We’d even closed the club to regular customers. Even though Luc was more of a low-key celebrity in France these days, we wanted to preserve his privacy.
I surveyed the dining area. We’d done a good job. The table linens were crisp and white, and Sophie and I stayed up late last night making delicate shell decorations. We’d threaded together little pieces of sea glass that I’d collected in the months since I arrived.
With all the space in the club, I smiled. It was like travelling back in time—to the days when I first arrived. The days when only a handful of lunchtime customers drifted in and out.
Now, the club resembled Grand Central Station.
I set about finishing the coffee, but as if some sixth sense gave me a prod, I turned to my left.
Maxime was heading off the beach, stalking through the tables, looking every inch the sea god I’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
Instinctively, I brushed the glass at my neck. Even though I loved the original twine, Maxime had it set in a gold chain. I wore it like armour—touching it whenever life got wobbly. Just like him, it grounded me, and I would never let it go.
With a wave of salt and frangipani, he drew up behind me, gently kissing my nape. He whispered something in French as he pressed his hardness into me.
I widened my eyes, checking if anyone was in earshot. “Where did that come from?” I giggled.
“Nowhere,” he murmured, lips still on my skin. “I just like to watch you working with your hands.”
He peppered my neck with more kisses, and a memory from this morning tumbled into my brain. He’d woken me at dawn—before going out to fish—with an enormous erection. I handled it swiftly. And creatively.
But this was public. And while I spent an indecent portion of my day thinking about him in unwholesome ways, even I had my limits.
When I met the pressure of his hips, Maxime leaned in and kissed my shoulder. “I miss your old outfit.”
I grinned. Though it had its charms, I’d given myself and my new assistant a uniform upgrade—something more in keeping with Maxime’s club. Now instead of a bikini and apron, we wore cute pink shorts and a monogrammedChloe Au Laittop. We still donned the signature chef’s hat when the mood took us.
“Don’t worry,” I chuckled. “I’ll never throw away my oldapron. I might even get it mounted on the wall of my flagship café.”
Because I had plans. Big ones.
When Maxime said I didn’t have to work for him, he’d meant it. Yes, I ran the coffee club at Méduse, but it wasmybusiness. I rented the machine from him, paid the chef to bake my cakes, and even brought in my own custom cups. He still benefited—my customers lingered for lunch, lounged longer on the sun beds. As a result, he was halfway to paying Luc back, and I was essentially in control of my own brand. Win-win.
And lately, things had taken off. A Paris food magazine ran a piece about me, and suddenly people were coming just for the coffee art and cake. Esmé had suggested I expand further down the coast.
I nudged Maxime with my hip. “Even if I made coffee in a wetsuit, you’d still be my favourite customer. Once I’ve dominated the coffee scene a little further afield, I’ll be back to spread my influence closer to home. Dominate a little here, too.”
At the suggestion, Maxime brought his solid length to my back, releasing a thick breath.
I pressed back into him. Turned out I enjoyed being in control in the bedroom. Yes, I loved everything Maxime did to me. When he growled in my ear just right, I was putty in his hands. But in true “Chloe style,” I was more than happy to take the lead on occasion. Thank the lord he let me.
He wasn’t submissive as such—he just had a healthy appreciation for my growing interest in knots. I’d even shown him a few new ones he could use on the boat.
I turned into him, threading my arms around his neck. Maxime leaned in to lay a soft kiss on my lips. He crept his hands to the top of my waistband, running his fingertips over the skin there—the sight of my new tattoo. Maxime and I had exchanged custom pictures to seal our love.
He’d designed me a mermaid like the one on his chest. Only mine wore a sea glass pendant and had freckles on her nose. I reciprocated, designing him a wild and crazy sea god like the one I’d drawn in coffee at the club. I’d updated my original withhisbody and an enormous tail.
Maxime approved ofthatdetail. How to Please Your Man 101: flatter his size down below.
I stood on tiptoes, intending to kiss him, but a baby’s cry on the beach drew my attention.
I spun, squinting into the light. It was Sophie. She was taking a sobbing baby Amelie from Luc, patting her back and bouncing her like a pro.
My heart burgeoned. She loved playing big sister. She’d come to stay for the weekend, claiming she needed the break from schoolandher mother. The school had awarded Sophie the Polaris opportunity, but as a result, Valerie had taken it on herself to find an extra tutor. Sophie came down at least one weekend a month now. At least while she was here, she could relax and be free.
The two of us always included a skincare night and randomly, thanks to her dad, she’d developed a love of rowing. I smiled. Look out the punting playboys of Oxford University—she’d give them a run for their money.
A tinkle of laughter kissed the air. Iris was heading our way, arm in arm with Luc’s grandmother. It turned out Estelle Du Comtois was an absolute superstar. She and Iris locked horns originally, but now she sent her granddaughter-in-law a regular supply of fancy shoes from her travels. Despite the temptation, Iris still preferred her Crocs, so she sent the spoils to both Esmé and me.
