One Night With a Billionaire - By VickiLewis Thompson Page 0,1

of hey, which might be one of those universal expressions used by everyone. She hadn’t traveled enough to know if it was or not.

When he was about ten feet away, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. They got clean away from me.”

She gasped at the familiar accent. “Oh my God! You’re from Texas.” Hearing a voice from home made her want to hug him. She restrained herself, but the world brightened considerably.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drew closer. “Are you all right?” He took off his sunglasses and gazed at her with eyes the color of bluebonnets.

“I’m fine.” She wondered if he’d taken off his sunglasses on purpose, knowing that would help. Seeing the concern in his gaze, she didn’t feel quite so alone. “Thank you for chasing them. That was brave of you.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Anyone could see they were yellow-bellied cowards if they’d attack a woman. Speaking of that, they knocked you down. Are you sure you didn’t get scraped up?”

“Just a little.” She showed him her hands.

“Let’s take a look.” Tucking his sunglasses inside his jacket, he grasped her wrists and examined the heels of her hands. “Damn it. You should put something on that.”

His touch felt nice. His big hands were gentle, and she found that sexy. Although it would be totally inappropriate, she wished he’d kiss her scrapes and make them all better. “I have Neosporin in my suitcase back at the hotel.” At least she’d have a place to stay. She’d given them her credit card number. That card was gone, but she hoped to get a replacement before she checked out.

“Are you traveling with someone? I can call them.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a phone.

She shook her head. “I came by myself.”

“Then let’s start with the police. Did you get a look at those old boys?”

“Not really.”

“Never mind. I did.” He punched in a number and spoke in French.

Melanie listened with great admiration. He no longer sounded like a Texan as he carried on a conversation in French without stumbling. Prior to this trip she’d enrolled in an online course and had learned enough to find a bathroom and order a meal. But this guy was fluent, which was her good luck.

If she was super lucky, he had an international plan and she’d be able to borrow his phone to call Val, who could help her straighten things out with the credit card companies. Maybe it was cheeky to ask, but she was in desperate circumstances.

Although he was dressed casually, his jacket looked expensive and his watch might even be a real Rolex. Judging from his ease with the language, he could be a businessman who traveled to Paris regularly. If so, he wouldn’t mind loaning her his phone for two minutes.

He disconnected the call and tucked the phone inside his jacket. “They’re sending someone over, so we need to stay put.” He gestured toward a stone bench a few feet away. “Let’s sit a spell.” He was once again her guy from Texas.

“Sounds good.” She wouldn’t mind sitting down. She felt a little shaky. “I’m afraid I’ve ruined your plans for this morning.”

“No, ma’am, you certainly haven’t.” He waited until she sat down before joining her on the bench. “You’re the one with ruined plans. When did you get here?”

“This morning.”

He swore softly under his breath. “I figured that might be the situation when I saw you eyeballing Notre Dame as if you’d never seen it before.”

“I hadn’t, except in pictures.” Then she realized the significance of his statement. He’d noticed her before the mugging. “Did I stick out that much?”

He smiled. “Let’s just say I pegged you as an American.”

“How?” She liked the way he’d managed to smile without appearing to patronize her. And he had a great smile, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle just enough to add character. As the shock of being mugged wore off, she registered the fact that her rescuer was drop-dead gorgeous.

“White gym shoes, for one thing. French women don’t usually wear gym shoes unless they’re working up a sweat. But the whole getup—the jeans, the hoodie, the backpack—told me you were from the States, probably a new arrival.”

She grimaced. “I’ll bet the muggers figured that out, too.”

“They might have.” He held out his hand. “I’m Drew Eldridge, by the way.”

Eldridge. She’d heard that name, and she thought it might have been from Astrid, whose family was rich. Did that mean her Texan was wearing a real Rolex?