The Boss (Chateau #3) - Penelope Sky Page 0,51

a new level I’d never seen before.

I got lost in the moment, got lost in the sweat and the heat, and I said what came to mind. “You’re the only man for me…”

The moan he gave was so deep and sexy that I dug every one of my nails deep into his skin and came, watching him do the same. He held on to me so tightly my bones could break. He pounded into me mercilessly, grunting throughout. “Fuck, chérie.”

He lay on his back, slightly propped on the pillows, his thick arm around me and pulling me into his side.

I lay partially on top of him, my head on his chest with my arm draped over his hard stomach, looking at the fire in the fireplace. There was a big flat-screen above it, but he never seemed to have it on. The fire crackled just the way it did in the cabin, its warmth reaching us in the bed.

The sheets remained at our waists, and I wasn’t cold because his arm cupped me all the way down to my ass, acting as a warm blanket.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand and looked through email.

I could see the screen, but it was all in French. Couldn’t read a word of it.

He finished reading then set it on the sheets beside him. His rough fingers lightly touched my skin as he looked at the fire, one arm propped behind his head. If I didn’t speak, he would never speak. He preferred silence, the conversations that went unsaid. Sometimes, his hand would glide to the back of my neck, his fingers delicately moving through my soft hair, handling me with a gentleness that continued to surprise me.

“How did you learn English?”

His fingers continued to move. “English is a requirement in French education.”

“I wish French were a requirement in American education.” Then I could understand what he said in bed, could understand what he said when he spoke to other people around me.

“I could teach you.”

“Yeah?”

“Or have Gilbert do it.”

I released a loud sigh. “No, not Gilbert.” Even after I covered for him, he refused to speak to me. He continued his tirade of hatred. Sometimes people liked you no matter what you did. Sometimes people hated you no matter what you did. He fell into the second category.

Fender read between the lines, listened to words that were never spoken. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He totally hates me. It’s fine.”

“You’re the woman of this house. If he treats you as anything less, I will remind him that he works for you as much as he works for me.” He turned his chin to look down at me, his fingers continuing to run through my hair.

“I said it’s fine. Leave it alone.”

“Why?” His voice deepened. “You think I’d allow anyone to disrespect you? Let alone in my own goddamn house—”

“It’s fine because…I know why he hates me.”

His fingers stopped moving. “Why, chérie? Tell me why anyone would hate a woman such as you? Beautiful like my rose garden, soft like its petals, quiet like the opening of the flowers in spring.”

It was such a beautiful description that I faltered before I replied. It didn’t seem like something a man like Fender would say, dark, rugged, marching through the snow in a bomber jacket with murder in his eyes. It only reinforced what I believed—that he was more than what he seemed.

I propped myself up on my elbow so I could face him, my hand planted against his muscled rib cage for balance. “Because he’s in love with you.”

Fender had no reaction. His eyes remained on mine, not blinking or moving.

“Did you…already know that?”

The silence continued.

I dropped my gaze and let the subject fade.

“Yes.”

My eyes shifted back to his. “How long?”

“Years.”

“Does that bother you?” I whispered.

He gave a subtle shake of his head. “As long as he does his job, doesn’t matter to me.”

“Am I the only woman to ever live with you?” I already suspected the answer, because Gilbert hated me for a reason, and that reason must be because I was special. I was different from the others.

“Yes.”

My finger traced the lines between his segmented muscles absent-mindedly, my eyes shifting down to watch my movements. I didn’t think about the other women who had been in his life because I didn’t want to. I had no idea what kind of love life he had, if he’d had relationships, been married, just one-night stands; I really had no idea. I just knew he’d had