by Payton Lane
He was handsome, yes, and that could easily explain her reaction. Crushes were built on much less. Any sane, red-blooded woman could easily find herself in lust after one sighting of him. Gregory had warm brown eyes, a strong chin, scruff along his jaw and a sharply angled nose. His brown skin wasn't warm like his eyes but smooth and dark. She had no doubt he worked out. His broad shoulders and flat stomach were probably better up close and bare.
But...he met her gaze and she could practically taste his pain. It soured her mouth, transforming into a heartache. Dammit. She was a sucker for sad-eyed men. Society had convinced too many of them to only rut like pigs or pound on their chest. So real emotion, deep emotion—the kind a man couldn't hide, tripped her up every damn time.
Crush or not, she needed to act professional. So she pushed back her shoulders and let the smile spread easily. “Afternoon, Mr. Woods.”
“Mr. Woods?” He gave a soft whistle. “When did we get so formal?”
When her heart decided to do the cha-cha at the sight of him. And his voice. Oh, man. His timbre was so deliciously masculine she could spread it on toast and devour it. She tried again, “Gregory—”
“Greg,” he corrected. “Since you've held my four-carat diamond hostage for twenty-four hours.”
The ring wasn't his. Not really. He'd given it to a woman. That same woman had given the symbolic promise back. Greg seemed like the kind of man who kept his word.
She spread her hands over the counter, letting the coolness of the wood ground her. “That's the good news. It is indeed a four carat diamond ring. White gold.” Inscribed with You're my heart. “Finding a new home should be easy enough. Like I said, I don't sell items like that, but if you're willing, I can sell it for you. I'd get a portion of the money and the rest would go to you. How does that sound?”
He moved to the counter. “What would be the next step?”
All his attention focused on her. Keep it together. Don't fluster. Stay professional like your life depends on it. The next part would be hard enough without blushing like a smitten schoolgirl. Yvonne pulled her hands from the top of the counter, out of his sight and clenched them into fists. “I can sell it as is with the inscription or I can contact someone on your behalf to get it removed.”
His flinch was barely noticeable but she'd caught the vulnerable reaction. “Will that come out of the end price?”
His question was why she sold unique jewelry. People rarely changed their minds when they invested emotions into what they bought. In a very pragmatic sense it kept down her returns. The customer, also, always left satisfied.
This situation though...Ugh. She hated this probably as much as he did. “Yes,” she said slowly, “but you'll likely get more without it.”
“Fine.” His jawline seemed to harden into stone.
Yvonne knew better than to get too personal. She swallowed the nosy questions wanting to spill out. “I have friends in very high places,” she joked. “I can get it done by the end of the day. Tomorrow I can start actively looking for a buyer. Most likely the ring will be disassembled for the diamond and reset.”
He rolled his shoulders. “Fine.”
Now that subtle discomfort she couldn't ignore. She softened her tone. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to.”
The hardness in jaw took control of his every feature. “What makes you think that?”
He was going to make her say it. She unfolded her hands on the counter and inspected his face. His shoulders went up a notch as though he was bracing himself for what she'd say next.
Her life before opening her store had been about saying something without saying anything. A dancer, a great dancer told a story without uttering a word. As odd as many people found her explanation, she felt jewelry did the same.
Every culture, no matter the era or the hemisphere, used some kind of body adornments. Jewelry could tell a person about someone's status in life, their most precious keepsake, about the person wearing it. Baubles said so much even though they were inanimate objects. Jewelry told a story. She'd only changed her medium.
Yvonne murmured, “When I was seventeen I had my heart set on Juilliard.”
“Another story?” A smile cracked through the sadness.
She couldn't help but smile back. From the deeply grooved laugh lines, Yvonne had no doubt he did it a lot. The sadness in his eyes was the only tell that lately he hadn't. “The school has like a six percent acceptance rate. I didn't start dancing until I was fifteen. Most start when they were practically toddlers. I had to save money for the trip to get there because my parents wanted me to go to UC Berkeley.”
His brows rose. “Because you lived there or because you're a math geek?”
“Engineering. It's how I fell into jewelry.” That much was the truth but not the whole story. “A lot of what you see in my store, I've made.”
Greg turned in a half circle, taking in the store. She'd covered a handful of old wooden hangers with padding and satin material. Even added hooks at the bottom to hang her wares. The bookshelves had neck mannequins and there was more merchandise. All professionally displayed.
When he faced her again he looked impressed. “I'm guessing you didn't go to Berkeley.”
“Oh, I did. My dream school didn't take me. For about a year or two I couldn't let that crushing blow go. Nothing and no one could appease me. Folks tried. I still danced. I was accepted into companies. I won coveted spots, but it all didn't matter because Juilliard hadn't accepted me.”
Her words had made the darkness in his eyes almost bleak. He understood. Maybe their war stories didn't live on the same planet, but that small connection strummed in the quiet.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “What changed your mind?”
She'd gone into jewelry because her verbal storytelling skills tended to be heavy-handed. So she smiled. “I was ready to let it go. I was able to look at the life I'd made and appreciate what I did have.”
Bemusement chased away the bleakness. “What does your story have to do with the ring?”
She widened her smile. “Why would it have anything to do with your ring? You said you're fine with selling it. I just like to tell my clients stories.” He laughed and she added, “Come by tomorrow. I'll have another set of papers for you to fill out. It'll spell out the percentage I'll take and what you'll get. Indemnities, etc.”
He was still chuckling. “Tomorrow, then.”
Her crush on him wouldn't go anywhere, anytime soon if he kept laughing like that. With his eyes lit and that delicious timbre of his.... Nope. Her crush on him was going to make a home. “Tomorrow,” she said.
Greg was halfway to the door before he turned around and waltzed up to the counter again. “What is your name?”
She blinked, surprised for having missed that small and important introduction. That wasn't like her. “Yvonne.” She offered him her hand. “Smith.”
His hand was big, his palm warm but dry. The innocent connection sent a shiver of need down her spine. The warmth of his palm spread through her stomach. Another second of their hands connected and heat climbed to her face.
If the moment lasted any longer, she'd swoon and embarrass herself. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. Yup. Swooning to commence in five seconds.
“Nice to meet you, Yvonne.” He dropped her hand right at four and three quarters of a second.
“Ditto, Greg.”
He lingered at the counter, bristling with an anticipatory kind of air that made her skin tingle. The tension turning the air electric wasn't just primal or sexual. She was standing at the precipitate of something she didn't quite understand. But he seemed knew as he stood there, his gaze unwavering.
Yvonne sucked in another shuddering breath. He blinked and then turned to leave. This time he didn't change his mind at the door and come back.
Her store felt much too big and empty after he'd gone.
*****
“Have you asked her out yet?” Drew tossed a beer bottle at him.
Greg caught the glass before it landed on his kitchen floor. He'd just cleaned and bought groceries. Probably why his cousin had showed up unexpectedly. Drew seemed to have a sixth sense about these things. That and wild and wanton women. He lived a bachelor life and liked it that way.
Greg used to live like that. Hell, he had for the past year, and, yeah, he hadn't been happy about that existence like he used to.
He cracked the top of the beer and walk back toward the living room. On his flat screen, basketball pundits were debating who could take this year's championship. He plopped onto his couch and settled in for the debate with his cousin.
And how depressing was it that even his cousin, the self-proclaimed family fuck-up, could see just how much Abigail had changed him? Before Greg had the itch of settling down they would never have had this kind of conversation. That Before-Abigail Greg would have never been content going to bed with a warm woman nestled in his arms and then waking up freezing half to death because she'd stolen all the damn covers.
He was broken to miss freezing to death in the middle of the night, repetitive arguments over things like bathroom or closet space. Shit. He was broken period and didn't know the first step to duct taping himself back together.
The engagement ring had to be bad juju. If he got rid of it, he could shake off this new him. He could go back to being part gentleman, part horn-dog asshole. Bitter was off the table though. Took too much damn energy.
He, also, didn't want this conversation or probing. So Greg did his best to dodge it. “Who am I supposed to be asking out?”
“Play dumb all you want.” Drew perched on the arm of the couch.
He could and would play stupid with the best of them. “Why are you here being a pain in my ass?”
“Because I know you went to see her today. Did you get her name, at least?”
“Yvonne,” Greg answered and then took a long pull on his beer. No he wouldn't look at his jackass of a cousin. His jackass of a cousin would be sporting a mile-wide grin. “She's not the type for a one-night stand.”
Drew scoffed. “Sad to say it, but you aren't either. Not anymore. Yesterday was a sad day for me. I finally realized I lost my on-the-prowl buddy. ”
Huh. “Yesterday? You didn't think that with Abigail?”
“Abby is...”
Greg stared at him, at the way his cousin had said his ex's name. Then he had to laugh. She'd gotten to him too. His ex-fiancee had a way about her. Abigail was blunt, prickly but had a soft center. She was funny and adventurous. She had friends she loved and were loyal to. But Abigail hadn't gotten cold feet. She'd taken a look at their future together and had bailed.
The bitterness, the turning-into-a-dick him trickled into his voice. “Abby?”
He shook his head and finished off his beer. He tossed the empty toward Drew. “Get me another one while you let that sink in.”
After Drew had handed him another beer, Greg's phone rang, giving him the best excuse to avoid the rest of the conversation. He didn't recognize the ringtone or the number but even a telemarketer would be a relief.
“Gregory Woods.”
“Hey, Greg.”
Her voice washed over him and he almost groaned. A tugging sensation pulled at his gut and he knew its name—attraction. “Yvonne.”
Drew stopped mid-sip to stare and then he mouthed “Is that her?”
Greg offered his cousin a glare, which pretty much confirmed the answer.
She said, “I was just calling to let you know I'm going to be closing early, around two. I forgot about an appointment tomorrow afternoon. Now I'm not sure what time you had planned to come by...”
If he closed his eyes, it would almost feel like she was whispering in his ear. He rolled his neck to shake off the sudden tightness creeping up his spine. “I have work. My lunch hour is pretty tight and I usually can't get away from the office. What time do you open in the morning?”
“Ten.”
Drew leaned forward and whispered, “Ask her out.”
She sighed. “Well that puts us at a disadvantage.”
“Would you consider me a special client?” he asked and didn't know where the hell that came from. But based on Drew's thumbs up, the flirtation was the right road to barrel down. His libido agreed. He flipped his cousin the bird.
She stammered for only a second. “This sounds suspiciously like flirting.”
Greg chuckled, having been caught. “That came out wrong. What I meant to say is maybe you can make an exception and reopen later tomorrow night. Around seven? The ring should net you...a lot of money so you should...make an exception.”
Drew coughed, “Ask her out.”
Since he couldn't drop kick his libido into behaving, Greg settled for crooking the phone between his shoulder and ear to flip Drew off with both hands.
Yvonne was quiet and then she laughed. “Who is there with you?”
He closed his eyes. She'd heard. “My cousin also known as the pain in my ass.”
“He sounds familiar,” she sounded amused, “his voice, not the description of him.”
Ah. Their small college town at work. She probably knew Drew or of him. “Drew Carter,” he told her.
“Oh.” She dragged the word out. “One of my friends dated him and by date I mean that in the loosest terms possible. And that's your cousin? How did you turn out so nice?”
Now who was the one flirting? Without missing a step, he replied, “I've mellowed in my old age. I used to be just like him. Now, Drew, he refuses to grow up.”
“So you were a charming bastard? I can't see that.”
“Ouch.”
She laughed. “Not what I meant. You're a gentleman.”
He stayed quiet for a moment. “Exactly, and that worked in my favor.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah, but people change.” He definitely had. “Except Drew. He's still a charming bastard.”
“If he's bothering you, tell him Patrice said 'hi.'”
That sounded ominous and like the perfect payback. He glanced at his cousin who sat perched on the couch's arm like a hawk. “I can always give Patrice his phone number and she can tell him herself.”
Drew stood from the couch and started waving his hands frantically. She laughed again. Yvonne had a wonderful laugh. It dripped like honey into him and warmed him.
“What is he doing?” she asked.
His cousin started to jerk his hand across his neck as though to say ‘cut it out’. Greg snorted. “I think this might actually make him leave and go home.”
“Well, I guess you could say you are a special client then.” She paused. “I'll see you at seven tomorrow.”
His shoulders lowered. He wasn't ready for the conversation to be over. He wanted her to tell him another story, but this was probably for the best. And he was right. She wasn't the kind of woman who went for one-night stands and he wasn't ready for more. “Thanks for calling.”
He sighed and made a disgruntled noise at his phone once the connection had ended. Greg might have stared at his cell phone longer but a pillow smacked him in the face.
“I swear,” Drew said, “if you don't ask her out tomorrow, I'm disowning you.”
He pushed the pillow back on the couch. “You won't. I'm the only family member who likes you.”
“Yeah, but I'm just saying.”
He gripped his phone. “What?”
“I haven't seen you smile that much in a while. Not with a woman.”
Greg threw his phone on the coffee table and then took a long, long pull on his beer. “Yeah. So what?”
Drew didn't offer anymore advice after that. Not that he needed to. Yvonne wasn't the type to sleep with someone after one night. He had been. Had tried to be that man again for the past year. Each instance had left him a little more bitter and dissatisfied.
The truth sat there in the silence so Greg muttered, “Shut up, Drew.”
CHAPTER THREE
The knock came on her shop doo
r at exactly 6:55 p.m. Yvonne had to wipe her palms on her dress. Why was she nervous? Greg was a client. A handsome, funny and charming one when he forgot to be sad. A flirt, too. She couldn't forget that. He'd knocked her sideways when his voice lowered an octave and he'd asked if he was a “special client.”
She didn't have rules against dating clients but she did have reservations about being someone's rebound.
“Just open the door already,” she murmured to herself.
And she did. Yeah, and there he was. Though his jeans looked expensive they had a well-worn quality. The blue T-shirt had fold lines like he'd worn it out of the store. Now more than ever he seemed solid. He knew the path he wanted to walk and rarely left it. She so wanted to know his story.
“Hey,” her voice sounded soft and welcoming. This was not going to end well for her if looking at him turned her common sense into a theory.
He held her gaze and something much darker, deeper than what she'd seen before shone in his eyes. “Hey.”
She brushed her hands on her dress again. “Come on in. I have all the paperwork in my office.”
He stood to the side as she locked the doors behind him. “Did you have fun with your cousin the other day?” she asked.
“Depends on what you mean by fun.” The words were delivered in a wry tone that teased a smile from her.
Drew Carter, well known manwhore in their small university town, had egged Greg on to ask her out. Yvonne wasn't sure if that meant she seemed like easy pickings or something equally as bad.
She said, “Describe 'fun' to me.”
“My cousin likes to loaf around my house. Free food.” He paused then added, “Great company. Currently his goal in life is to get me back out there dating.”
Her steps slowed. “Dating the way he dates?”
“No.”
He didn't elaborate and that was a shame, and a little hopeful. Mostly because she wanted the minute details of what he thought dating was. “Hmmm.”
They went down a long hallway and she turned to the first door on the right. Her office wasn't anything to brag about, but she hoped it was much like her store—eclectic, functional and interesting.
