Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) by Alix Nichols Page B

close to her, looking at her—and not
touching her.
    Say something, distract her from her discomfort.
    “Would you like me to sing you a song?” he offered.
    She lifted her head to give him an amused look. “Depends which song.”
    “How about “Frère Jacques” ?
    “Seriously?”
    “That’s the only one whose lyrics I can remember. Kind of.”
    “Sing away,” she said with a sigh.
    He began to sing softly. Jeanne closed her eyes, her expression a little
more peaceful. Then his hand went to her stockinged foot and stroked it as if
acting of its own volition.
    She didn’t move.
    Emboldened by her nonresistance, he stroked the sole and then the elegant
arch of her foot, before moving to the other one. Having spent some time on it,
his hand slowly climbed to her ankles, and then to her calves. He caressed them
lightly, his fingertips gliding over the sheer fabric of her stockings,
learning the shape and the feel of her legs. When he reached the back of her
knees, just under the hem of her skirt, he finished the song. For a few
excruciatingly long moments, he didn’t dare move, half expecting her to pull
away and ask him to leave.
    She did neither, and he tentatively progressed another half inch up her
leg. His hand slid under her skirt and pushed it up a little. He continued
stroking the back of her thighs, revealing inch after delicious inch , until the hem of her dress barely
covered her bottom.
    He paused there, just above the lacy edge of her stockings, and took in
the full length of her toned legs. Jeanne’s legs were a work of art. He had no
other word to describe the awe-inspiring sight of her high-arched feet,
delicate ankles, athletic calves, and slender thighs. Every curve, every dip in
her flesh was breathtakingly beautiful.
    Sweet Jesus.
    He crawled on the bed, sat on his heels next to her, and rolled her
stockings off, taking his time, reveling in every second of that incredibly
intimate act . He surveyed her legs
again and resumed his ministrations, working his way up from her bare feet.
This time, he used both his hands, applying more pressure, involving not only
his fingertips but also his palms. He stroked her, making sure to cover every
inch while his palms memorized the contours of her flesh.
    Sliding down the curve of her calves, he bent down to nibble the tender
skin behind her knees and kiss the back of her thighs. She was firm yet soft
and painfully, almost unbearably, right . Her skin was like the finest, warmest velvet under his lips. And her
scent . . . Oh God, that incomparable, heart-stopping scent.
    She didn’t move, didn’t show any visible reaction to his caresses . But her breathing grew heavy and ragged.
It told him everything he needed to know.
    By the time he made his way back to the hemline of her dress that he’d
hitched up to where her thighs joined her buttocks, he could no longer think
straight. With a low growl, he pushed the fabric up to her waist .
    And barely stopped himself from roaring his appreciation.
    He pulled back a little, and placed his palms on her glorious bottom. She
had a tiny butterfly tattoo just above the waistband of her lacy boyshorts . He yearned to catch that waistband
between his teeth and pull her panties off. He ached to—
    She shifted a little and moaned. But it wasn’t a moan of pleasure. It was
a plaintive, strained sound of pain.
    He blinked a few times and gave her a comforting stroke. “Tummy still
unhappy, huh?”
    “Yeah.”
    And all at once, reason returned. His face flamed with guilt. She was
unwell, suffering—and he was taking advantage of the situation. He should
just talk to her and entertain her until she felt better.
    With a superhuman effort, he removed his hands from her, untucked the bed
cover on one side and threw it over her.
    OK. Now talk. Say something neutral. Something to distract
her , and to dissipate the images in
his head.
    He moved to sit on the edge of the bed so he could see her face. “During
my