Читать книгу Diamonds Are For Lovers - Yvonne Lindsay, Jan Colley - Страница 8

Quinn turned his back and walked into his bedroom, smiling when he felt her creeping presence at the door. Opening the panel in the wall that concealed the safe, he began keying the code into a digital keypad. The whole house was burglar and smoke alarmed, including this room and the workroom. The safe was dual combination and key, complete with trembler sensor. His company had the best security money could buy. After all, it was vital in his business.

He glanced to where she fidgeted at the door, chewing on her bottom lip. Quinn miskeyed and the thing beeped at him. He swore softly, ordering himself to stop thinking about whiskey eyes and plump bottom lips. She was on the hook. It was time to reel her in.

He went through the elaborate security measures with exaggerated care, then took out a heavy steel box from which he lifted a hand-stitched leather case after a barrage of additional code numbers. A hydraulic mechanism raised a small velvet-covered platform on which the diamond sat. Reaching out, he flicked the desk lamp on. Then he faced her and tilted his head, giving her permission to come near.

She moved slowly into the room, her eyes on his face. The light from the lamp washed over her skin, and he thought again, as he had earlier on meeting her, that her face was all wrong, a contradiction. Wide-set, wild-honey eyes, a straight no-nonsense nose, and then rosebud lips, suggesting innocence and insecurity.

And just like earlier when he’d first looked at her, the impact jolted him. She’d attempted to tame her wildfire hair with a scarf, but still, dark red curls sprang up in interesting dimensions. Her colour sense was outrageous, combining a red-and-pink-striped top with a captivatingly short floral skirt. She was exotic, unconventional, bubbling over with life and energy. He knew more beautiful women, but none so colourful, so vibrantly original.

She looked down at the diamond on display for her, her eyes glowing. When she finally looked back at Quinn, the gratitude in her eyes stunned him. She would know well how few people had ever been given the opportunity to look upon this treasure.

Enjoy it, he thought grimly. If it were down to him, he wouldn’t have Danielle Hammond within one hundred metres of this baby, no matter how interesting her face.

She put out her hand. It hovered over the glow and she hesitated. “May I?”

Half of him wondered what the diamond would look like against her skin, her hair. The other half protested, Get the hell away from this diamond! But he had his orders. He nodded tersely.

Her slim hand dipped and the middle finger stroked lightly, reverently over the crown of the perfect octahedron. Then she took her hands away, crossed them in front of her body and just looked down at the stone, as if giving thanks to a god. Her lashes made shadows on her cheek.

“Do we have a deal, Ms. Hammond?” he asked quietly, reluctant to interrupt what was obviously an awe-inspiring moment for her. As it had been for him when he had procured this very special diamond for his client six years ago.

“I have a choice?” she murmured.

He knew she didn’t. No jeweller in her right mind would say no to this opportunity.

She continued, “Since you’re blackmailing me …”

Quinn smiled at her nice recovery. “Of course I am.” He knew that she would crawl over broken glass to get her hands on this stone, blackmail or not. Money or not.

He perched on the edge of the desk. “The conditions are these—you stay here in the house for the duration of the work. You work on it day and night if possible. You tell no one about this stone.”

She sucked in a breath. “I have a life, you know.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head decisively. “Not for the next few weeks.”

“And my shop?”

Quinn had initiated a decent conversation with the young hippie called Steve in her little shop this morning. “Your assistant needs more hours. His partner is pregnant. They’re struggling financially.”

Dani frowned. “You found all that out in a couple of minutes?”

“I did not draw your name out of a hat, Ms. Hammond,” he said sharply. While he couldn’t blame her for being surprised, his reputation alone should have swayed her. Put that together with one of the most incredible stones the world had ever seen and it was unfathomable that he was still trying to persuade her.

“What sort of setting?”

Quinn shrugged. “You’re the designer.”

“I mean,” she sighed, “pendant? Brooch? What type of piece? I didn’t see any cutting gear.”

He drew himself up to full height. “You will not touch this stone with anything but your fingers, do you hear?”

Danielle Hammond rolled her eyes at him. “Of course not, but I may use other gems.” She eyed him speculatively. “You are supplying findings? Platinum, diamonds, the whole deal?”

“As long as you keep the stone whole, you have carte blanche to design whatever you like. I will need to approve a model and a list of your requirements.”

“This could take weeks….”

“You have three, less is preferable. The accommodation is acceptable?”

She nodded.

“I will feed you. Everything you need for the job is there. All you need to do is tap into your talent and work.”

“Who’s it for?”

Quinn opened his mouth, staring at her face. “A friend,” he said shortly. “A special friend.”

Dani nodded, and he could almost hear her mind ticking over. That was his brief; she was not to know who commissioned the piece. No harm letting her think there was a special lady friend. “Do we have a deal?”

She exhaled noisily and stared down at the diamond as if for reassurance.

Just to play with her longing, he closed the lid—slowly.

“I want half the money up front,” she said, “and throw in Steve’s wages.”

He scowled. “How very Blackstone of you.” Her family connections were his main objection to the deal. Quinn had no time for anyone bearing the Blackstone stamp and was sorely tempted to delegate this job to one of his staff. But it was a sensitive matter, one which he’d reluctantly agreed to handle personally.

He picked the box up off the desk, noting with pleasure the regret and loss in her eyes as she watched him put it away.

“This is going to be a barrel of laughs,” Dani muttered from behind his back.

“The sooner you get on with it, the quicker we can go our separate ways.” He banged the safe door closed. “I’ll take you home to pack and make arrangements.”

When he turned back to her, she was rubbing the side of her long pale neck, eyes closed, her head rolled back. Quinn teetered on the edge of a rogue wave of desire so intense that it stopped him dead in his tracks. Behind her, not two feet away, his king-size bed sprawled, inspiring all sorts of suggestive images.

Her eyes snapped open, finding his gaze immediately. “No need. My place is only a minute or two from here.”

He gestured to the door. “I’ll drive you,” he said firmly, intent on getting her out of his bedroom.

Quinn prowled her living room while she packed and made arrangements to cover her absence from her shop. He was fond of his comforts, and the climate up here in Northern Queensland was not to his liking. Luckily, unlike Dani’s tiny apartment in a dated resort complex, the beach house was equipped with an excellent air-conditioning system. He wiped the back of his neck while she scurried about packing with the phone plastered to her ear. The prospect of baby-sitting a spoiled girl with an artistic temperament and inflated opinion of her own talent, whilst sweltering in the suffocating humidity, was not a good one.

His internal temperature soared even higher when later that afternoon, after settling in at his rental, his house guest took a swim. Quinn’s office window offered an unobstructed view of the pool. His work forgotten, he stood at the window, watching the long-legged, flame-haired beauty. She wore long shorts and an oversize T-shirt; perfectly respectable attire—until it got wet. Quinn turned the air-conditioning dial down a couple of notches and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

For the first time in many years, he wanted, with a savage unrelenting intensity. He was certainly not celibate, but preferred older, cultured and financially independent women. Women with similar interests and social mores as he. Danielle Hammond looked to be mid-to-late twenties and certainly had the wealth of the Blackstones behind her, but they were light-years apart.

It was totally undignified to stand at a window, salivating over the sights of wet fabric clinging lovingly to a fine pair of breasts, and of water streaming down well-toned, lightly tanned legs. He was much too discriminating to crave the slide of her wet, spiralling curls on his burning skin. Wasn’t he?

He returned to his desk, pushing aside the unwelcome intrusion. This wasn’t supposed to be a holiday, he chided himself. The next Famous Paintings auction was only days away. It was frustrating to be stuck here for such an important date on his professional calendar, but at least he had a contact to inspect a very special lot number for one of his most important clients.

Clearing his head one final time, he refocussed his attention where it belonged. On his work. He remained at his desk until Danielle interrupted him, after the dinner hour. Apparently she was ready to work and wanted the diamond to be brought to the workroom.

Quinn set it up on the workbench and watched her circle the desk, her small digital camera clicking and whirring as she took snapshot after snapshot.

He was totally absorbed by her concentration, not to mention her lithe form bending and stretching, and the interesting strain of fabric across her rump and thighs as she crouched and circled. So when she suddenly straightened and looked at him, he was a few seconds behind the eight ball.

Her finely arched brows seemed to mock him. “What’s she like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your lady friend. The one you’re giving the diamond to.”

“Like?”

She looked at the ceiling briefly. “Her height and build. I don’t want to design something dainty for a big strapping girl. Or vice versa.”

Quinn hesitated. It wasn’t an unreasonable request.

Tonight she wore flowing baggy summer pants of an indeterminate colour that fell between pewter and light brown. A purple lacy top accentuated her shape, which was, he conceded, a work of art. A strip of matching fabric tied bandanna-style kept her forehead free of springy curls, and lime-green beads circled her throat. “Five nine, five ten.” He shrugged. “Slender but strong-looking.”

Dani held the camera up, checking the images. Quinn noted with surprise that her nails were short and some of them jagged, as if she chewed them.

“Pale or tan?” she asked distractedly.

“Lightly tanned,” he told her. “Freckles.”

Click, click. “Okay. Hair?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she lowered the camera and frowned at him. “What colour is her hair?”

Several superlative responses came to mind, but while he was deciding which best described her vibrant curls, her frown gave way to sarcasm. “You’re a little unobservant, Mr. Everard. Do you have a photo, perhaps?”

His mouth quirked. “Red. Dark red.” He pursed his lips, wondering when she would twig. “Curly.”

Her brows arched up to kiss the edge of the bandanna.

“Rather multifaceted in style,” Quinn went on, warming to his task. “Unconventional, definitely. Some would say bohemian, but that’s not it … She’s like no one else.” And that was the truth. Her use of colour, breaking all the fashion rules, should have offended a conservative like himself, yet somehow, it charmed the hell out of him. Living with Danielle Hammond, he knew, would never be boring.

Dani pursed her lips sternly. “You have good taste in women, Mr. Everard,” she told him smartly, and put the camera down with a sharp thud. “Contemporary bling, then, for the lady.”

“Knock yourself out.” Quinn pushed himself away from the doorjamb, trying not to be horrified about her terminology in reference to this diamond. He’d spent hours trying to talk his client out of this, citing Danielle’s age and inexperience.

Surprisingly though, he smiled all the way down the hall, pleased with himself, and with her. Maybe the next few weeks wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Dani Hammond had a bite to her. She seemed smart—almost street-smart—and Quinn knew all about that.

But how did she, with her luxurious upbringing?

Sightings of Dani were scarce the next couple of days as she immersed herself in her design. She worked late and rose late. Mid-morning she would request he bring the diamond to the workroom. He restored it to the safe on his way to bed. He kept the refrigerator stocked and was thankfully spared the ignominy of standing by the window like a Peeping Tom, because she didn’t use the pool again. Most of the food he prepared went to waste as she said she was too busy to be hungry. Despite himself, and without seeing any tangible results yet, he was impressed by her dedication.

The third night, she joined him for dinner, an impressive meal catered by one of Port Douglas’s surprisingly fine restaurants.

“Why me?” she asked over coffee. “You must know twenty world-class designers who would gnaw off their right hand to ingratiate themselves with you.”

He tapped his teaspoon lightly on the cup, giving a brief smile. “But not you.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll mess up your precious diamond out of spite since you’re blackmailing me?”

“Then I would have to mess up your reputation.”

“Haven’t you already?” She raised and crooked her two index fingers in a parody of speech marks. “‘Ms. Hammond has passable talent but chooses to use it working for chain stores….’”

Quinn rubbed his ear, amused. That was one of his missives in the DiamondWorld Monthly about a year ago. She’d had the cheek to respond in the next issue. He’d retaliated by saying she was “one step up from a Sunday-market vendor in a one-horse town, pandering to the tourist buses.”

“A mere dent, which doesn’t seem to have harmed you at all. Although, why you would shut yourself away up here in the middle of nowhere is anyone’s guess.”

“Another snobby Sydney-sider,” she sighed, giving him the impression this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation. “I like the tropics.”

“What’s to like? A beach you can’t swim in because of the stingers …”

“Only for a few months …”

“Insufferably hot and sticky weather …”

“I like it probably for all the reasons you don’t. Especially now in cyclone season.”

So the lady was into sultry, steamy nights. He sniffed and rubbed his jaw, clamping down on where that thought would take him. “Bugs and snakes …”

“You get those in Sydney,” she countered.

“Not in my neighbourhood, you don’t.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” she muttered under her breath.

He ignored that. “No shopping to speak of. Is there actually any nightlife in town or does it shut down at five-thirty?”

“Remind me to take you cane toad racing while you’re here,” she said, then smiled wryly and leaned her elbows on the table edge. “Laid-back it might be, but there’s an interesting dynamic of village charm and sophistication here. Port is famous for its restaurants and you never know which Hollywood stars or ex-American president you’ll bump into around town or checking out the reef in their big chartered yachts.”

His fingers tapped the tabletop, drawing her glance. “We know you like to play with the rich and famous, but you’re limiting your opportunities here, Danielle. Why is that?”

“I do all right, and don’t call me Danielle.”

He inclined his head. “And ‘all right’ is enough?”

“For now.” She sipped her coffee. “Tell me about you and Howard.”

“You don’t know?” he asked, surprised.

Dani shook her head. “I was at uni around that time. All I know is, he bristled every time your name came up.”

That didn’t surprise him. Back then, Howard Blackstone had thrown his whole vindictive weight against the young broker from the wrong side of the tracks. “I was just starting out,” he began. Laura, his wife, was sick. His whole world was going to hell.

“Howard wanted to be nominated as the Australian representative to the new World Association of Diamonds. Everyone had finally woken up to the fact that our industry, the diamond trade, was subsidising wars in Africa.”

“Conflict diamonds.” Dani nodded. “What good could some worldwide association do against the one or two massive conglomerates who control the mines?”

Sharp, he thought, but then she had grown up in Australia’s foremost mining family. “The association has definitely raised awareness. Even America, the largest bastion of consumerism, reports that a high percentage of people in the market ask for certification that their diamond is conflict-free.”

“A certificate’s only as good as the person who completes it,” she stated, again rousing grudging admiration for her appraisal of a very grey area.

“So, the feud?” Dani prompted.

Quinn pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back. “Blackstone wined and dined me. He wanted my vote. I suppose he could have got the impression I was a solid bet, but in the end, a fellow broker asked and my vote went his way. To be honest, I expected Howard to romp in, with or without me.”

“But he didn’t.” Dani nodded. “He likes—liked—getting his own way.”

Quinn wondered about the relationship between her and Australia’s King of Diamonds. “He lost the nomination by one vote, and took it a lot more personally than it warranted.”

“Let me guess. You were off the Christmas card list.”

Well and truly, Quinn thought grimly. Howard’s wrath nearly sent him to the wall with his financiers. “He banned me from accessing the Blackstone mines. I had to borrow heavily to source the stones I needed offshore.”

If it hadn’t been for one or two friends in high places—notably Sir John Knowles, owner of the diamond upstairs—Quinn’s fledgling business wouldn’t have survived.

Dani whistled. “That must have hurt. The broker with no diamonds.”

“It put me in a very bad situation,” he agreed.

She glanced around the room, her eyes resting on a magenta orchid in the corner. “It doesn’t seem to have had any long-term consequences.”

“No thanks to the Blackstones.”

“Have you approached Ric or Ryan? They may be willing to ease the ban now.”

Now that Howard was dead, Quinn thought scathingly. His dislike of the former head of Blackstone Diamonds wasn’t just business. Howard had made it personal. How ironic that he was sitting across an elegant table with his nemesis’s protégée. “I can manage without the precious Blackstone mines, thanks.”

Dani’s gaze sharpened a little. “Forgive and forget, hey? The man’s dead.”

He couldn’t forget. The slights in the papers. Door after door closing in his face. The old-boys banking networks, determined to pull him down. “It’s hard enough starting out without the most influential man in the business doing a number on you.”

And all while he was barely keeping his head above water to cope with his wife’s terminal illness.

And that’s where Howard’s vindictiveness really came into its own. Quinn could overlook the loss of business, the tearing down of his reputation, the condescending snubs by former backers. He would never forgive the look in Laura’s eyes when he couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted above all else.

It never failed to surprise him how much it grated after all these years. “Howard Blackstone was a manipulative, vindictive bastard.”

Dani blanched, and just for a moment, he felt a needle of sympathy. Was it possible that someone in this world mourned the man so many hated?

“You know all about being vindictive, don’t you?” she asked tightly. “Wasn’t that what marking me down at the awards was about? Or the slagging off you gave me in various industry papers?” She drained her cup and banged it down on the saucer. “Maybe you and Howard aren’t so different after all.”

“Maybe you just aren’t that good,” he suggested, eying her evenly.

“If that’s so,” she snapped, “why am I here?”

“I don’t know, Danielle.” He stressed the syllables of her name. “Haven’t you got work to do?”

She glared, and in the candlelight, her hair and eyes crackled like embers. “Luckily, it’s a big house, Mr. Everard. Why don’t we keep our distance?”

She shoved herself to her feet and stalked from the room.