Read The Devil's Own Chloe (Bistro La Bohème Series) for Free Online Page B

be able to find my next of kin!
    As
I blurt all of this to Hugo in one long, messy monologue, he listens without
interrupting, his expression grave.
    “I’m
sorry,” I say. “I must have bored you to death with this stuff.”
    “Are
you crazy? It’s the first time since we’ve known each other that you’ve share
something that means so much to you. I’m stoked. And grateful.”
    I
blink, not knowing how to respond to that.
    “What
does the test involve?” he asks.
    “Sending
a little saliva to a private lab abroad.”
    “Why
abroad?”
    “These
tests are forbidden in France because of our famous precautionary principle.”
    “Ha,”
he exhales in annoyance. “How did we get from revolutionaries to Europe’s most
cautious nation?”
    “Beats
me.”
    “So
you’re going do it, right? Send your saliva sample?”
    “Yes.”
    “When?”
    I
hesitate. “Soon… ish.”
    “Why
not immediately, seeing how much this means to you?”
    I
turn my back to Hugo and load my hawk with more plaster. These things aren’t
easy to explain. It’s precisely because this means so much to me that I’m
procrastinating.
    “What
if,” I finally say without looking at him, “What if they don’t find any
cousins, or anyone even remotely related to me because none of these people happen
to have taken the test?”
    Hugo
keeps silent.
    “What
if all I learn from the test is that I’m part Celtic and part Basque with some
Slavic blood thrown in, and that’s it?”
    He
still says nothing so I turn around, suddenly eager to see his eyes.
    They’re
brimming with compassion.
    “I
don’t know if I’m prepared to stomach the disappointment.”
    He
nods.
    Suddenly
I’m cold—teeth-chatteringly cold.
    I
set my hawk on the worktable and rub my hands together. “Maybe we should call
it a—”
    Hugo
closes the distance between us in a couple of gigantic strides and clasps my
hands between his. His large, callused palms enclose my hands completely, and
I’m dumbstruck by how comforting this feels.
    He
begins to rub gently, looking at me as if I were something infinitely precious.
Still rubbing, he pulls my hands up to his face, opens up his palms a little,
and blows a warm breath onto my frigid fingertips.
    Ooh,
this is good. Too
damn good.
    Just
as the alarm siren goes off inside my head, he drops his head and brushes the
back of my left hand with his lips. The contact is electrifying, and I let out
a ragged breath. But he won’t relent. Gently, he flips my hands and plants a
burning kiss to the hollow of my right palm.
    My
knees wobble. A weird chemical reaction heats my blood, driving it to my lower
abdomen. I’m petrified with the shock of what Hugo is doing and how I’m
responding to it. I’m awash in exaltation. And fear.
    His
soft, full lips press harder against my sensitive skin and then shift a little
to the base of my fingers and linger there. How can this gentle, no-tongues
kiss—my friend’s kiss—feel so intimate? How can it feel a thousand
times more erotic that the sophisticated ministrations of all the bad boys I’ve
been with? How can Hugo do this to me?
    What
exactly is he doing to me?
    I
struggle to breathe. The alarm in my head grows louder and louder until it
becomes deafening. I pull my hands away and stare into Hugo’s darkened eyes.
    You
have to do this, Chloe.
    You
have to break him. You must do all it takes to cool him down… before it’s too
late.
    “Chloe,”
he says, looking at me with so much tenderness my chest clenches. “I—”
    “Let’s
pretend this never happened,” I interrupt him.
    His
expression darkens. “Why?”
    “Because…”
    Damn
it, Hugo. How
could I possibly explain this to you?
    “Because
I can’t,” I finally say and turn away to resume plastering.
    Hugo
follows suit.
    An
hour later, we pack up and leave without having said another word to each
other.
    *
* *

Eight
    I’m
wearing leggings and a loose T-shirt. So are Jeanne, Manon, and Diane. Our
gazes are