Read Online Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) by Alix Nichols - Free Book Online
Authors: Alix Nichols
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master’s study, I spent more time trying to establish the shape of your legs
behind your loose bistro pants than writing my course papers.”
Neutral, my foot.
Jeanne didn’t say anything.
“I made sketches,” he continued . “I filled several notebooks with versions of your legs.”
She circled her index near her ear in a cuckoo sign.
“In memory serves me right,” he said. “Two or three of those sketches are
pretty close to the original. Even if my drawing skills are rudimentary.”
“No they aren’t,” she said.
“You haven’t seen any of my—”
“I have.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Pepe and I went to Rob’s one night, to watch the World Cup. You were out
of town. I went into your room for something… I think we needed an extra
chair.”
“And you saw my sketchbooks?”
Jeanne shook her head. “No. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have opened them.
But I saw this feminine nude by your bed. It was drawn on a large canvas, with
something like a pencil but thicker and blacker.”
“Charcoal,” he said. “I drew it with charcoal.”
“I knew that woman was me the moment I saw the portrait. I’m not saying
it was skillfully done, but you managed to capture something… Something that
defines me. Even if I have no idea what it is.”
Generosity , he thought. That’s what defines you, Jeanne. All of
you—body and soul .
But he didn’t say it.
“When I was working on that portrait,” he said instead, “the legs were
the most challenging part, because I had to guess. I knew they were long and
slender. That much was obvious even through those god-awful pants. But I wasn’t
sure about their exact shape and fullness, the muscles of your calves, the arch
of your feet, the swell of your—”
“You’re a perv,” she said.
“And proud to be one. So, as for your bottom—”
She propped herself up on her elbows and turned her head to give him a
threatening look.
But he wouldn’t be intimidated. “I had a pretty good idea of its firmness
and roundness, but I wondered about this.” He uncovered her and traced his
fingers along the curve beneath her buttocks. “Until I finally saw you in that
blue bikini when we went to Nice with Lena and Rob.”
“And were you satisfied with what you saw?” she asked saucily.
“It blew my mind, baby. Just like now.”
***
Jeanne’s blood ran faster and thicker with every passing minute. It
pooled, hot and heavy, inside her lower abdomen, making her forget her pain and
her misgivings, along with the reasons why she should send Mat away. His
caresses were exquisite, as if some sixth sense guided him, telling him exactly
where and in what way she liked to be touched.
As for his words . . . It wasn’t the first time a man had
raved about her body. In fact, she’d been told she was hot too many times to
count. Her ex-boyfriends told her that, at least early in the relationships . Many of the bistro customers told her
that. Unfamiliar men on the street told her that. More than a few women told
her that. She’d grown to resent compliments—they made her feel demeaned.
But Mat’s observations were different. They were earnest, personal, and
heartfelt. They were in a league of their own. And she found herself enjoying
them.
Right now, his palms smoothed over her buttocks, stroking every inch.
Luxuriating in his touch, Jeanne forgot about the dull ache in her stomach
until she realized it had gone away. Mat’s breathing was heavy as he fondled
and rubbed her flesh, but he didn’t press his body to hers. She knew he was
waiting for a sign from her, for the tiniest invitation to step up a gear. She
could just shift her legs half an inch apart or roll over on her back and stare
into his eyes—and there’d be no turning back.
Hmm . . . which one would it be?
“Baby, you’re so hot,” he said.
And suddenly, her desire began to seep out of her body, as though his
words had nicked her skin and opened a tiny leak.
He’s no
behind your loose bistro pants than writing my course papers.”
Neutral, my foot.
Jeanne didn’t say anything.
“I made sketches,” he continued . “I filled several notebooks with versions of your legs.”
She circled her index near her ear in a cuckoo sign.
“In memory serves me right,” he said. “Two or three of those sketches are
pretty close to the original. Even if my drawing skills are rudimentary.”
“No they aren’t,” she said.
“You haven’t seen any of my—”
“I have.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Pepe and I went to Rob’s one night, to watch the World Cup. You were out
of town. I went into your room for something… I think we needed an extra
chair.”
“And you saw my sketchbooks?”
Jeanne shook her head. “No. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have opened them.
But I saw this feminine nude by your bed. It was drawn on a large canvas, with
something like a pencil but thicker and blacker.”
“Charcoal,” he said. “I drew it with charcoal.”
“I knew that woman was me the moment I saw the portrait. I’m not saying
it was skillfully done, but you managed to capture something… Something that
defines me. Even if I have no idea what it is.”
Generosity , he thought. That’s what defines you, Jeanne. All of
you—body and soul .
But he didn’t say it.
“When I was working on that portrait,” he said instead, “the legs were
the most challenging part, because I had to guess. I knew they were long and
slender. That much was obvious even through those god-awful pants. But I wasn’t
sure about their exact shape and fullness, the muscles of your calves, the arch
of your feet, the swell of your—”
“You’re a perv,” she said.
“And proud to be one. So, as for your bottom—”
She propped herself up on her elbows and turned her head to give him a
threatening look.
But he wouldn’t be intimidated. “I had a pretty good idea of its firmness
and roundness, but I wondered about this.” He uncovered her and traced his
fingers along the curve beneath her buttocks. “Until I finally saw you in that
blue bikini when we went to Nice with Lena and Rob.”
“And were you satisfied with what you saw?” she asked saucily.
“It blew my mind, baby. Just like now.”
***
Jeanne’s blood ran faster and thicker with every passing minute. It
pooled, hot and heavy, inside her lower abdomen, making her forget her pain and
her misgivings, along with the reasons why she should send Mat away. His
caresses were exquisite, as if some sixth sense guided him, telling him exactly
where and in what way she liked to be touched.
As for his words . . . It wasn’t the first time a man had
raved about her body. In fact, she’d been told she was hot too many times to
count. Her ex-boyfriends told her that, at least early in the relationships . Many of the bistro customers told her
that. Unfamiliar men on the street told her that. More than a few women told
her that. She’d grown to resent compliments—they made her feel demeaned.
But Mat’s observations were different. They were earnest, personal, and
heartfelt. They were in a league of their own. And she found herself enjoying
them.
Right now, his palms smoothed over her buttocks, stroking every inch.
Luxuriating in his touch, Jeanne forgot about the dull ache in her stomach
until she realized it had gone away. Mat’s breathing was heavy as he fondled
and rubbed her flesh, but he didn’t press his body to hers. She knew he was
waiting for a sign from her, for the tiniest invitation to step up a gear. She
could just shift her legs half an inch apart or roll over on her back and stare
into his eyes—and there’d be no turning back.
Hmm . . . which one would it be?
“Baby, you’re so hot,” he said.
And suddenly, her desire began to seep out of her body, as though his
words had nicked her skin and opened a tiny leak.
He’s no
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