“Well.” She rose from her seat, feeling taller than usual. More powerful. Maybe it was all the flattery of a guy like this hitting on her. Maybe it was the headiness of making this kind of a decision. Either way, it made her straighten her shoulders and insert a little sway into her hips.
“Well?”
“Lead on,” she said.
He didn’t let go of her hand. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” With a squeeze of her fingers, he took a step toward the door. “Let’s go look at some art.”
External pressures aside, she had come to Paris to be inspired by beauty. She could find it on the walls of a famous museum. And she could find it in the lines of this man’s shoulders and throat. The latter might not have been what she’d had in mind when she’d set out, but what was a little bit of a diversion?
You couldn’t find yourself without taking a couple of side trips, after all.
The girl—Kate—wiggled her hand free as they approached the front of the café. Disappointing, but not really a problem. Rylan reached forward to get the door for her and shepherded her through it with a gentle touch at the small of her back. Following her out onto the sidewalk, he gestured down the street. “It’s only a little ways. You up for walking?”
“Sure.”
Good. Paris came alive this time of year, with the trees and flowers in full bloom, the sky a brilliant blue. Even the traffic seemed less suffocating now that summer was on the horizon. The influx of tourists made the walkways more congested, but at least the travelers occasionally smiled.
As he led them off in the direction of the museum, she fell into step at his side. He pressed his luck whenever the crush of pedestrians got thick, keeping her close with a hand on her hip, letting his fingertips linger. She fit so well against him, every brush of their bodies sending zips of awareness through him. Making him want to tug her closer in a way he hadn’t entirely anticipated.
The whole thing seemed to amuse her, but her efforts to act like she wasn’t affected were undercut by the flush on her cheeks. The way she allowed him to keep her near.
Until they paused to wait for a light to change, and she pulled away, turning so she was facing him. “So. Rylan.”
A rush of warmth licked up his spine. His name sounded so good rolling off her tongue. Far better than Theodore Rylan Bellamy III ever had. He’d rid himself of the rest of his father’s burdens only recently, but he’d shed the man’s name years ago. And yet it still made him smile whenever someone accepted the middle name he’d taken as his own. Didn’t question it the way his family always had.
Ignoring the ruffle of irritation that thought shot through him, he met her gaze and matched her tone. “Kate.”
She looked him up and down. “What’s your deal?”
Right. Because this wasn’t all just flirtatious touches. He’d asked her to a museum for God’s sake, not back to his bed. She wanted conversation. To get to know him.
Just the idea of it made him feel hollow.
He put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight, glancing between her eyes and the traffic going by. “Not much to tell.” Liar. “Jaded expat skulking around Paris for a while. Ruthlessly showing lonely tourists around the city in exchange for the pleasure of their company.”
“What makes you think I’m lonely?”
Shrugging, he put his hand to the base of her spine again as the light switched to green, feeling the warmth of her through her jacket as they crossed the street. “You have that look.”
“For all you know, I could be here with a whole troop of friends, or my family. My”—her breath caught—“boyfriend.”
And there was a story there, a faint, raw note. Temptation gnawed at him to press, to dig to the bottom of it.
But if he went digging into her pain, that gave her the right to do the same.
He hesitated for a moment, then went for casual. “Ah. But then you’d be with one of them, and instead you’re here with me.”
She didn’t contest the point, moving to put a few inches between them as they stepped up onto the opposite curb. Changing tacks, she asked, “How long have you been—what was it? Skulking around Paris?”
“About a year. I wander elsewhere from time to time when I get too bored, but a man can do a lot worse than Paris.”
“And what do you do?”
Nothing. Not anymore. “I pick up odd jobs from time to time,” he hedged. The things he had to do to get at his money felt like a job, sometimes. “But I don’t have a lot of expenses. Buying intriguing women coffee doesn’t put too much of a dent in the wallet.”
“Hmm.” One corner of her mouth tilted downward.
“You don’t like that answer?”
“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”
Perceptive. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“So, what, are you staying in a hostel or something?”
There he hesitated. “Something like that.” After all, the bed was the only thing in the place that felt like his. “Is that where you’re staying? A hostel?” It would be the most logical choice, if she were worried about money.
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
She actually rolled her eyes. “Like I’m telling you that.”
“Fine. I’ll just wait to find out when I walk you home.”
“Is that a threat?”
“An offer. One I hope you’ll accept.” He leaned in closer and caught a whiff of her hair. Vanilla and rose. Sweet and warm. It drew him in, awakening something in his blood. “Because I would love to”—his lips brushed her ear—“see you home tonight.”
She gave a full-body shiver. Flexed her hands at her sides so her knuckles brushed his thigh. Inside, he crowed.
Then she crossed her arms over her chest and took half a step to the side. A twitch of disappointment squeezed at him. But he wasn’t fooled.
He laughed as he let her have her space. Resistant though she might be, she was warming up to the idea. He didn’t have any worries.
He bumped his shoulder against hers. “And what about you? What’s your ‘deal’?”
“Not much to tell.” It was a clear imitation of his own response, and she narrowed her eyes for a second before shrugging. “I’m from Ohio, but I went to school in New York. My mom sends me paranoid e-mails, asking me if I’ve gotten mugged yet once a week.”
He winced. “At least you’ll have something to say to her this week, then?”
“Yeah.” She frowned, patting her side as if to touch the purse that wasn’t there. “Four years living in this sketchy part of Brooklyn, and I come to Paris to get robbed.” She dropped her gaze away from his. “Mom warned me about it, too, you know. Told me Paris was full of thieves.”
Her expression was growing more and more unhappy. God. She really didn’t know how to guard her emotions at all, did she? Nothing like the people he’d once surrounded himself with. The ones who would’ve looked at such naïveté with contempt. Here and now, it sparked a tenderness inside him that was new. He wanted to wipe the frown from her lips—or better, kiss it off. He wanted to know what had put it there in the first place. Neither reaction made sense.
So instead of touching or pressing, he steered the conversation onto safer ground. “Is it just you and your mom?”
“Pretty much. My dad’s… out of the picture.” And oh, but there was a minefield under there, based on the tone of her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you?”
Speaking of minefields…
Before he could try to find a way around talking about the train wreck that was his family, they rounded a corner, and he let out a breath in relief. He craned his neck and pointed. “Look. Those banners up ahead?”
Kate followed his gaze, rising up onto tiptoes. Easily distracted, thank God. “Yeah?”
He reached out to grab hold of her hand and nearly got lost in the softness of her skin. He licked his lips and swallowed. “Come on. We’re nearly there.”
The crowds of tourists were more overwhelming right around the museum, though not as bad as they would be once July hit. Letting him interlace their fingers, she quickened her pace, falling into step as they weaved their way along the sidewalk. The great walls of the place finally gave, and he dragged her along through the archway.