Jealousy & a Jewelled Proposition

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “I never did a thing to draw the media’s attention to today.” His mouth settled in a grim line. His expression should have served as a warning, but Rachel would not let go.

  “No, you didn’t. But you didn’t take any steps to keep the memorial confidential, did you?”

  “It would have come out anyway. No matter what Briana and I did to keep a lid on it.”

  “But they have every detail! From a copy of the exhumation order right down to a copy of the service. It was supposed to be a memorial for Marise. Not a three-ring circus!”

  She slumped back in her seat and stared out the side window. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye anymore for fear of what she’d see there. She didn’t want to find proof that Matt had orchestrated the whole thing. He hated the media but in the past six months she’d seen he wasn’t above using them for his own means, and she had the deep suspicion that there was a great deal more to this whole debacle today than met the eye.

  Blake had lost interest in watching the cars outside and had crawled into his father’s lap. When Rachel looked at the two of them, her heart ached for the father and son. She’d worked so hard to bring them together again, and now that they were, she felt totally left out. A stranger. But that was no more than she should be, she reminded herself. There was no room for her in Matt’s life—at his side, in his bed or anywhere else. No, she’d set out to make him a bigger part of Blake’s life and she’d succeeded. Her time with them both was drawing to a close. After the roller coaster of emotions she’d been through so far this month she told herself it was no more than what she’d wanted all along.

  As their car swept along Centenary Drive and turned onto Weeroona Road, another phalanx of reporters and photographers could be seen, grouped at the Strathfield Gates at the entrance to the cemetery grounds. Uniformed security guards at the gate endeavoured to keep the driveway clear, but little could stop the surge of activity as the funeral procession made its way through the gates. Overhead, news helicopters circled the necropolis.

  Rachel gave Matt another pointed look as their car made its ponderous way through the throng and into the cemetery grounds before winding along the road that followed the serpentine canal.

  “Don’t worry, they’re not allowed near us at the burial site.” Matt’s voice was clipped, and small lines of strain bracketed his lips.

  Rachel felt a pang of remorse. As much as he and Marise had been estranged at the time of her death, he was faced with having to say goodbye to her all over again.

  At the Blackstone family plot in the heart of one of the older sections of the cemetery, their limo slid to a halt behind the hearse that had preceded them from the memorial service in the city. A cool wind whipped around Rachel’s legs as she stepped from the vehicle when the driver opened the door.

  “Do you want me to take Blake?” she asked, turning to Matt as he and Blake exited the vehicle dressed in their identical charcoal-grey suits.

  “No, I’ll look after him. Thanks.”

  Briana, Jarrod and Ray Davenport, Briana’s father, alighted from the car behind and walked up to them. Ray had been given dispensation by the court to leave his home state and attend Marise’s service and burial. He looked tired and frail. The past six months hadn’t been easy on anyone.

  Briana looked upwards at the circling helicopters. “Marise would have loved this,” she said, a break in her voice belying the emotion behind her statement.

  Rachel watched as Jarrod put an arm around her and drew her comfortingly against his body. Such a simple gesture, but one that visibly bolstered Briana’s confidence again. A shaft of envy speared through Rachel’s heart as she stood slightly back and to the side of the gathering group of mourners.

  Almost everyone seemed to be a part of a couple. A pale and drawn, although still classically beautiful, Kimberley on the arm of her husband, Ric. Ryan and his glowingly pregnant wife, Jessica. Jake Vance with his new fiancée, Holly McLeod. Even Sonya Hammond, Matt and Jarrod’s aunt, was there with Garth Buick, Howard Blackstone’s oldest friend. Despite the growing crowd, Rachel had never felt more alone in her entire life.

  The funeral director gestured to the six men, Ray, Ric, Ryan, Jake, Jarrod and Garth, to step up to the hearse. Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat as the men slowly bore the coffin along the path to Marise’s newly prepared final resting place.

  Once again she was amazed at the power of money. How many families could have pulled this off in such a short time—being granted an exhumation, cutting through the red tape and bureaucracy and arranging a reburial in the Blackstone family plot.

  While there’d been no official statement from the family, the press had buzzed for days with the news. It hadn’t taken long before they’d made the connection, and the headlines had shrieked with banners such as Blackstone Love Child and Another Prodigal Blackstone. Matt had read each paper without expression, but Rachel had overhead Ryan’s growled greeting to Matt as he’d arrived at the memorial service.

  “Cunning, Hammond, very cunning. I should have given you more credit for finding a way past our embargo on releasing the truth. But you haven’t won, not by a long shot.”

  Matt’s response had been lost in Blake’s excitement as he’d spied Kimberley and had broken free of Rachel’s handclasp, shouting, “Aunty Kim, Aunty Kim!” Despite Kim’s obvious joy in seeing her Godson again it was clear in her expression and that of her brothers that they were none of them impressed with the publicity that had mushroomed beyond their control.

  The burial was a quiet and sombre affair. The celebrant expressed a few words before inviting the family to say their final farewells. Briana wept quietly as she stepped forward to lay a single white rose on her sister’s casket. Matt held a surprisingly quiet and compliant Blake in his arms as the coffin was lowered into the ground, his face a mask of reserve.

  The journey back to the Carlisle Grand hotel where Matt had arranged a small reception in his suite seemed endless. Blake peppered him with questions about his mummy, Matt answering in a low, steady voice until eventually Blake fell silent again.

  Matt watched as Rachel circulated around the room, ensuring everyone had a drink and something to eat. Her warmth had lightened the atmosphere considerably compared to the tension associated with the memorial earlier. He fought to hold himself back. It would be so easy to go to Rachel’s side, to accept her comfort, to gain some surcease from the deepening sense of failure that hung about his shoulders like a lead cloak.

  Kim, seated on the couch with Blake, laughed and hugged his little boy with delight as they played finger games together. Blake’s quietness had disappeared the moment they’d arrived back at the hotel, and he exuded energy and mischief as he bounced on the furniture. Kim exchanged a look, over Blake’s head, with her husband that spoke volumes towards the closeness they’d rebuilt together.

  Bitterness flooded his mouth. He and Marise had never shared such a link. Once the heated flare of their initial infatuation with each other had died down, her obsession with wanting more out of life than she had, had effectively destroyed any chance of a happier marriage together, or of providing Blake with two parents who loved him. His own failure to be the husband she needed, to be able to meet her constant demands, to shore up her frailties, struck a raw nerve. Failure, at anything, didn’t fall under his umbrella. There was no way he’d risk that again. Ever. He had Blake. He had House of Hammond and soon he’d have Blackstone Diamonds. That would be enough. It had to be.

  “Matt, is everything all right?” Sonya Hammond touched him lightly on the arm. “It’s been a tough day. Perhaps you’d like us all to leave.”

  “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, if you’re certain.” Sonya sounded unsure.

  “I am, absolutely.” Matt hastened to reassure his aunt.

  “Rachel’s doing a wonderful job as hostess. You’re lucky to have her.” Sonya smiled. “You know, I was so incredibly happy and relieved when we heard that you’d s
olved the mystery around the necklace. I was wondering…Danielle mentioned that you’ve commissioned her to make a new necklace. Will it…will it be the same as before?”

  “No, I’ve asked Danielle to come up with a new design. It won’t resemble the old necklace in any way.” He clenched his jaw. Aside from the stones there would be nothing in common with the previous necklace although he’d yet to come up with a name for the new one. It was his plan to tour the necklace together with the balance of Howard’s gem and jewellery collection he’d inherited through Marise.

  “You know Ursula came to hate that necklace with a passion. That night of her thirtieth birthday she’d begged Howard not to have to wear it, but he’d insisted. He loved her, in his own way, but he loved being able to show the world how successful he was, too. I often wondered whether things would’ve been different if my father had never assigned those exploration leases over to Howard.” She sighed, a heartfelt sigh that came from deep inside. “Ah well, we can’t change the past, can we?” She reached up and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before moving back to Garth Buick’s side where he stood on the other side of the room talking with Ryan and Jessica.

  Words stuck in Matt’s throat. Change the past? What he wouldn’t give to be able to do that. His eyes fixed on Rachel again, following the curves of her body in the long-sleeved Sherwood-green dress she wore, slipping down over her sheer black stocking-clad legs and down to her dainty feet encased in high-heeled black shoes. A far cry from the frills she’d worn to her high school dance but no less enticing. His body leaped to life; his blood thrummed in his veins and pooled in his groin.

  No matter what he did, no matter what he’d been through, he still wanted her with a physical yearning that refused to be denied. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d just buried his wife for the second time, yet still he lusted for Rachel? He lifted his glass to his lips, letting the alcohol burn past his throat in one hefty swig, then turned away totally disgusted with himself. He stalked over to the wet bar where a waiter stood ready to refill the tumbler of whiskey he’d just drained.

  “Matt, wait up a minute, would you?”

  It was Kim, with Blake firmly and very happily holding on to her hand.

  “What is it?” He wasn’t in the mood to be convivial.

  “Ric and I would like to take Blake for tonight.” She put up one hand as he started to say no. “Now wait a minute. You look shattered. Come on, things might not be the best between us but I still know you, Matt. Today’s been hell for you. Be honest with yourself. It’s just one night. Besides, I’ve missed the little guy so much. I’ll deliver him back in the morning, safe and sound. I promise.”

  “Rachel is more than capable of taking care of him if I should fall apart,” Matt responded, his voice laced with sarcasm. But his words failed to strike at their intended target.

  “Don’t be silly. She’s dropping in her shoes. Have you even looked at her today? Cut her some slack, Matt. Rachel’s as strung out as you are.”

  Looked at her? He’d hardly been able to keep his eyes off his son’s nanny. They darted once again to where Rachel stood to one side of the gathering, weariness visibly pulling at every delectable line of her body. Reluctantly he admitted Kim was right. Rachel looked about as shattered as he felt.

  “Okay, but just tonight,” he growled.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t steal him from you,” Kim promised with a sad smile. “I’ll get Rachel to help me get some things together for him, then we’ll be off.”

  By the time Ric and Kim had left with Blake, the rest of the group had begun to drift away. The brief formal handshakes he’d received from Ryan and Jake were due more to habitual manners than a genuine gesture of friendship. As he left with Holly, Jake hesitated in the entrance way to the suite.

  “You know the ball’s in your court. How about we meet tomorrow morning, say nine? See if we can’t find a way through all of this.” Jake’s eyes narrowed as he waited for Matt’s response.

  “Fine. We’ll meet. But be forewarned, I don’t plan to make any changes. As you said, the ball’s in my court. I prefer to keep it that way.”

  Eleven

  Rachel went around the room checking that the hotel staff had completed their duties properly. There wasn’t so much as an empty dirty glass to be seen anywhere, nor a discarded toothpick left on a table. There was nothing else she could do now but go to bed, but despite her tiredness, sleep was the last thing on her mind.

  She hadn’t been oblivious to Matt’s distance this evening, how he’d held himself apart from everyone. She’d ached to go to him—to offer a touch, some gesture of comfort—but he’d made it quite clear that wasn’t her place.

  After the last of the guests had gone, he’d excused himself and gone to his bedroom. Now there wasn’t even so much as a glimmer of light from under the door. She hesitated at his door on the way down the hall to her own, pressing her hand briefly on the wooden surface as if she could feel him through its solid shield.

  She’d overheard his exchange with Jake Vance, and it made her chest hurt to realise that even after all the Blackstone family had done to set Marise to rest today, he was still as determined as ever to pursue his share acquisition. Her hand dropped from the door. Nothing would deter him from his path, that much was clear. There was nothing she could do to sway him back to the compassionate man she knew lingered beneath the bitterness left behind from the longstanding feud and his unhappy marriage.

  She went to her own room and peeled off her dress, throwing it carelessly across a chair before padding on stocking feet to her bathroom. She took off her makeup and brushed her teeth then unpinned her hair and let it tumble down around her shoulders in a cascade of curls. She gave a half laugh at her reflection as she stood there dressed only in her black bra and panties with matching suspender belt, her sheer black stockings showing a creamy ribbon of flesh at the top of her thighs. Anyone would think she’d dressed for a lover when she’d prepared for the funeral.

  And she had.

  As hopeless as her love was for Matt, as angry as she was at his continual denial of their attraction, she knew she had to give their future one last chance. Before she could change her mind she dragged on a robe, exited her room and made straight for his.

  Matt’s room was dark; not even the spill of light from her open door reached his. Her feet sank silently into the carpet as she crossed the room towards the bed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she dimly made out his naked upper torso as he sprawled across the sheets. A prickle of awareness danced across her skin as she reached out to touch him, his warmth filling the air between her hand and his shoulder like a tangible thing.

  She lowered herself to the bed as her hand skimmed across his shoulder and down his bare chest.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was cold and angry. His hand whipped up to grab her by the wrist.

  “I’m giving in, Matt. Giving in to what we both know we want.”

  “I don’t want this,” he growled and threw her hand off him and rolled away, getting up off the bed. “Get out of my room. Now.”

  “No.” Rachel got to her feet and felt her way around the bed in the dark.

  Waves of heat poured off his body as she felt, rather than saw, him in front of her. She lifted her hand again, taking his and laying it against her breast where the crossover of her robe had fallen apart.

  “You want this, you want me, as much as I want you, too. Please, Matt, we need this. We need each other. Tonight, just for tonight.” She was beyond shame anymore. If she had to beg, she would.

  She waited for what felt like forever as her whispered words hung on the air. The warmth of his hand on her flesh seared her like a brand. Slowly she felt his fingers move, spreading softly over her breast and over the fabric of her demi-cup bra.

  “There can’t be anything between us beyond this, Rachel. I’m not in the market for a wife or a long-term lover. You’re the kind of woman who wants it all, who deserves it
all. I have nothing left to give.”

  “I know. I understand.”

  She reached up in the darkness and cupped her hand around the back of his head, drawing him down to her willing mouth. She felt the tiniest resistance in the corded muscles of his neck and then he succumbed and bent his head. A hot rush of blood coursed through her body as his lips met hers, as he allowed her to take the lead and probe his mouth with her tongue. A tremor ran through his body as she plunged her tongue into the hot, dark recess of his mouth and then withdrew, only to do it again.

  “I want you to do this to me,” she whispered against his mouth, “again and again. I want you to forget today, forget the past. Focus only on us, on now.”

  She slid her hand down over his shoulders, across his chest and lower, following the fine seam of muscle down his abdomen and lower still. He wore only satin boxers, and the elasticised band proved no restriction to her questing fingers. He was already aroused, his erection tenting the silken fabric. She used both hands to ease away his boxers, letting them slither down his long, powerful legs.

  Gently, she pushed him back down on the bed and straddled him as she joined him there, running her fingers gently up and down his torso, lingering in the curve of his groin before tracing their way back up over his rib cage and up to the hard, pointed disks of his nipples.

  His hands whipped up, lightning fast, and captured her wrists. His grasp, though not as tight as before, was no less masterful.

  “Not slow, not this time,” he growled as he flipped her over on the mattress, covering her body with his and burying his face at the curve of her neck where he nipped and suckled, sending a wild pulse of hunger throbbing through her body. “Not after what you’ve put me through these past few weeks.”

  He reached between them, tugging apart the robe and reaching for her panties. She was already wet with need and cried out in shock and desire as he pulled her panties away with a twist and tear of fabric. Rachel’s heartbeat quickened as his hand reached between her legs to cup her. She heard his grunt of satisfaction as he felt her moisture, and she pressed against his palm, the pressure sending a tingle of electricity through her body.