Sex, Lies & Diamonds (Sex and Lies Book 7)

by Kris Calvert

  “Boys,” I barked, patting the ring in my pant pocket. “The night is young and I intend to plunder and pillage. The name of the game is Five Card Draw.”

  1

  LEO

  I threaded my fingers into Polly’s warm hand and kissed her bare shoulder. The afternoon sun lit the water on the shores of the Ionian Sea like sparkling diamonds. It was exactly one year to the day we’d taken our wedding vows in Zakynthos, the tiny Greek island where we’d hidden away for a few days to say I do in front of our closest friends and family—well, at least the few who knew we weren’t dead. After fleeing New Orleans, the Balivinos, and the Marcello crime family, we were believed to be aboard the Amphitrite II—a yacht that blew sky high, leaving no survivors. Now living our lives in peace and anonymity abroad and aboard the Andromeda, my love and I had traveled the Mediterranean and Atlantic Sea for nearly eighteen months. Eighteen months of unadulterated bliss. We’d watched the sun rise and set over the ocean and several countries, always wrapped in each other’s arms and bodies. I’d fallen hard and fast for Polly Benson. It was all new to me—being in love. So beyond my control, I challenged myself each day to find new ways to show her my devotion. I never thought it possible, but somehow, I fell deeper and deeper in love each day. The moment I set eyes on her I knew I’d never stop falling. She fed a need inside me, and yet before her, I never knew I was starving. She was the abyss and I happily fell in and stayed.

  Her long blonde braid slinked over the tan line on her shoulder and she adjusted her straw fedora to keep the sun from her eyes. Her slim fingers glided over the brightly colored produce in the open air market of Strata Marina. Even the peppers longed for her touch. Off the yacht and on shore for the day to do some shopping, I’d told Polly we should cook our own dinner tonight. We had a staff on board the Andromeda, but firing up the galley in our aprons and chopping fresh vegetables was one of our favorite things to do together. Tonight I had other plans. Big plans.

  “What do you think?” she asked, holding up the green pepper. “Or the red? We can stuff them with cheese, bake them and serve with ouzo.”

  Backlit by the orange sky and waning sun, I pulled her by the waist to my body. Wrapping our threaded hands behind her back and brushing my lips across her neck, I breathed my answer into her damp skin. “I want whatever you want, cher.”

  Nuzzling into me, she smiled and stroked the stubble on my face. “You’re too easy. You know that?”

  “Me? Easy?” I love tapped her sexy bottom.

  She shook her head, giving me a playful glare. “You. Always with the big hands.”

  “You know what they say.”

  Polly opened the shopping bag she carried and the woman behind the stand obliged her by placing three peppers and two juicy tomatoes inside. I slid a few drachmas from the pocket of my linen shorts and paid, moving Polly along the street, stealing another kiss—her skin too warm to taste only once. The sun was starting to hang low in the western sky and we still had one more stop before going back to the yacht. It was going to be a beautiful night. A perfect night to celebrate the anniversary of taking our wedding vows.

  “Why are you rushing me this afternoon?”

  “Am I rushing you, cher?”

  Polly lowered her chin and glowered with a sexy smirk. “I know when you’re up to no good Leonidas Xanthus. You get that mischievous look in those dark and stormy eyes, then lay on the southern charm and New Orleans accent—extra thick.”

  I gave her a playful wink. “I have absolutely no idea what yo talkin’ ’bout Miz X.”

  Polly turned and looked me in the eye, walking backwards. Pointing in my face she called me out. “That’s it. That’s the look right there.”

  I grabbed her whole hand and nipped at her finger, kissing it before spinning her around as if we were on the dance floor. “Will you just play along with me, cher?” I said, taking her back into my steady pace. “Please? Don’t take the fun out of my anniversary present.”

  Polly took another five or six silent steps along the busy street before saying what I knew was on her mind. “I thought we decided not to do anniversary presents.”

  “No,” I drawled. “You decided you didn’t want us to do anniversary presents.”

  “Leo,” she whined. “That was a decision we should’ve made together.”

  “Cher, when it comes to doing things for you and you alone, I do what I want. You’re never going to be able to stop me from—”

  “From what?”

  “Worshipping you. Showing you how much I love you.”

  “You do that every day. Besides, the first anniversary is supposed to be paper.”

  Taking her hand again, I pulled her along the street beside me and in the direction of the gold and diamond shop. When I stopped and opened the door for her to enter, she sighed.

  “Don’t worry, cher. I’ll wrap it in paper.”

  “Know this, Leo. Whatever it is, I will find a way to top it. Somehow. Some way. Someday.”

  I opened the door to the shop and kissed her sunburned shoulder. “I’m holding you to that.”

  “Yassas!” The shopkeeper shouted in Greek over the locals and tourists, welcoming us.

  I held up one finger to acknowledge him, feeling Polly’s grip on my hand strengthen. Even though we were worlds away from Alphonso Balivino, Jr. and the Marcello family, she was wary of anyone seeing our faces. “It’s fine,” I whispered in her ear. “Trust me.”

  Polly nodded, finally relinquishing the tenacious hold she had on me. I shook the jeweler’s hand.

  “I get it,” he said in broken English.

  “Do you mind to wrap it?” I asked in Greek, casually tossing a glance Polly’s way.

  The jeweler switched from English to Greek. “Of course. Is there anything else we can do while my wife wraps the package?”

  I watched the jeweler eye Polly’s engagement ring. Suddenly uncomfortable, she hid the four carat emerald cut stone that belonged to both my mother and grandmother from view, sliding her hand into the hip pocket of her skirt. “Perhaps clean your beautiful diamond?” he asked.

  Polly looked to me and then to the jeweler. She didn’t get every word he’d said, but her Greek was getting better each day and she understood the gist of it. “Why not let him clean it?” I asked with a shrug. “I’m sure it’s full of sand and suntan lotion.”

  Polly nodded with a deep breath of reluctance, then turned into my body and whispered, “What if they switch out the stone?”

  “You think they have a fake, four carat emerald cut diamond lying about on the chance you let yours out of sight for two minutes?”

  Polly shrugged. “I’m…protective.”

  I smiled then whispered in her ear, “I think we’re safe.”

  Reluctantly, she slid the stone off, leaving behind the diamond wedding band I’d placed on her finger a year ago today. “Let him clean both.”

  “We will inspect the stones as well,” the jeweler offered.

  Polly nodded, wiggling the diamond encrusted wedding band over her knuckle to place it not in his capable hand, but mine.

  The jeweler sat a black velvet tray on the glass display and waited for both rings. “It will only be a moment.”

  I watched Polly follow the jeweler to the edge of the counter, where he took her diamonds into the back of the store. Straining to see into the darkened room, her calf muscles flexed as she stood on her toes, shifting her weight back and forth in her flat sandals. I milled about the small store, wondering what my bride would think of her new gift. A necklace of twelve, one carat teardrop diamonds with a special stone—number thirteen. There was a diamond for each month of our first year of marriage. The center stone, a three carat canary teardrop, it represented all our future years together. I’d handpicked each of the stones myself from photographs sent from brokers in Russia and Botswana, but it wasn’t until yesterday I’d had the opportunity to see them all together and set inside the beautiful gold and platinum choker the jeweler
handcrafted for the diamonds. The old man was a master jeweler—one of the best in the business—and I couldn’t wait to put the new piece around Polly’s neck tonight.

  It was only a moment before he came to the edge of the counter with Polly’s rings on the velvet lined tray and a jeweler’s loupe in his hand. I couldn’t make out what he was saying to Polly, but the look on her face told me something was up.

  “I don’t understand what he’s saying about my ring,” she said as I approached the two of them.

  “There’s an engraving,” he said, speaking to me rapidly in Greek. “On the diamond.”

  “A what?”

  “An engraving, sir. On the girdle.”

  “The girdle?” I asked.

  The old jeweler nodded. “The edge of the stone. Sometimes the certification is laser engraved on the girdle, but this stone—”

  “What?” I asked.

  “This wasn’t a laser, sir. This was a master diamond cutter. Someone engraved numbers on the girdle.”

  “Leo?” Polly interjected. “What is he saying?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “He says there are numbers engraved on the side of your diamond.”

  “What kind of numbers?” I asked, switching back to question him in Greek.

  “Nothing visible to the naked eye. I suspect it’s why you’ve never noticed it,” he said removing his glasses to place the loupe to his eye. “Seven five zero, dot, zero, four. Perhaps catalogued for something?”

  “Seven, five, zero, zero four?” Polly knew her numbers in Greek and looked to me as if I should know what it meant. I didn’t.

  I shook my head. “It was my mother’s ring. Before that my grandmother’s—a gift from my grandfather. Is there anything else?” I asked him in Greek.

  The jeweler nodded. “It’s internally flawless. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. A perfect stone.” He paused, swallowing hard. “An ancient craftsman’s perfect cut.”

  As he spoke the words, his wife appeared with a shiny black bag filled with red tissue paper and a smile. The old jeweler pushed the velvet tray toward us and nodded. It was an unspoken request to take the diamond and leave.

  “Well,” I began as Polly quickly picked up her rings and placed them back on her finger. “Thank you again. It was nice doing business with you.” Offering my hand, the old man was reluctant to shake it. I could tell he believed we’d brought stolen goods into his store—and not just any stolen goods—a catalogued item from a significant collection of some sort. And now it sat on the finger of my wife. It didn’t help our cause that I’d paid for Polly’s necklace in cash—nearly a million US dollars in cash.

  I ushered us both out the door without delay, taking her anniversary gift with me as we went. Once in the street, Polly turned to me. “What was that all about? He wanted us out of there. Leo, does he think my ring is stolen? I mean, that’s absurd. My ring isn’t stolen.” She paused. “Is it?”

  I shook my head. “No.” It was what I told her. Deep down I knew my family had nefarious roots and there was always the possibility the ring had come from some heist I was unaware of. Still, it didn’t seem likely. My grandfather Kostas wasn’t the kind of man who would put purloined jewelry on my grandmother’s hand. He worshipped Yaya and had too much respect for her to allow her to wear a diamond that wasn’t truly hers. Especially one he’d always made such a fuss over.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, ignoring the question and hurrying Polly toward the marina. “Captain Steve will be wondering where we are. I told him we wanted to set sail for the Italian coast tonight. I thought we might stop in Sicily for supplies, spend a few days in Palermo and then head for the Amalfi Coast.”

  “Okay.” Her lips complied, but her big brown eyes told me she wasn’t convinced I was telling her everything I knew about the ring on her finger. Truth be told, I didn’t know anything about it. I only knew Kostas gave it to Yaya one night in the gardens at Jackson House, telling her, you have taken more than my soul—you are the one thought of my life.

  When my father gave it to my mother, he said the same thing. I’d heard the story over and over as a kid. It was one of the reasons I made sure I got it from the safe in New Orleans before we left. I always knew it was the ring I would use to propose to my own wife. And like my father and grandfather before me, I too had promised Polly that she had taken more than my soul. She was the singular thought of my very existence—the one thought of my life.

  As we walked the steep lane to the dock, I hid my latent anger. I was pissed we had to hide from the world. Angry we couldn’t live like we wanted. I put on a good show, doing my best to make the travel plans as exciting as possible. There were plenty of distant and faraway places we’d not experienced together, but I longed to be home in New Orleans. Still, I’d take being alive with the love of my life anywhere in the world over being dead and alone in a shallow grave.

  “Leo?”

  Snapping out of my funk, I looked to the face of my beautiful wife, the fading light reflected in her brown eyes. A strong Mediterranean breeze kicked up her cotton skirt and the stray tendrils that had escaped her braid blew in the ocean wind. Taking the shopping bag filled with peppers and tomatoes from her hand, I watched her gather her skirt around her knees, the setting sun back-lighting her lean and muscular body. It was a perfect moment in time and staring at her I realized on the run or not, I was a lucky man. “Yes, mon amour.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Regret what?”

  “This.”

  “How can you ask that? Do you regret being with me? Do you regret marrying me?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice.

  “Of course not. You know what I mean. This isn’t the life you wanted. I know it isn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it isn’t the life I wanted. I mean, it’s been an amazing year and a half, but how long can we keep this up?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “We’ll do what we have to do for as long as we need to do it.” I stopped short of going aboard the yacht. Polly walked back to me. For a moment, we simply stared into one another’s eyes. I brushed my thumb across her bottom lip and kissed her, slipping my tongue inside her mouth, teasing her. “I don’t know what the future looks like. I don’t,” I whispered in her ear as I hugged her tight. “But I know whatever it is, we do it together. Whatever life I have, this one or somewhere else, it’s not worth a damn if you’re not by my side. No matter what, it’s me and you above all.”

  Pulling away, I stared into her face. She’d fingered her parents’ murderer at the age of thirteen, then was sent to witness protection in Montana shortly thereafter with a new name and life. Now just a year after killing the man who’d murdered her mother and father, it was hard for me to ask her to buck up and move on once again with me. Polly was the strongest woman I’d ever known. And she was mine. “Mon amour, you are my life. Toi et moi.”

  Polly bit down on her bottom lip and nodded, inhaling a full and deep breath. “You and me.”

  Taking her by the elbow, I stopped to slip off my shoes before sweeping her into my arms. I carried her up the boarding ramp where she kicked off her sandals and tossed them into the shoe basket. Setting her back on her feet, I lowered my mouth and kissed her softly before patting her on the bottom. “Get in the shower.”

  “What about you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

  “I’m gonna drop off our groceries in the galley. Save me a spot.”

  Polly gave me the onceover, then leaned in to brush her lips across my mouth and her open palm across the crotch of my shorts. After a year of nothing but each other, we still couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. A rush of need came over me. I was greedy for my wife—unabashedly greedy.

  Polly winked and sauntered away, crossing her arms at the waist to tug off the flimsy tank top she wore over her bikini top. “Don’t tarry long, Dr. X,” she called out, tossing her shirt aside.

  “Don’t worry. I
won’t.”

  2

  POLLY

  The warm water cascaded over my sunburned shoulders, stinging as it beat down on my hot skin. It didn’t matter how much sunscreen I used or how many times a day I put it on, I still seemed to get too much Greek sunshine. My once colorless complexion was now tan and full of freckles. I’d at least managed to keep my face from becoming weathered. For Leo, it was a good look. He was so dark and handsome—my Greek god. The Mediterranean fit him to a tee. I, on the other hand, was growing weary of it. I missed being on land. I missed seeing my fathers, Mitch and Ron, and I missed my best friend, Samantha Callahan. She was living out her dream with her husband and the two small children I adored in Shadeland, Alabama.

  I released my head into the spray and changed the temperature to cool the water and thought of Dax, the little boy whose nanny I’d been since his birth. Now with over a year of honeymooning and travel under our belts, I often wondered how our future as a family could possibly pan out. Leo knew when we met that I loved children. He knew when we met that I wanted a family of my own. Now here we were, eighteen months into our anonymous life and no closer to making any decisions as to what to do or where to go. We were simply adrift in the ocean, waiting for the tide to take us wherever it wanted.

  For me, the most telling moment was when the first set of crew members left us after six months. It was a standard contract, of course. Who would want to work and live on a yacht longer than six months at a time? Now it had been a year and a half and the third crew was ready to leave in the next couple of weeks. They would go back to their own lives on dry land. Leo and I would be forced to stay.

  I washed my hair and soaped my body, my hands gliding easily over my tan lines. I stared at the white marks on my hips. Life was funny. Two years ago when I was taking care of Dax full time without the prospect of a man in sight, I would’ve jumped at the chance to sail around the world with a handsome man—a husband who adored me, no less. But now all I wanted was to be back in a place where Leo and I had the opportunity to have a child of our own. Floating adrift on the Andromeda was no place to be pregnant. It was no place to raise a baby.