Diamond Fire

by Anne Mather

The lift slowed, and came to a stop at the ninth floor, and Camilla determinedly put on her official face. After all, this was quite a compliment Mr Bayliss had paid her, giving her this opportunity to deal directly with one of his more important clients. Several eyebrows had been raised in the office when it was revealed where she was going, and those members of the company who considered themselves more senior than Camilla had not been averse to making their feelings felt. If they had only known she would have gladly given them the opportunity to go in her place, Camilla thought resignedly. She preferred the hectic rhythm of the office. Then she didn’t have time to think.

  The elaborately gilded lift doors opened, and Camilla made a hasty inspection of her appearance. She was wearing a neat black suit, the hem of which was only marginally questionable for a serious meeting, a cream Gatsby shirt with shiny gold buttons, and knee-high leather boots, without heels, that emphasised the shapely calves beneath. As usual, her only misgivings were about her hair. Since her return from Hawaii she had had it cut and styled, and now that the perm had grown out it hung, silky and straight, to her shoulders. Far too conspicuous for a lawyer, she knew, but, short of having the colour changed, there was little she could do.

  She stepped out of the lift seconds later to find an elderly black man standing waiting for her. Mr Victor’s valet, she presumed. If he was younger than his employer, then her client must be in his late sixties at least.

  ‘Miss Richards?’ he asked, but it was only a perfunctory enquiry. He had been advised of her imminent arrival, and as she was the only occupant of the lift it was highly unlikely that she could be anyone else.

  ‘Yes,’ she responded now. ‘I’m Camilla Richards. How do you do?’

  ‘I do fine, thank you, ma’am,’ the man replied, his gnarled face softening with the semblance of a smile. ‘Will you come with me? Mr—ah—Victor is waiting for you.’

  The corridor was wide, and high, and carpeted in an eggshell shade of blue. There were little stars of silver-grey broadloom set into the edges of the carpet, and Camilla found herself concentrating on these as she accompanied the valet to Mr Victor’s suite. She was also rehearsing how she should begin the interview. If Mr Victor was old he might expect her to advise him about trusts and other tax-free privileges. She was glad she had made some notes and brought them with her. They were presently residing in the briefcase at her side.

  Suite 904 had double doors and the valet opened both of them. Much as a magician might throw open the doors of a magic cabinet to reveal his latest trick, the man threw open the doors to the suite, and invited Camilla inside. ‘Miss Richards, signore,’ he said with a strangely undeferential smile, and the briefcase dropped from Camilla’s nerveless fingers as Alex Conti turned from gazing out of the windows.

  ‘Thanks, Carlo,’ he said as Camilla hastily picked up her briefcase again. ‘You can leave us now. Miss—er—Richards and I have some things to talk about.’

  ‘Yes, signore.’

  Carlo bowed and, stepping outside again, closed the doors with almost as much of a flourish as he had opened them. But the difference was that this time Camilla knew exactly who she was dealing with, and her heart hammered so loudly that she was sure Alex must hear it.

  And, because she was so shocked—and confused—Camilla found she couldn’t say anything. Not ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you?’ or even ‘What are you doing here?’ Instead, she looked rather stupidly around the apartment, admiring its luxurious appointments without really seeing them. Anything rather than look at Alex, who seemed perfectly willing to allow her time to recover.

  He should have warned her, she thought unsteadily, her gaze flickering over damask-covered walls and striped Regency chairs. She supposed it had amused him to invite her here under false pretences, but that still didn’t explain why he had done it. Whose idea had it been? His—or Virginia’s?

  She swallowed convulsively. Yes, of course. It was exactly the sort of thing Virginia would have thought of. Her way of defusing a rather embarrassing situation. Though why she had felt the need to come here and explain herself to her, Camilla couldn’t imagine…

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind the subterfuge,’ Alex said quietly, and, realising she couldn’t go on avoiding looking at him, Camilla forced herself to do so. After all, if this was Virginia’s idea of a joke, her pride couldn’t be allowed to ruin the effect.

  Even so, it wasn’t easy to meet his dark-eyed gaze, and after only a few seconds her eyes darted away. But she found it wasn’t that easy to ignore his lean-limbed body, and almost against her will she noticed how tense he was. It was there in the stiff way he was holding himself, in the unnaturally taut bunching of his fists. And, although the pale grey shirt he was wearing accentuated the natural darkness of his skin, his face was strangely paler, his features rigid and thin.

  Of course, it had been an arduous time for him, Camilla reminded herself impatiently. Apart from his anxieties over Maria—and his wife—there had been Grant’s betrayal to deal with, and his subsequent arrest. It couldn’t have been easy for any of them, and Alex’s role had naturally been the most difficult.

  ‘Why…Victor?’ she asked now, as much to give herself time to formulate a response as anything, and Alex’s lips tightened.

  ‘My second name is Vittorio—like my father’s,’ he explained, equally objectively, and Camilla forced a smile to lighten her expression.

  ‘Who…whose idea was this?’ she asked, realising these were pointless questions, but unable to broach what was obviously in the forefront of both their minds, and Alex frowned.

  ‘Whose?’ he echoed a little blankly. ‘Why—mine, of course. I…don’t understand the question. Who else’s could it be?’

  Camilla shrugged, holding the briefcase in front of her with both hands, feeling more and more bewildered as the minutes passed. ‘I thought perhaps…Virginia,’ she ventured, saying the other woman’s name with a feeling of relief. There, it was out, she thought triumphantly. And, if it had been painful, at least it hadn’t killed her.

  ‘Virginia!’ said Alex now, and his voice was so harsh and strange that Camilla stumbled into explanations.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, speaking quickly. ‘I thought perhaps she and Maria were with you. I know Virginia used to love shopping in London, and if Maria hasn’t been before there are so many things to see—’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Alex’s oath would have been enough to silence her, she thought, but when it was uttered as he crossed the space between them it was doubly daunting. ‘Are you crazy?’ he demanded, halting in front of her, and gazing down at her with savage eyes. ‘Why would I bring Virginia to London with me? You know how I feel about Virginia. My God, what do you think I am? Some kind of saint?’

  Camilla forced herself to breathe, and the air gushed out of her lungs in jerky little gasps. ‘I—just thought—’

  ‘Yes?’ He was so close that she could see every pore of his skin, every crease around his eyes and mouth, every tiny variation in pigment where the sun had scored the flesh. ‘What did you think, I wonder? That if you walked out on me I’d turn to Virginia for consolation?’

  Camilla swallowed again. It was becoming a distinct necessity to do so, and she could feel the muscles in her throat working overtime to cope with the output of her glands. ‘I—didn’t—walk—out—on—you,’ she enunciated carefully, and then uttered a little shriek when he clamped his hands to her shoulders.

  ‘What did you do, then?’ he grated. ‘Oh, I appreciate why you didn’t want to press charges against Grant, and my father explained how you wanted to put what had happened on the yacht behind you. That I can understand. But…leaving the island! Taking the first available flight back to London! That I can’t understand. You must have known I’d want to see you again. Or did that side of our relationship mean nothing to you?’

  Camilla moistened her lips. His hands were hurting her, but she was hardly aware of it. The briefcase she was holding at the length of her arms was bumping ag
ainst her knees and his, but she was hardly aware of that either. Her gaze was focused on his mouth, on the thin upper lip and the full lower one, and the glimpse of milk-white teeth she could see between.

  ‘I…our relationship?’ she got out unevenly, and Alex swore, rather colourfully.

  ‘Yes, our relationship,’ he agreed, his voice thickening as his gaze dropped to the nervous circling of her tongue. ‘We did have a relationship, didn’t we? Or was it all my imagination?’

  ‘But…Virginia—’

  ‘Is no longer my wife,’ said Alex unsteadily, and Camilla’s eyes widened.

  ‘She’s…all right—’

  ‘As she’ll ever be.’ But Alex could see Camilla’s doubts, and, controlling his impatience, he went on. ‘She’s nearing the end of yet another rehabilitation programme, as it happens. And no charges are being brought against her, if that’s what’s worrying you. Now, does that clarify the situation? Or would you like me to draw you a picture?’

  Camilla quivered, and then, as if it was important to maintain some kind of normality here, she said, ‘Could…could I put my briefcase down?’

  ‘God!’

  With a gesture of frustration, Alex released her then, and, as Camilla set her briefcase on the velvet carpet at her feet, he walked back to the windows. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and although it was not a very cheerful day outside the light from the windows silhouetted his hunched shoulders beneath the fine silk. He had his back to her now as if the last few minutes had never happened, and Camilla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not quite knowing how to proceed.

  Buttoning and unbuttoning the jacket of her suit, she sought about for some suitable opening, and found it in asking about his daughter. ‘How…how is Maria?’ she asked, unable to absorb anything of what he had told her. ‘I wanted to thank her for forgetting her doll. If she hadn’t—’

  ‘You might not have made it. I know,’ said Alex flatly, but without turning to look at her again. ‘Believe me, she knows how important her contribution was. She’s been told often enough.’

  ‘By you?’ ventured Camilla, barely audibly, but he heard her.

  ‘By me, by her mother, by her grandparents,’ he agreed almost detachedly. ‘My aunt, Grant’s mother, is particularly grateful. Attempted murder is a serious charge, but an actual death would have been something else.’

  Camilla dipped her head. ‘And…otherwise Maria’s all right?’ It was all she could say. ‘No…ill effects from her confinement or anything?’

  ‘Not specially.’ Alex paused to run a hand round the back of his neck. ‘She does tend to worry if I go away. But Mama Lu’s a tower of strength, and her grandparents make sure she’s never lonely.’

  Camilla glanced about her. ‘So where is she? Is she with you?’

  ‘No.’

  Alex’s response was bleak, and Camilla pressed her hands together. ‘No?’

  ‘No,’ he said again, continuing to gaze out of the window, supporting himself with his hands that were now spread wide on the sill. ‘No, this was one trip I needed to make alone. Lately I’ve found some things are more important than Maria’s feelings. Isn’t that strange? Six months ago she was the most important person in my life.’

  Camilla took an involuntary step towards him. She knew what he was saying, and subconsciously she was doing what her heart was telling her to do. But still it was difficult to believe what she was hearing, and, although her feet were moving, her brain was holding her back.

  Nevertheless, she was closing the space between them, and presently, if she stretched out her hand, she could touch his back. Such a rigid back, she thought, putting out her hand, and then withdrawing it again. Oh, God, she wanted to believe him. But she was afraid of being hurt even more.

  When he turned, her instinctive reaction was to back away from him again, but she forced herself to stand her ground. And she realised, as she looked over his shoulder, that he had watched her halting progress reflected in the window. He didn’t touch her, however. He merely propped his hips on the sill, and waited for her to speak.

  ‘I—er—I’m glad you came,’ she said lamely, her gaze shifting to the area of grey silk covering his pectoral muscles. A muscle was jerking beneath the fabric as if his body, like hers, refused to obey the dictates of his brain, and she was distracted. She wanted to reach out and soothe his nervous flesh; she wanted to touch him. But her hands flexed helplessly, not knowing how to begin.

  ‘Are you?’ Alex asked at last, and she guessed he was not about to humiliate himself again. He was here; he had told her why. Why couldn’t she believe it?

  ‘I didn’t walk out on you,’ she said, repeating the words she had used earlier, and one of his dark eyebrows arched. ‘I didn’t,’ she went on. ‘But I couldn’t stay with your parents indefinitely. And…and I didn’t know how you felt, did I?’

  Alex bent his head. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’ Camilla took a steadying breath. ‘You were never around—’

  His head came up then. ‘You know why!’

  ‘Y…es.’ She could feel the beads of perspiration standing on her forehead, but she continued to meet his gaze. ‘But I thought…I mean…there was Virginia…’

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you want me to take Virginia back?’ he asked savagely, and Camilla knew she couldn’t go on playing this game of cat and mouse.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head violently. ‘No, of course not. But—but—’

  ‘What did you want, then?’ persisted Alex, determined to have her say it, and Camilla’s shoulders sagged.

  ‘You,’ she breathed, scarcely above a whisper. ‘Only you,’ and, with a muffled oath, Alex jerked her towards him.

  He was still sitting on the window-sill, and when he pulled her between his legs the powerful muscles of his thighs imprisoned her. But she was taller than he was in that position, and, although his hands came up to grip the sides of her head, it wasn’t enough.

  With a lithe movement he pushed himself up, and the urgent pressure of his mouth sought hers. His groan of satisfaction filled her senses and she leaned into him eagerly as he raked her mouth with his tongue.

  He slid the jacket of her suit off her shoulders, while his lips played havoc with her emotions. Then, drawing her quivering arms around him, he lowered his head to her neck, brushing the fiery hair aside, and creating a fire of his own every place he kissed her. His tongue was damp against her flesh, laving her skin with dew, yet searing every nerve in her body. For a few moments it was impossible to speak, only to feel, and when Camilla finally found the strength to say anything it was a murmured appeal that he should never stop.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ Alex muttered roughly, and his seductive mouth sought hers again.

  He had drawn her hands behind him and left them there, but now Camilla’s palms spread against his back. His shirt was in the way, and she tugged it free of the waistband of his trousers so that she could touch his skin. His spine arched beneath her tentative exploration, and she trailed her fingers down below his belt, seeking the hollow cavity at its base. The unknowing sexuality of her touch drove his pelvis towards her, and the bones of his hips grazed her softer frame.

  ‘God, I want you,’ he said in a strangled voice, and Camilla’s limbs melted at that husky admission. It was what she wanted, too, urgently, achingly, and the moisture she could feel between her legs was proof of her eager response.

  She could feel him against her, hard and masculine, and when he dipped his head so that his tongue could stroke the swollen tips of her breasts she felt her knees turn to water. She had never realised her body contained such an abundance of feeling, and her desire to show him how much she cared became an actual physical need inside her.

  Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the urgency to feel his body against hers overwhelming all her inhibitions. She didn’t care any more if this was for real or just a fleeting temptation so far as he was concerned. She wanted him.
She wanted to feel him a part of her. And, if that was all he wanted of her, for now it was enough.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he groaned when her hands were drawn downwards to brush the taut pressure beneath his zip. ‘I’ve waited so long for this moment, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.’

  As he spoke he peeled the Gatsby shirt off her shoulders, some of the gold buttons scattering across the floor. Then, as his mouth deposited a bracelet of kisses across the creamy skin of her throat, he released the single clip of her bra, and the rosy fullness of her breasts surged into his hands.

  ‘God, you’re beautiful!’ he breathed, holding the pale globes in his palms, and burying his face in the hollow between. Then he took each dusky nipple into his mouth in turn, nipping them gently with his teeth, before sucking softly at each proud apex.

  When her fingers went to his belt, however, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her so that her legs went automatically around him. It brought that sexually aroused part of him so much closer to her own throbbing core, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth back to hers. This time it was her tongue that was the invader, and with a moan of anguish Alex stumbled blindly into the adjoining bedroom.

  The bed was big and wide, which was just as well, because Alex was incapable of making any rational survey of his surroundings. He knew the general whereabouts of the bed, and when his knees hit the side they both tumbled on to the mattress. Camilla was on her back, with Alex on top of her, and, although there was nothing particularly elegant about their position, it was very satisfying to both of them.

  Even so, Camilla was still wearing her skirt and boots, and Alex’s trousers were only partially unfastened. It took a few hectic seconds to remedy this state of affairs, and then their positions were resumed, albeit with a certain amount of heavy breathing from Alex.

  ‘Please—now…’ Camilla whimpered, winding her arms around his neck, and although he made a sound of protest he couldn’t deny what his tormented body was telling him. With a sigh of anguish he parted her legs and pushed his pulsating shaft into her moist honeycomb, and she let out a little cry as the pure size of him spread her unwary muscles.