Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the greater
good on our side, but the plaintiffs’ arguments are
more . . . emotionally charged.”
    “They can’t sleep because of the noise and they hate the skyline, right?”
He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have to take a
public stand on this. Sooner or later someone’s bound to ask what I think about
the windmills.”
    “Has anyone polled the locals?”
    “Mom surveyed a sample of sixty Balevilleans. The opinions were divided,
almost fifty-fifty,” he said.
    “So, what’s your stand going to be?” She cocked her head. “You’re a
Green—you can’t turn against wind turbines just because some people find
them ugly.”
    “And noisy. Besides, some Greens are concerned about their impact on
wildlife.”
    “Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “A wind turbine kills an average of
one bird per year. Fossil fuels kill a lot more.”
    He threw his hands up. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
    “I’ll prepare a fact sheet with references to serious studies,” she said.
“I did tons of research for my case, so it won’t take a lot of time.”
    He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks, baby. What would
I do without you?”
    “Lose the election?”
    “I may lose it anyway,” he said.
    “Not if you follow my advice.” She winked at him. “I want you to become
mayor of this town just as much as you do.”
    “For environmental reasons?” he asked.
    “And for private ones, too.” She smiled.
    He stroked her taut cheek , and
his hand slid down to caress her bony shoulder through the fabric of her silk
pajamas. He didn’t try to bare it. As much as he liked the sight of her dainty
frame in her sleek clothes, she was so skinny it pained him to look at her
naked. Oh, how he wished she had curves. Not like Jeanne—that would’ve
been too much to ask. He’d be happy with a hint of flesh in one or two
strategic places. But Cécile was a calorie-counting, low-carbing, fat-avoiding
vegan, which made acquiring said flesh virtually impossible. Once in a moment
of drunken honesty, she shared the real reason behind her multiple food
restrictions. Cécile hated the act of eating. But she didn’t want to explain
this to anyone, so she’d come up with all those diets to conveniently invoke at
mealtimes.
    She had denied her confession vehemently upon sobering up.
    Mat kissed her and tugged on her binder. “Put this away,” he whispered.
    “Mat,” she said admonishingly.
    “Yes?”
    “I have to read all this before the hearing tomorrow.”
    “Can’t you read it first thing in the morning?”
    “I won’t have the time.”
    He pulled away a few inches and peered into her eyes.
    She looked down at her papers. “Besides, it isn’t Saturday yet,” she
said, her tone reproachful.
    He removed his hand from her shoulder and sat up. Christ, she made
lovemaking sound like a chore that had to be done on certain days . Like vacuuming or changing the bed
linen. Was it what sex was to her—a chore? Was it the real reason why
she’d only do it on Saturdays? And only those when she didn’t have her period,
a headache, or . . . no energy.
    Whenever he asked her if she wanted him to do things differently, she’d
always say she was happy with his methods . But he couldn’t shake the feeling she resented their couplings, rare as they
may be. Was having sex like eating for her—another bodily function she
hated but wouldn’t dare admit it? He loved her but, God, how he wished she had
a tenth of Jeanne’s sensuality!
    As he stared unseeing at his tablet computer, he pictured Jeanne in his
mind’s eye, her out of this world body, her sweet face, her lush lips, and
irresistible smile. He recalled every detail of how she looked in her wicked
cocktail dress at Rob’s party and then in those tight jeans when he’d run into her
last month. His pulse picked up.
    Great.
    Mat clasped his hands over his head. How could Jeanne still make him feel
this way,