walls and a roof dome of paneled glass that spoke of a bygone era. I stopped, and stared upwards, not realizing I’d come to a complete standstill with my mouth open until someone bumped into me with a muttered grunt.
“S-sorry.” Nervousness pinched my belly, and I made my feet move. I wasn’t sure if I was expecting someone holding a sign, but as I looked left and right, trying to stay out of the way of the stream of passengers coming after me, I saw no one who looked like they were here for me.
Someone jostled into me again. “Excusez-moi.”
“Sorry,” I muttered and headed toward a small stand that sold newspapers, candy, and cigarettes so I could get out of the way. I should at least buy a bottle of water while I waited and figured out my next move in case no one showed up. I pursed my lips together and dug in my purse for my sunglasses and slipped them on my face. I pointed to a bottle of water and handed over some of my Euros I’d managed to get out of an ATM at the Paris airport.
The sound of small feet running caught my attention. A small girl, dressed in a pink dress and Mary Jane shoes, and tangled honey-colored hair floating wild about her face flew around the corner of the newsstand and stopped dead when she saw me.
I squatted and pushed my sunglasses up to my hair, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Dauphine!” A man’s voice boomed across the station, the sound panicked.
“Dauphine!” The man rushed past, then whirled as he saw us. He dropped to a crouch, yanking the small girl into his arms. He held her tight, his head falling into her shoulder like he was inhaling her desperately.
Oh my God. It was him. Xavier whatever. Monsieur Pascale. I could tell from the brief flash of his face before I was confronted with that incredible thick dark hair. And of course, the name of his daughter suddenly clicked into place. Expensive denim stretched tight over his strong thighs, and his white linen shirt and navy blazer, that screamed custom-made, dressed a torso that didn’t seem to have an ounce of expendable fat.
I stood slowly and stepped backward to give them some space.
My hands itched to drop my sunglasses back over my eyes as protection, but I resisted.
After Monsieur Pascale had given his daughter enough of a hug, he set her at arm’s length and gave her a shake, his face thunderous, and his mouth sputtering all sorts of things I didn’t understand. I figured he’d thought he lost his daughter and now his fear was catching up. Christ, the man was attractive. Far more attractive than the French tabloid link Mer had sent me had managed to capture. His presence alone was like a vortex.
I made myself step back farther as the little girl pointed at me.
But then the world slowed down. In the time it took for his eyes to trek slowly upward, from my feet to my face, I lived eons. I had moments where I wondered if I should step forward and introduce myself and moments where I wished I’d evaporate back onto the train before we locked eyes. Before I could decide to introduce myself, his eyes locked with mine, and the world snapped back into real time.
I felt the attraction like a punch in my solar plexus.
A tiny breath huffed out of me.
Shit.
There was nothing soft about him. His blue eyes darkened and his jaw tensed. His features were hard and angular, but slightly imperfect, in a way that took them from pretty and perfect to dangerously sexy. He was elegant with a sharp and jagged edge that made him lethal. In a flash, the look in his eyes—whatever it had been when he first looked at me—was gone. In fact, his whole mood seemed to travel at light-speed from desperate relief at his daughter’s safety, to annoyance, to whatever it was he’d thought when he looked at me, and then to some kind of cold control that swept over him. All in a matter of seconds. It was actually impressive.
My throat closed as I tried to swallow under his scrutiny. I wondered what he was a billionaire of. I could imagine peons and minions quaking and quailing under this stare.
I dragged my gaze from him to his daughter who stared at me curiously. “H-hello,” I stammered.
Her father watched me from his crouched position. He must have thighs of