French Wanker - Victoria Pinder Page 0,25

my reverie. “I thought French men were…”

I stopped. The last thing I needed was to be some rebellious girl when tonight, if I was lucky, we’d repeat what happened at the farm.

“What?” he prodded.

I tapped my finger on my chest and decided to run through the stereotypes. “This was before I met you and based on TV and movies, which is how I planned my trip.”

Maybe this was a better way to break the ice.

“What, Kara?”

How he said my name made me cross my legs. I laughed and stared at his muscles. “I thought French men were more effeminate and temperamental, but you’re wise and a bit of an introvert.”

Now he laughed fully, not that chuckle from earlier. “Have you ever been to Italy?”

My eyes narrowed. “No, why?”

He tugged on his plain button-down white shirt and smoothed his hand down his black pants. “Because the Italians are way more into fashion and dressing well than we are.”

“I see.” And to his point Gucci, Armani, and Versace were all Italian names, at least I think so. I mean I could be wrong, as I’d never looked it up, but fashion clothes were more Italian now that I thought about it.

I let my hand wave out the window to feel the wind against it. “Well, one stereotype I heard about your country proved to be true with you.”

He pressed his hand on my shoulder, and I melted a little. “What’s that?”

I turned toward him and stopped playing. Quentin had rocked my world. I held my breath for a second to force myself to relax and then lowered my lashes. “Americans believe the French are amazing lovers.”

The miles—or probably kilometers—were low. We’d get to Monte Carlo soon. “So, are all Americans easy to please or just you?”

On the whole, probably not. I was the one who had clearly been deprived of good sex in my life until now. “Why do you ask?”

He rolled up my electric window and lowered his voice like we were sharing secrets now as he said, “The stereotype of Americans are they scream when happy, and we both know you scream in bed.”

Five miles or kilometers were nothing, right? I swallowed and hoped so. “We’ll see if you earn that badge of honor a second time, or if it was a one-time deal.”

“You’re on,” he said, and then we passed a sign that said we had arrived.

He pulled up to a practical all-white palace hotel with black awnings around the bottom of the windows like they made little balconies with three towers I could see. The sign above the glass door read Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo.

This was clearly five stars and way above what I’d booked for myself in Italy or any of my stays. He parked the rental car and stepped out.

We were staying here? Seriously? No wonder he didn’t let me pay for anything, despite how I insisted. Excitement to live out some rich girl fantasy grew.

I’d google vineyards in Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer and Quentin La Trimouille later today. For now, his handsome profile captured my attention more than the palace when he opened my door, and I joined him.

We were in this hotel together now, and that was all that mattered.

Chapter 10

Quentin

The gold and white ornate former noble home that was now a five-star hotel for the rich and famous shocked Kara.

This wasn’t the small vineyard we’d stayed at the night before. I’d stayed here for years, and I’d taken the private beach and award-winning restaurants for granted.

Today, I saw her eyes were almost out of their sockets as we crossed the lobby. I left our bags, spoke to the staff, and then told her in English, “Our rooms aren’t ready yet. Want to go see something with me?”

She hugged her waist until I glanced at her, and then she dropped her arms like I caught her off guard. She bounced on her feet. “Like what?”

I motioned toward the street. It was nice to be in a place to walk. We’d been in the car for too long. I opened the door and let the warm, clean air rush against us. “The royal palace, the casino where three Bond movies were filmed.”

On the white cement sidewalk, her natural colors returned to her face as she said with more of a smile, “I do love movies, but I’d like to see where Grace Kelly married her prince.”

I pointed in the direction and held her hand as we walked. “The Prince’s Palace it is.”

Soon I’d have to tell Kara about