Book Title: The Paris Secrets Trilogy Author: Michele Renae Genre: Erotic Romance Release Date: August 1, 2014 Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Michele Hauf is an author of over 60 stories in the fantasy, action/adventure, historical and paranormal romance genres, and writes erotica as Michele Renae. Michele is good at daydreaming, kitty wrangling, navigating Paris from memory, and locating parking spots close to the front door. She is not so good at making bath bombs, being patient in line at the Post Office, and reading only one book at a time.
I pulled aside the sheer and attempted to engage x-ray vision to see through his curtains. The way the night muted the window I couldn't see well, though if the curtain were open his light would reveal the interior of his bedroom as if it were a diorama lit up at a museum. When the curtains suddenly parted, I panicked and almost slammed the sheers shut, yet made the save by raising my glass in a silent toast. "Just your friendly peeping Jane," I muttered. "Can't sleep?" I wondered. The man held up a glass of milk and rubbed his eyes in the universal signal of sleeplessness. I lifted my glass in another toast, and he matched it. We drank our respective libations. If a girl could get drunk off water, it was going to happen when the view was so tantalizing. He leaned a shoulder against the window, brazenly unselfconscious of the fact that he stood in only his boxer briefs—that emphasized his package nicely. Or maybe he was aware and wanted me to take a good long look. I did. And I wished it was my birthday. Or Christmas. This Catholic chick would even settle for Hanukah at this point. Right now any reason to open a package was good by me. As I assessed the abundant gift displayed behind glass and cotton, it hardened noticeably, forming a nice firm bulge that angled toward his hip. It must serve a good handful for him. I sucked in my lower lip. Call it lack of sleep. Call it needing to get laid more often than the once every month or so rotation I'd been on lately. Call it…fascinated by his soft, sexy smile that twinkled in his eyes, and that extremely enticing, hard, huge package. He winked at me. My heartbeats stopped for a full ten seconds. Count out ten seconds. That is one hell of a long time. His sexy wink stole away my breath and threatened to keep it from me. His regard glided over my heart, stunning it still with a powerful beguilement spell. Smirking, I resumed breathing. Arousal tended to make me breathe faster. My heartbeats kicked back into gear, though a little faster and lighter now, like butterflies beating the airstream that encircled the universe. Touching the empty water glass to my lips, I dipped a lash flutter at him. I wasn't an expert in flirtation, but I'd read books, and had actually researched different forms of kissing for a romance novelist. I pointed at him, and gave him the thumbs up sign. He lowered his head in an embarrassed shrug. A few dark curls spilled over his ear, and he brushed them back. Could the man be any cuter? Setting his glass of milk on a marble-topped dresser across from the end of his bed, he then put his forearm to the window and propped his palm against a temple. His gaze sought mine and I let him have the connection. Or was it my soul he'd connected to? Could souls flutter? No, wait. I was getting ahead of myself. It was just a look shared between two people who stood, scantily clad, in their respective windows. No soul mating going on here, folks. Move along. No pictures allowed behind this line. What he did next was to be my undoing. I just wouldn't know it for months to come. He pointed to me, holding the gesture for a few seconds…then, he made a motion of slipping the robe from my shoulder. Eyebrow lifting, I defied him with a tilt of my head. My slightly-longer-than-shoulder-length hair spilled off one shoulder. Cheeky of him. Very forward. I wasn't that kind of girl. But right now I needed to be that kind of girl more than I needed to breathe. He shrugged and splayed his palms in a 'what can I say?' gesture. And for some reason, maybe lack of sleep, or glue-induced insanity, I tapped into the vixen I knew existed somewhere inside me. That part of me who pranced before the mirror on tiptoes when I tried on a new dress or a sexy pair of panties. The seductress who pursed her lips at the reflection in the mirror, yet who shuddered at the idea of actually doing such a thing before a real, live, breathing male. Oh, tiny vixen. It's your time to shine. Or at least turn up the dimmer switch to the next level of brightness. I slipped the yellow silk robe from my shoulder. Taking particular notice of the slide of fabric over my skin, I focused on that instead of the man watching me. Swift, light, as if a brush of a lover's hand, it sent a shiver down my arm and perked the hairs over goose flesh. The silk draped above my breast, the little embroidered bee crushed within the folds. As I shifted my shoulders back, allowing the other sleeve to drop down, the robe spilled even further, both sleeves landing at the crooks of my elbows. My nipples tightened, much less from the fabric, and more from anticipation. Or was it fear? The tremble in my chest gave me away. But I was determined, so I continued. I didn't feel compelled to cup my hands before my breasts, so the lightweight fabric splayed open, shifting across my skin in delicious tingles, and inspiring a heavy inhale of courage on my part. The man's smile deepened, and he nodded at the sight of my exposed breasts. His thumbs up sign didn't seem lecherous so much as a quiet thank you. Because there I stood, in the middle of the night, exposing myself to a complete stranger who I hardly knew. Hell, I didn't know him at all. Wait. The other night's window wave and book sharing counted as a first meeting, right? Sure, we were old friends. Struggling with the weirdness of my newly-emerged exhibitionism and the need to wrap the silk back across my breasts and flee for safety under the comforter, I exhaled slowly and breathed in through my nose. Aware that the action lifted my breasts, I noticed that he was even more acutely tuned in. Too much. Too fast. What the hell are you doing? Right. Enough with playing the wanton for the night. I pulled up the robe, kissed the palm of my hand and blew him a kiss. Then I shuffled into bed and switched off the lamp. Snuggling into the sheets, my head crushing into the pillow, I closed my eyes. A smile curled my mouth. I'd never done anything so brazen before. Ever. It was completely out of character. My introvert's crown had just tilted. And the vixen within giggled. I wondered if he was still standing there, waiting for my return? Dare I look? I pulled up the comforter to my nose. "Tomorrow night," I whispered. "It’ll be his turn to reveal something to me."
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