Книга - Claimed

Claimed
Tracy Wolff


When ex-lovers must work together, sparks reignite! Only from New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff!Diamond tycoon Marc Durand knows not to trust his ex-fiancée, Isabella Moreno. Years ago, her father stole Durand gems…and she lied for him. Marc hasn't forgiven her, but he can't forget her either. So when his company comes under fire, he demands her help. She owes him. And until he uncovers the truth, he wants his enemy by his side–and in his bed…







Isabella was somehow even more beautiful than he remembered.

And probably more treacherous, Marc reminded himself as he fought for control over his suddenly rampaging emotions and libido.

It had been six years since he’d seen her.

Six years since he’d held her, kissed her, made love to her.

Six years since he’d kicked her out of his apartment and his life.

And still he wanted her.

It came as something of a shock, considering he’d done his best not to think about her in the ensuing years. Sure, every once in a while something would come up and her face would flash through his mind. He’d be reminded of the scent, the taste, the feel of her. But through the years those instances had grown fewer and further between and his reaction to them—and her—had dimmed. Or so he’d thought.

All it had taken was a glimpse of her through the small window to throw him right back into the seething, tumultuous heat that had characterized so much of their relationship. At that moment, he hadn’t cared about the future, or his family’s company, which he had sacrificed so much for through the years. He hadn’t cared about anything but getting to her …

* * *

Claimed is part of the Diamond Tycoons duet— Marc and Nic Durand are ruthless, sexy and powerful, and only the women they love can tame them.


Claimed

Tracy Wolff






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


TRACY WOLFF collects books, English degrees and lipsticks, and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six, she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven, she ventured into the wonderful world of girls’ lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten, she’d read everything in the young-adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mum started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her lifelong love. Tracy lives in Texas with her husband and three sons, where she pens romance novels and teaches writing at her local community college.


Contents

Cover (#ufa74c3d9-aa5a-5de8-9946-7f2d95d9fe1b)

Introduction (#uaaad145c-2c8c-534c-8037-61ba20aba3cd)

Title Page (#u2de54186-cae4-5642-9120-5e39f4150c8e)

About the Author (#u700b3897-2ed2-5270-b493-7b7271e81162)

One (#ulink_33dea4bf-f521-5418-b40c-fb23131abb90)

Two (#ulink_d08c6f44-5600-5277-a35d-98d14c70d342)

Three (#ulink_52a3fa9e-cdaf-502c-93e5-629544c3d407)

Four (#ulink_98a73d93-5ba3-51a4-a736-89fd5245824c)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

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Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

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Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_11b39a40-404c-5a80-9167-e5efb04d1e03)

Isabella Moreno froze in the middle of her lecture—in the middle of a sentence, really—as the door in the back of her classroom opened and the president of the Gem Institute of America walked in. But it wasn’t the presence of Harlan Peters that threw her off her game. She was a damn good professor and she knew it; a visit from her boss was no big deal. No, it was the tall, dark and silent man standing next to him that struck fear into her heart even as he sent shivers up and down her spine.

Don’t forget gorgeous, she thought as she forced herself to continue her discussion of the cutting and polishing of off-shape sapphires. Her graduate students had begun turning to look at what had distracted her and it was only a matter of seconds before she would lose the attention of every female in the vicinity. Already, there were twitters and giggles coming from various corners of the room, and they didn’t even know who the mystery man was yet.

Not that she did, either. Not really. Oh, she recognized him. It was hard to be in the gem industry for any length of time and not be able to identify Marc Durand, CEO of the second largest diamond exporter and jeweler in the country. His too-long black hair, bright blue eyes and fallen angel face were hard to miss...and even harder to ignore. But the look on that face, the glittering contempt in those distinctive eyes and the derisive twist of those full lips was not something she was used to seeing from him. They turned him into a stranger.

The Marc she knew—the Marc she’d once loved—had looked at her only with tenderness. With amusement. With love. At least until the end, when everything had fallen apart. But even then he’d shown some feelings. Rage, hurt, betrayal. It had nearly killed her to see those emotions on his face, and to know that she was responsible for them.

But the look on his face now—the derision, the scorn, the ice—turned him into someone new. Someone she didn’t recognize; someone she certainly didn’t want to know.

When they’d been together, their relationship had been characterized by heat, so much heat she’d often wondered how long it would take before she got burned. The answer, it turned out, had been six months, three weeks and four days, give or take a few hours.

Not that she’d been counting.

And not that she blamed him for how things had ended. How could she when the way things had gone down—the way the two of them had self-destructed—had been almost completely her fault?

Oh, he could have been kinder. She was the first to admit that tossing her onto the streets of New York City in the middle of the night, with nothing but the clothes on her back, was a hideous thing to do. But it wasn’t as if she hadn’t deserved it. Even now, there were nights she lay awake staring at the ceiling and wondering how she could have done what she had done. How she could have betrayed the man she’d loved so completely.

But that was the problem. She’d been caught between two men she loved, adored, would have done anything for, and because of that, she’d ruined everything. She’d known her father had stolen from him and though she’d tried to convince her dad to give the gems back, she hadn’t told Marc who the thief was until it was nearly too late for him to salvage his business. And then she’d made the situation worse by begging Marc not to prosecute, and by admitting that when she’d sought him out at the gala where they’d first met she’d been planning to steal from him, too. Her plans had changed—her life had changed—once she’d spoken to him, once he’d looked at her with those crazy blue eyes of his, but—

Isabella shied away from the painful memories instinctively. Losing Marc in the middle of everything else had nearly brought her to her knees six years before. She’d be damned if seeing him again, after all this time, did the same thing. Especially here, in the middle of her first graduate seminar of the day.

Forcing her wandering mind back to the task at hand, she was mortified to realize every student in the class was looking between her and Marc. As was the college president. Despite the years that had passed, the connection between them was obvious, the tension a live wire that threatened to spark at any moment. Determined not to let that happen, and not to let the atmosphere in the room get any more awkward than it already was, Isabella forced herself back to her task.

The next part of her lecture was on the world’s most famous sapphires and their locations. When she got to the part about the theft of the Robin’s Egg Sapphire—one of the most expensive and sought after gems in the world—she did her best not to look at Marc.

But in the end, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze was drawn to his, the magnetic force of his personality—his will—allowing her to do nothing else. She froze the second their eyes connected, the sardonic look he leveled at her as sharp as the finest hewn diamond. Marc knew what had happened to the Robin’s Egg. He’d made it his business to know before he’d confronted her in their bedroom—his bedroom—that long-ago night.

“We’re sorry to interrupt, Dr. Moreno,” Harlan said from his spot in the back of the classroom. “I was just showing Mr. Durand around the campus. He’s agreed to teach a miniseminar on diamond production starting in a few weeks and I wanted to give him the lay of the land. Please, carry on with your lecture. It’s fascinating.”

But it was too late for that. All around her, students murmured excitedly. Not that she blamed them. It wasn’t every day that one of the world’s largest producers and brokers of responsibly sourced diamonds agreed to speak to a bunch of first year graduate students. Still, she was the professor here. This was her lecture. She needed to regain control, if not for the class—which was only half-over—then because she refused to let Marc Durand have the upper hand for one second longer.

He’d taken everything from her. Or, to be completely honest, she’d given everything to him, only to have it all tossed back in her face. She’d deserved it then, and had paid for it royally. But that had been six years ago. Since then, she’d moved across the country and built an entirely new life for herself. She’d be damned if she let him come in here and screw that up for her, too.

Refusing to let Marc see just how much his presence here messed with her mind, she continued on with her lecture. Eventually the students settled down again and Marc and Harlan slipped out a lot more unobtrusively than they’d entered.

If anyone asked her what she spoke about for the last twenty minutes of class, Isabella wouldn’t have been able to tell them. Her mind was far away, wrapped up in a past she regretted bitterly but couldn’t change and the man who had altered the entire course of her life. She must have covered pretty well, though, because the students didn’t call her on anything. Then again, they’d all been so enamored of Marc Durand that they probably weren’t focusing on what she had to say, anyway.

Finally, the interminable class drew to an end and she dismissed her students. It was her usual habit to hang out in the classroom for a few minutes to give the students an opportunity to ask questions or chat her up about whatever was on their minds. But today she didn’t have it in her to stay there one second longer than absolutely necessary, not when her insides felt scraped raw and she was certain any wrong move would shatter the peace she had worked so hard to achieve. The peace she had finally found.

Scooping up her books, and the papers her students had turned in that day, Isabella made a beeline for the door. She was parked around back. If she could get to the side exit, she could be in her car and off campus in less than five minutes. Then it would be just her and the convertible, the infinite ocean to her left as she followed the winding, waterfront freeway home.

Except she never got to her car, never even made it to the side door she was so desperate to reach. Instead, a strong, calloused hand grabbed her elbow as she tried to hurry down the back hallway. Though she was facing the other direction, she didn’t need to see him to know who had grabbed her. Her knees turned to gelatin at that first touch, her heart beating wildly out of control. There would be no escape then. No drive by the ocean. No chance to put her thoughts in order before this confrontation.

Not that she was surprised. From the moment she’d looked up and seen Marc in the back of her classroom, she’d known this was inevitable. She’d simply hoped to put it off a little, until she could think about him without losing her ability to breathe. Of course, she’d already had six years and hadn’t been able to change that, so another couple of days probably wouldn’t matter.

Besides, if he was going to destroy everything she’d tried to build for herself with her new name and new identity and new, law-abiding life—then she might as well find out right now. Worrying about it would only make her crazy.

Bracing herself, she put on her best poker face before slowly, slowly, turning to face him. And if her knees trembled as she did, it was nobody’s business but her own.

* * *

She was somehow even more beautiful than he’d remembered. And probably more treacherous, Marc reminded himself as he fought for control over his suddenly rampaging emotions and libido.

It had been six years since he’d seen her.

Six years since he’d held her, kissed her, made love to her.

Six years since he’d kicked her out of his apartment and his life.

And still he wanted her.

It came as something of a shock, considering he’d done his best not to think about her in the ensuing years. Sure, every once in a while her face would flash through his mind. Something would remind him of the scent, the taste, the feel of her. But through the years those instances had grown fewer and farther between and his reaction to them—and to her—had dimmed. Or so he’d thought.

All it had taken was a glimpse of her gorgeous red hair, her warm brown eyes, from the small window embedded in the classroom door to throw him right back into the seething, tumultuous heat that had characterized so much of their relationship. He hadn’t cared about the president of the college, hadn’t cared about the future he had so carefully mapped out for Bijoux, the family company he had sacrificed so much for through the years. He hadn’t cared about the workshop GIA had hired him to teach now that he had moved Bijoux’s headquarters to the West Coast. To be honest, he hadn’t cared about anything but getting into that classroom to see if his mind was playing tricks on him.

Six years ago he had kicked Isa Varin—now, apparently, Isabella Moreno—out of his life in the cruelest manner possible. He didn’t regret making her leave—how could he when she’d betrayed him so completely?—but in the time since, he had regretted how he’d done it. When he’d come to his senses and sent his driver to find her and deliver her things, including her purse and cell phone and some money, she had vanished into thin air. He’d looked for her for years, simply to assuage his conscience and prove to himself that nothing untoward had happened to her that night, but he’d never found her.

Now he knew why. The very passionate, very beautiful, very bewitching Isa Varin had ceased to exist. In her place was this buttoned-down professor, her voice and face as cool and sharp as any diamond his mines had ever produced. Only the hair—that glorious, red hair—was the same. Isabella Moreno wore it in a tight braid down her back instead of in the wild curls favored by his Isa, but he would know the color anywhere.

Black cherries at midnight.

Wet garnets shining in the filtered light of a full moon.

And when her eyes had met his over the heads of her students, he’d felt a punch in his gut—in his groin—that couldn’t be denied. Only Isa had ever made his body react so powerfully. So instantaneously.

He’d ditched the GIA president as soon as he could, then had rushed back to make sure he caught Isa before she could slip away. And still he’d almost missed her. Not that he was surprised. She did come from a long line of cat burglars, after all. He knew from experience that nine times out of ten, if she didn’t want to be caught, she wouldn’t be.

As he waited for her to speak, he couldn’t help wondering what he was doing here. Why he’d caught up with her. What he wanted from her. Because the truth was, he didn’t know. He knew only that seeing her, talking to her, was a compulsion he couldn’t resist.

“Hello, Marc.” She raised her face to his, her voice and countenance as composed as he had ever seen them. He felt a brief lick of something deep inside—a feeling that made him uncomfortable for the simple reason that he couldn’t identify it. So he ignored it, concentrating instead on her as their gazes met in a clash of heat and memories.

One look into her eyes—dark, endless pools of melted chocolate—used to bring him to his knees. But those days were long gone. Her betrayal had destroyed any faith he might have had in her. He’d been weak once, had fallen for the innocence she could project with a look, a touch, a whisper. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He would satisfy his curiosity, find out why she was at GIA, and then he would walk away.

As he stared down at her, those same eyes were alive with so many emotions he couldn’t begin to sort them all out. Her face could be as unemotional as she wanted it to be, her body as ice-cold as it had once been fiery-hot, but her eyes didn’t lie. Isa was as disturbed by this chance meeting as he was.

The realization had something relaxing deep inside him and he felt the power shift sizzle in the air around them. She’d once had the upper hand in their relationship because he’d trusted her blindly, loved her so deeply that he had never conceived that she would one day betray him.

But those days were long gone. Isa could pretend to be the straitlaced, boring gem professor all she wanted. He knew the truth and he would never be stupid enough to let his guard down around her again.

“Hello, Isabella.” He made certain his face showed only sardonic amusement. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, well, I go where the jewels are.”

“Don’t I know it?” Deliberately he glanced at the wall across from them, where one of the most expensive opal necklaces ever created was displayed behind glass. “The president tells me you’ve been teaching here three years. Yet there’ve been no heists. You must be slipping.”

Her eyes flashed furiously, but her voice was controlled when she answered, “I’m a member of the GIA faculty. Helping to ensure the safety of every gem on this campus falls in my job description.”

“And we all know how seriously you take your job...and your loyalties.”

The mask cracked and he got a glimpse of her fury before she shored her defenses back up. “Is there something you need, Marc?” She glanced pointedly at his hand, which was still wrapped tightly around her elbow.

“I thought we could catch up. For old times’ sake.”

“Yes, well, it turns out the old times weren’t all that good. So, if you’ll excuse me—” She started to wrest her elbow from his grasp, but he tightened his fingers. Despite the anger that ran through him like molten lava at her words, he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

“I don’t excuse you.” He put a wealth of meaning behind those four words, and saw with satisfaction that she hadn’t missed his point.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I’ve got an appointment in half an hour. I don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, I hear fences take exception to lateness.”

This time the cool facade did more than crack. She shoved against his chest with one hand at the same time she wrenched her elbow from his grasp. “Six years ago I put up with all your vile insinuations and accusations because I felt like I deserved them. But that was a long time ago and I’m done now. I have a new life—”

“And a new name.”

“Yes.” She eyed him warily. “I needed distance.”

“That’s not the way I remember it.” She’d chosen her father over him, even after the old man had stolen from him. It wasn’t a slight Marc had any intention of forgetting.

“No surprise there.”

The insult—in her words and her tone—had him narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounded like. I’m not big on subterfuge.”

Though it made him sound like an arrogant ass, he couldn’t help throwing her words back at her. “Again, that’s not the way I remember it.”

“Of course not.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Then again, you’ve always been more about perception than truth. Right, Marc?”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get any angrier. Not when his stomach already churned with it, his jaw aching from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. Then again, she’d always brought out strong emotions in him. At one time, they’d even been good emotions.

Those days were long gone, though, and he wouldn’t let her drag him back there. The Marc who had loved Isa Varin had been a weak fool—something he’d sworn he’d never be again as he’d watched security escort her from his building.

“That seems an awful lot like the pot calling the kettle black, Isabella.” He put added emphasis on her new name, could see by the darkening of her eyes that the irony wasn’t lost on her.

“On that note, I think it’s time for me to leave.” She started to step around him, but he blocked her path. He didn’t know what was driving him, only that he wasn’t ready to watch her walk away from him again. Not when she looked so cool and collected and he felt...anything but. And not now that he’d finally found her.

“Running away?” he taunted. “Why am I not surprised? It does run in the family, after all.”

For a second, hurt flashed in her eyes. But it was gone so fast he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. And still, a little seed of guilt lingered. At least until she said, “Whatever you’re doing here, whatever you think you’re going to get, isn’t going to happen. You need to get out of my way, Marc.”

It was an ultimatum, for all that it was said in a polite tone. He’d never been one to respond well to such things. Still, her fire excited him, turned him on, as nothing had in six long years. His reaction pissed him off, but he’d be damned before he let her see that. Not when she was there, in front of him, when he’d been so certain he would never see her again. He wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life for another six years, not when he still had so many unanswered questions. And not when he still wanted her so badly that every muscle in his body ached with it.

So instead of doing what she asked, he lifted a brow and leaned casually against the cool, tile wall behind him. Then asked the question he knew would change everything. “Or what?”


Two (#ulink_07e56210-9533-5a04-84dd-f7d0e38b7798)

Isa stared at Marc in disbelief. Had he seriously just asked her that? As if they were kids playing a game of double dog dare and it was now her turn to up the ante? Too bad for him that she’d given up childish games the same night she’d walked forty city blocks through sleet and freezing rain without so much as a coat to shield her from the weather. She’d moved past that night, had made a new, better life for herself here under a name no one in the industry could trace to her father. There was no way she would let him mess all that up.

“I don’t have time for this,” she told him with an annoyed snarl. “And while I’d like to say it was nice seeing you again, we both know that I’d be lying. So—” she gave him a mock salute “—have a nice life.”

Turning on her heel, she once again started down the empty hallway. This time she only made it a couple of steps before he wrapped one large, calloused hand around her wrist and tugged her to a stop.

“You don’t actually think it’s going to be that easy, do you?”

His rough fingers stroked the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist. It was a familiar caress, one he’d done so often in their months together that she’d felt his phantom stroking in that exact spot for months—years—after they’d broken up. Even now, with everything that had passed between them, with the power he held to ruin her life all over again, her traitorous heart beat uncontrollably fast at the light touch.

Furious with herself for being so easy—and at him for being so damn appealing—she yanked her arm from his grasp with more force than his gentle hold demanded. She ended up stumbling back a couple steps before she could catch herself, a reaction that just annoyed her more. Why was she constantly making a fool of herself in front of this man?

Infusing her voice with as much frigidness as she could muster, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Those glorious eyes of his mocked her. “Still a good liar, I see.” He reached out and ran a hand over her braid. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

“I never lied to you.”

“But you didn’t tell me the truth, either. Even when doing so would have saved my company and me one hell of a lot of time, money and embarrassment.”

Old guilt swamped her at his words. She tried to push it away, but it was too constant a companion for her to do anything more than invite it in like she always did. Still, she refused to take all the blame in this situation. Not when the tender man she used to know had vanished like so much smoke. “Yes, well, you seemed to have landed on your feet.”

“As have you.” He very deliberately glanced into the classroom she had just vacated. “A professor at the GIA, one of the world’s leading experts on conflict-free diamonds. I have to admit, when you disappeared so completely, I thought you’d decided to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

Isa drew in a sharp breath, horrified that his words still had the ability to hurt her, even after all this time. “I’m not a thief.” She’d meant the words to sound scornful, but her voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

His look darkened and for a second, just a second, she thought he would reach out to her. To touch her like he used to—with so much tenderness that she couldn’t feel anything but cherished. Every nerve ending in her body tingled at the thought and despite his hurtful words—despite everything that had passed between them—she almost melted into him. She had to lock her knees, in fact, to keep from leaning on him as she had so many times before.

But then he cleared his throat and the spell was broken. All the bad memories poured into her, overwhelming the good from one breath to the next. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Refused to be so weak in front of him. Besides, she’d already cried all the tears over him she ever would. Their relationship was in the past and she was going to keep it there.

She stepped back and this time he didn’t pursue her. He just watched her with a smirk on his face. She supposed that meant the next move was hers. So be it.

Taking a deep breath, she looked him square in the eyes and did the only thing she knew how to do at this point. She opened herself up and told him the truth. “Look, I know you want your pound of flesh, and God knows, you deserve it. I’m sorry, so, so sorry, for everything my father put you through. But he’s gone now and there’s nothing else I can do to make things right. Can you accept my heartfelt apology and then we can both move on? You teach your class, I’ll teach mine. And the past can stay dead.”

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink, but Isa swore she felt him recoil at her words. She waited nervously for him to say something, anything, but as the seconds ticked by and nothing was forthcoming, she grew more and more nervous. To be watched by Marc Durand was to be watched by a hungry predator, one whose teeth and claws, speed and intellect, gave him an advantage over every other species on the savannah. Or the beach, she admitted ruefully, looking out at the ocean through the windows at the end of the hall.

She shifted under his scrutiny, uncomfortably aware that the last time he’d spent this much time looking at her she’d been naked and begging for him to make love to her. And while sleeping with him was the farthest thing from her mind right now, her traitorous body still remembered all the pleasure he’d brought her. Pleasure she had never seen the likes of before or since.

Her nipples hardened at the thought and her cheeks burned in humiliation. He hated her, was disgusted by her very presence. She’d spent six years in a new life, trying to forget him. And still she couldn’t help fantasizing about what it felt like to be in his arms. Marc was an incredible lover—passionate, unselfish, fun—and the months she’d spent with him had been the best of her life.

But they’d been followed by the worst, lowest months, she reminded herself bitterly. She needed to remember that. Just because her body was still attuned to him, still wanted him, didn’t mean the rest of her did. Sexual chemistry had only gotten them so far, after all.

He still hadn’t said anything and the sensually charged silence between them grew more and more uncomfortable—at least on her part.

Isa squared her shoulders, cleared her throat and said, “I really am late. I need to go.”

She hated that it sounded like she was asking his permission, but the connection that had sprung up between them was such that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk away if he didn’t do something to help her sever it.

“There’s a cocktail party tonight,” he said abruptly. “In the gem gallery.”

Surprised by the bizarre change in subject, she nonetheless nodded. “Yes. It’s the spring faculty mixer.”

“Go with me.”

Isa shook her head, certain she must have heard him wrong. Marc couldn’t possibly have asked her to attend the faculty cocktail party as his date? Why would he? Unless he planned to humiliate her there in front of all her colleagues.

The Marc she used to know, the one she’d been hopelessly in love with, would never do anything like that. But she hadn’t seen that man in six long years and this one—hard, angry, uncompromising—looked like he was capable of anything. She wanted no part of him, no matter what her pleasure-starved body said.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” It was obvious he didn’t like her answer.

“I already have a date.” The words poured from her lips before she had a clue she was going to say them. And while they weren’t a lie, they weren’t strictly the truth, either. She and Gideon, another professor, had made plans to go together weeks ago. They were just friends, though, and she knew Gideon wouldn’t mind if she canceled on him.

But she would mind. She could barely stand the fifteen-minute conversation she and Marc were having in the hall. She couldn’t even imagine what would happen to her—or the new identity she’d worked so hard for—if she spent an entire evening in his company. If she gave in to the attraction that still flared between them. Besides, she might be insane enough to still be attracted to him, but her days of being his whipping girl were long over. She was nobody’s masochist.

“Who is he?” The words grated out from between his clenched teeth.

“Gideon. No one you know. But maybe I’ll see you there.”

She forced a smile she was far from feeling. She even gave a little wave before she started down the corridor for the third time in the past twenty minutes. This time he let her go.

By the time she opened the side door and stepped into the early spring sunlight, she’d almost convinced herself she was happy about that fact.

* * *

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Nic demanded.

Marc looked up from his computer with a scowl. Per his usual modus operandi at Bijoux’s new California headquarters, his little brother had barged unannounced into Marc’s office. Normally Marc didn’t mind, but right now, just hours after that conversation with Isa, dealing with Nic was the last thing he wanted to do. Not when his brother was unusually perceptive—not to mention his wicked and slightly strange sense of humor. It was a dangerous combination, one that usually required Marc to be on his toes if he had any hope of staying one step ahead. And today, he didn’t have it in him to even try.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Look at your face.”

“That’s pretty much impossible considering there’s no mirror in here.”

“Why, oh why, did I get stuck with a brother with absolutely no imagination?” Nic demanded, looking upward as he did—as if he expected the universe to answer his question. Frankly, Marc thought Nic had a better chance of finding the answer written on the ceiling than waiting for divine intervention, but he didn’t mention that. It would only give Nic more ammunition.

Instead, Marc answered the question. “So that you’d look like the fun brother.”

“It was a rhetorical question. Besides, I don’t have to look like the fun brother. I am the fun brother,” Nic told him with a roll of his eyes. “But, fine. You can’t see your face. I can. And let me tell you, you look like someone...” He paused as if searching for the perfect descriptor.

“Pissed in my cornflakes?”

“Exactly. So what’s up? More trouble with De Beers?”

“No more than usual.”

“The new mine?”

“Nope. I just heard back from Heath and things are going well. Despite it being brand-new, we should be turning a very tidy profit by the fall.”

“See? Who says you can’t make money and responsibly source diamonds?”

“Greedy bastards with no heart or social conscience?”

Nic snorted. “Again, it was a rhetorical question. But good answer, anyway.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Marc turned back to his computer, tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet that was open on the screen. Normally, this stuff was like catnip to him, but today looking at the production values of the various mines was nothing but an annoyance. Especially when he couldn’t stop thinking about Isa—and the mystery man who was escorting her to the cocktail party. Was he a friend? A boyfriend? A lover? The last thought had his hands curling into fists and his teeth clenching so tightly that he could almost feel the enamel being ground away.

“See, there!” Nic said. “That’s the look I’m talking about.”

“Again, can’t see it.”

“Again, I can, so tell me what’s causing it. If we’re not losing money and we’re not yet in our annual power struggle with De Beers, then what the hell has you so freaked out?”

Marc glared at him, offended. “I don’t get freaked out.”

“Well, you sure aren’t freaked in.” Nic crossed to the bar in the corner, pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge and tossed one Marc’s way.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I’m going to keep bugging you until you tell me what’s wrong, so you might as well spit it out. Otherwise, you’ll never get back to that spreadsheet of yours.”

“What makes you think I’m looking at a spreadsheet?”

“Face it. You’re always looking at a spreadsheet.” Nic settled back into one of the visitors’ chairs and kicked his feet up onto Marc’s desk. “Spill.”

Marc pretended to focus on his computer screen, but Nic didn’t get the hint. Or if he did, he totally ignored it. Silence stretched between them, broken only by Nic’s occasional swallow and the low, clicking sounds that came from Marc’s gritted teeth. Finally, in the hopes of saving himself a hefty dental bill, Marc did what his brother asked and spilled.

“I ran into Isa today.”

Nic’s feet hit the ground with a thud as he sat straight up. “Isa Varin?”

“Isabella Moreno now.”

“She’s married?” He whistled low and long. “No wonder you’re in a foul mood.”

“She’s not married!” Marc snapped out. “But even if she was, it’s no business of mine.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Nic mocked. “You’ve just spent the last six years dating every redhead you could find in a ridiculous attempt to replace her. But her marital status is none of your business.”

“I’ve never—” He broke off midrant. He wanted to tell his brother that he was dead wrong, that Marc hadn’t done anything of the sort. But as he thought back over the last few women he’d dated, Marc realized that Nic might have a point.

He’d never noticed before but all the women in his life were redheads. Tall, slender redheads with delicate bones and great smiles. Hell. Had he subconsciously been trying to find a replacement for Isa all these years? He’d never thought so, but the evidence was hard to ignore. Damn it.

“So, why the name change if she isn’t married?”

He didn’t know, but he was going to damn sure find out. Still, he told his brother what she’d told him. “She said she wanted to start over.”

Nic made a sympathetic noise. “I bet.”

He didn’t like Nic’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means? Things didn’t exactly end well between you. I know when you kicked her out, it was what you felt you had to do.”

“It was what I had to do! Do you really think there was another option?” Marc waved the question away before Nic could answer it—they’d been over this ground hundreds of times since that night. “Still. I’ve paid a hell of a lot of money to private investigators through the years. You would think one of them would have turned up this name change.”

“Not if she didn’t do it legally.”

“It’d have to be legal. She’s employed under the name.”

“Have you forgotten who her father is? With the kind of contacts he had, she could buy herself a whole new identity without breaking a sweat.”

“Isa wouldn’t do that.” But even as the words left his mouth, Marc wasn’t so sure. What his brother was saying made a lot of sense. After all, she’d lied before. Stolen before. How else could the daughter of a world famous jewel thief—a woman who had been a thief in her own right—end up teaching at the world headquarters of the Gemological Institute of America—even if she was one of the best in her field? Working there, she had access to some of the finest gems in the world—they rotated through the institute on loan on a pretty regular basis, after all.

And while she might not be a thief, her father’s reputation would be more than enough to keep the doors at GIA firmly closed to her. Unless she had done exactly what his brother surmised. Because if she’d changed her name legally, there was no doubt that the detectives Marc had hired to look for her in those first couple of years would have caught it.

“So, how’s she doing anyway?” Nic broke into Marc’s musings. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.” Better than fine. She’d looked amazing—healthy, happy, glowing even. At least until she’d seen him. Then the light inside her had died.

“I’m glad. Despite the debacle with her father—and despite what happened between the two of you—I always liked her.”

So had he. So much so that Marc had asked her to be his wife, despite his determination before he’d met her to never marry. It wasn’t as if his parents had set such a great example for him and Nic in that department.

“So, did you ask her out?”

“Did I—? Are you kidding me? Aren’t you the one who was just reminding me how badly things ended between us?”

“You were a bit of an ass, no getting around that. But Isa has a big heart. I bet she’ll forgive you—”

“I’m not the one who needs forgiveness in this equation. She nearly ruined all our plans for Bijoux!”

“Her father nearly ruined all our plans, not her.”

“She knew about everything.”

“Yeah, but what was she supposed to say? ‘By the way, honey, that diamond heist you’re so worked up about? The one that might bankrupt your business? I think my daddy did it.”

“That would have been nice. So that I didn’t have to hear about it from the head of our security team.”

“Cut her a break. She was twenty-one years old and probably scared to death.”

Marc frowned at him. “You’re pretty damn understanding all of a sudden. If I remember correctly, you were calling for her head when everything was going down.”

“Her father’s head,” Nic corrected. “I thought he should fry for what he did, but you were the one who refused to press charges. And who pulled every string you could to get him out of trouble. Hell, you’re still paying back favors from that whole debacle.”

Nic was right. Marc was—and the favors were often uncomfortable ones. More than once, he’d wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. Why had he worked so hard to keep Isa’s father out of prison after what the man had done? But then he’d seen her face in his mind’s eye—pale, drawn, terrified—and known that he hadn’t had a choice.

Getting up, Marc crossed to one of the two picture windows that formed the outside walls of his corner office. Beyond the glass, he had a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean as it crashed against the rocky shoreline. He studied it for long seconds, letting the roll of powerful waves calm some of the annoyance—and confusion—inside of him. Moving Bijoux’s North American headquarters to San Diego six months ago was one of his smarter moves. He’d done it because of the proximity to the world headquarters of GIA, but access to the ocean was a very nice side benefit.

“He was a sick, old man. Salvatore was dead before the year was out, anyway. He didn’t need to spend the last couple months of his life in a cell.”

“You did that for Isa, and because underneath that crusty exterior you’ve actually got a soft heart—”

“Crusty? You make me sound like I’m ninety!”

“You said it, I didn’t.” Nic’s smartphone alarm went off and he sprung to his feet. “I’ve got to go. There’s a marketing meeting starting in five minutes that I want to sit in on.”

“Everything going okay with the new campaign?” Marc asked. He was the CEO of Bijoux, the guy who handled all the business stuff—governmental contracts, mining, employees, distribution. But his brother was the creative genius in the family. He handled marketing, public relations and sales. Anything that had to do with Bijoux’s public image. And he did it brilliantly, something Marc appreciated because it gave him time to concentrate on what he loved best—growing his family’s gem company into the largest socially and environmentally responsible diamond company in the business.

“It’s going great,” Nic said dismissively. “I just like to be at all the meetings to hear the ideas, see what’s going around. Get a sense of the zeitgeist, I guess you could say.”

“And they call me the control freak in the family?”

“Because you are. While I am merely conscientious.” Nic crumpled up his empty soda can and shot it toward the recycle bin in the back corner of Marc’s office. “Yeah, baby, nothing but net.”

Marc bit his tongue to keep from telling Nic that there was no net. God forbid he get another lecture on not being the “fun” brother.

Nic made his way toward the exit, then stopped at the doorway and turned back to Marc.

“Seriously, bro. Fate’s given you another chance with Isa. You should take it.”

“I don’t believe in fate. And I don’t want another chance with her.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.” After everything that had gone down between them? The last thing he wanted was to give Isa another shot at screwing up his business...or his heart.

Did he want to sleep with her again? Hell, yeah. What man wouldn’t? She was beautiful when she was aroused. Not to mention sexy as hell—especially when she screamed his name while she came. Being with her had been the best sex he’d ever had.

Then again, she’d always been more the type to make love than have sex. He’d loved that about her when they’d been together. Now, however, it was nothing but a pain in his ass—not to mention other, more notable parts of his anatomy. He didn’t do the whole tenderness thing anymore.

“Well, then, forget about her,” Nic told him practically. “The past is dead. You’ve both moved on. Keep it that way.”

“I intend to.”

And yet, Marc couldn’t help thinking about Isa—and about her date to the party that night. Gideon. Just the name set his teeth on edge. What kind of name was Gideon, anyway? Who the hell was he? And what the hell did he want with Isa?

An image of her standing in front of her classroom flashed through Marc’s mind. Her eyes alight with the thrill of talking about her favorite subject, her skin flushed and glowing. Her miles of red hair locked down in that ridiculous braid, her gorgeous body hidden, and yet revealed, by the tailored pants and turtleneck sweater she’d been wearing.

When he’d known her, she’d been all warm, sweet passion—for life, for gems, for him. Now she was a contradiction, a bunch of stopping-and-going that, combined, made for an even more intriguing woman. One that he couldn’t help wanting despite his anger, and her betrayal.

No, Isa hadn’t been eager to renew their acquaintance that afternoon. But he’d seen the way she looked at him, the way she swayed toward him when he touched her. Maybe getting her into bed again wouldn’t be nearly as challenging as it once had been. The thought made him smile. Because once he got her there, he would take her—over and over and over again. Every way a man could take a woman.

He’d get her out of his system once and then, finally, he’d be able to put her—and all their unfinished business—behind him once and for all.


Three (#ulink_4029e68a-29cb-534e-95e7-9d05f6d54045)

He was there. Marc. Though she hadn’t run into him yet, Isa had felt him watching her from the moment she and Gideon had walked in the door of the faculty mixer. It had always been that way with them—she couldn’t help but sense Marc whenever he was anywhere close to her.

“Can I get you a drink?” Gideon asked, his mouth inches from her ear. She knew he did it because it was hard to hear in the gallery—overlaying the soft music was the sound of a hundred voices, all vying to be heard—but still, feeling his warm breath so close to her cheek and neck unnerved her. Made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Which was stupid. Gideon was her friend and occasional movie/mixer date. It had been that way since they’d met three years before and never once had he given any indication that he wanted more. They were buddies, pals, each other’s port in a storm. So why was she suddenly feeling so awkward around him?

A shiver ran down her spine, and with it came the answer to her question. Because Marc was there, watching her. And though she hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him, she knew he wouldn’t like the fact that Gideon was so close to her, his face next to hers, his hand resting softly at the center of her back.

As soon as the thought came, she beat it down. She and Marc had been over for six long years. He probably couldn’t care less that she was here with Gideon—any more than she cared who he was with. Any feeling she had otherwise was probably just a leftover from when they had been together. Back then, Marc had been extremely possessive of her. But then, she’d felt the same way about him.

“Isabel?” Gideon’s smooth voice dropped an octave as concern clouded his bright green eyes. “Are you all right? You’ve seemed off ever since I picked you up.”

He was right. She had been off—and not just for the past half hour. She’d been feeling strange ever since her encounter with Marc in the hallway earlier that day. And now, knowing that he was here made her feel a million times more off-kilter.

To make up for it, she flashed Gideon a wide, warm smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been caught up in my thoughts. But I’ll put them away for now, I promise.”

He grinned back at her. “Careful with that smile, woman. It’s a lethal weapon.” His own grin faded. “You know, if you need anything you can count on me, right?”

“Of course. But I’m fine. I swear.” She leaned into him, gave him a brief kiss on his cheek. “Though I am thirsty.”

“Your usual?” he asked, steering her toward a group of colleagues that they were both friendly with.

“That would be perfect.”

After depositing her among their friends, Gideon took off toward the bar. Isa tried to relax, to enjoy the ebb and flow of the quick-witted conversation she was usually right in the middle of. But she couldn’t. Not when it felt as if Marc’s eyes were boring holes right between her shoulder blades.

“So, how was the ballet you went to last week?” asked Maribel, one of the other professors at the GIA. “I’m so sad I had to miss it.”

“Yes, well, I think an appointment with your obstetrician trumps an afternoon at the theater,” Isa told her. “But the ballet was great. It was student written and performed, but you would have never known it. The San Diego Ballet Academy has a really good program.”

“Well the next time one of those afternoons of student work comes along, I want in. Even if it means I have to get a babysitter.” Mirabel softly rubbed her swollen tummy.

“How is the baby? And how are you feeling?”

“The baby’s fine and I feel gigantic. I can’t believe I have two more months of this to go.”

“Hopefully it will go fast,” her husband, Michael, told her as he gently rubbed her back.

She snorted in response. “Really? And you know this because you’re carrying around a beach ball in your stomach?”

They all laughed, even Michael, and Isa felt the tension finally begin to drain from her shoulders. Yes, Marc was here but there was no reason they had to do anything more than exchange a polite hello. If that.

Gideon came back with her drink—a crisp, cold glass of Pinot Grigio—but before she could do more than smile her thanks at him, she heard the dean’s voice right behind her. “Good evening, everyone. I’d like to introduce you to the newest guest lecturer on our faculty.”

The man hadn’t even said Marc’s name before her stomach dropped to her toes. Because, really, who else would the dean be personally escorting around the cocktail party besides the CEO of the second largest diamond conglomerate in the world?

Her friends welcomed Marc easily, much to her dismay. Not that she could have expected any differently. They were a fabulous, friendly, nosy bunch of people and any new lecturer—especially one of Marc’s stature—would be of interest to them.

He fit in well, of course. Remembered everyone’s name on the first go round. Told a quick story with a punch line that had everyone roaring with laughter. Asked appropriate questions that gave everyone in the group a chance to show off a little.

In other words, Marc was in perfect social mode—the one he slipped into so easily when he was doing the party circuit and the one she’d never been able to perfect, no matter how hard she’d tried. When they’d been together, she’d wanted to be the fiancée he could be proud of. She had tried so hard to be as charming and at ease as Marc was in the various social situations he’d thrust her into. But the fact of the matter was, she was shy.

She loved talking to her students, loved talking to her friends. But making small talk with strangers? Struggling to come up with something to say that would hold people’s attention—especially the people Marc introduced her to? Those situations had made her intensely uncomfortable to the point that she would have anxiety attacks hours before they went out.

She’d never told Marc, of course. Had never wanted him to feel ashamed of her or find her lacking. She’d loved him so much, had been so desperate to be Mrs. Marc Durand, that she would have done anything he asked of her. Had done anything, everything—except betray her father. And that one decision, that one stand against Marc, had cost her everything.

Anger churned in her stomach, combined with the wine and nerves until she felt more than a little nauseous. Gideon noticed that something was wrong right away. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his lips pressed against her ear so no one else could hear. He was one of the few people she’d ever trusted with her social anxiety. It was one of the reasons he insisted on being her escort to parties, and why he always made sure she was with friends before he left her side to get drinks or anything else.

“I need some air,” she whispered back.

“The terrace is open. I’ll take you.”

“No, I’m fine.” He’d been enjoying the conversation immensely—the talk of ballet had turned into a spirited discussion of San Diego’s arts scene—and it wasn’t fair to take him away from it. “Stay. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She leaned into him a little more, gave him a quick hug. Then excused herself to use the ladies’ room.

As conversations ebbed and flowed around her, Isa made her way to the wide-open doors at the end of the room. They let out onto the terrace that overlooked the ocean and as she got closer she could feel the sea breeze sweeping through the room. It was a little chilly, a little salty and exactly what she needed to help her get her head back on straight. And to forget about Marc and the painful past she had no hope of changing.

Slipping around the last group of people, she walked straight out to the darkest part of the terrace. Bracing her hands on the iron fence that closed it in, she closed her eyes and let herself breathe. In, out. In, out. In, out. Already, she felt calmer. More in control. She wondered how long she could stay out here before Gideon came looking for her.

* * *

She was gorgeous. Dressed in a simple purple sheath that stood out like a beacon amid the sea of black cocktail dresses, she was as sexy, as sensual, as he’d remembered. More so even, maturity lending a lushness to her face and figure that hadn’t been there before.

It was a lushness that clown Gideon had noticed. One he’d taken every chance to brush against or touch or hold. Standing there, doing nothing, while that bastard had pawed Isa had been one of the hardest things Marc had ever done. Especially when he’d wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into the jerk’s face.

Only the fact that Isa seemed to like Gideon’s touch had stopped him, even as it had cranked his anger into a lethal place. One where the six years between now and when she’d been his had melted into nothing, like snow on the first warm spring day.

He watched her weave her way through the bodies, watched as she slipped out onto the terrace, finding a dark corner with only a little light to stand in.

Watched as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Then another and another.

Her beautiful breasts trembled against the deep V of her neckline and Marc’s fingers itched—ached—with the need to touch her there. To hold the warm, firm weight of her in the palms of his hands while he kissed, licked, sucked her nipples until she orgasmed.

It had been one of his favorite things to do when she’d been his.

As he stood there, watching her, an image came to him. One of Gideon on his knees in front of her, pleasuring her the way Marc used to. Rage exploded within him, turned his voice harsh and tinted his vision with red. Or maybe that was green.

Within seconds he was next to her. “Who is this Gideon guy to you?” The question came out before he even knew he was going to ask it.

Isa’s eyes flew open and she whirled to face him, one shaky hand pressed to her chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I followed you.” He stepped forward, ran his fingers down the sweet softness of her cheek.

“Why?”

He ignored her question, focused instead on the sudden increase in her breathing. She was either nervous or aroused. Or maybe both. He wanted to revel in her reaction, probably would have, if he hadn’t been struck by the sudden realization that her response might be for Gideon instead of him.

“Who is that guy to you?” he asked again.

“Gideon?”

He didn’t like the way she said the guy’s name, all soft and familiar. It pushed at him, made him snarly. And more determined than ever to have her in his bed again. “Yeah.”

“He’s my escort. And—and my friend.”

Her voice broke as he slid his hand from her cheek to her jaw to the pulse that fluttered wildly at the base of her neck. “Is that all?”

She wet her lips with her tongue and he nearly groaned. It took every ounce of control he had not to lean forward and brush his own tongue against hers.

“Is what all?” She was breathless now, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

The knowledge that she wanted him, too, sent a shot of lust straight to his groin. He stepped closer, brushed her body with his even as he circled her neck with his thumb and fingers. It wasn’t a threat or an attempt to intimidate. No, it was simply a gesture of the possessiveness ripping through him like a freight train, one he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to.

And he didn’t want to. Not when need for Isa was a fire in his blood, a haze in his mind.

He leaned forward until his lips were only an inch or so from hers. “Gideon. Is he just a friend? Or is he more?”

“G-Gideon?”

He liked the confusion in her voice, liked that she couldn’t remember who he was talking about. “The guy who brought you here.” Marc leaned closer still, brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth. “Are you with him?”

Isa shuddered, trembled, against him. “No.”

The denial came out as a whisper, but it was good enough for him. More than good enough as her skin flushed and her nipples peaked against his chest.

“Good,” he said, right before his mouth closed over hers.


Four (#ulink_0024042c-014b-5588-8b4e-4c632a5a4568)

The kiss was as much about possession as it was about pleasure.

It had been six long years since he’d touched her, since he’d held her, since he’d licked his way across her full pink lips, but, in this moment, in his mind, she was still his.

At the first press of his mouth against hers, Isa’s lips parted on a gasp. He took instant, ruthless advantage, thrusting his tongue into the deepest recesses of her mouth. Her hands came up to his chest and he thought, at first, that she was going to push him away. Just the idea upset him more than he wanted to admit. He prepared for it, for the torture that would be letting her go. But then her hands clung instead of pressed, tangled in his shirt and held him close. It was all the permission he needed.

He brought his hands to her face, cupped her jaw. Stroked his thumbs along her cut-glass cheekbones. And kissed her as if he’d been dying to kiss her for all these years.

He plundered her.

Sweeping his tongue along her own, stroking and circling, teasing and tasting, he coaxed her into opening a little wider, letting him in a little deeper. She did, and he swept in, taking more of her. Taking everything she was offering and demanding more.

He licked his way across her lips, down the inside of her cheeks, over the slick roughness of the top of her mouth. She moaned then, a soft, breathy sound that shot straight through him and made him harder than he’d been any time in the past six years. Harder than he’d been any time since he’d last held her in his arms.

With that thought in his mind and desire pounding through his gut, he tilted her head to gain better access. And then it was on.

Their tongues tangled, slipping, sliding, stroking their way over and around and under each other. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and relished the way her body arched, the way her hips bumped against his, the way her fingers clawed at him, scratching him through the thin silk of his dress shirt.

He used to love the little pricks of pain, and the knowledge that he would carry her marks for hours, sometimes days. It was a blow to find out he still felt that way. That he still wanted her brand on his body—and his brand on hers—as much as he ever had. Or it would be a blow, he figured, as soon as this kiss was over. For now, he couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about anything but her and the feelings rushing between them. Because he didn’t have a choice, he gave himself over to it all. Gave himself over to Isa.

How could he not when the kiss, when she, was a strange mix of soft and sharp, poignant and desperate. The familiar and the exotic. He wanted her—and whatever she would give him—more than he wanted air.

His head was spinning by the time she pulled away. She didn’t go far, just broke off the kiss and stood there panting, her forehead resting against his. He let her catch her breath, and dragged precious oxygen into his own overworked lungs, giving his overheated body a chance to calm down. Then he claimed her mouth again.

It was even better the second time.

Her lips were warm and swollen and she tasted so good—like fizzy wine and the sweetest summer blackberries. And the sea. Cool and clean and so, so wild. But then, she always had.

So much about her had changed since he’d last been with her, he’d been afraid that her taste had, too. To find out that it hadn’t—it nearly brought him to his knees. Instead of letting it, he kissed her again. And again. And again. Until her skin was hot and flushed against his palms. Until he was rock hard and aching against her. Until their lips were bruised and swollen and tender, so tender..

And then he kissed her some more.

And she let him. She let him kiss her, let him touch her, let him in when he’d spent so long thinking that it would never happen again. That she would never open herself to him and that, if she did, he would never trust her enough to let her.

But this wasn’t about trust, he told himself as he continued to take everything she had to offer and push for more. This wasn’t about love. It was about need. About chemistry. About a past that burned hotter between them than any jewelry forge ever could.

His mouth was nearly numb by the time she finally broke the kiss. This time she didn’t stay in his arms, resting against him. Instead, she shoved him away, hard, then turned to face the ocean. He gave her space, and just watched, fascinated, as her shoulders trembled, as she struggled desperately to get herself under control.

He wished her luck. God knew, he had absolutely no control when it came to her. He never had.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

It was an order, delivered in a voice that still shook from pent-up desire.

“Never do what?” he asked, turning her around so he could see her face in the shadowy darkness. Her eyes were huge; her pupils wide with passion and seeing her like that sent another shock wave of need through him.

“Never do this?” he asked, stepping so close that every breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. “Never touch you?” He brushed his knuckles against her jaw, then slid them down, until his open hand rested on her collarbone, his fingers splayed gently against her neck. “Never kiss you?” Her skin was soft and warm against his lips as he kissed a line from her temple to her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

Then he pressed his mouth to hers, pulled her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently.

Isa’s hands slid up his back to tangle in his hair as she made low, urgent sounds deep in her throat. Her lips parted on a shallow exhale as her body arched against him. It was all he could do not to groan. Not to take her right there against the iron railing of the balcony.

“Never want you?” His hand was on her waist, and he slid it down to mold her behind, to press her hips against his while his other hand slid down to cup her breast through the thin, silky fabric of her dress. “Because, I have to say, I think the ship has sailed on that. For both of us.”

“Marc.” His name was a broken breath on her lips—a prayer, a curse, an absolution, a condemnation. He didn’t know which—nor did he care, he assured himself. All that mattered was having her again. He’d spent the past six years thinking about touching her, dreaming about taking her over and over until his mind was calm and his body was finally sated.

Maybe then he could find some peace.

“Let me have you,” he whispered in her ear even as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll take care of you, make you feel so good—”

Isa shoved against him, hard. She was a little thing, slender, with tiny bones—but she was a lot stronger than she looked.

“Marc, no!” She twisted her face to the side and shoved again. “Stop.”

No. Stop. He hated those two words, almost as much as he hated being told what to do. But they were nonnegotiable, the words and the sentiment behind them not open for discussion when they fell from a woman’s lips. And so he stepped back, letting his hands fall away from her lush, inviting curves.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said. Her eyes were wild, her voice shaky.

“Do you?” he murmured. “Do you really?”

“You’re trying to embarrass me at work. You’re trying to ruin everything and I’m not going to have it.”

He didn’t even try to hide his insult. “Embarrass you? Kissing me embarrasses you?”

She must have sensed the danger in his voice, because she ran a nervous hand over her hair while the fingers of her other hand played with her locket. “Don’t get all macho and insulted on me,” she told him, exasperated.

“I don’t do macho,” he said, disdain in every syllable.

She snorted. “You don’t have to ‘do’ it. Every cell in your body is alpha and controlling and if you don’t know that, you’re even more deluded than I thought you were. But, be that as it may, I’m not going to stand out here and be your toy for one second longer. This is a work function for me and, unlike you, I don’t have a trust fund and a diamond company to fall back on if I lose my job for inappropriate conduct. This career is all I have and I’m not going to let you ruin it, the way you ruined—”

She broke off before she finished the sentence, moving around him in a quick and desperate attempt to get to the door.

He grabbed her elbow, but it was his will much more than his gentle grip that kept her in place. “The way I ruined our relationship?” he asked silkily. “Because the way I remember it, you did that all on your own.”

“I have no doubt that’s exactly how you remember it.” She glanced pointedly at his hold on her, then pulled her elbow out of his grasp before he could say another word. “Which is how I know you’re doing this just to mess with me, to get me in trouble. But I’m not having it. I don’t ever want you to touch me again. Go back to whatever you were doing before you decided that humiliating me was your best bet. Or better yet, go to hell.”

She moved past him then, disappearing back into the party in a swirl of purple silk, Chanel No. 5 and righteous indignation.

He wasn’t sure what it said about him that it was the latter that turned him on the most.

* * *

She was insane. Or in the middle of a psychotic break. Or having a stroke. She didn’t know which of the three she was suffering from, but it was definitely one of them. There was no other explanation for what had happened on that balcony. No other explanation for why she had fallen into Marc’s arms—and onto his lips—as if it had been six minutes since they’d last been together and not six years. Or as if he hadn’t sent her packing in the cruelest manner possible.

She understood sexual attraction—when they’d been together, she and Marc could barely keep their hands off each other. But shouldn’t that attraction be grounded in respect or love or something other than the intense dislike and distrust they now had for each other?

And still she’d let him kiss her. She’d let him touch her and stroke her and bring her way too close to orgasm. It was ridiculous. Worse, it was self-destructive. She was ashamed of herself. Ashamed of her body for responding so readily to him after everything he’d done to hurt her. After everything she’d done to hurt him, too.

As she walked through the party back to Gideon, Isa could feel Marc’s eyes following her. She didn’t need to look to know he was running his gaze over her back, her backside, her legs—and then up again. The weight of his stare was a physical touch—like an electric shock all over her body.

By the time she got to Gideon, she was shaking with reaction and self-recrimination. Though she knew the smart thing for her career was to stay at the party, drinking champagne and waiting for her turn to chat up the president of the Gem Institute, the truth was she didn’t have it in her to be in this room for one more minute. She had to escape, now, before she freaked out in front of all these people. Or before she threw herself at Marc and begged him to take her right here, in the middle of the crowded gallery.

Just the thought that such a thing was possible had her all but running the last few feet to Gideon. Had her putting her hand on his arm and leaning in so that her lips were only inches from his, so he could hear her in the loud, crowded room. Had her begging off the rest of the night, telling him she’d catch a cab home because she wasn’t feeling well. She was pretty sure her sickly pallor and trembling hands lent credence to the assertion.





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