Read Online The Frenchman (Crime Royalty Romance Book 1) by Lesley Young - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lesley Young
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do know each other.
Louis’s expression: vague, distant, simmering, unhappy.
My eyes were drawn by two other men in blazers who had somehow made their way behind Louis. They stood, poised like watchful guard dogs. Were they his friends? A third moved in behind Bastien. Blood drained from my face. No. No, they were not nearly as nicely dressed as Louis. One of them was much older. They kept checking out Louis, like they were waiting for instructions. He remained stony, staring down a smiling Bastien.
Sensing something was very wrong, and that I was caught up in it somehow, I stepped forward and grabbed Bastien’s arm.
“I want to leave.”
I was scared. I didn’t know why. But I was. Even others around us must have sensed the change in energy because they had dispersed somewhat.
“Bastien,” I pleaded. He noticed me, finally, and his expression softened. “ Oui. On y va .”
Placing an arm around me, he nudged me forward, but Louis wouldn’t step out of the way. I paused. Louis glared down at me, his thick dark brows sewn up in the middle, the rest of his face clenched in a scowl. A shiver ran down my spine. I twisted my body sideways and squeezed past, hoping Bastien would do the same. Instead, he released my hand.
Louis stepped forward. My heart stopped. All I could do was watch Bastien’s face, impassive, as Louis said something to him. It was just a few words, and Louis stepped around Bastien and left.
I watched my Frenchman, along with his massive shoulders and nasty entourage, head off into the crowd.
I was stunned. Bastien escorted me down the exit stairs without a word. His car arrived via the valet within minutes. Relief began to set in. The gulps of cool, fresh sea air I took before getting into his car also helped.
And in my relieved state, I could see how the coincidences were piling up. An ugly weed took root in my mind.
“What was that all about?” I asked, without any politeness, as we got underway.
Bastien examined me briefly before focusing his eyes back on the dark, narrow street.
“I have a . . . history, with that man. How do you know him?” he added, bringing the car to a gentle stop before turning it onto a main street.
My stomach dropped. “I don’t,” I answered truthfully ( know him, that is). I didn’t need Bastien telling Marie about Louis humping me in a bar.
He kept staring at me. “I am police. Also, I am very smart.” He tapped his head, staring at me.
I was officially panicked. I could not let the truth, the whole truth, get back to Marie. So I blurted out that I’d met Louis at the bistro across the street the night my friend Jess left, and that we joined them for a drink. And then, we all went our separate ways.
Bastien’s hard stare was very disconcerting.
“How do you know him? What’s Marie’s problem with him anyway?” I fired back, trying to deflect away from my fib.
“Have you heard of the Messettes . . . of Toulon?” he finally answered. Shadows were covering his face. I shifted as flashes of my online stalking confronted me.
“No. Yes. Well, only that they are very rich.”
He nodded. “Stay away from them, all of them.”
My mouth popped open. I was shocked by his vehemence. It was as pervasive as Marie’s. “You don’t listen to me,” added Bastien, probably noting my pursed lips. “ He treats women the worst. Very bad.” My heart dropped because I assumed by he , Bastien meant Louis. And this was not what I wanted to hear.
So these warnings were all about his alleged gigolo lifestyle.
“You stay away from him like Marie tell you. Okay?” He added this much softer.
Numb, I nodded, because I wasn’t going to argue with this man I barely knew. It was all too weird and frankly, seemed awfully melodramatic.
Surely Marie hadn’t told him I was a virgin? Good Lord no. Of course not. The two of them were just being overly protective. Resentment flared in me, momentarily, before I reminded myself that Marie was only
Louis’s expression: vague, distant, simmering, unhappy.
My eyes were drawn by two other men in blazers who had somehow made their way behind Louis. They stood, poised like watchful guard dogs. Were they his friends? A third moved in behind Bastien. Blood drained from my face. No. No, they were not nearly as nicely dressed as Louis. One of them was much older. They kept checking out Louis, like they were waiting for instructions. He remained stony, staring down a smiling Bastien.
Sensing something was very wrong, and that I was caught up in it somehow, I stepped forward and grabbed Bastien’s arm.
“I want to leave.”
I was scared. I didn’t know why. But I was. Even others around us must have sensed the change in energy because they had dispersed somewhat.
“Bastien,” I pleaded. He noticed me, finally, and his expression softened. “ Oui. On y va .”
Placing an arm around me, he nudged me forward, but Louis wouldn’t step out of the way. I paused. Louis glared down at me, his thick dark brows sewn up in the middle, the rest of his face clenched in a scowl. A shiver ran down my spine. I twisted my body sideways and squeezed past, hoping Bastien would do the same. Instead, he released my hand.
Louis stepped forward. My heart stopped. All I could do was watch Bastien’s face, impassive, as Louis said something to him. It was just a few words, and Louis stepped around Bastien and left.
I watched my Frenchman, along with his massive shoulders and nasty entourage, head off into the crowd.
I was stunned. Bastien escorted me down the exit stairs without a word. His car arrived via the valet within minutes. Relief began to set in. The gulps of cool, fresh sea air I took before getting into his car also helped.
And in my relieved state, I could see how the coincidences were piling up. An ugly weed took root in my mind.
“What was that all about?” I asked, without any politeness, as we got underway.
Bastien examined me briefly before focusing his eyes back on the dark, narrow street.
“I have a . . . history, with that man. How do you know him?” he added, bringing the car to a gentle stop before turning it onto a main street.
My stomach dropped. “I don’t,” I answered truthfully ( know him, that is). I didn’t need Bastien telling Marie about Louis humping me in a bar.
He kept staring at me. “I am police. Also, I am very smart.” He tapped his head, staring at me.
I was officially panicked. I could not let the truth, the whole truth, get back to Marie. So I blurted out that I’d met Louis at the bistro across the street the night my friend Jess left, and that we joined them for a drink. And then, we all went our separate ways.
Bastien’s hard stare was very disconcerting.
“How do you know him? What’s Marie’s problem with him anyway?” I fired back, trying to deflect away from my fib.
“Have you heard of the Messettes . . . of Toulon?” he finally answered. Shadows were covering his face. I shifted as flashes of my online stalking confronted me.
“No. Yes. Well, only that they are very rich.”
He nodded. “Stay away from them, all of them.”
My mouth popped open. I was shocked by his vehemence. It was as pervasive as Marie’s. “You don’t listen to me,” added Bastien, probably noting my pursed lips. “ He treats women the worst. Very bad.” My heart dropped because I assumed by he , Bastien meant Louis. And this was not what I wanted to hear.
So these warnings were all about his alleged gigolo lifestyle.
“You stay away from him like Marie tell you. Okay?” He added this much softer.
Numb, I nodded, because I wasn’t going to argue with this man I barely knew. It was all too weird and frankly, seemed awfully melodramatic.
Surely Marie hadn’t told him I was a virgin? Good Lord no. Of course not. The two of them were just being overly protective. Resentment flared in me, momentarily, before I reminded myself that Marie was only
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