Diamond in the Rough - Skye Warren Page 0,1
I heard you and your sister talking.”
“Oh.” With his green eyes and square jaw, he’s handsome. And he’s already spotted my sister. Next he’s probably going to ask me for her number. I’ve been down this road before.
“I’m going on break in a few minutes. Want to go outside for a smoke?”
My eyes widen. “Me?”
“Who else?”
“Boys are always after my sister.”
He shakes his head as if to comment on the stupidity of boys. Maybe that’s because he’s not really a boy anymore. He’s older. At least eighteen, which means he’s too old for me.
I turned sixteen two months ago. My father would never let me go on a smoke break with a boy, but he’s not here to ask permission.
“What’s your name anyway?” he asks.
“Holly.”
“I’m Elijah. Let’s go.”
“I don’t like smoke.”
Someone bumps into him, pushing him into me. He catches me in his arms, and I can smell some kind of masculine scent. It’s like he’s surrounding me. “Then we won’t smoke.”
This close I can see the golden striations in his green eyes. “There must be a thousand girls who walk through here, who admire the Mona Lisa. Every day. Why me?”
He studies me as if seeking the answers in my plain brown eyes and plain brown hair. In my ordinary blue dress. “I saw you. I wanted you. And I take what I want. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that, Holly.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Okay.”
He gives me directions to follow to get to the staff exit around the building. And he gives me a salute, faintly conspiratorial, a little mocking. Then he’s gone.
For a moment I consider walking the rest of the wing, looking at paintings from the old masters. There are Botticelli frescoes somewhere here. I know before I take the first step that I’m going to follow Elijah’s instructions. It’s somehow beguiling, this real flesh-and-blood man who’s interested in me, more so than priceless treasures.
CHAPTER TWO
I follow his instructions around the side of the building, passing tourists and a smattering of French. Before I reach the door he spoke of, I find him leaning against a column. He continues standing that way, as if he’s holding up the entire building, even as I come to stand in front of him.
“Are you going to smoke?” I ask, feeling childish and dumb. I’ve never been around anyone who smokes. I hope I don’t cough in some obvious way.
He shakes his head. A leather jacket covers up his white security guard shirt, making him look more dangerous. “Follow me.”
Then he crosses the street, and I have to skip to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
The place turns out to be a plain concrete step that leads to an open door. A hand-painted sign above it says, Crepes. That’s when I realize it’s his break. “You must be hungry.”
“It’s hard to find decent food close to the musée. Lots of tourist traps.” This looks like the opposite of a tourist trap. There are tables crammed together, something faintly off key playing on an old speaker, and no menus in sight.
He gestures to a table and holds out the wood-and-plastic chair for me. I sit down and clasp my hands nervously on the thin red-and-white checkered tablecloth. He holds out his hand, and for a moment I have the inane thought that he’s asking me to dance. That’s how he looks, like some kind of courtier in a royal ball. Then I realize he’s looking at my backpack.
“Oh,” I say. “No. I’m good. It’s really comfortable.”
He looks skeptical, but he sits down across from me and kicks out his legs away from the wall.
I feel like I have to explain. “It’s kind of a family rule, not to let go of my backpack while we’re exploring. My dad’s a little overprotective. That probably sounds silly.”
“It sounds… nice, actually.”
“What are you doing in Paris anyway?”
He shrugs. “Work.”
“Yeah, but it seems like strange work for an American.”
That earns me a small smile. “Yeah, it’s strange.”
My cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I can guard anything, so why not art? Better than being the security guard at a mall, right? And the pay is better, too.”
“You’re different than the other security guards.”
He raises one eyebrow. “More handsome, you mean?”
I have to laugh at the brazen flirting even though it’s true. The rest of the guards seem like a dour, serious lot. Meanwhile he’s taking smoke breaks and asking out random