Once Upon A Diamond (Prince Uncharming Book 1) (2 page)

“Sounds fun,” she said in a dry tone.

“Soul-crushing,” he added honestly, “then I quit to give advice to struggling small businesses on how to make more money.”

Something like respect flashed in her gaze, darkening her irises. “Now that sounds heartening. And it says a lot about the man you are.” She gestured to the clipboard. “Are you done?”

He blinked at the sudden end of their conversation. Though he was grateful she'd put them back on task. The quick compliment had started a warmth in his gut. If he spent one more second holding her gaze, no telling what stupid thing he'd do.

“Yeah,” he said and his voice sounded gruff.

She touched the back of her neck in a nervous gesture. Her hair was wild and curly. The itch pestering his mouth moved down to his hand. What would it feel like to fist his hands in those strands and jerk her mouth up to his? His mind offered plenty of vivid comparisons. None involved clothes.

None Greg would act on because he only wanted to sell the engagement ring. “Let me get out of your hair then.”

She dropped her hand and tried to hide her laugh with a cough. “I have plenty of it. You're fine.”

She had an unassuming charm that could tempt a saint. He liked to think of himself as a good guy, but he damn sure wasn't a saint. Greg's voice came out rough. “Still...”

“See you tomorrow,” her words came out in an excited rush.

He hesitated, letting the situation sink in. He had the urge to flirt with a woman while attempting to sell his ex-fiancee's engagement ring. How damn ironic?

No. He definitely hadn't become a monk the past year. Yes. He most definitely avoided anything that resembled a real relationship.

And...
and
she didn't fit the criteria of the women he’d dated as of late. Someone that soft, solid and charming didn't go for one-night stands. If he'd learned anything from Abigail, he'd learned to never string anyone along. No matter how sour the taste in his mouth became, he'd never let someone believe he wanted the house, kids and forever unless he meant it.

The jeweler was cute—no, breathtaking. She was different and had his blood going for more than just sex. And still he wouldn't want more than one night. He wasn't ready for anything other than that.

So, he finally muttered, “Tomorrow.”

As soon as he stepped out of the store he sucked in a long breath to dispel the tension, the ache and all the after affects of her. An attractive woman who was funny and could smile like that probably made most men forget themselves.

Moment over, he drew up short at the sight of his cousin lounging against the car. Drew's feet and arms were crossed. His contemplative expression was troubling at best. It meant he was plotting. His cousin tended to think ten steps ahead of most people. Greg cursed softly.

Drew pushed off the car, his face etched in frown lines. “Flirting with the store clerk?”

The words hit their mark. He stalked forward. “I thought you went to the cell phone store?”

“Changed my mind.”

He said the next to throw his cousin off. “Thought you were worried about someone seeing you.”

“I can see the counter from here.” Drew completely ignored the tactic. “You made her blush.”

Had he? He definitely hadn't tried. Hard. “I have to come back tomorrow to see if I can sell the ring. Rain check on those drinks.”

Drew inspected his face. “On me then. You look like you need one right now. Then I'll talk you into asking her out.”

An evening out with—He shook his head, nixing the fantasies before they could start playing. His jeweler was off-limits. “No dating. Maybe next year or never.”

“And that's your problem. One heartbreak and you're throwing in the towel?

He slowed his steps and lingered a few feet in front of his cousin. Anger surged into his veins, heating his blood. A heartbreak was a first love gone wrong. Being with Abigail had changed the man he was and she'd left.

He tightened his jaw and tried to breathe through his nose to tamp back the temper. Anger wouldn't change a thing. Bitterness wouldn't either. He was taking the first step to sever that part of his life for good. It was time, damn time.

He exhaled, forcing his voice to come out even. “I have an annoying best friend. I can't tell him to fuck off because he's also family.”

Drew smiled, likely because he knew he was right. “I didn't know you were that close to Brady. He's a dick.”

Greg pulled out his keys and punched the unlock button. “Shut up and get in the car.” So...he hadn't dispelled all his anger.

“What's her name?”

At that Greg had to stop. He hadn't thought to ask and she hadn't wore a name tag, and it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask for a card. She'd smiled at him and he'd gone stupid.

She, also, hadn't offered hers. Maybe he wasn't the only one who’d forgot himself during their exchange. “Don't know her name. I should only care because I left her with a very expensive ring.”

Should
. The important word that was noted in the silence that followed between them.

Drew tilted his head back, shaking it slowly and chuckling almost to himself. “I know that look on your face.”

He blanked his expression and moved to the front of the car. “I'm surprised you of all people are encouraging anyone to date and settle down.”

Drew squinted at him. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“Something nice about you. And how you don't seem happy living the bachelor life. Blah, blah mushy crap?”

Greg snorted. “Shut up and get in.”

Drew only laughed, which pretty much meant it was going to be a long happy hour.

CHAPTER TWO

Something akin to anguish twisted in Yvonne Smith's gut when Gregory walked into her store the next day. Nerves fluttered next and a hailstorm of emotions pounded through her veins. She had it bad and only after one meeting.

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.