Hidden Gem

by Skye Warren

  This doesn’t feel anything like a dream. It’s intensely physical.

  After a couple hours have passed there’s a gentle knock at the door downstairs.

  My mother comes up, looking refreshed. “What’s up, Holly bear?”

  This is a nickname it would be best if she never used in public. Especially if she were ever to meet Elijah, which she obviously won’t. “Nothing. Did you have a good nap?”

  Her cheeks flush. Being terrible at lying? I got that from my mother. Both my dad and my sister can lie with a straight face. They once kept a trip secret from us until we were on our way to the airport. Her flush means that she wasn’t napping with Dad. “It was great.”

  “Mom, listen.”

  She sighs. “Don’t start.”

  “It’s gross.”

  “You don’t have to touch them.”

  “Why would anyone touch them? They’re bones.”

  “Your sister’s really looking forward to this. And she went with us to the Louvre. She saw the Mona Lisa because you wanted to.

  “The Mona Lisa isn’t made of bones.”

  My mother gives a slight, barely there smile. A Mona Lisa smile, actually. She’s wearing a white dress that makes her look innocent, along with her wide eyes. In a lot of ways I look like her, but somehow the effect appears muted on me. “You don’t want her to miss seeing it.”

  “Of course not. But, Mom. I’m sixteen.”

  The Mona Lisa smile disappears. “Holly.”

  “Nothing is going to happen.”

  My dad comes up the stairs and gives my mother a kiss on her forehead. He’s dressed to go out in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his usual uniform. Even when other men wear suits, he shows up like this and no one dares say anything. “Nothing is going to happen where?”

  Mom gives him a private look. “She wants to skip the catacombs.”

  He glances at me, his eyes sharp. When I was eight years old, I begged to skip the family trip to Costa Rica. They finally gave in and let me stay with our full-time nanny. Only, the day after they left, a storm took the city by surprise. The streets flooded. Power lines went down.

  Lightning struck a tree and sent it crashing through the roof. Right on top of Mrs. Brigac. She died right away, but I was trapped in a house with a dead woman for two days. My parents were frantic when they couldn’t reach us. At least I was in capable hands, they hoped. Only when they arrived at the airport did they learn that I’d been removed by the cops.

  Since then they’ve been very protective. Overprotective, even.

  “I’m sixteen,” I say, preparing to launch into my litany of reasons I should be trusted.

  “Okay,” my father says.

  “I’m mature. I’m responsible. I’ve never once missed curfew. I make straight As, even in my AP classes, and—Oh. Wait. Seriously?”

  “It’s not a small thing, leaving you alone in a foreign country, but you’re right about all those things. If you want to stay here in the hotel room and read a book, I think you’ve earned that right.”

  Wow. And also, what a guilt trip. Under normal circumstances I would have loved to stay in the hotel room and read a book. Nothing about meeting Elijah has been normal circumstances.

  My mother looks uncertain. “You’re going to keep your phone near you?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “And leave your ringer on?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He pulls her close. “We’re only going to be a few blocks away, sunshine.”

  I look out the window to hide my shock and my sudden unease. The sun sets behind the Eiffel Tower, coating it in a warm purple glow. What have I gotten myself into? In an hour my family will leave for the Catacombs tour. I’ll be able to call Elijah—and then what?

  He’s a stranger to me in every way. I don’t even know his last name.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The small elevator rumbles on its way down. I glance right and left when the single door slides open, nervous, half expecting my family will suddenly appear in the lobby. Even the concierge looks suspicious as I cross the marble floor. It’s drizzling as I step onto the street. A valet looks at me with a question, and I shake my head. No taxi. People bustle into the restaurant of the hotel. They make a run for their Ubers. But I don’t see a man in black slacks and a leather jacket. My heart hollows out. Maybe he’s stood me up. Or worse, took one look at me and turned around in the opposite direction.

  A black car pulls in front of me, and the window rolls down. Green eyes study me from the driver’s side. “Hey,” he says in his low voice that makes me blush.

  I climb into the passenger seat, close the door, and we take off. He’s zooming through the lanes, clearly comfortable driving on the left-hand side. A roundabout steals my breath, and I have to close my eyes against the wild spin of cars. He gives a soft laugh. “You nervous?”

  “Yeah,” I admit, but I’m not really talking about his driving.

  A knowing glance. “Well, I’m not going to take you to my apartment, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  His apartment? My brain hadn’t even gotten that far. The kissing was hazy in my mind, the setting even more so. Second base, third base. Actual sex. Even the fantasies happened in a blank space. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. Where’s your backpack? Thought it was a family rule.”

  I glance down at the black leather cross-body purse I’m wearing instead. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly ask permission to come here.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That I was reading.”

  He swings through another roundabout, not even slowing as other cars merge and slip away. “Is that what you like to do at night?”

  I glance at him, wondering if he’s mocking me. “Honestly, yeah.”

  “Like what?”

  He seems genuinely interested, so I answer with cautious honesty. “This book I’m into is about this mermaid queen and how she’s at war with the dragons. Both sides are being vicious, so that there can never really be peace.”

  “Vicious,” he says slowly. “Vicious how?”

  “Like the dragons pull the mermaids out of the water by their hair. They leave them high in the mountains so they die by the time they pull themselves back to the water.”

  “That’s—Jesus.”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulls up in front of a restaurant. “What do the mermaids do?”

  Valets come to open my door, and I step out of the car without answering the question. If I’d imagined a restaurant, it would have been another hole in the wall. Someplace with paper napkins and prices on the menu. Instead this place has people in suits and high heels waiting outside, and a maître d’ who raises his eyebrow at my appearance.

  I’m suddenly beyond grateful that I stole from my sister’s luggage. It’s a dress with patches of different jewel-toned patterns with a handkerchief hem. I also took some gold strappy sandals. A little flirty for the late-night walk I thought I would be taking, but still appropriate for a fancy place. Along with the black leather purse it seems like I belong here.

  “Smith,” Elijah says to the man, who scans his paper with a dubious expression. Apparently he finds what he’s looking for, because his brow clears. “Right this way.”

  I wait until we’ve been seated with menus, wine menus, and cocktail menus.

  Then we’re alone.

  “Okay, how did you do this?” I demand. “I only texted you like an hour ago.”

  He grins. “I know someone who works here. She slipped my name in.”

  A girl? Jealousy turns my stomach over. Of course I have no right to be jealous. Maybe this is the way he scores his dates, with favors from old ones. I might get a call someday asking for a book recommendation so he can woo some other nerdy girl. “I’m glad I didn’t wear jeans.”

  “You would have looked great either way.”

  A flush makes me turn away. Then I remember that I’m my mother’s daughter. We may be shy,
but we’re fierce. “Is this why you really came to Paris? To romance all the girls?”

  “Romance isn’t why I’m here.”

  “Then sex?”

  Surprise flashes through his emerald eyes. “Not that, either.”

  My heart thumps, and I’m surprised by my own daring. “Then why spring for dinner?”

  He gives a rough laugh. “Because you’re a goddamn delight.”

  Now my cheeks really burn, way more than when he complimented my looks. “I’m a delight because I call you out?”

  “That. And because you stare at Mona Lisa like she has the secrets of the universe. Because you defend your family even when they left you behind. Because you read books about vicious mermaids.” He gives me a sharp look. “Though you never did tell me what they did to the dragons.”

  “I thought that part would be obvious. They lure them to their deaths on the rocky shores. Like the sirens in the Odyssey.” A deep breath. Then a plunge. Let’s see if he still finds me a delight when I’m speaking my truth. “Did you ever notice that all they did was look beautiful and sing a song? That was enough to drive the men wild. That was enough to blame the sirens.”

  “You think they weren’t luring them on purpose?”

  “There’s no reason to think they are.”

  He nods once. “You’re right.”

  “That’s how it is with the mermaids. They’d be on a warm rock, their scales flashing in the sun. Then a dragon would fly by, see her, and swoop down. She’d dive into the water, and he’d crash from the momentum. Now who would get blamed?”

  “So you’re a mermaids’ rights advocate?”

  “I’m a fairness advocate, I guess.”

  “I think you’re like one of those mermaids. Minding your own business in the Louvre. You can’t help that your scales flash in the sun, can you? And then there I go, swooping down.”

  “The analogy only works if I slip into the water. If you crash into the rocks.”

  “Does it?” he says, raising one eyebrow.

  God, his eyes are so green. “Are you? Going to crash, I mean.”

  “Almost definitely.”

  After discussing with the waitress, who’s pleasantly friendly and conversant about the menu, I order the canette de barbarie, a duck cooked in honey and thyme. Elijah orders the quail, which comes with grapes and tiny onions. The star of the dinner is definitely dessert. We both get the éclairs, made from choux pastry, vanilla cremeaux, and dark chocolate with cacao nibs on top.

  When the check comes, the waitress hands it directly to Elijah, but I pull out the wallet from my crossover bag. “Let me pay half.”

  “No.” He doesn’t even look up.

  “Elijah.”

  “Holly.”

  “You said my clothes cost as much as your rent.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m coming into some money soon. Besides, this is a date.”

  “People go dutch on a date,” I argue.

  “Not with me, they don’t.”

  I don’t know how else to make my point, especially without hurting his pride. Maybe I like the quaintness of having the man pay for the date.

  But I cringe to think about this check on a security guard salary.

  This kind of place should be an anniversary dinner with a girlfriend, not a first date. At least I think so. This is actually my first date that wasn’t a high-school party. The truth is I’ve never had to worry about money. I have cash in my purse, along with a credit card. Dad is always extra careful to make sure we each have money and identification when we travel.

  When we step outside, the rain has stopped but the streets are still wet.

  He leads me away from the line of people waiting for valet toward the streetlight. I glance at him curiously. “Don’t we need to get your car?”

  “I’ll come back for it. It’ll be nicer to walk with you.”

  My heart melts a little then. I do like the walk. Over the line of buildings I can see the top of the Eiffel tower. It’s muted in the fog leftover from the rain, which makes it seem ethereal.

  “I’m glad you asked me on a smoke break,” I say, feeling almost shy. “Out of the thousands of girls who come through to see the Mona Lisa every day, I’m glad you saw me. And wanted me.”

  His green eyes flash in the darkness. “And took you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “I know a diamond in the rough when I see one.”

  We reach an alley between two restaurants, and he pulls me into the shadows—slowly walking backward so I have plenty of time to balk. Instead I follow him, my body turning heavy and warm. I have that same itchy feeling just touching him in one place: my hand in his.

  He backs me against the wall, and cold, damp brick cradles me. His body leans against me from the front, so I’m sandwiched in from the cool air.

  “Hi,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my forehead.

  It makes me laugh a little, as if we’re only just now meeting.

  My lips are still curved in a smile when he kisses me. He tastes it from one end to the other, as if he can sip my happiness like the champagne I saw people drink with dinner.

  As if it’s just as bubbly and cool.

  He pulls back, and I’m breathing hard, staring at the shine of dark green.

  “Hi back,” I whisper, and then I push up on my toes to kiss him more. This time he swipes my lips with his tongue. I part them, and he presses inside. His tongue rubs against mine, and I whimper into his mouth. He pulls back an inch, and my whole body leans forward as if to catch him. Maybe the mermaids did more than sun on a warm rock. Maybe they wanted the dragons to crash. It’s as if something snaps. Something breaks. His control maybe, and he presses his lips against mine, hard and a little clumsy. His tongue opens my mouth forcibly, searching, searching, not able to find what he needs. Elusive, he said. The flavor of him eludes me, and I hunt for more of it with my lips. It feels like my heart is in my throat, and I ache. I ache for him to do more than kiss me. I want him to touch me, to bear me down on the dirty alleyway floor.

  “Elijah,” I murmur between kisses, and he answers back, “Christ. I know.”

  Then he stops. Air fills the space between us. The physical barrier emphasizes that we were one, only seconds ago we were one body, moving together. He puts his hands on the wall above my shoulders and hangs his head. I’m looking at the crown of his head, the glimmer of water droplets that cling to his hair.

  It’s pure impulse that makes me lean forward, press my nose to his scalp, and breathe deep. He smells like man and musk and some indefinable scent of Elijah.

  It shouldn’t be as intimate as kissing, but somehow it’s even more private, more sensual, more primal, the way I’ve scented him.

  As if he feels it too, he growls. “You don’t get to steal that from me. Not without giving it back.” Then he grasps my hair in his fist and brings it to his nose. He breathes in audibly, as if savoring the smell of me. His grip is rough and ungentlemanly, and it makes something tighten between my legs. He breathes in for much longer than me, muttering almost to himself as he does. “Salt. Sunshine. The goddamn ocean. Why do you smell like the ocean?”

  Then he kisses me again, hard this time, without any mercy or gentleness. I don’t want mercy. I don’t want gentleness. He plunders my mouth, seeking from it, stealing, the way I stole his scent. He wants my secrets, and I’m helpless to grant them.

  “Is it always like this?” I ask, panting.

  “Never,” he says, his voice still an animal grunt.

  “Take me to your apartment.”

  He hangs his head again, and I know without him saying it that the answer’s no. He asked me out, he paid for dinner, all for the privilege of a stolen kiss. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Is it because of my age?” It’s the elephant in the room, the thing neither of us have spoken about. The fact that I’m probably underage. The fact that he’s probably not. We have been careful not to share numbers, but both of us know
.

  “Yes. No. Hell.” He laughs, unsteady. “It’s because you’re a virgin.”

  I flinch at the term. A virgin. Worse than him calling me a nerd. “I know about sex.”

  “You don’t know the way I have sex. It’s rough, Holly. It’s… disrespectful. Cruel. You deserve better than that, especially for your first time.”

  Rough. Disrespectful. In principle I understand those words should be scary. In reality they make that knot between my legs a little tighter. “Cruel?”

  “I don’t even know why I wanted to kiss you. I was sure it would be boring. Bland. What’s a kiss when you can fuck and fuck hard? Except I couldn’t think of anything else. And this kiss, Holly. It’s not like anything else. It’s better than a fuck.”

  Better than a fuck. It’s not the most poetic words a girl’s ever been told, but they work for me. He seems interested. And God knows I’m becoming obsessed with green eyes and a leather jacket. “We’re going to Reims tomorrow, but maybe when we get back, I can—”

  “You can what? Invite me up to your room?”

  I swallow hard. He knows I can’t do that. “I could call you.”

  “I need more than that from you. I need—”

  “What?” I whisper, feeling lost and seriously lacking in experience. What is it a man wants from a woman? I offered him my virginity, and he turned it down, but he seems frustrated.

  “You should know better than to talk to someone like me. You should be afraid of me. And most of all, you shouldn’t trust me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not making sense.”

  Stupid tears sting my eyes, and I force myself to lean back. He’s not really scaring me, but he’s definitely hurting my feelings. “Fine. I know better now. Happy?”

  Gold flashes in those green eyes. He looks haunted, like the ghosts that wander the halls of the Louvre at night when everyone is gone. “No. I’m not happy. I should be, but I’m not.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I take the small elevator back up to the fourth floor and let myself into the suite using the key card. Downstairs has the eating area, the wet bar, the master bedroom.