Hugo was right...whoever this woman was, she needed to be taken care of. “It’s okay,” he said eventually, forcing a smile. “I’ve changed my plans for this evening.” Plans? What plans, Luc?
“Oh.” A little wrinkle formed between her brows.
“Please. You are welcome to stay the night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She took a tentative step forward and then another until she stood right in front of him. The top of her head came to just below his chin, her face was tilted up so she could meet his gaze. Her lips were pink and full—the kind of lips Anika would have paid a fortune for—but it was her eyes that captivated him. Liquid brown, like melted chocolate, with smudged mascara that rimmed her wide eyes, only making them appear larger.
There was no fucking way he could say no to those eyes.
“My name is Jasmine. Jasmine Sweet.” Her lips trembled with an uncertain smile as she extended her hand. “And you are Luca...?”
“Luca. Luca Deschamps,” he lied.
THE MAN UNNERVED HER.
There was an intensity to those blue eyes—so dramatic against his dark brows, dark hair and olive skin—that made her feel as if his gaze was boring inside of her, seeking something. But what? It left her feeling shaky and...tingly.
Could be the concussion.
Still...somehow, she felt comfortable here. She’d only half lied when she’d told him why she wanted to stay. The truth was, he was doing her a favor. Now she could put off dealing with Parker and her family until later. Plus, it was one thing to be traveling solo when she knew where she was staying. It was another when she was concussed, confused and without any identification.
“Are you hungry?” the man asked.
“What time is it?”
He flipped his wrist to check his watch. “Seven thirty.”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled and she laughed, though it sounded false to her ears. “I guess so.”
“Come. Sit.”
She followed him into the open-concept kitchen, dining room and living room. Like the bedroom, the space was stark. Wood floors, a plain gray leather couch, white walls with dark beams overhead and the floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to be the norm in Paris.
Jasmine sat on a gray leather barstool at the breakfast counter, leaning her elbows on the granite surface, her hand going automatically to her aching temple.
“Un moment.” The man—Luca—strode back down the hall, returning a moment later with the ice pack and two tablets. He first placed the pack against his cheek, murmuring something in French before passing it to her. “It’s still cold. It’ll help with swelling and bruising.”
“Thank you.”
Then he dropped the tablets into her upturned hand, his fingers accidentally grazing her palm.
There were those damn tingles again.
She frowned, which hurt. Still, her gaze followed him as he opened a small refrigerator, removed a glass jug of clear bubbling liquid, poured it into a tumbler and handed it to her. She took a sip of the sparkling water, which burned quite pleasantly as she swallowed the pills.
“Are you okay to sit? Do you need to lie down?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
His lips turned up at the ends—not a real smile—as he prompted her to apply the ice pack by taking her hand and placing it against her head.
“It will help.”
Jasmine closed her eyes as she iced, ignoring the tingles—and certainly not thinking about the source of the tingles. Once again, she willed herself to remember what had happened after her arrival in Paris, but there was nothing behind her lids but blackness interspersed by shards of light that flashed with each beat of her pulse. For some reason, trying to remember made her head hurt more, so instead, she simply listened to Luca work in the kitchen.
Cupboards opened and closed. The sound of a nearby drawer as it was sliding open and closed on its runners. A knife against a cutting board. Slicing. Another drawer and the sound of cutlery. The clink of glass against the granite countertop followed by the pop of a cork and the gurgling of liquid being poured.
When she opened her eyes, a glass of red wine sat in front of her, as did a plate of various cheeses, finely sliced meats, nuts and olives that he’d placed in the middle of the counter between them.
Luca was tipping his own wine glass back and Jasmine noticed the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He had a strong neck. Lots of tendons and muscles that worked in harmony.
And then he caught her staring. “Yes?”
She cleared her throat and pointed at her glass. “Should I be drinking?”
“Just a glass. It’s good for you. But then water.” He gestured to the platter of food. “Please.”
Hesitantly, Jasmine reached for a piece of cheese. Oh, it was good, and the more she ate, the more hungry she felt.
When was the last time she’d eaten?
Glancing down, she noticed her dirt-smeared blouse. When was the last time she’d changed? Showered? Turning and tilting her chin in a way she hoped was inconspicuous, Jasmine gave her pits a sniff.
Ugh. Not the freshest.
“Um...” Jasmine began after eating a handful of nuts and three slices of meat. “I hate to trouble you, but would I be able to take a shower?”
The man turned from where he’d been pulling items out of the small refrigerator. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Excuse me?”
“Taking a shower is not recommended. If you faint, you could hurt yourself.” He poured flour onto a plate and added spices with his fingers from pinch jars on the counter. After wiping his hands on a nearby towel, he said, “Come with me.”
Jasmine eased off the stool onto her bare feet. The act of standing made her light-headed and she kept a hand on the wall as she followed Luca slowly down the hall, right to the end where there was a large bathroom tiled in slate-colored travertine. There was an ultramodern glassed-in shower big enough for two and a large free-standing soaker tub with a washing wand propped at one end.
“Don’t fill the tub,” Luca said, gesturing to it. “There are towels here.” He pulled a thick white towel out of a cupboard. “I’ll find some clothes for you and leave them in the bedroom.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Dinner should be ready in forty-five minutes.”
“Okay.”
Jasmine leaned on the counter for support and turned to find blue eyes scrutinizing her, making her already wobbly knees feel weaker.
“Do you need help?”
Jasmine swallowed.
Was he serious? Would he actually help her? She glanced at his hand propped on the side of the doorframe. Tanned. Nicely shaped fingernails. Big hands.
What would