Chapter 3
SAbrINA
Run.
His arm squeezed around my waist.
My first instinct was to naively think he was worried I’d slip on the slick pavement.
No, clearly his intention was far more dangerous.
I should have known a man as handsome as he would turn out to be a psychopath.
With all my strength, I tried to wrench my body back, out of his hold.
The change from charming stranger to domineering male terrified me.
I swiveled my head right, then left, searching for someone—anyone—nearby who would help me, but everyone had their heads down, either looking at their phones or shielding themselves from the rain.
I dug my fingernails into the lapels of his suit as I pressed against the firm muscles of his chest. “Let go.”
He pushed back a curl that had stuck to my cheek. “Easy, mia piccola. I merely meant to offer you a ride to your destination.”
With his head, he gestured toward a sleek black sedan.
Mia piccola.
My little one.
My Italian mother had often called me that throughout my childhood.
His deep voice, with its seductive undertones, made it sound super dirty and…controlling.
Focus.
Be nice but firm.
His piercing gaze burned into me, forcing me to look away.
“Thanks, but—”
“The Louvre is still a good three hundred meters away.”
Damn Europeans and their metric system. Three hundred meters sounded even worse than the three or four blocks I knew it was.
Wait.
I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know I was going to the Louvre?”
He gave my waist a squeeze as he laughed. The sound didn’t reach his eyes. “If I couldn’t already tell from your adorable accent that you’re American, I’d know from your suspicious attitude. You mentioned it a few moments ago.”
Had I? I couldn’t think straight with him this close.
He thought my accent was adorable.
Dammit.
Focus.
I glanced between him and the car while I bit my lip.
His gaze sharpened when he stared at my mouth.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the type to hold a woman’s neck while devouring her lips—just like all those sexy-as-hell, but unrealistic, domineering book boyfriends I loved to read about.
Before I could catch myself, I leaned into him, angling my head. My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Is that a yes?”
Catching myself, I tried to break away, but once again, his hand on my lower back stopped me. Holding me close. Too close—possessively close.
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t.”
I’d have to be insane to get into the car of a man I’d just met on the streets of a foreign city, especially an Italian man.
My mother was already apoplectic about me coming to France alone, but I desperately wanted to be independent.
I’d never been given the space to learn how—until now.
And I wasn’t about to ruin it by getting murdered my first week here.
He adjusted his coat over my shoulders again. “If you won’t join me in that nice…warm…dry car, I’m afraid I’ll have to escort you to your destination in the rain.”
I gestured through the hazy fog toward the museum. “It’s only a few blocks.”
He turned up his suit jacket collar against the rising wind. “I’m afraid it’s nonnegotiable.”
I ran a hand through my damp hair, which was already starting to frizz and curl. I looked between him and his waiting car. “Is there any version of this where I walk alone back to the museum?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
I sighed and tilted my head to the side to scrutinize him. “Can you at least promise me you’re not some crazy ax murderer?”
He smirked then leaned in close to rasp in my ear, “I promise not to murder you.”
Strictly speaking, saying he wouldn’t murder me wasn’t the same thing as not being a murderer.
And then there was that flash of metal under his suit coat—a quick, unmistakable glint. A gun? Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was imagining things. Imagining this man was a violent Italian mafia boss about to kidnap me off the streets of Paris in broad daylight.
Besides, the more I delayed, the angrier édouard would be.
I needed this job to go well. Pissing off a celebrated designer was not the way to achieve that, no matter how demoralizing this errand had been.
“Fine, but straight to the Louvre.”
He settled a proprietary hand on my lower back, steering me toward his car. Having waved off his driver as he stepped out, he held the door open for me himself.
It was a relief that there was someone else in the car.
He couldn’t do anything dangerous with a witness…unless the driver was his accomplice.
Fuck.
The alarm bells punctuated by my mother’s warning rang in my head again. She used to say the devil didn’t need horns. Just a charming smile and a smooth voice.
I froze just as I bent to get in. “On second thought—”