The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Before he could voice his protest, Lyssa was at his side, staring up at him with those bedeviling sea green eyes. “It’s okay, Darling…I don't mind, really.”

  Against his better judgment, Craig undid the clasp, then placed the necklace around Lyssa’s neck, leaning near, breathing in the heady scent of her delicate perfume. He felt suddenly clumsy, his fingers all thumbs, brushing her soft skin. Shivers of desire raced through him.

  “Let’s see you,” Grandy said. Her voice had grown weaker, but her gaze was eager. “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my. Look at how beautiful the blue of the necklace is with her complexion, with her eyes. Oh, my, yes. Now Craig, you must kiss your bride.”

  Craig arched a brow at Lyssa who, like him, seemed still to be reeling from their slight physical contact. Lord, what would a kiss do to them? She knew it would have more impact than it had at the funeral. And that scared her.

  Roxanne stepped forward, and barked in exasperation, “Really, Mother. Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes, Roxanne, it is…for me.” Grandy laid her head against the pillows.

  Lyssa could see she was tiring. “You need some rest, Grandy. We’ll come back later.”

  “Please Lyssa,” Grandy said, her voice thin and reedy. “Every time I fall asleep there’s the chance I won’t awaken.”

  The words were a harsh reminder that hopes of a remission were premature, without any actual foundation. Lyssa’s throat tightened, and her stomach felt full of rocks.

  “Please, give me something sweet to see when I close my eyes, let me dream of the wedding that I may not live to attend.”

  The wedding she would not live to attend. It was the last thing Craig’s mother had said to him as she bestowed the Purity into his safekeeping for the daughter-in-law she would never meet.

  Heedless of all else, Craig pulled Lyssa into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. Even though this was the third time he'’ kissed Lyssa, he was unprepared for the jolt of desire that rocketed the length of him as their mouths melded into a sensuous kiss, a kiss meant to be brief, a kiss that lasted long enough to pull a sigh from Lyssa, and command his strongest effort at self-control in all his thirty years. They parted breathlessly. Staring at one another as if no one else were in the room.

  Grandy’s chuckle was as soft as a baby chick’s peep. “At long last, Roxanne, our Lyssa will be happy.”

  “We’re going now, Mother.” Roxanne's face was pale and pinched. She caught hold of Lyssa by the elbow. “We’ll be back this afternoon.”

  Lyssa shook off her mother's hold, undid the necklace’s clasp and handed Craig the Purity. He appeared as confused and as flustered by their kiss as she was. The first time had been nothing like this. There were serious feelings between them, feelings that begged to be unleashed. God knew she was willing. God knew she shouldn’t be.

  Her uncles glared at Craig, then at her, then left the room. From the doorway, Roxanne said, “Lyssa, Grandy needs her rest.”

  Lyssa kissed her grandmother, then joined her mother and uncles in the hallway as Craig placed the Purity in the briefcase. She kept her voice low. “Save your breath. I don’t need a lecture on the merits of the Rival clan from any of you.”

  Her uncles reminded her that she knew the score in that arena, and left. Roxanne was not so easily dismissed. Her hands were on her hips. “No lectures. Just tell me what’s going on between the two of you.”

  How could she tell her mother something she didn’t understand? How could she tell her mother that kissing this man set her body on fire? Made her want to follow him to the ends of the earth? Why incur her mother’s wrath? “Nothing’s going on. He’s merely a very nice man, doing a very nice deed. Why can’t you leave it at that?”

  Roxanne sighed loudly, impatiently. “Darlin’ mine, I’ve seen the way that man looks at you…not to mention the way you look at him. And that kiss! You’re still blushing from it. If you think nothing’s going on between you, then you’re not using the brains God gave you, and the common sense your Dad and I instilled.”

  Craig came out of the room. Roxanne gave a disgusted “humph” and stormed away.

  He didn’t ask what the matter was. He knew. Roxanne DeHaviland and her brothers wanted him as far away from Lyssa as he could get. So would Idella if she knew his true identity. As for him, he’d had enough of the DeHaviland family to last him ions. He sure as hell didn’t want to be attracted to Lyssa. But, God help him, he was. More now than when he’d gotten on the plane with her. More now than he’d been to any woman as far back as he could remember.

  Totally embarrassed about her family’s behavior, Lyssa could barely look Craig in the eye. Or maybe it was her reaction to their kisses that had her feeling like a schoolgirl. Her blood was still heated. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, but God help her she was. More than when she’d left Seattle. More than she’d been to any man as far back as she could remember.

  But nothing would come of it. Her family had just made that painfully clear. They would never accept him. Besides, infatuation--even out and out love--was a risky proposition. Just look at Kevin and her, at the war-zone her parents had called marriage. Nope. Even if Craig were not a Rival, she could only get hurt encouraging this budding desire for him.

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “For lying about your name, for Grandy assuming we’re…you know, for the bit about the wedding…for Mom’s rudeness, and…oh, for everything. I know we haven’t been fair to you, haven’t treated your kind deed with the gratitude it and you deserve, but I will always be indebted you.”

  Guilt swept through Craig like a nasty wind. He didn't want her gratitude, he didn’t deserve it. Not really. Not when what he wanted right now was her. Not when he didn't even understand why he wanted a woman who’d done nothing but perplex him from their first encounter.

  Maybe he’d better go home and regroup. “Apologies aren’t necessary. But you’re going to have to tell your grandmother the truth. I’m leaving tonight. With the Purity. With my copy of your agreement with Wayne.” He stopped, cocking his head to one side. “Do you have that by the way?”

  Lyssa felt the heat draining from her face. “Umm…you’re probably not going to believe this, but…” She explained about the break-in, showed him the police report, and swore she did have the document last night, that she’d gotten it out of her safe and laid it on the bed.

  “I don’t believe this. Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” How many times had she asked him to believe her without proof? Three, four, five? He’d lost count. All tangible evidence, including the scene in her grandmother’s sickroom, verified that she was a liar.

  “But I am telling you the truth.”

  Growling with frustration, Craig spun away from her, then quickly back. “Look, I can’t allow myself to be dragged further into this mess of yours. I have a business to run in Seattle. I’m glad your grandmother is doing better, but you’ll have to straighten her out about us, and about the Purity.”

  “But I’m not lying about the agreement. Or about the faux. You must believe me. Let me drive you to the airport. We need to straighten this out.”

  “No thanks. I’ll call a cab.”

  Lyssa just stared at him. What was it with this man? One minute he was kissing her, the next calling her a liar. Granted he had cause, but still, why the sudden rush to be away from her? Was he afraid of their feelings for one another? Or was there something here she hadn’t considered? An awful thought occurred to her; what if he’d been the one who stolen the agreement? He could have had time to get to her house and into her room while she was in the shower. Had he done that? She stepped away from him, her stomach feeling queasy. Was he somehow involved in the attacks on her?

  Craig didn’t seem to notice her retreat. “If you are truly indebted to me, please prove it by staying out of my life.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Friday

  “Not even the threat of burglary could dissuade Craig Rival from his mission.” The sar
casm in Stacey Rival’s comment was swallowed in the swish of silk lining as she donned her black raincoat, a designer original she wore regardless of the weather.

  Craig glanced toward the showroom windows. The sky was clear, a brilliant blue almost as dazzling as the Purity. He gazed again at his step-cousin, who was wrapping the coat’s belt around her small waist. “There will always be thieves, but I won’t have them ruling my life. Not for one minute. That’s what security systems are for. ‘The Collection’ goes back in its case. Now.”

  “Just in time for C.J.’s visit,” Stacey said as if C.J. Temple’s appointment with Craig were the motive behind his insistence on setting up the display. She gathered her briefcase and purse and headed for the outer door. “Give my best to C.J.. With any luck I won’t be back until after she’s gone.”

  “Stacey,” Craig called, stopping her. Without removing her hand from the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. Was the animosity in her outlandishly made-up, hazel eyes for C.J. or him? She’d been sullen since the reading of Wayne’s will, since her discovery that her father’s newly acquired partnership hadn’t automatically reverted to her on his death, and her attitude had given Craig a dreadful week of hashing and rehashing the accusations Lyssa had made about her…and about David. If only he hadn’t broached the subject with Stacey this morning. She’d been furious. The glare in her hazel eyes said she still was. “Did C.J. say what she wanted?”

  “Ginger took the call.” Stacey nodded toward the salesclerk coming from the inner offices, balancing jewelry boxes like a waitress in some greasy spoon cafe.

  Craig swore. His outcry startled Ginger. The boxes of precious merchandise wobbled. He saw her grip slip, and rushed to help, tamping down his irritation.

  The muted gong sounded.

  Glancing toward the door, he saw Stacey had gone. Probably straight to David. He slid boxes onto the counter and blew out a frustrated sigh. He had the awful feeling this was not going to be a good day. “Did C.J. Temple mention any piece in particular when she set up her appointment?”

  “Nope. Just said her assistant and she would be here at one.” Ginger's face was bright pink as if she were flustered. She hurried back to the vault

  Craig grabbed up a dust cloth, and crossed to the handsome display case that his father had had built to specification twenty years earlier. Arcs of sunlight spotlighted its aged beauty and emphasized its emptiness. Offending him with that emptiness. He unlocked the back panel and, from habit, swept the cloth through the inside shelf before covering it with a length of black velvet.

  Ginger deposited more boxes on the counter.

  Craig set the diamond and ruby studded, Russian tzarina's tiara centermost on the length of velvet, positioned an eighteenth century broach beside it, then continued placing the treasured pieces in the order that he liked them.

  “Here.” Ginger proffered the Purity, smiling at him, reminding him unexpectedly of Lyssa. He felt as if he’d been hit in the gut.

  “Where are you going to put it?”

  Staring at the Purity, he heard Idella DeHaviland calling it the wedding necklace. His stomach pinched. In spite of her hostility toward his family, he couldn’t help worrying about the grand old gal. He’d phoned the hospital every day, checking on her condition and was relieved to hear she was improving.

  He wished he could say the same for his confusion over Lyssa. If anything it was getting worse. Over the past six days, he’d found himself pondering again and again the question of why she’d lied to him about the document…even after he’d brought the Purity for her grandmother’s sake. Not one believable answer had occurred to him. And yet, he was still seeking answers or he wouldn’t have confronted Stacey today.

  Craig settled the Purity on the velvet, a weighty piece of precious stone and metal, worth more to him than all the other treasures in the case combined. At least his family had carried on the original tradition. One day, his wedding day, he'd present it to his wife…and that woman sure as blazes wouldn't be Lyssa Carlyle. The DeHavilands would never accept such a union. Since the loss of his parents, family was wholly important to him, and, if humanly possible, he wanted in-laws who’d welcome him into hearth and home.

  Besides, he’d told Lyssa to stay out of his life. He’d meant it.

  Stay out of my life. Craig’s words rang inside Lyssa’s head as she hurried across the lobby of Seattle’s Four Seasons Hotel and into the crunch of other conventioneers waiting to board the elevators. As much as she’d have liked to oblige Craig--and her family--she couldn’t stay out of his life.

  Grandy’s needs had to come before all else. Although the doctor agreed she seemed better, he was annoyingly cautious about her improvement. I’ll know more in a few days.

  But how many days did Grandy have?

  Jostling her luggage, she pictured her grandmother propped against the pillows of her hospital bed, looking frail, asking for the Purity, asking to see Craig Smith. A worm of shame crawled through Lyssa. It had seemed such a necessary, innocent lie at the time. But almost immediately it had doubled, then tripled like rabbits in heat. Until now the truth was buried under so much fertilizer it could grow flowers.

  She winched at the thought of how putrid those flowers would smell. Lies and secrets had a way of poking through the soil, and reaching for the light of day, usually to the chagrin of the devious gardeners who’d nurtured them.

  If only she could tell Grandy the truth. The elevator arrived and carried her to the tenth floor. But, what if the truth zapped her newfound will to live? The possibility tore at Lyssa. Whether or not she convinced Craig that a faux Purity existed, she was bent on persuading him to let her make another.

  In her room, she unpacked hurriedly, chose an outfit with winning him over in mind, and changed clothes. He would not be happy to see her. Probably wouldn’t want to listen. Well, she’d just have to think of something.

  But half an hour later she still had no solid plan as she headed out to the street. The crisp air had a refreshing tang: a pinch of saltwater, a dash of exhaust, and a dollop of autumn. It was the kind of day when being alive felt wonderful, when nothing bad could happen. Lyssa decided she’d walk the few blocks to Rival Gems International.

  After all the hours she’d spent at the hospital lately, stretching her legs on these hills felt grand. Designer outfits, outlandish costumes or handed down rags adorned those people sharing the sidewalks; intent executives obviously hurrying to or from lunches, tourists complaining about the price of lunch, and street people wishing for any kind of lunch, wishing they could switch places with those more fortunate.

  Switch places!

  She stopped dead in her tracks. A woman rammed into her, muttered something obscene, then joined the other pedestrians streaming around her.

  Dear God, she knew why the genuine Purity had turned up, but not the faux, knew why someone had stolen the document--the only corroborating piece of proof of the faux's existence--from her house.

  Her heart thundered inside her chest. Someone was planning to switch the two necklaces, just biding their time until Craig’s guard was completely down, or until he was away on another of his buying trips, before implementing their plan. Whoever it was, had to be hoping they’d get lucky, counting on no one paying particularly close attention to the necklace as long as it was in its place in “The Collection” showcase.

  Dear God, she had to make Craig believe the faux existed, before the Purity was stolen. She picked up her pace, and was soon headed down hill for the waterfront area.

  Lyssa had gone less than three blocks when the odd sense that someone was watching…following…hit her. The same feeling she’d had at the airport, and at Wayne’s funeral. Was the person who’d attacked her at Windance coming after her again? She forced herself to keep moving, but her feet were starting to ache in the high heels and haste was nearly impossible. Why hadn’t she worn her Reeboks? She’d gone a short block further when the sensation struck her again…that eyes-drilling-i
nto-the-back-of-her-head impression. Fighting off panic, she spun around. Scanned faces. Everywhere she looked--strangers. What was she looking for? She’d never seen her attacker’s face.

  Get moving! She picked up her pace, sprinting as fast as her shoes permitted, trying to calm herself. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was being foolish.

  Better foolish than dead.

  She swallowed hard. Dead. Someone had tried killing her twice. It was a thought she’d shoved aside. It came back now with the force of flood water. Why? What possible threat could she be to anyone? There was only her word that the faux existed, and no one who mattered believed her. There had to be another reason. Did she know something, had she seen something that was worth killing her for?

  At Third and Madison, she headed down hill again. Streets and sidewalks were awash with people and cars, voices and motors. An anxious knot grabbed her stomach, and she was breathing hard when she drew abreast of Craig’s building, the waterfront, briny and rank, saturating her every breath.

  Frantic, she headed into the alley separating Madison and Spring Avenues, scanning the back of the building, seeking an entrance to the brick structure. Nearer the other end of the alley, she spotted a glass door. Please God, let it be a back entrance.

  As if in answer to her prayer, a slender blond dressed in a suit similar to her own came through the door and strode leisurely into the alley, glancing at her wristwatch. Lyssa broke into a run. Her high heel dipped into a hole. The heel snapped. Her ankle wrenched. Pain shot up her left leg. Wincing, she hopped to the side of the building and bent over, clutching the injured ankle.

  A piercing squeal of tires rent the air. Lyssa lurched around. A minivan careened into the alley. Tires yelped. The engine revved. Horror-stricken, Lyssa froze. The van picked up speed, roaring straight for her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Standing to one side, Craig watched C.J. Temple and Teri Dean wander the showroom, perusing the display cases, C.J. lingering over “The Collection” as if it were a picnic spread for her indulgence, something ironically akin to Stacey's suggestion. Teri demonstrated more interest in the Markum Estate pieces.