When The Stars Align

by Jeanette Grey

  That finally won him a smile. “I wouldn’t know. But I’m guessing so.”

  “Trust me, it is.” He picked up his cappuccino and took another sip. “So, what’s the agenda, then? Where have you been so far? What are your must-sees?”

  “I only got here a couple days ago. Yesterday, I went out to Monet’s gardens.”

  “Lovely.” Lovelier still was the way her whole face softened, just mentioning them.

  “I mostly walked around, this morning. Then I was going to sit here and draw for a bit.”

  Asking if he could see her work sometime would be good in terms of making his intentions clear. It was also unbearably trite. He gave a wry smile. “A quintessential Parisian experience.”

  “And then… I don’t know. The Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, of course.” The corner of her mouth twitched downward. “Everything else I had listed in my guidebook.”

  Ah. “Which I’m imagining just got stolen?”

  “Good guess.”

  Eyeing her up the entire time, he finished the rest of his drink. She still had a little left of hers, but they were closing in on decision time. He didn’t have anything else going on today—he never really had anything going on, not since his life had fallen apart. But was he willing to sink an entire afternoon here, offering to show her around?

  He tried to be analytical about it. Her body language was still less than open, for all that she’d loosened up a bit. Given her age, probably not a virgin, but he’d bet a lot of money that she wasn’t too far off. Not his usual fare. He preferred girls who knew what they were doing—more importantly, ones who knew what he was doing. What he was looking for.

  This girl… It was going to take some work to get in there. If it paid off, he had a feeling it’d be worth it, though. When she smiled, her prettiness transcended into beauty.

  There was something else there, too. She was romantic and hopeful, and between the story of her lost sketchbook and her delusions about Paris having the power to change her life, she had to be a creative type. Out of nowhere, he wanted to know what kinds of things she made, and what she looked like when she drew.

  He kept coming back to her eyes. They hadn’t stopped moving the entire time they’d been sitting there, like she was taking absolutely everything in. The sights beyond the window, the faces of the people in the café. Him. It was intriguing. She was intriguing, and in a way no other woman had been in so long.

  And the idea of going back to the apartment alone made him want to scream.

  Decision made, he pushed his chair out and clapped his hands together. “Well, what are we waiting for then?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Travel guides are bullshit anyway. Especially when you’ve got something better.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand.

  Her expression dripped skepticism. “And what’s that?”

  He shot her his best, most seductive grin. “Me.”

  Kate stayed firmly planted in her seat as he offered to help her up. Trying her best to appear unaffected, she arched one eyebrow. “Does this usually work for you?”

  The guy didn’t pull his hand back or in any other way appear to alter his strategy, and Kate had to give him points for that. “Yes, actually.”

  “Interesting.”

  The sad truth was, his offer was beyond tempting. The attention was nice, especially after her self-esteem had been beaten down the way it had in the past year. Hell, in the past twenty-two. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone who spoke fluent French showing her around, either. That he was as attractive as he was just made the deal sweeter.

  “Not working so well on you, then?” he asked as she considered him.

  “Not so far.”

  His smile only widened. “Good. I like a girl who’s hard to crack.” Standing up straighter, he held his palms out at his sides. “Come on, what have you got to lose?”

  “I’d say my wallet, but that’s already gone.”

  “See? Low stakes. Listen, you don’t trust me.” That was an understatement. Was there a man left on earth that she did? “I don’t blame you. Devilishly handsome man wanders into a café and buys you a drink without asking? Offers to show you around town? Very suspicious.”

  “Very.”

  “So let’s make this safe. You said you wanted to see the Louvre? Let’s go to the Louvre. I’ll show you all my favorites, and then if I haven’t murdered you by suppertime, you let me take you someplace special. Someplace no guidebook in the world would ever recommend.”

  She was really running out of reasons to say no. It was a good plan, this one. They’d be in a public place. She’d have time to feel him out a little more. And if he wasn’t too much of a psycho, well, everyone had to eat, didn’t they?

  Still, she kept up her air of skepticism. She rather liked all his efforts to convince her. “I don’t even know your name.”

  The way his dimples shone when he lifted up one corner of his mouth was completely unfair. Extending his hand again, he offered, “Rylan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Rylan. That was unusual. She liked it.

  “Kate,” she volunteered in return, and with no more real excuse not to, she accepted the handshake, slipping her palm into his. Warm fingers curled around hers, his thumb stroking the side of her hand, and oh. The rake. He bent forward as he tugged on her hand, twisting ever so slightly so he could press his lips to the back of her palm.

  “Charmed.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” But her pulse was racing faster, and the kiss felt like it seared all the way to her spine.

  This man was dangerous.

  He straightened up but he didn’t let go. Sweeping his other arm toward the door, he asked, “So?”

  She hummed to herself as she gazed up at him, as if there was any question of what she was going to do. His blue eyes sparkled, like he already knew her answer, too.

  “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.

  “Don’t we have to go in through the Pyramid?” she asked, sounding breathless, evoking the famous entrance to the museum.

  He twisted to look at her and winked. “Would I lead you any other way?”

  They emerged out into the stone courtyard. He let go of her hand to throw his arms out wide. Ta-da. “Your Pyramid, madame.”

  Pei’s Pyramid. It was a glass and metal structure, located at the center of the courtyard, housing the main entrance of the museum. His mother had always hated it, but he’d never really minded the thing. Besides, it was in all the guidebooks, and in high school French textbooks. Tourists typically wanted to see it.

  She stood there staring at the monument for a long moment before scrunching her face up. “That is both so much cooler and so much less impressive than I expected.”

  Well, at least she was honest. He threw his head back and laughed. “Welcome to international travel, my dear.” He dug in his pocket for his phone. “You want a picture?”

  “Actually, kinda. Yeah.”

  “Stand over there.” He motioned her to stand where he had a good view of her and the Pyramid. The sky was a bright, perfect blue, and it brought out the red in her hair. Her photo smile wasn’t as arresting as her real one, but he’d take it anyway. “Say ‘fromage.’”

  He snapped the shot, then held it out so she could see. He expected the requisite look of embarrassment all girls gave him when he showed them images of themselves, but instead she simply nodded. “Nice composition.”

  It made him pause. She had been planning to spend her day sketching, had been swayed by his offer to take her here of all places, so the comment shouldn’t have surprised him. But his estimation of her rose. When she looked at something, she looked deeper. Saw more.

  The idea of wandering around a museu
m with her suddenly took on a whole new kind of charm.

  He glanced at the picture again before flicking back to the camera app. “Easy when there’s a pretty lady in the frame.”

  She cast her gaze skyward and was just starting to move away when he caught her arm.

  “What?”

  “One more.”

  “The one is plenty,” she argued.

  “One more for me.” With that, he reeled her in, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. It was a cheap ploy, but he couldn’t resist the chance to get her close. Her scent wafted over him again. He took a second to breathe her in, to really feel her against his side before he held his arm out for the selfie, shooting his own best lady-killer grin at the lens.

  Her laughter sounded more indulgent than charmed, but he could work with that. “Does this move usually work for you?” she asked.

  He pressed the button on the screen to take the shot. “Better than the tour guide offer, even.” He snapped his teeth playfully near her ear. “Because this one gives me an excuse to touch you.”

  Making a show of mock-growling at her, he gave her one rough squeeze and let her go. She took only a half step away, but the loss of her left his ribs cold. He mentally shook his head at himself.

  Before he could give in to the urge to tug her back in, and without a pretext this time, he turned his attention to the screen. A pang fired off inside him. They looked good together. Like a real, happy couple—the kind he’d been taught didn’t exist. Her eyes positively danced, her smile as wide as her face.

  And so was his. Not a thing about his expression was forced or fake. The contrast alone made his throat tighten. This wasn’t one of the usual selfies he took with girls. Not one of the awful pictures snapped on the courthouse steps. Or the others. The ones from before.

  His hands curled into fists, and he had to forcibly relax them.

  Shutting that line of thought right down, he turned off the screen of his phone. “You’ll have to tell me where to send them later.”

  Oblivious to where his mind had gone, she raised a brow. “Ah, now I see your game. You want my e-mail address.”

  “Yes,” he said dryly. “It’s all been a clever little ploy so I could subscribe you to all sorts of mailing lists for natural male enhancement.”