“Then I’ve got another question. How was the kissing . . . and whatever else you two did together?”
He couldn’t look in her eyes and answer that question. So he turned away from her and fixed a spot on the wall. “Great.” He paused, chewed on his lip, and added, “Better than great.”
She fell silent for a moment before asking, “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Early June.”
“And you still can’t get her off your mind?”
He looked into her eyes. What kind of point was she trying to make?
She shrugged. “It’s your life, sweetheart.” She hesitated.
“Ye-e-s?” he prompted.
She cupped his cheek and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure this out sooner or later . . . I just hope it won’t be too late.”
***
Chapter Twelve
September
All too soon, summer was over. Between the municipal elections and the exhibit project, Mat had hardly found two weekends to drive to the coast to take a dip in the cool waters of the Channel—once with Cécile and another time with Rob. Vacation plans had been canceled, which suited Cécile just as well, considering all the litigation cases she had to prepare over the summer. So they stayed in Baleville, promising themselves to take a nice long holiday over Christmas and go someplace faraway and exotic.
It would do us good to go someplace faraway, Mat thought as he shut his laptop, turned off the lights, and tiptoed to the bedroom at one in the morning. Lately, he’d gotten into the habit of preparing for bed around eleven, and then working for a couple more hours in the study. That way, he could sneak into bed in the wee hours of the morning without waking Cécile up.
It worked like a charm every time.
Except tonight.
As he lifted the end of the blanket, Cécile stirred and fumbled for the night lamp switch.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said.
“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. Must’ve had too much coffee.”
He climbed into bed and lay on his side, facing her.
Touch her, he told himself. But his arm remained motionless by his side.
“Mat, you’ve been working like crazy on this exhibit project over the past three weeks.”
“It’ll be less intense once all the contracts are signed and the conversion works begin.”
“I doubt it. Are you done with politics?”
“No, of course not. I just . . . I need some time to recover from the defeat, to rebuild my self-confidence.”
Cécile sat up and gave him a pointed look. “You should get your priorities straight. While you’re ‘rebuilding your self-confidence,’ opportunities have come and gone. You’ve already missed the European Parliament elections.”
Mat sat up, too. “It would’ve been unrealistic.”
“Maybe. But you can’t afford to wait too long. The regional and the cantonal elections are next year. You need to get back in the ring.”
He sighed. She was right. As always.
Cécile cocked her head. “You’re still hung up on that waitress, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t seen her since our conversation after the election results.”
“I know that. What I don’t know is if you’re over the whole stupid thing.”
He looked down at his hands.
“So sleeping with her didn’t help?” she asked.
He stared at her in surprise. “I haven’t slept with her. We’ve . . . fooled around, but that was it.”
“Then go do it, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you see how this fixation has been distracting you from the important stuff? From your career, your goals?”
Mat’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Wait a second. Slow down. Are you saying you’ll be OK if I slept with Jeanne? Are you giving me leave to do it?”
“Absolutely. Not only will I be OK, it’ll be a good thing for both of us. You’ll get what you want and then lose interest in her. And I’ll get . . . a reprieve.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “You know what. Unfortunately, you have needs that . . . overwhelm me.”
His mouth curled. “I don’t have any unusual needs—”
She wasn’t listening. “So, please, do have a bit of fun with your waitress. You’re welcome to see her every time you’re in Paris. Just keep it discreet. I deserve that much.”
He suddenly didn’t know what to say.
Cécile was looking at him, a benign smile on her face, clearly expecting some kind of gratitude for her grand gesture. But he didn’t feel any. What he felt instead was resentment. Yes, he was still mad about Jeanne, and yes, he still craved her. Rejecting her offer a month ago and staying away from her ever since was one of the hardest things he’d done in his life. A real achievement, a feat of self-restraint.
So yeah, he was as desperate for her as ever.
But he didn’t want to use her.
He wasn’t the kind of man Cécile was casting him to be.
He didn’t want to be that man.
***
It had been a surreal night. At around two in the morning, Jeanne woke up to yelling, thumping, banging, and other sounds of a fight turned ugly. When Liviu screamed, she ran over without bothering to pull a sweater over her pajamas.
She pounded on Daniela’s door. “Open up! Open up immediately, or I call the cops right now!”
To her surprise, Daniela opened the door, looking shaken but unharmed. Giving Jeanne a funny look, she stepped aside and let her enter the loge. The first thing Jeanne noticed was Liviu, rushing in from the kitchen with a glass of water in his shaky hands. He didn’t take it to Daniela, but ran around the dining table instead. Jeanne followed him and saw Nico prone on the floor.
He was perfectly motionless.
“Shall I pour it over him?” Liviu asked his mom.
Daniela nodded.
Liviu emptied the glass over Nico’s head.
Nothing happened.
“He’s breathing.” Daniela told Jeanne.
“Did he hit his head?” Jeanne asked, kneeling next to Nico to inspect him.
“No,” Daniela said.
Jeanne took his pulse and sighed in relief. He wasn’t dead, just passed out.
Thank God.
Then Daniela’s reply sank in. “Oh my God. Did you—?”
Daniela nodded. “When he raised his hand to hit me, I punched him the way Dominique taught us.” She chortled nervously. “Turned out to be a little too effective.”
“Are you sure he’s alive?” Liviu gave Jeanne a doubtful look.
“Positive. Let’s see if we can make him come to without calling the firemen,” Jeanne said as cheerfully as she could manage and slapped Nico’s cheeks.
Nothing happened. She shook him a little, and then slapped his cheeks again.
She went on like that for a few moments, until she heard a faint groan.
Nico opened one eye halfway.
“You did it!” Daniela shouted in relief, rushing to his side. “Liviu, fetch another glass of water, quickly!”
They pulled Nico into a reclining position and propped him against a pile of cushions. He opened his other eye and mumbled something unintelligible.
“Is he drunk?” Jeanne asked.
“Wasted.”
Liviu arrived with the water and was about to give Nico another cold shower when Daniela snatched the glass from his hand.
“This one goes into the mouth,” she said with a faint smile.
As he drank and looked around, Nico’s expression turned from blank to wild-eyed, and then to bleak. “You hit me?” he half asked, half stated, trying to focus his gaze on Daniela.
“Yes,” she said, her fists clenched.
He turned to Jeanne. “I’m a b-b-battered man now. Why aren’t you calling the cops?” He snorted, mumbled something under his breath, threw his head back, and laughed uncontrollably for a good five minutes.
After he was done, Nico s
tood up on shaking legs and declared he was leaving.
“Where will you go?” Daniela asked. “The métro is closed, and you can’t walk to your place like this.”
“I’ll take the night bus.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a few unsteady steps toward the door.
“Nico, wait! Stay here until dawn. You shouldn’t—”
“You’re not telling me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he snapped.
Daniela lifted her chin. “Fine. Go! I don’t care if you get mugged or run over.”
Nico turned to Liviu. “See you around, kid.”
And he was out the door.
When Daniela stopped by the bistro the following afternoon, Jeanne took her aside. “Any news?”
Daniela nodded excitedly. “I called to check on him this morning. He didn’t answer. I called again, every fifteen minutes, until he finally picked up around noon.”
“Did he get home safely?”
Daniela shook her head. “He blacked out about twenty meters from our building and woke up at the hospital. They’re going to keep him under observation for a couple of days.”
“How do you feel about all this?”
“That’s the weirdest thing, Jeanne.” The young woman suddenly beamed. “I feel proud. I landed my boyfriend in the hospital with a small concussion, and I feel proud of myself.”
“I can’t blame you,” Jeanne said with a grin.
Daniela’s face grew serious. “As soon as he’s out of the hospital, I’ll tell him we’re finished.”
“I’m so glad to hear it!”
“I . . . I may still have feelings for him, but I know they’ll pass. I won’t have Liviu witness another fight.”
She paused and added with a mischievous smile, “Regardless of who batters whom.”
***
Chapter Thirteen
December
Will I need my city boots in Nîmes?
Jeanne had been pondering the question for five minutes now, a little amused by her own indecision. She hadn’t hesitated for a second when she paid all the money she hand—and the money she didn’t have—for La Bohème. Yet now she couldn’t make up her mind whether to take her boots to Nîmes. Theoretically, you packed a pair of boots when traveling over Christmastime. In practice, the forecast promised exceptionally mild weather in the south, and even if she ended up going to the mountains with her brother, those high-heeled contraptions would be useless.
That was it—she’d take her hiking boots instead.
Jeanne returned her leather boots to the shoe rack and closed her travel bag. A quiet week with her family was exactly what she needed after this roller-coaster year.
The doorbell rang.
Liviu must be anxious to collect his present.
She rushed to the door and opened it without looking through the peephole.
Mat stood in front of her, in all his tall, manly beauty.
His sandy curls had grown back—not as long and messy as he used to wear them, but long enough to soften the angles of his face.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“May I come in?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Please.”
She led him to her cozy living room and motioned to the couch.
He removed his coat and took a step to sit down, but stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “It’s over with Cécile.”
Jeanne’s mouth opened slightly. “What happened?”
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“What happened, Mat?” she repeated her question.
“Cécile gave me permission to sleep with you. She said it would be a relief for her as much as for me.”
“Wow. And?”
“And I . . . broke up with her. It’s been two months now.” He gave Jeanne an unreadable look.
She waited for him to add something, but he just stared at her.
She stared back. “I take it you don’t want a woman who doesn’t mind sharing you.”
“Something like that.”
“And you waited for two months before telling me.”
“I needed to figure some things out first.”
She gave him an amused look. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Feel like sharing?”
He put his glasses back on. “That’s what I came here for. I even prepared a speech, but now I can’t remember what exactly I was going to say or in which order.” He smiled apologetically. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll cut straight to the chase.”
“Cut away.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Here goes. This thing I feel for you . . . I used to think of it as a weakness. A design flaw. Sometimes, I thought of it as a curse.”
“I’m truly flattered,” Jeanne said, her mouth twitching.
To her surprise, Mat didn’t smile. His expression was so intense that she too grew serious.
“But it isn’t a weakness, Jeanne, let alone a curse. I can see it so clearly now. It’s a gift. To desire you like this, to love everything about you—body and soul—is a beautiful gift that I was too blind to appreciate.”
Wait a second, did he just say “love”?
“In April, when I realized you cared for me . . .” He swallowed and huffed. “It’s amazing how quickly I got used to that idea, as if it were the most normal, ordinary thing. As if it were something I could just walk away from.”
He fell silent and searched her eyes.
Jeanne fought to stay calm, not to let herself drown in the gray depths of his gaze. It was so tempting to put her arms around his neck and kiss him. But even as she began to tremble with anticipation, she couldn’t—and didn’t’ want to—discard the resentment she’d cultivated over the past couple of months. She wasn’t going to melt into his embrace just because he’d seen his attraction for her in a new light.
He took a step toward her. “This will sound corny, and you may laugh in my face, but I’ll say it anyway. You’re under my skin, Jeanne, and you’re in my heart. You’ve been there for years.”
She blinked a few times and looked away, struggling to remain cool. Did he really think she might laugh at his words? She felt like crying.
Mat threw his head back. “God, it feels so good to finally say these things to you. I want you to distraction. I want you in my life. For the rest of my life. I want your babies.”
She swallowed and blinked rapidly, before turning to look away.
“I can’t believe it took me so long to see the truth,” he said. “You’re a rare gemstone. One in a million. I love every single thing about you, Jeanne,—your wit, your looks, your kindness . . . I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
He went down on one knee and pulled a small velvet case out of his pocket.
For the first time in her life, Jeanne was dumbstruck. Mat’s unexpected love declaration had been wild enough, but this . . . This scene belonged in her fantasies, not in her living room. She eyed the object in Mat’s hand with suspicion, her mind refusing to accept it as reality.
He opened the case. Inside was a magnificent uncut diamond ring.
He looked into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Her heart thumped a crazy beat. She couldn’t speak.
Mat kept his intense gaze locked on hers until a shadow of panic flickered in his eyes. “Please say something.”
“We haven’t even dated,” she finally said.
“That’s easy to fix.”
“I . . . I wasn’t prepared for this.”
“I understand,” he said, standing and cupping her face. “You don’t need to say anything now. I’ll wait. It’s only fair.”
She nodded. It was, indeed, only fair. And reasonable. She should send him away now, finish packing, and get some sleep before catching her train tomorrow morning. They’d start dating after the Christmas break. They’d take things slow, get to properly know each other . . .
>
To hell with that crap.
She loved him. Standing before her pouring out his heart was the man of her dreams. She wanted him in every way a woman could want a man. In her bed. In her home. In her life. Hiding this from him might be reasonable. And fair. But who cared about those things in a medical emergency? Because this was a medical emergency. Her heart was so swollen with love that if she refused to let it out sometime soon, she feared it might explode.
For a few moments, she basked in his gaze, savoring its ardor and getting drunk on the knowledge that Mat was hers now, completely and unreservedly.
Then she beamed and said, “Yes.”
His brow creased. “Yes? As in ‘Yes, I’ll be your beloved and loving wife’?”
She nodded with a grin.
“Come here.” He slid the ring onto her finger.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said.
“The deal is sealed—you’re my fiancée now.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. It was so much more than a kiss. Soft and gentle at first, it was a vow to cherish her, a promise of beautiful things to come. Gradually it grew hotter and harder as he devoured her mouth, explored its depths, and bit her lips lightly. It gave her a taste of his hunger for her. A glimpse into what it would be like to let him love her.
Her knees began to wobble, and she drew away a little. His mouth was close, but not touching. Breathing heavily, she fixed her gaze on his lips.
“Jeanne,” he rasped.
A flush of desire had darkened his skin. His eyes begged her to renew the kiss, but he didn’t move. He was letting her lead the dance.
She stroked his back, feeling his rippling muscles through the soft fabric of his cashmere sweater. Tugging at the hem she said, “Take it off.”
He yanked the sweater over his head and dropped it to the floor. The T-shirt came off next. With his upper body stripped, he looked like a true heir to the Norman Vikings.
God, he was beautiful.
She kissed his collarbone, neck, and shoulders. She stroked his back, slowly sliding her hands down to his firm butt. It was arousing as hell to be in control, to discover and explore his body. Soon, she’d let him do the same to her, so she could close her eyes and just feel.
But not yet.
She pulled away again and took off her pullover and bra, but kept her jeans on just like him.
Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) Page 12