Page 5 of Stone (Claimed and Protected #3)

T wenty years later…

Paris, France

Daniella

“It’s almost closing time,” Colette said in her singsong voice as she pivoted around the counter, flitting her long fingers through the dresses that still needed to be hung in inventory.

“You’re in a wonderful mood tonight.” I glanced at my watch, thankful the last two hours hadn’t crawled by as they had the night before. And the night before that. Doux et Sensuel had once been the most sought-after ladies’ clothing boutique in Paris. That had been years before.

Now we were lucky to break even. At this rate, the owner would need to lay off at least two or three employees. I had a terrible feeling I’d been on top of the list since the older Parisian woman didn’t like me very much.

“I am,” she breathed and turned in a full circle.

Colette, my oldest and my most trusted friend since moving to Paris years before was like a butterfly in spring. Always flitting around. Always eager for the next day. If only I could feel the same, carefree and on top of the world.

“Okay, girl. Spill it. Why?”

“I have a date tonight.”

“You do, huh? What lucky man is it tonight?”

She tossed me a look before grabbing a handful of dresses. “He’s an architect. We hit it off over the phone then went out for coffee. You would love him.”

I laughed and checked the time again. Two minutes before I could lock the doors.

All I wanted was to head home, grab a glass of wine, and try to finish the painting I’d been working on for two weeks.

Longer than normal. As one of few commissioned pieces, I had a deadline that was fast looming. “Sounds perfect.”

Plus, I had a chance, albeit a small one of obtaining a gallery tour that would take me from London to Milan, Barcelona to the South of France. It would be a dream come true. I simply needed to buckle down and paint my heart out.

“Speaking of which. When are you going to go out on a date?” Her French accent sounded more like a purr, more so when she was chiding me about my lack of dating experience.

I’d tossed all thoughts of intimacy aside for the sake of my career. Or lack thereof. I did okay, several paintings recently selling to a high-profile client, but I needed to keep the job at the boutique to make ends meet.

“When the right man waltzes through the door. Big, buff, and all alpha male,” I told her.

She half laughed, half choked. “Those are few and far between. Maybe you should stop pining away for some fantasy man. Tall with whiskey-colored hair and eyes to fall into.”

“Stop it. I’m not pining away.” Pining away was a bit much. What I was doing was pretending that I could be a normal girl who’d followed her dreams instead of the failure I’d believed myself to be for almost twenty years.

“Yes, you are. You forget who you’re talking to. Remember?”

I had shared almost all my dirty little secrets with her during my weak points, although they were few and far between.

I was the regular good, boring girl. Even though I trusted her completely, I’d kept the darkest part of me secret.

Not from fear of her breaking my trust, but from anxiety that once I opened Pandora’s Box, I’d never be able to close it again. “I’ll start dating at some point.”

“Uh-huh.”

We both heard the little bell on the door ring and my guess is our faces reflected having a last-minute customer. They were usually the worst. Demanding. Uncaring about the time of night. This I didn’t need.

A well-dressed man walked in with a confused look on his face and that was the icing on the cake.

He had no clue what he was looking for and wanted my advice.

Then he’d look at every dress, possibly asking me to try one or five on so he could see which one he thought his wife would prefer.

He’d be in crisis mode since he almost forgot about her birthday. I knew the type all too well.

Colette’s face fell. “My turn.”

“No, girl. You have a date. I’ll take care of him and lock up.”

“You’re sure?” Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. I’d be a terrible boss if I allowed her dream man to wait.

“I’m sure. Go. This won’t take long.”

She rushed toward me, blowing kisses before grabbing her purse and rushing toward the door. I laughed and followed her, locking up so no one else would slip in. With a deep exhale, I turned toward the older gentleman. “ Puis-je vous aider, monsieur? ”

Asking the last-minute shopper if I could help him had been my first mistake.

Agreeing to try not one, but six different dresses had been my second.

Encouraging him to purchase matching accessories my third and final one.

By the time he left, another hour and a half had gone by. It was dark. It was late. My feet hurt.

And dear God, I needed a glass of wine.

I closed and locked the register, taking the receipts and little cash to the safe, made certain everything was in order and finally headed for the door to slip out thirty minutes after that.

As soon as I was outside, I realized I’d grabbed my thin coat that morning and it was officially freezing tonight.

At least the walk to my pied-à-terre wouldn’t take long, six minutes tops.

One of the reasons I adored my cozy apartment was the proximity to where I worked as well as other fabulous bistros, art galleries, and coffee shops. The mainstay of existence.

Plus, I had an incredible view of the city, which had inspired more than one painting. Given the time, the traffic was light and the crowds on the sidewalks not nearly as thick as usual. However, the city was alive with energy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and croissants filling the air.

My stomach rumbled since lunch had consisted of cheese and crackers. Also a mainstay. All the money I earned I squirreled away with dreams of buying a little house in the countryside one day.

I might be sixty before that happened, but I’d get there.

Of course, that was after I toured the world as a celebrated artist. Yeah, right. I laughed softly. At least the dream kept me warm at night.

With my steps quick, I nodded to a few people as I headed home. When I stopped at a crosswalk, a strange feeling washed over me.

As if I was being watched. Followed.

I tipped my head over my shoulder, casually looking to see if I was right. No one stood out as doing anything but enjoying the walk to whatever fabulous place they were going.

Yet the tickling sensations continued. When the traffic was finally clear and I stepped off the curb, I quickened my steps.

A few seconds later, my skin crawled and I looked again.

That’s when I noticed a man in a long dark trench coat.

While he wasn’t following closely behind, something about his appearance troubled me.

My breath hitched and I picked up my pace a little more. When I looked again, he was still there.

Now I was weaving in and out of people, trying my best not to push anyone to the ground even as fear settled in.

I’d always considered myself observant, paying attention to my surroundings.

That had been ingrained in me over the years, especially given the fact my father had been and continued to be a public figure.

He’d had more death threats than the Pope.

When the threats had occurred, the entire family had been put into lockdown.

That’s why I knew in my gut something was wrong.

However, I’d lived happily alone in Paris for almost ten years without a single incident. No one knew or cared who my father was. At first, I’d been that American girl. Then I’d become the transplant with a heart. Then the artist with flair.

Now I was simply accepted as one of them.

I took longer strides, doing my best not to panic. He was still there. Still following me, but it seemed he was getting closer. I scanned the street, also noticing a dark sedan was creeping along almost maintaining the same speed the man was walking.

Parisians were used to idiots on the road, swerving around the slow-moving vehicle, only a few bothering to honk their horns.

My breath caught in my throat and I knew I had to figure out a way of hiding. When a crowd of people formed after coming out of a jazz club, I took the opportunity and moved into the store next to it, a coffee shop I knew well.

I backed away from the window, hugging the wall.

For a few seconds, I didn’t see anything and almost thought I’d lost my mind.

Then the man in the trench coat passed. Now he was walking much more slowly.

I crept further into the shadows and I had to do everything in my power to keep from hyperventilating.

My heart was in my throat. Suddenly, all the hostage training I’d received over the years didn’t mean a thing.

I could barely think clearly. My apartment was only three blocks away, but the last thing I wanted to do was draw the stranger’s attention to where I lived.

Since he was following me, it was possible whoever was stalking me had no clue about the address.

Ugh. This was not good. If I called the police, what could I say to them? Some guy in dark clothing might or might not be following me?

When a few minutes passed and I didn’t see him passing by the window a second time, I scanned the small store. There was a back door leading to another street. There was also a back entrance to the apartment building. I certainly couldn’t stay here all night long.

I took another look before heading down the dark corridor to the door. After taking a deep breath, I gently opened the heavy piece of steel, darting my head outside. I looked both ways but didn’t see the man or the sedan. I slipped out, walking quickly and kept close to the buildings.

Suddenly, footsteps.

Panic rose like bile in my throat and I didn’t bother looking, taking off running. Since I didn’t hear a change in the pattern of the person behind me, maybe I was hallucinating. Still, I refused to stop, finally looking over my shoulder just as I made a turn toward my building.

A hand was slapped over my mouth preventing me from screaming. I reacted instantly as the person tried to drag me off my feet. I slammed the heel of my pump into his foot. While he cursed in French, his hold remained strong.

He managed to drag me several feet and I heard tires squeal.

Flailing, I jammed my elbow into the assailant’s gut before biting his hand.

This time he howled, his hold snapping away.

I lunged forward, managing to get off a single violent cry before he slammed his fist against the side of my head, knocking me down.

Dazed, I fought the horrible haze forming around my eyes as pain blasted through my head.

“ Espèce de stupide pute, tu vas payer pour ca .”

You stupid whore, you’ll pay for that.

His voice was gruff, guttural, and the man was pissed. He fisted my hair, dragging me to my feet. I tried to fight, managing to punch him in the stomach, but his hold was too strong and the anguish too blinding.

Hissing, he cursed again as the sedan was jerked to a stop, another man shouting orders I couldn’t understand.

As I was dragged toward the car, I did everything I could to fight them.

“ Bon sang. Fais-lui juste l’injection .”

Goddamn it. Just give her the injection.

“No,” I managed, still fighting and I knew it was for my life.

He proved too strong for me. I wiggled and moaned even after I felt a prick in my neck.

I was dumped into the trunk, the door slammed just as I began to lose consciousness.

As my world faded to black, a face appeared in my mind’s eye. His handsome, rugged face.

The face of the only man I’d ever loved.