Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) (12 page)

Jeanne followed in Lena’s tracks, her head down . . .
until he moved in front of her, blocking her way.

Shit
.

Slowly, she looked up.

Double shit.

He was even hotter than she remembered from a month ago.

Must be my imagination.

Mat stared at her in that fierce way that made her knees go weak.

“How’s life?” he asked after a while.

“Same old,” she said.

They peered at each other for another long moment, and then Mat took a
step toward her. His chest rose and fell, and his eyes turned the color of dark
slate.

If I don’t say anything, he’ll kiss me
.

It was tempting to let him.

And then she remembered something. She’d thought about Mat last night,
but not in the way she usually did. She’d thought about him in connection with
Daniela, and that horrible boyfriend of hers. In spite of his new job and
promises, the fights hadn’t stopped. The concierge denied being battered, even
as she wore big sunglasses inside the building. The woman needed help.

And Mat enjoyed helping people.

“I have a neighbor whose boyfriend is violent. I’ve heard them fight
,
and I’ve seen her with bruises several
times,” she said.

He ceased drawing closer, but he didn’t retreat either.

“A friend of mine put her in touch with a Help Center, but it didn’t go
down too well.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know how to convince her to
report him. And to jilt him.”

Mat took a moment before speaking. “She should learn Krav Maga.”

“What in hell is Krav Maga?”

“An extreme form of self-defense. Several martial arts plus a bunch of
dirty tricks rolled into a technique that’s diabolically effective.”

“Wow. Sounds like something I wouldn’t mind trying myself. Are you an
adept?”

“I’ve been practicing it for the past two years. In addition to the
weight lifting.”

“I see.”

“If she takes a class twice or three times a week, in a month she’ll be
able to knock him out.”

“No kidding?”

“I’m serious. Besides, it will do wonders for her self-confidence.” He
smirked. “Remember me four years ago?”

“I thought you were
Cécile’s
handiwork,” she said archly.

“I’m a multivariate equation.” He counted on his fingers. “Cécile’s
handiwork plus weights plus Krav equals the perfection standing in front of
you.”

She burst out in laughter. “Why do I have the impression you’re only
half
joking?”

He whipped out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “I know an
instructor who gives Krav Maga classes in the 18th, just a few
métro
stops from here. I’ll send you his phone and address . . . if
your number hasn’t changed.”

“Still the same.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve got to go
back and congratulate Amar
.
”

“Of course,” he said and stepped aside to let her
pass.

***

“So, Liviu is at a friend’s place
.
I’m free all evening. Where is it you want to take me?” Daniela asked, letting
Jeanne into her tiny loge.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

In the
métro
,
Jeanne
noticed Daniela eyeing her voluminous backpack with a mixture of curiosity and
apprehension. At one point, the concierge opened her mouth to say something but
then closed it, shooting Jeanne a haunted look.

She finally spoke when they resurfaced at Château Rouge. “I don’t think I
can handle another session with a bunch of moralizing old ladies like the ones
you set on me last time.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Jeanne said. “My friend who recommended
them sincerely believed they’d help.”

“I’m sure they
sincerely
wanted to. Only they made me feel
so . . . ashamed of myself and of my life. I couldn’t bear the
idea of seeing them again.”

“I understand.” Jeanne said, feeling her ears burn.

This time we’ll try something entirely different.

Daniela adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. “I only agreed to come
because you threatened to report Nico to the police.” She touched Jeanne’s
sleeve. “How about we go to the movies? I haven’t done that in years.”

Jeanne shook her head and halted in front of an incongruous building that
said Dojo
in Asian-style red letters. She pushed the entrance door open
and turned to Daniela. “
Et voilà
.
Follow me.”

As they made their way through the hallway, Jeanne read the signs on the
doors: Karate, Judo, Kung fu, Kickboxing, Ballet.

Really?

The next one said Krav Maga.

She knocked on the door. A few seconds later a big man in his midforties
opened the door and ushered them into the large room with padded flooring.

He pointed to the two visitor chairs by a small desk in the corner of the
room. “Jeanne, right? And . . . ?”

“Daniela,” Jeanne answered for the concierge who looked completely
overwhelmed by the turn of events.

“My name’s Dominique. Please, sit down,” the instructor said. “I’ve been
expecting you. The beginner class starts in fifteen minutes. You can try it
after our chat, if you brought the right clothes.”

“I have everything we need,” Jeanne said, pointing to her backpack.

Dominique delivered a short introduction to his martial art. He
particularly stressed how it allowed a smaller and physically weaker person to
overpower a larger and stronger one.

“It’s great exercise
,
too,” he
added in conclusion.

Jeanne opened her backpack and pulled out her checkbook. “I’d like to pay
for both of us, for three months.”

Dominique gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean? Oh, I
see—he didn’t tell you. Mat stopped by a few days ago and paid for the
two of you. For one year.”

Jeanne blinked, processing the information. The class was far from cheap.
She’d examined her budget carefully, determining what expenses to cut to free
up the funds for it
.
Mat was no
doubt doing well for himself, but even so, a year’s fee for two was a
substantial amount of money. Especially considering the two in question
couldn’t even be called his friends . . .

“I’m not sure about this . . . ” Daniela said,
interrupting Jeanne’s musings. She screwed her face up and glanced at Jeanne
then at Dominique.

“Something’s bothering you. Will you tell me what it is?” Dominique
asked.

“I don’t want to beat anyone up,” Daniela said.

He smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to. Hopefully, you won’t
need to. But, believe me, you’ll feel so much better knowing that you can.”

Daniela stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “OK. Let’s do it.”

Soaking in her bathtub later that night to relax her aching
muscles—including a few she hadn’t known she had—Jeanne wondered about
Mat’s gesture. It was generous, no doubt. But it was also too extravagant
.
Was he trying to impress her, to make
her feel grateful to him so she’d sleep with him?

Jeanne pinched her nose and sank under the water for a few seconds. When
she reemerged with a white hat of foam on her head, she told herself Mat wasn’t
the kind of person to
pay
for a woman’s favors. The guy she remembered
from four years ago wouldn’t have even thought of that.

But then, he was no longer that guy. He’d transformed both outwardly and
inwardly into a different kind of man. The kind she’d sworn off after her
embarrassing affair with Fred. Jeanne stared at the wall as a bitter, tangy
taste spread in her mouth. The truth was this man, the new Mat, didn’t have
much in common with the geek who used to worship her. Gone were the messy curls
and the ugly glasses, but also the vulnerability and the goofiness. He was now
a self-confident politician, full of ambition and promise. He was so driven, so
sure of the path he’d set for himself.

A path that didn’t intersect with hers.

Wasn’t it cruelly ironic that she’d waited until
this metamorphosis to finally fall in love with him?

***

Chapter Nine

June

Mat rubbed his forehead and tried to reason with himself.

Turn around and walk away. Or better still—run
.

He didn’t move.

He’d been standing in front of Jeanne’s building for a good fifteen
minutes now, struggling to recover control over his body. But his brain no
longer seemed in charge. Mat smirked. He had a pretty good idea
what
had
taken over.

Just a glimpse. A quick hello and I’ll leave.

Over the past month, he’d thought of Jeanne—her vitality, hearty
laughter, sexy voice, and gorgeous body—way more than he should. More
than he’d thought about his girlfriend, his work, and the forthcoming municipal
elections combined.

Today, having finished his business in Paris earlier than planned, he
didn’t go to the train station. His feet brought him to
La Bohème
where
he hoped to catch a glimpse of Jeanne. Maybe say hi. Maybe even accidentally
brush her hand. He was vaguely aware coming here was an uncommonly bad idea.
But his traitorous brain refused to list the many reasons why he shouldn’t be
in Jeanne’s vicinity again.

As it turned out, she’d taken the afternoon off.

Mat loosened his tie and took a few breaths. A woman carrying groceries
stopped in front of the intercom, keyed in the code, and pushed the entrance
door open. Mat rushed in after her. He had no idea on what Jeanne’s floor was,
but it wasn’t a problem. All he had to do was check the names on each door,
starting from the ground floor.

He walked past the concierge’s loge and smiled. Dominique had told him
that since enrolling three weeks ago, Daniela and Jeanne never missed a class.
They were beginning to show progress.

The tiny sign over the peephole of the next door read “Jeanne Bonnet.”

Mat took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

She’s probably out,
he told himself, trying to calm his breathing.

Footsteps approached on the other side of the
door. There was a brief pause.

Is she looking through the peephole?

She opened the door and Mat gasped. She was
so unbearably lovely in her cotton sundress, her hair tied into a loose bun,
and a light blush coloring her cheeks.

He stared at her, spellbound, neglecting to
think of an excuse. Forgetting to say hello.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

He blinked, remembering where he was, and why
he shouldn’t be here. But it was too late for regrets.

“You mentioned some time ago you lived five
blocks from
La Bohème.
So I checked the names on the intercoms of all
the buildings around the bistro until I found yours.”

He’d expected a rebuke but was it
joy
that flickered in her eyes? He didn’t dare believe it.

Jeanne schooled her features into a polite
smile. “Thanks again for the Krav Maga subscription. You didn’t have to do it.”

“It was my pleasure.” He smirked. “As you
know, I get off finding solutions to people’s problems. I’m convinced Krav Maga
will help Daniela. It’s bound to.”

Jeanne nodded. “Come on in. I have to leave in about twenty minutes, but
I can offer you a cold drink.”

He stepped inside. Jeanne reached behind his back and pulled the door
shut. As soon as he heard the click, he took her in his arms and pressed her to
his chest.

She didn’t resist.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. God, that smell of coffee in her
hair, mixed with her delicate perfume. How he’d missed it! He stroked her
tanned shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the smooth warm velvet of her skin.
He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, and her nose.

“Oh, Jeanne.” He repeated her name between the kisses, his voice deep and
soft. It felt good to be able to say her name aloud while touching her. His
gaze darted to her mouth, but he didn’t kiss it, stretching out the sweet
torture of anticipation.

Jeanne’s arms were now around his neck
,
and her hands caressed his nape. She closed her eyes and held her face up for
his kisses. When she slightly opened her lips and moistened them with her
tongue, he knew he was a goner.

With a low groan, he closed his eyes and kissed her.
Really
kissed
her. For the first time in his life, he kissed Jeanne the way he’d always
wanted to, the way he hadn’t had a chance to do until now. His tongue plunged
into her mouth and stroked hers. He ran it against the inside of her teeth, her
palate, and then sucked on her tongue. She didn’t taste of honey or mint. It
was something different, sweet, and sultry at the same time.

The taste of paradise.

Jeanne shifted her position, and through the thin layers of their
clothing, her taut nipples brushed over his chest. Mat gasped and pulled away a
little, afraid he’d embarrass himself like a teenager. He needed a few moments
to regain a measure of control over his hunger for this woman, before he could
hold her and taste her again.

With a dazed expression, Jeanne opened her eyes. She stroked the back of
his head, and a smile touched the corners of her lips.
“Let
your hair grow.”

“I thought you didn’t like my curls.”

“I didn’t. But I wish you had them now.”

“It’s the new and improved Mat that turns you
on, remember?” he teased. “What if the curls triggered your former
indifference?”

She smiled a little too brightly. “That’s
exactly what I’m hoping for.”

He suddenly realized how quickly he had grown
used to the idea that Jeanne fancied him, that she was unable to resist his
touch. It had become a given in his life, a secret source of warmth and
reassurance he delved into every time he faced rejection, disappointment, or
simply a spot of the blues.