouble

I stifled the laugh that brewed in my chest. What was she suggesting? That I parade myself around heroffice hoping to attract a single man? She made it sound like she was happy to auction me off to the highest bidder or offer me as a delightful bonus at performance review time.

“I’ll think about it, Mum. Can I call you in a few days? There’s a lot going on here.”

Silence greeted me, then a sigh. “I suppose so, but don’t leave things too long. You’re still young. You need to capitalise on your youth before you develop wrinkles in all that sun.”

A jarring clatter out in the kitchen, pulled my attention, and I paused, holding my breath—heartbeat racing. When nothing else followed, I relaxed my shoulders. It was probably Sophie taking a study break.

I’d offered to sit with her in her room down the hall, but when she declined, I couldn’t deny my relief. Being alone meant no questions about the tinny voice of the translation app, and it gave me an excuse to think about her father.

“Are you still there? What was that sound?”

I sighed. “Yes, sorry, Mum. Possums on the roof.” Did they even have possums in France? “We’ll speak after the weekend.”

Mum ended the call, and I let out a long breath, running my hand over Maxime’s pillow. The faint smell of his cologneclung to its fibres, and I shifted my body, pulling it from under my head, then bringing it to my nose.

At the smell of him, I swear my toes curled. I still replayed our afternoon in the cave through my brain on repeat. The way he’d made me come. The feel of him beside me, around me, and inside me. But most of all… how we’d left things.

We’d been true to our agreement, avoiding each other around Sophie and at the club. Then, whenever we were alone or when he thought nobody was watching, he’d touch me or whisper something as he passed. I stored up those moments in my head, revisiting them later when I was alone in bed.

To say our self-imposed distance was driving me mad was an understatement.

Bringing my hands to his pillow, I pulled it against my face and let out a scream against the fabric.

As I finished my yell, aclunksounded out in the room.

I froze—my heart jumping,my mind racing. There were only two options of who it could be.

One was Sophie. I grit my teeth against Maxim’s pillow at the thought. What would she think of her nanny sprawled across her father’s bed with a pillow across her face? She might even think he’d got so cross with my kitchen singing, he’d smothered me.

The other option was Maxime himself, and though I didn’t think he’d mind me being in his room, he might think it a little odd to find me with a face-full of his bed linen.

I held my breath, waiting for a clue.

I got my answer when the sound of a throat clearing cut through the room. Then someone tugged at my big toe.

“Chloe, I know you’re under there.”

My belly rolled.

Maxime.

“How can you tell it’s me?” I asked. It was a glib question,but I was buying time before I had to admit what I was doing here, with a faceful of pillow.

Maxime’s sexy chuckle filled the air, and I swallowed. What was it about his husky tone that melted my knickers?

“I recognise your nail polish.”

I smiled. He’d walked in on Sophie and me experimenting last night. She’d convinced him to paint his thumbnails bright scarlet in solidarity. Only Bean had escaped her “glow-up” efforts.

The mattress sunk beside me. “And I need to ask what you’re doing.” He pulled the pillow away from my face, lifting it into the air. “Is this a cry for help or …” He ran his eyes over my exposed thighs, his voice lowering half an octave. “Did I interrupt something I shouldn’t?”

I scowled. My shorts might be on the tinier side, but I was hardly naked.

He pushed some strands of hair away from my face, the hint of silver at his temples glinting in the sunlight. “If you’d rather I came back later…”

The smirk on his lips pulled at my ovaries. Dark, a little mocking, but oh, so sexy. Right now, I lived for his almost-smiles, and much to my delight, there’d been more of them every passing day.

He was in his usual fishing attire—all delicious tattoos and sun kissed skin and damn if my body took on a life of its own. Ignoring my brain, I slid my foot along his forearm, tracing a line over his tattoos, before curling it gently behind his neck. “If you were interrupting something you shouldn’t, you could always offer to help.”