Once Upon A Diamond (Prince Uncharming Book 1) (3 page)

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 door 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.

A painting of two little black girls playing with long pearl necklaces hung on the farthest wall from the door. A square coat rack sat behind her desk between her file cabinets but she'd pimped it out with black and white photos of speakeasies. The desk and chairs were probably the only things untouched by her hand.

Her home probably looked the same way, but Yvonne wouldn't be who she was if she didn't love details, texture, color. A good portion of her life depended on perfection. Not just perfection but precision. She didn't hate the slight OCD tendencies and that was probably a problem in and of itself. Messy unnerved her. Gregory was the very definition of messy.

Curtailing her nerves, she wiped her hands one last time on her skirt and gestured to the vistor's chair and took the one across from him. “Have a seat.”

She'd prepped so the paperwork was
just so
on her desk. He paused when his gaze skated over the pen that was also
just so
. Greg glanced at her.

“I like neat,” she said in her defense.

He was a gentleman enough to remain silent and not point out it was anal retentive to line the papers so they would be exactly parallel to the edge of the desk.

Without another word, he settled into the chair and flipped through the pages. “Seems pretty dense.”

She tilted her head and inspected his face. He meant the comment as a compliment. She took it as one. “I like to cover my bases in these things.”

His focus remained on the contract. “Re-selling?”

She winced. “Especially re-selling rings that hold sentimental value. Cosignments are a little more simple.”

Greg didn't look up but began to scan through the pages for a second time. “How often do you do that?”

The question had nothing to do with her capability to put together a contract. He wanted to know he wasn't alone. She couldn't read his emotions, but being a dancer sometimes meant knowing facial ticks, subtle movements of the body. The way he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw was pretty telling.