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Five

“That’s all for now. Thank you, Holly.”

Ric closed his office door behind the PR assistant who’d delivered the press clippings from Tuesday morning’s papers. It didn’t matter that there’d been no new developments in the search for the jet’s wreckage or that no further bodies had been found, the headlines kept on coming. This week the focus had shifted from the present to the tragedies in Howard Blackstone’s past, everything from the kidnapping of two-year-old James Hammond Blackstone thirty-one years ago to Ursula Blackstone’s suicide and the disappearance of the Blackstone Rose necklace.

“This isn’t news,” Ryan said as he tossed a national broadsheet onto Ric’s desk with barely concealed fury. “I expected better from them.”

Ric didn’t expect anything from the media except more sensational headlines. They’d stalked Howard Blackstone throughout his life and now they haunted him in death, with the biggest scandal—the possibility of an illicit affair with Marise—still hovering over them like a fat black thundercloud. So far they’d reported nothing beyond her positive identification, running poignant photos of Matt Hammond’s grief-ravaged face as he arrived in Sydney to claim her body, but following tomorrow’s supposedly private burial the storm of speculation would build. As sure as thunder followed lightning.

They had to do more than wait it out. Ric owed that to Howard, to his staff, to the shareholders.

He didn’t return to his desk but chose a central position where he could face the other two men, the seated Garth and the prowling Ryan, to explain why he’d called them to his office at the company’s Sydney headquarters after days of monitoring the search from the Blackstone home. “We’ve waited as long as we can but in the absence of new developments, it’s time to move on. We—”

“Move on?” The words exploded from Ryan’s mouth. “No. We’re not giving up yet, Perrini. Who are you to say we abandon my father?”

Ric met the sharp spear of the younger man’s gaze without flinching. He’d been prepared for the hostility. Ryan wouldn’t like him taking the initiative in calling this meeting any more than he’d like what Ric had to say. “I’m not suggesting we give up anything. Not the search and not this company your father built up from nothing but an exploration lease and his belief that diamonds were there to be found. Howard wouldn’t appreciate us sitting on our hands, waiting for an outcome of a search that could go on for weeks.”

Garth made a sound of agreement. He folded the paper he’d been scanning and placed it neatly on top of the others. “I can hear him now, growling in horror at the share devaluation.” “The price is still sliding today?” Ric asked.

“Down another five since opening. At this rate every second analyst will be tipping us as a prime takeover target by the end of the next week.”

“It’s not the raiders I’m concerned about.”

Ryan turned in front of the window, hands on hips, framed by the city skyscape at his back. “Who are you concerned about?”

“Matt Hammond.”

“Still holding him accountable?”

Ric’s jaw tightened although the blow had been aimed much lower. He didn’t give Ryan the satisfaction of responding. Instead he zeroed in on the reason he’d called them together. The threat of a takeover, not by an anonymous corporate raider or venture capital consortium, but at the hands of a man motivated by vengeance. “Howard holds fifty-one percent of the Blackstone Diamonds stock.” He turned toward Garth, the company secretary, who was also the executor of Howard’s will. “Can you confirm how that will be distributed?”

“Equally between you, Ryan and Kimberley.”

“No chance he wrote Kim out of the will as he threatened?” Ric asked.

Garth shook his head. “He was set on that course when he returned from his November trip to New Zealand, but maybe he thought twice after he cooled down. Maybe I managed to talk him out of it. God knows, I talked long and hard enough. And maybe he took his lawyer along on this trip with a new threat of disinheritance. Whatever the reason, his will remains unchanged. That three-way split of his company stock still holds.” The older man’s eyes narrowed astutely. “I take it you’re concerned about Hammond pursuing Kim’s share, the way he went after William’s ten percent?”

Two months ago Howard’s older twin brothers, William and Vincent, each had owned a stake in Blackstone Diamonds. Then Hammond took advantage of rumours of a falling-out between the brothers. Needing cash in a hurry William had seized the chance to unload his stock at a premium price, and he’d been dirty enough on Howard to relish selling to his adversary.

“He wouldn’t have to be that aggressive in chasing Kim’s stock,” Ric said. “She wouldn’t be looking for instant profit. He would only need to spin a good story, convince her she was doing the right thing, and with those two bundles and whatever else he can pick up on this depressed market, it’s conceivable he could acquire a majority share.”

“We know he’s not a player. He’s only doing this for one reason.” Ryan’s expression was as hard and dark as black diamond. “The son of a bitch would gut the company.”

Garth grunted in agreement. “We need Kim on our side. Any chance she would reconsider returning to Blackstone’s?”

“I’m working on that,” Ric said. His gaze shifted to Ryan. “As long as there are no objections.”

“She’s a Blackstone. She should never have left.” There was a world of condemnation in the words and in the other man’s expression as he faced Ric down. “Makes me wonder what you intend offering to bring her back from Hammonds.”

“A fair question.”

“Do you have an answer?”

“I’ll offer whatever it takes,” Ric said with steely resolve. “Leave it in my hands. I will bring her back.”

“You’re not wearing the new dress?”

Kimberley hesitated on the staircase, her gaze dropping from Sonya’s arched eyebrows to the plain oatmeal linen sheath she’d changed into at the last minute. Okay, so she’d changed several times. Possibly half a dozen. And during that process the dress Sonya talked her into buying had been relegated to the very back of the queue. Not that she didn’t like the soft, inviting fabric or the leopard-spot print—even the sexy touch of lace was growing on her—but it was just too unbusinesslike for a dinner that was all about business.

“This is more suitable,” she said, lifting her head and continuing resolutely down to the foyer.

Sonya had paused, a stem of roses in each hand, in the middle of arranging a massive vase of freshly cut blooms from the Miramare gardens. She raised her elegantly shaped brows even higher. “I thought the purpose of today’s shopping expedition was to choose a dress for tonight.”

“That was our excuse to go shopping,” Kimberley said with a wink. Then, over her shoulder, as she proceeded through to the living room, she said, “I would never have got you to agree to come along otherwise.”

And they’d both needed to get out of the house. Kimberley hadn’t thought she would miss the presence of Perrini and Ryan and Garth, after they’d taken their mobile phones and their constant grim-faced pacing and returned to the city megalith that housed the headquarters of Blackstone Diamonds. Danielle had left, too, to apply the final touches to her col lection for the annual Blackstone Jewellery show. Each year the event launched the latest in-house collections, as well as showcasing an emerging young designer. This year was Dani Hammond’s big break.

This is what you’ve worked so hard for, Sonya had said, encouraging her reluctant daughter to return to her Port Douglas studio. I have Kim here now, so I won’t be alone. You still have work to do, so go, be inspired, be brilliant. Make me proud, make Howard proud…and make those critics who pooh-poohed his choice eat their words!

Without them all, the house echoed its vast emptiness. Kimberley had felt the impact most acutely when she’d woken that morning. Wednesday. Marise’s funeral day. Beautiful, headstrong, self-assured Marise was dead and for the first time Kimberley forced herself to face the reality that her father, too, was gone. This house, which had always been a reflection of the man and his taste for the grand, the opulent and the glamorous, would forever feel empty without him and the ever-present party of business and society acquaintances he brought home.

Sonya felt the emptiness, too. Kimberley had taken one look at her aunt’s haunted eyes and restless hands as she fussed around preparing a breakfast neither of them would eat, and she’d decided they both needed a distraction.

Perrini provided it with a phone call and what had sounded like an off-the-cuff invitation.

“Dinner?” she’d asked. Her heart kicked up a beat and her free hand curled around her pendant charms. “I don’t think that—”

“You need to eat? To get away from that house for a few hours? To discuss details of my proposal about the Blackstone’s board vacancy….”

Oh, yes, he’d been clever. He’d known over the weekend that the waiting and inactivity were making her stir-crazy, and he’d picked the perfect time to lure her with the board position and the prospect of changing old animosities from the inside. Then he’d left her a day too long to think it over. Now she was hungry for more information, to find out exactly what was going on at Blackstone Diamonds…and why she’d been targeted for the Blackstone-only board position.

That’s the only reason she’d accepted his invitation. That’s why she’d gone with the plain business-meeting dress, despite playing along with Sonya’s fancy to choose something fun, flirty, and way different from her usual classic style. The shopping trip to her favourite Double Bay boutique had been a game, a ploy, a distraction to take both their minds off the funeral in progress just a couple of suburbs away.

It had nothing to do with tonight’s “date.”

Now, as she wandered the living room unable to sit or stand or settle, Kimberley wished she’d insisted on meeting Perrini at the restaurant instead of letting him railroad her into the “more convenient” pickup. Being all dressed up and waiting for a man to arrive on her doorstep only played into the nerve-jangling notion of a real date.

She should have asked him to call when he left the office. Then she could have timed this better. Perhaps she still had time to go upstairs and change her earrings. Or to pin her ponytail into a chignon. At least that would fill some—

The chime of the doorbell echoed through the cavernous interior and startled Kimberley’s jumpy heart. He was here. About bloody time.

“I’ll get it,” Sonya called. Seconds later Kimberley heard the murmur of voices fol lowed by the deep rumble of Perrini’s laughter. She’d already taken several strides toward the foyer but the punch of that sound brought her up short. Laughter, so unexpected, so familiar to her female heart.

A hot charge of anticipation rocketed through her veins, tightening low in her stomach and tingling through her skin. She so wasn’t ready for this. She needed a minute or two to compose herself, to restore her cool poise…time she didn’t have as footsteps and the melodious notes of Sonya’s voice heralded their approach.

At the last second, she scurried for the nearest chair and picked up a glossy from the side table. When Sonya said, “Kim, Ric’s here,” she managed to lower the magazine with surprisingly steady hands. Her smile was cordial, calm, controlled. Then she looked up into the deep sapphire of his eyes and her heart lurched like a poleaxed drunk.

“You’re here,” she said nonsensically.

Not the opening line she’d rehearsed—that was supposed to be a cool you’re late, as she swept past him and strode out to the car—but better than thanking him for being here and bringing laughter into the emptiness.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She put down the magazine. “For the past twenty minutes.”

One of his brows rose marginally. “Nice to know you’ve acquired punctuality.”

The subtle jibe at the past, referencing one of the flaws she’d fixed in the new grown-up version of Kimberley Blackstone, cooled the remaining impact of his arrival from her blood. Ignoring his proffered hand she rose to her feet and, after kissing Sonya on the cheek, swept past Perrini and out to his car. Marcie, the housekeeper, opened the front door and allowed her to proceed unimpeded. If only they had valet parking she could have swept all the way to his car and into the passenger seat.

Instead she was left beside the locked Maserati cooling her three-inch heels. She’d chosen them to help level out the height difference and therefore the power dynamic, although she still needed an extra couple of inches to bring her eye-to-eye with Perrini’s six-one.

Why in heaven’s name had he felt the need to lock his precious car?

Arms folded, she tapped her toe and frowned back toward the still-open front door. Several minutes later he appeared, and paused to speak to Marcie. Okay, she was honest enough to admit that he looked bloody good. Even though he’d likely come straight from the office after a twelve-hour day, his charcoal suit was immaculate, his white shirt crisp, his sapphire tie perfectly knotted.

But it wasn’t only the expensive hand-tailoring, it was the way he wore the clothes. Whether he was striding into a meeting wearing one of his suits or sauntering by the pool in nothing but a brief pair of swimmers, he had a unique combination of cool authority and kick-ass confidence that drew attention to the man rather than the external trappings.

The effects of that long, open inspection were still rippling through Kimberley’s body when he bent and kissed a blushing Marcie on the cheek, and peeled away to jog down the steps. The remnants of a smile softened his mouth and she had to work hard to maintain her irritation.

“Don’t you trust our staff?” she asked, inclining her head toward the locked car.

“Force of habit.” The doors popped with a scarcely audible snick. He opened her door, then waited until she’d slid inside before he leaned down to meet her eyes. His were no longer smiling. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t expecting to see any staff.”

Kimberley recognised the pointed dig. “I couldn’t see the sense in keeping loyal, long-serving staff laid off for fear they may leak private information, when it is obvious the press is getting whatever details they want from their own sources.”

“Are you referring to Marise’s supposedly private funeral?”

“That’s one instance.” It had been mentioned in more than one of today’s newspapers, which made her mad enough to spit. “They seem remarkably well-informed about everything.”

“It’s their job to be.” Perrini’s expression tightened with his own irritation. “Seat belt.”

“I’m not a child. I know—”

She sucked in a breath as he short-circuited her indignant protest by leaning across to retrieve the belt. In the process his arm brushed the side of her breast and she felt the fleeting contact reverberate low in her belly and pull tight in her nipples.

Damn.

He stilled a moment—or perhaps that was just her, her heart, her senses—before clicking the belt into place. Then the dark heat of his eyes locked on hers and he spoke in a low and rough-edged voice. “I know you’re not a child, Kim, despite indications to the contrary.”

Indications to the contrary? What the hell did he mean by that?

The door thudded shut, leaving her quivering with suppressed wrath for the six seconds he took to round the car and slip into the driver’s seat. Kimberley counted to six again, while he started the engine and she controlled her urge to shriek those questions.

“Indications to the contrary?” She managed to sound cool and composed. And adult.

“This decision to reappoint the household staff without consulting me—did you have a reason other than to thumb your nose at me?”

“Without consulting you? I’m sorry, but I didn’t realise you were now the head of my household.”

As he powered through the security gates and into the street, he cut her a narrow look. “I didn’t realise you considered yourself a part of this household.”

Touché.

Kimberley inhaled long and deep. Provoked by his remark about her childishness, that head-of-my-household comment had just slipped out. “You’re right,” she admitted in a more reasonable tone. “I’m only a visitor, but I did consult with Sonya before calling any staff back on duty. I didn’t think she needed the extra work.”

“Perhaps she does.”

That perceptive comment deflated the last of Kimberley’s resentment. How could she remain piqued when they were on the same wavelength regarding Sonya? “Yes, she does…to an extent, which is why I asked the cook to take an extra week of holiday leave. Sonya enjoys the kitchen and that’s enough for the moment. Plus with Marcie in the house she has both help and company.”

Another sidelong glance. “You aren’t enough help?”

“In the kitchen?” Kimberley laughed dryly and shook her head. “You know what happens when I’m allowed access to a cooktop!”

For a heartbeat their gazes caught and a decade-old memory arced between them. Burning bacon, a shrieking smoke alarm and Kimberley hopping from one foot to the other, yelling for help.

Her husband of six days had picked her up fireman style and bundled her back to the bedroom. In here, he’d said, you can burn and scream all you want.

“Things change in ten years,” he said now.

“Some things. Others stay the same.”

Stationary at a traffic light, Ric leaned his forearm on the wheel and turned to study her profile more closely. She’d tied her hair back, worn minimal makeup and jewellery and one of those blend-into-the-background dresses whose only plus was the fact it ended short of her knees. Rather than diminishing her beauty, the austere look drew all attention to her face. With that amazing, contrary combination of fire and ice, of strength and vulnerability, of have-me mouth and hands-off eyes, Kim Blackstone would never blend into any background.

“What hasn’t changed?” he asked softly.

For a moment he thought she would ignore his question, but then she rolled her head against the seat and the answer was there in her eyes, in that moment, in the crackle of sexual awareness.

This hasn’t changed.

From the moment she’d strutted into his life, fresh from a two-year apprenticeship with a diamond master in Antwerp and bursting with a passionate impatience to overhaul the marketing of Janderra’s rare coloured diamonds, she’d lit his senses with white-hot desire. For seven and a half weeks she’d kept him at bay with her sharp tongue and cutting lines. That hadn’t changed, either. The same distrust, the same defence mechanisms, the same defiance that put her in the beige background dress instead of the stunner Sonya had described her buying today.

The light changed to green and Ric urged the Maserati forward. The engine’s smooth growl reverberated low in his belly. If Kim didn’t feel threatened by this undiminished sexual spark between them, then she wouldn’t feel a need to employ those obvious defences. She was working to keep him at arm’s length, he realised with a delayed jolt of perception. She tried to keep her own desires in check.

First time around he’d allowed her time and space while he enjoyed the challenge, the pursuit, the anticipation. This time the stakes were higher. He wasn’t playing games; he was playing for keeps.

From the corner of his eye he caught the almost imperceptible lift of her chin. Defence mechanism number one. A precursor to speech, used when preparing for verbal battle.

Deep inside Ric smiled in anticipation. Bring it on, babe. I’m ready.

“I may not have learned how to cook,” she said, circling back to her earlier comment about kitchen helpfulness. “But I have changed in other ways.”

“How?”

“I’m more cautious now. I don’t make snap decisions. I weigh my options so I can make an informed choice.”

With the position on the Blackstone’s board, for example. That’s where she wanted to lead the conversation; that’s why she’d taken her time in choosing her words so cleverly. A pity and a waste, since he wasn’t ready to go there. They were within five minutes of their destination and an inevitable disruption. Their long, involved and probably heated discussion was for later, without interruption, so he let her leading comment take this conversation in another direction. “Such as deciding to wear that dress—” his gaze swept over her before returning to the road “—instead of the new one?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The new dress you picked out in Double Bay this afternoon.”

“Sonya,” she said on an accusatory note. “I can’t believe she told you about that!”

“Not nearly enough, as it happens. Why don’t you fill in the gaps.”

“You want to hear about our shopping expedition?”

The incredulous look on her face was priceless. Ric stifled a grin. “I want to hear about the dress and why you decided not to wear it.” He let his eyes drift over her in lazy speculation. “Was it too short? Too low-cut? Too revealing?”

“All of those things,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Then I can’t wait to see you in it,” he murmured.

“I doubt that will happen.”

“Spoilsport.”

The start of a smile lurked around the corners of her mouth but she looked away quickly, peering out the side window in sudden rapt interest. He noticed the exact second her pseudo-interest turned real. Her shoulders stiffened, her head snapped around. “Where are you taking me?”

“My place. Is that a problem?”

“You said dinner. I assumed you meant at a restaurant.”

“I could get a table at Icebergs if you’d prefer,” he said mildly. “Although I can’t promise we’ll have privacy to talk or that our tête-à-tête won’t appear in a society column tomorrow.”

Indecision ghosted across her expression.

“Which wouldn’t be all bad,” he mused. “It’d give them something to talk about other than Howard and Marise.” Flicking on an indicator, he pulled over to the side of the road and reached for his mobile phone. “I can call ahead and secure a table if you don’t mind being noticed dining with me. Or we can eat at my place, as planned, with the privacy to talk business and no risk of interruption.

“Your decision, Kim. What’s it to be?”