Blood pooled low in his groin, a simmering heat that had nothing to do with the balmy evening air. He pushed his hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists. He shouldn’t allow himself to be affected by her this way. The waters of his life were muddied enough without complicating things further by this uncontrolled reaction to a girl he should never have touched in the first place.
Girl? No. She was all woman now. The enticing teenager had matured into a beautiful woman. One who deserved to be made love to with painstaking intensity and focus. Not taken on the back seat of a car—her ball dress pushed up around her hips, her expensively coifed hair in total disarray—by a young man who should have known better. A man who should have refused what she’d so innocently, willingly, offered.
Any man who was not Matt Hammond.
He stalked out from the shadows. Rachel noticed his approach immediately.
“Hello. I thought you had a meeting.”
“There’s been a change in plan. We’ve all been invited up to Sullivan’s house for dinner tonight. You and Blake will need to be ready by seven.”
“No problem.” She cast a glance at Blake, who was investigating something in the sand on the shoreline. “Is everything all right?”
No, it certainly wasn’t. Not with her standing there as she was, her tempting body all but broadcasting in neon signs how available she was to him. As his eyes skimmed her form he noted how her stance stiffened, her nipples peaking into sharp points through the dual layers of muslin and Lycra.
“Matt?” she prompted softly, a note of entreaty in her voice.
“Fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll see you back at the bungalow.”
He strode away with long, loping steps and castigated himself for every kind of fool for agreeing to bring her here with Blake. He should never have believed she would abandon Blake. Instead, he’d been so single-minded about acquiring the fifth Blackstone Rose diamond that he’d been prepared to agree to anything to make her stay on and had landed himself in an untenable situation at the same time.
When their limousine pulled up outside the traditionally designed home up in the hills, a casually attired tall, slender man moved out over the deep front porch. If this was Sullivan, Matt was surprised. This man couldn’t have been more than a baby when the necklace was stolen; he looked to be no more than a few years younger than Matt’s thirty-three. His stomach sank. Was this all going to turn into a wild-goose chase after all?
“Welcome to my home, Mr Hammond. I’m Temana Sullivan.”
Matt took the other man’s hand in a warm, strong grasp. “Pleased to meet you.” Rachel and Blake climbed out behind him. “And this is my son, Blake, and his nanny, Rachel Kincaid.”
“Ah,” said Sullivan with a warm smile. “Welcome to Tahiti, Miss Kincaid. I trust you are having a lovely time so far?”
He offered his hand and when Rachel took it, lifted her hand to his lips, grazing her knuckles with an old-fashioned gallantry that sent a surge of protective instinct through Matt’s veins.
“Miss Kincaid, your skin has the beautiful lustre of the famed Japanese white pearls. You will need to be careful in our climate. It would be a tragedy for you to bear any damage.”
“Thank you, I’ll be fine. We brought plenty of sunblock,” she responded with diplomatic pragmatism.
To Matt’s delight Rachel extracted her hand from Sullivan’s grasp with a smile that didn’t quite meet her hazel eyes, but he didn’t like the way the other man’s gaze lingered on her, or the charming smile he bestowed in her direction.
Their host gestured to the front entrance of the house.
“Come inside and we’ll have a drink on the balcony before our meal.”
They followed Sullivan inside. Matt was intrigued by his appearance. Of mixed heritage, his host had the darker colouring of the Tahitian people but his features were dominated by startling blue eyes and a shock of chestnut hair streaked with blond. Matt sensed an undercurrent of amusement from the other man—the sense that Sullivan knew his appearance had put him off stride.
“Please, take a seat.” Sullivan gestured to a collection of deep-cushioned hardwood-framed chairs positioned in a semicircle on the wide deck facing the ocean. A working pearl farm could be seen not too far away.
Matt lowered his frame into the chair and forced himself to keep a lid on his eagerness to cut straight to business. Clearly Sullivan wasn’t in a mood to be hurried, and while it was frustrating being obliged to wait, Matt knew how to play the game.
Conversation remained general not only through pre-dinner drinks but the meal, served al fresco on the patio beside the subtly lit infinity pool, where Sullivan appeared to command most of Rachel’s attention, explaining the pearl farming process in answer to her questions.
“So you’re saying the colour of the host shell influences the colour and lustre of the pearl?” Rachel asked before taking a sip of her wine.
“Yes, and in the case of the black pearl there is only one variety of oyster in which it is grown, the Pinctada margaritifera. The pearls can vary in colour from pearly white to nearly black and many colours in between. Despite its name, they are never truly a complete black.”
“The whole process sounds fascinating,” Rachel enthused.
“Perhaps, if Matt is in agreement, you can all visit the farm the day after tomorrow? We have our expert over from Japan who will be grafting our next crop.”
Sullivan flashed Rachel a smile that left Matt in no doubt that it wouldn’t bother him in the slightest if Rachel had to make the visit on her own. It was definitely time to intercede.
“That would be fascinating. I’d like to talk to you about a new range of jewellery that I’m working on and for which I’m looking specifically for baroque pearls. It would lend some real interest to the collection if we used a variety of black pearls rather than the traditional whites.”
“If you gentlemen would like to continue your discussion I’d like to take Blake out to see the garden, if that’s okay with you, Mr Sullivan?”
“Call me Temana, please, and certainly. Make yourself at home. When you come back inside, Philippe will show you to my study.”
The men rose as Rachel stood and took Blake from the table. Matt waited in silence for his host to open the proceedings. It was a tool he’d found especially useful in business where people were altogether too eager to open their mouths. He wasn’t disappointed.
“I imagine you would like to get to the point of tonight’s visit. I have to say, I admire your patience and restraint. Another man might have tried to steer conversation but you’ve been satisfied to wait.” Sullivan put his drink down on the table and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m not other men.” Matt’s answer was short, but within it lay a veiled warning. Don’t underestimate me.
The other man smiled and nodded, acknowledging the unspoken message, then continued.
“I have something you want, something you’re prepared to pay a considerable sum for. Am I right?”
Matt inclined his head.
“Something that by rights I shouldn’t have.”
“Correct again.”
“And you are the legal owner of this item?”
“I have documentation to show so, yes.”
“That won’t be necessary. Quinn does his homework. His word is enough for me. Look, to be honest, I’m not entirely certain how my father came into possession of the stone. All I know is that it formed a part of a large collection of loose cut stones he’d amassed in his lifetime. As I said to Quinn, I will sell you the stone on one condition.”
“That your family name remains out of any possible publicity about its recovery. Quinn told me. No problem.”
Sullivan looked him square in the eye. Matt met his stare unwaveringly. Whatever the other man saw in his face must have satisfied him because he nodded.
“Quinn said you were a man of your word. I believe him. He doesn’t do business with cheats or liars.”
“Y
ou say you’re not entirely certain about how your father came by the diamond. Does that mean you have some idea?” Matt probed.
“My father was Australian. He settled here in the late seventies, married a local girl and they established the pearl farm. He started collecting precious gems in the mid-to late eighties and I believe it was a short time after that, that he acquired the diamond, although I can’t be certain of the date.
“He was meticulous about his records, which was why, when he passed away, I was surprised to find little documentation to authenticate the diamond. There was, however, a file with copies of his correspondence with someone in Melbourne at around that time. He only referred to his contact by their initials. B.D.”
Barbara Davenport. Marise’s mother. So they’d been right after all. She had been the missing link. Matt couldn’t wait to tell Jarrod, his brother, the news. It explained why the original four diamonds had come to be in Marise’s possession at the time of her death. Obviously Barbara had only ever sold the one stone. Had she kept the others as a nest egg, he wondered, or had the sale of the first stone been so difficult she’d elected to hold on to the others? Whatever her reasons, they’d never know the full truth behind them.
“May I see the stone?” He kept his voice low and steady, yet inside his chest his heart hammered in excitement.
“Certainly, come with me.”
The room they entered was a type of study-cum-workroom lined with glass display cases of pearls in varying colour, shape and texture. Matt watched his host open a wall safe and remove a single black velvet case.
His chest tightened as Sullivan put the case down on a matching velvet cloth on the work desk and turned it to face Matt.
“Here, tell me if it’s what you’re looking for.”
He flipped up the lid on the case. Matt’s breath momentarily shuddered to a halt in his lungs at the sight of the pear-shaped pink diamond as it sparkled against its white satin bed. He reached blindly into his pocket, extracted his loupe and fitted it to his eye. He reached out with tingling fingers to lift the stone from its resting place, drinking in the flash of pink fire that blazed from the stone’s core.
Mentally he ran through the checklist as he held the stone closer for inspection. Fancy Intense Pink, pear cut, virtually internally flawless, weight approximately ten carats. The match in colour and clarity to the other four seven-carat stones he’d inherited on Marise’s death was undeniable, even without more specialised investigation. Deep in his gut he knew this was the one.
Carefully he placed the stone back on its cushion.
“It’s what I’m looking for.”
“I’m glad. For whatever reason my father acquired the stone, it doesn’t do us any good to be associated with stolen property.”
Sullivan closed the lid on the velvet case, and Matt felt a pang of loss as he put the stone back into the wall safe and swung the dial to reset the lock.
“Now we know I have what you want, let’s get down to business.”
Four
Matt stretched out on the sun lounger and soaked up the glorious heated rays of the sun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d relaxed like this. The sensation had become alien to him, yet at the same time remained as familiar as a long-lost habit.
His mind skimmed over the success of yesterday’s meeting. Not only had he and Sullivan come to an arrangement about the diamond, which he would collect as soon as the confirmation of funds transfer came through, but they’d discussed a mutually lucrative arrangement regarding the black baroque pearls which would take the Matt Hammond Heirloom Range to even greater heights.
Now there was only one fly in the ointment. Rachel. His hearing became attuned to the gentle sound of her breathing, his senses on full alert and prickling with awareness at her close proximity on the lounger next to him. Blake had begged at breakfast to participate in the junior guests’ treasure hunt and sand castle competition on the beach. After checking into the details, Matt had left Blake in the care of the children’s group supervisors. Right now he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Without the buffer of his son there was nothing to dilute Rachel’s presence. Or his reaction to it.
She was wearing a turquoise bikini, the one she’d barely managed to hide yesterday. On its own it was quite innocent, cut neither too low nor too high. On any other woman Matt knew it wouldn’t have bothered him in the least, nor attracted his attention. Yet he could barely keep his gaze to himself. Damn. He shifted again on the lounger as his body stirred and he became increasingly uncomfortable.
She was torment in a compact package. In his peripheral vision he could see the light sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders, their pattern trailing down her chest and into the valley between the gentle swell of her breasts. An image of him slowly, painstakingly, tracing his tongue, from one pigmented patch to the next, burned onto his retinas sending a fireball of need deep down to his groin. Damn, this had to stop.
“I’m going for a swim,” he announced suddenly, and pushed up off the lounger before Rachel could respond.
He dove from the edge of the pool, determined that distance from temptation would be his rescue, but the water’s temperature did little to soothe the ache of desire that simmered through his veins. The silky glide of the swimming pool water across his almost-naked body only heightened the growing want inside him. With the volume of holiday makers in the pool, swimming one punishing lap after the other was impossible. Surcease, it seemed, was equally so.
Distraction, that’s what he needed. He slowed his pace and changed to a slow breast stroke, using the opportunity to scan the occupants at the pool’s sunken bar. Yes, a perfect opportunity presented itself with a slender blonde seated in the water. One way or another he’d scour Rachel from his thoughts.
An hour of distinctly unscintillating conversation later he returned to the bungalow. Rachel had long since left the poolside and there was still another hour to go before he needed to collect Blake from down at the beach. He’d taken a stroll past the activities on his way back and the sight of his little boy industriously and happily engaged had been a welcome one.
As he stepped inside the main lounge of the bungalow he heard a small cry of pain from Rachel’s room. Concern overrode any desire to preserve her privacy and he covered the distance to her door quickly.
“What is it? Are you all right?” he asked as he opened the door.
Rachel spun around at the intrusion. Dressed in her bra and panties, she wore no less than she had poolside, yet here, in the intimacy of her bedroom she felt infinitely more vulnerable. Quickly she reached for her sundress, holding it to her like some outraged maiden determined to preserve her dignity. Her body, though, instantly reacted in contradiction to her action. Her nipples tightened in response to his presence, and her breasts grew full and heavy, aching for his touch.
“It’s nothing,” she answered a little unsteadily. “I just caught a bit too much sun today, that’s all. I was trying to put some aloe gel on but I can’t reach all of my back.”
“Give it to me.” Matt came closer and took the tube from her suddenly nerveless fingers. “I thought you used sunblock.”
“I did, but it’s been a while since I’ve just lain about like that doing nothing. Really, it’s all right. I’ll stay covered up from now on. You don’t have to—Oh!”
The sensation of his fingers, slicked with gel, across the back of her shoulders and down her spine sent a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the gel and everything to do with his divinely gentle touch. The soft pressure of his strong fingers sent electric tingles up and down her back with each sweep of his hand.
As he stroked across the small of her back, her womb contracted tightly and she fought to hold back a moan. This felt so good. He felt so good. Her intensely heat-sensitive skin felt the warmth that emanated from him as he stood at her back.
“I’m going to undo your bra strap,” he said in a voice that sounded surprisingly unaffected.
“There’s no point in missing anywhere. You don’t want to peel.”
“Of…of course,” Rachel stammered, clutching at the cups of her bra as the shoulder straps threatened to slide down her arms.
“You have a line from the strap of your bikini.”
“I suppose I’m burnt on either side?” She fought to keep the tone of her voice level, but inside she was a tangled mess.
“Pink, but not too bad.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he traced one finger along the upper and lower line of her strap mark, inadvertently touching the side of her breast as he did so. Suddenly his hand dropped away.
“I’m sorry, Rachel, I didn’t mean—”
She whirled around. “No, it’s okay. Thank you, the sunburn feels much better now.”
He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin, see the tiny silver striations in the irises of his cool grey eyes. It would be so easy to let her dress slide away, to lift her arms to his shoulders, slide her hands around his neck and lift herself up to kiss him.
She watched as his pupils dilated, heard his breathing become uneven.
“Matt?”
The soft slither of cotton, swiftly followed by the scratchier lace of her bra, across the front of her body was the last conscious sensation she was aware of before she followed through on her instincts. Beneath her hands the strong muscles of his shoulders flexed as she skimmed her fingers across their breadth, linking them behind his neck. She went up on tiptoe, offering her mouth to him, offering herself, maintaining eye contact as if she could will him to surrender to his feelings.
She drew her body in alignment with his, a groan of pure pleasure rippling from her throat as her aching breasts pressed against the hard muscles of his chest, as the soft curve of her belly pressed against his. There was no mistaking the hard ridge of arousal in his swim trunks, nor the scorching heat that shimmered in waves off his skin.
Jealousy & a Jewelled Proposition Page 4
