Page 42 of The Rancher's Amnesia Bride

Greta was now back in France and no longer a part of his company. His lawyers and hers had managed to come to an agreement, and Greta stood to lose millions of euros if she were stupid enough to cause them trouble in any way.

And now that it was Valentine's...

Philippe could only roll his eyes as Charlee-Mae made a show of spraying alcohol on his engorged cock. "How many times must we do this, mon coeur?"

"For as long as I feel your beautiful cock needs disinfecting," his wife retorted, "after having dove into the depths of your sister-in-law's pussy."

Even though her tone was light, and her gaze filled with laughter, it still killed him every time he heard her speak of his ill-advised affair, and Philippe could not help yanking his wife close and caging her in his embrace.

"Je suis désolé, ma moitié."

"Forgiven." Charlee-Mae rubbed her cheek against the soft, warm hair of her husband's powerfully muscular chest. "Just promise me, though..."

"Anything." Philippe meant it.

She looked up, and the uncertainty in her smile made his chest clench. "No more secrets?"

Her husband was silent.

"Philippe?"

"I have a confession, ma femme."

Charlee-Mae looked at him suspiciously. "Please don't tell me you have another sister-in-law—-"

"Non." His lips twitched. "Rather, it is about you."

Her eyes widened. "Me?"

"I have told you before that your accent is the ugliest sound in the world..."

Charlee-Mae scowled. "Okaaaaay..."

"But what I have never told you until now—-"

Charlee-Mae held her breath.

"—-is how much it also happens to turn me on."

His wife looked at him blankly. "Is this a joke?"

"J'adore ton accent." I love your accent.

"So..." Her confusion turned to wariness. "Not a joke?"

"Non."

"Oh. Um. Wow." Charlee-Mae couldn't help feeling giddy. It just seemed so crazy that her less-than-ideal French accent could be a turn on for a man as perfect as her husband.

"And you, mon ceour? Do you have any last secrets you wish to share?"

"Well..."

Philippe raised a brow.

"Charlotte's convinced that I was either lying about losing my memory or that I must've gained them back somewhere along the way, and that's why I didn't freak out when you told me we had a mail-order marriage."

Philippe's gaze narrowed. "Did you? Have you?"

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