Christmas Diamond, a Novella: Inspired by The Jewel series and the Virtues and Valor series

by Hallee Bridgeman

  "A year from now, it will be old hat," Linda assured. Robin wondered if she meant that to intimidate her or make her feel more at ease, because, honestly, she wasn't feeling better in the wake of that remark.

  A tap at the door preceded the entrance of Don Roberts. He was younger than Robin, tall, boy-next-door good looking with straight brown hair and a fake tan. Nothing about him made her feel at ease about this interview.

  He shook her hand - again - then sat in the chair adjacent to her. He took a phone out of his pocket, pressed a series of buttons on it, then set it on the table in front of her. She could only assume he'd activated some sort of recording device. "Miss Bartlett, Robin, thank you for giving me this opportunity."

  "It's my pleasure," she said around a suddenly too-dry mouth.

  "Let's go ahead and cover the basics. Tell us how you met Tony."

  This was the first person outside of church to address Tony as Tony and not Mr. Viscolli. It intrigued Robin. "He, ah, bought a restaurant where I worked." She cleared her throat. "We met then."

  "When was that?"

  "Last fall."

  "And, to add a spice of romance to our story, how did he propose?"

  Robin smiled and relaxed, thinking back. "Christmas Eve, on the beach in the Florida Keys."

  "That's really nice," Don said. He smiled. "Tony Viscolli is a powerful force in the business world, and not just in the Boston area. He has businesses all over the country and thousands of employees. What do you think drew him to you in particular?"

  Uncomfortable, Robin shrugged. "I really couldn't tell you. You'd have to ask him."

  "But we can probably guess what drew you to him, right?"

  Robin put her hands in her lap and laced her fingers, squeezing them tightly. "If you knew his heart, or anything about him personally, you'd not have to ask that question. He is amazing and generous and loving, and I feel so incredibly blessed."

  "Is he?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Is he really all those things? Or simply uninformed?"

  Robin felt her eyebrows crease under the thick makeup from the photo shoot. "What?"

  "Does he know all there is to know about you?"

  Robin shifted her eyes to Linda, who frowned but did not speak. "I beg your pardon?"

  Don sat forward and tapped the top of the table with every question. He looked like an anaconda eyeing a mouse. "He knows you were a waitress moonlighting as a bartender. Does he know your father went to prison for drug smuggling and now faces double murder charges? Does he know your mother was an addict who was murdered in a drug deal? Does he know you, yourself, stabbed your foster parent in the back with a buck knife? Does he know you were a fugitive until you turned eighteen and your juvenile crimes were sealed? Does he know about the improprietary manner in which you had your former employer pull strings with city hall to clear your record so you could obtain custody of one of your sisters? How did you convince that retired sailor to help you pull those strings, Miss Bartlett?"

  Panic swirled in her brain, freezing her ability to form cohesive thoughts. "I don't – what are you –?" Robin gasped and looked from Don to Linda. Her heart pounded and she felt sweat break out on her forehead.

  Linda pressed a button on the table next to her before standing. "Mr. Roberts? This interview is over. Our attorneys at the Anderson firm will be in contact with your editor in light of the NDA you signed and this particular line of questioning."

  "You can't hide her. Believe me if I know, the tabloids know, too. This is the kind of rags to riches story that everyone will be clamoring after. You need to let her – "

  As he spoke the door opened and two uniformed security officers marched into the room. They walked straight up to Don. "You need to come with us, sir," one of them said.

  "Now." The other one said, picking up the reporter's phone from the table.

  "Hey! You can't have that!"

  "We'll return your property when you're safely outside the building, sir." The guard stepped aside, placing his body between Roberts and the two women, and gestured with his hand. "Right this way, sir."

  Roberts stood but quickly bent around the guard toward Robin. "You might as well figure out the best thing to do is embrace your story and tell it, or else others will do it with their own spin and you won't be able to influence what they say."

  The second guard grabbed his arm at the elbow and said, "You've already outstayed your welcome, sir. Time to go."

  Roberts jerked himself free. "Don't touch me. I'm leaving."

  "Leave now," the guard warned, "Without another word, or I will use force." His finger stabbed in the direction of the door.

  Robin stared at the closed door long after it shut behind them. Linda sat where Don had been and touched her hand. "I'm so sorry. All of his credentials checked out."

  With a shaking hand, Robin brushed the hair off of her forehead. "I'm not doing something like this again."

  Linda nodded. "I understand." She pressed some buttons on her phone. "Margaret? I need to talk to Mr. V. This isn't good."

  Without waiting for Linda to hang up the phone or Tony to come gallantly into the room, Robin gathered her bag and her coat and left. Linda tried to call her back, but she was stuck on hold with Tony's office. Escape. Flee. Hide.

  The elevator arrived. Thankful to find it empty, she slipped inside and pressed the lobby button, then the door close button in rapid succession. As soon as it started moving, she went to the back corner of the elevator and pressed back against the wall. She used to be good at hiding. Hide way in the back of the closet. Protect her sisters. Make the monsters forget you're there.

  But she couldn't hide from her past, could she? What did she think she was doing, becoming Mrs. Antonio Viscolli? Inadequate didn't begin to describe her. Her cell phone started ringing, but she turned it off as she stepped off of the elevator and into the lobby of the hotel. As she walked out of the doors, the valet lifted his hand in greeting, grabbed her keys, and rushed to get her car. With no choice but to wait, she slipped her coat on and shoved her hands into the pockets, lifting her shoulders against the wind. Before her car arrived, she felt Tony at her elbow.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not doing that again."

  "It will never happen again."

  EXCERPT: EMERALD FIRE

  Emerald Fire was a 2012 RONE Award Finalist for Inspirational Novel of the Year. If you missed Emerald Fire, part 2 of The Jewel Series, buy it now in Paperback or eBook wherever fine books are sold.

  Enjoy this special excerpt from the critically acclaimed full length novel Emerald Fire.

  MAXINE rolled over in the bed. As the blankets slipped off, she felt cool air on her shoulders. While her partially asleep brain pondered that, she tugged the sheets back up to cover herself and her ring caught a thread on the blanket.

  Her ring?

  Maxine's eyes flew open as memories of the night before flooded her mind. She whipped her head around. The bed next to her was empty, the pillow indented from where her husband's head had recently lain.

  Her husband!

  Alone in the bedroom, she lifted her left hand and stared. There sat the ridiculously enormous, preposterously expensive platinum ring, encrusted with emeralds and diamonds, that the man with whom she had been engaged for less than two hours before their wedding ceremony had picked out for her. When he slipped it onto her finger, he'd said something about the color of her eyes. Seconds later, he'd kissed her.

  After a cursory glance around the room to be certain she was actually alone and the bedroom door was shut, she threw the covers off and rushed to the closet, looking for anything to wear. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and dashed to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door for a moment while her heart raced and her mind reeled.

  What in the name of all things holy had they done? Rather, what had she done?

  With a few flicks of her wrist, she turned the water on fo
r a shower and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and traced lips swollen from his kisses. Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds on her finger. Normally, her olive complexion needed the help of cosmetics to bring out any kind of rosy flush. This morning, however, her cheeks looked rosy, flushed. She felt warm inside despite the morning chill.

  In her entire adult life, no other man had ever even so much as kissed her. Not once. Many men had tried to taste her mouth, but whenever they'd gotten close enough, panic would rise up and make her push them away. That typically ended the relationship. The ones who suffered that humiliation soon learned that it wasn't a onetime thing and very quickly gave up trying. As she stepped under the warm spray of water, she thought back to the night before and to her complete lack of fear.

  Her husband of less than twelve hours – her husband didn't frighten her at all. When he kissed her, it occurred to her that she felt absolutely none of her normal panic. Instead what she felt was warmth, excitement, attraction. He made her feel safe. He made her feel … loved.

  "Husband and wife," the Elvis impersonator had proclaimed with a shimmy and a shake. Then her husband had slowly leaned in close and taken her lips with his strong, masculine mouth as if they were the most delicate rose petals. Her knees had vanished and she felt his arm around her waist holding her up, lifting her, supporting her as she kissed his heavenly mouth.

  Then, here, in this hotel suite last night on the very top floor of the Las Vegas casino, her husband had let her lead the way. It was as if he sensed that she needed to be able to control all of the activity. She never had to say anything to him or explain her fear. He just accepted her hesitations or kissed her through them. He slowly coaxed and guided and offered until she accepted. It had been so wonderful, so beautiful, that he had held her to him with her head cradled against his broad, thick chest and his strong arms around her while she wept at the beauty of it.

  Her sister was going to kill her.

  Reflecting on that for a moment, Maxine realized she didn't much care. She was excited, thrilled. Married!

  She quickly finished showering and got dressed. After brushing her teeth and running a comb through her long straight black hair, compliments of her Native American father, she left the bathroom, again comforted by the solitude. Little nervous butterflies woke up in her stomach while she slipped into her shoes, the sight of the enormous ring on her finger distracting her with every motion of her hand.

  Stalling, she straightened the bed. As she pulled the coverlet up, her ring caught the light. Running her hand over his pillow she smiled and felt a warm rush of love flow through her heart, quelling the nervous butterflies.

  When she could think of nothing else to do, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. Seeing him standing there staring out into the sunrise brought back visions of every time she had seen his face in the last three years. She thought of every time she had sketched his face. She could not believe how much had happened in the last three weeks.

  The thought stopped her. Three weeks? Had it only been that long since they put her brand new husband's first wife in the ground?

  Without turning to look at her, his smooth, baritone voice reached her ears. "Obviously, we need to talk."

  EXCERPT: TOPAZ HEAT

  Topaz Heat was a 2012 RONE Award Nominee for Inspirational Novel of the Year. If you missed Topaz Heat, part 3 of The Jewel Series, buy it now in Paperback or eBook wherever fine books are sold.

  Enjoy this special excerpt from the critically acclaimed full length novel Topaz Heat.

  SARAH heard another clang. She quietly set her purse down but held onto the umbrella, holding it just above the handle like a baseball bat. Running lightly on her toes, she crossed the room quickly and stood by the door of the dining room. There were a few more sounds, then the sound of a man whistling that got louder as he got closer.

  Taking a deep breath, she raised the umbrella over her head and waited, focused on the door. She let it swing open, watched the figure of the man come out of the dining room, and brought the umbrella down. Hard.

  He must have sensed the movement because he ducked and the umbrella hit him across the back of his shoulders. "Ow! Hey!"

  In the next second, and utterly without warning, he rolled to the floor and used one of his legs to sweep hers out from under her. She flailed her arms as she landed on her backside, finding herself under his weight. She started struggling, but he threw one of his legs over hers and grabbed her arms in a bone-lock, pinning them up by her head.

  "Sarah?"

  She realized her eyes were closed. At the sound of his voice they flew open. Immediate recognition prefaced the heat that rushed her face from total embarrassment. "Derrick? What are you doing here?"

  "I was about to ask you the same question."

  She hadn't seen him in at least five years. No, it was six. He left town right after his mother's funeral. He'd not been back. She got updates from Maxine or Robin each time they'd seen him in New York. She hadn't been to New York and hadn't seen him at all in that space of time. He'd filled out, she thought. His face looked more mature, almost tougher, his shoulders wider.

  Derrick was thinking that Sarah hadn't changed at all. She still looked like a teenager. Her hair had come out of its clip and lay spread out around her head on the carpet, the red highlights caught in the curls, catching the light. She still had the spray of freckles across her nose, and her eyes, behind their glasses, still looked exactly like the color of the richest topaz.

  Realizing he was staring, he released her instantly, pushed away, and sat next to her. "What in the world did you hit me with?" He reached behind him and gingerly touched the back of his shoulders, wincing when his hand came away smeared in blood.

  The only thing he had on was a pair of sweat pants. "My, um, umbrella."

  He saw it next to her and grabbed it. It was snapped in half. Irritated anger burned through him. "This? You think there's an intruder and this is what you use to defend yourself?"

  She ripped it out of his hands and stood. "It was all I had."

  "It never occurred to you to call security?"

  Her cheeks flushed bright red. No, it had not occurred to her. She waved her hand as if to dismiss his last statement. "Let me see," she said, moving behind him.

  He jerked to his feet. "No, thank you. Don't touch it."

  "I promise I won't hurt you, Derrick. I won't even touch it." She put her hands on her hips. "I am a nurse, you know."

  She almost withdrew the offer. Then he glared at her before moving to one of the oversized chairs, sitting sideways so she could see his back. The skin across his shoulders was already starting to purple with a bruise, and it looked like something had caught the skin and ripped it. He had a gash about three inches long diagonally across his right shoulder. "Ouch, Derrick. Sorry about that."

  Over his left shoulder, just shy of the bruise, was a tattoo of a dragon, done in brilliant colors – turquoise, fuchsia, purple, bright green. She was surprised that it was there, intrigued. He had done everything to get rid of his past, and she wondered why he still had the tattoo. Before she realized it, her fingers were hovering over it, about to touch it.

  He looked at her over his shoulder and glared. She bit her lip and gingerly touched the bruise. "You'll want to put some ice on it, and you should let me clean and dress the cut."

  She turned to leave. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  She was halfway down the hallway before she answered him. "I'll be right back." Moving quickly, she went to the master bathroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet, finding the supplies she needed. She slipped the roll of tape and the package of bandages into her scrubs pocket, then pulled a washcloth out of the linen closet and wet it.

  When she returned to the front room, he stared at the brown bottle in her hand suspiciously. "What's that?"

  "Hydrogen peroxide."

  "Uh huh. And what do you think you're going
to do with it?"

  With a sigh, she poured some on the cloth and stepped closer. "I'm going to clean the cut."

  He hissed the breath between his teeth and cringed away as the cloth came in contact with his skin. "Ouch. That hurts."

  "Good Lord, Derrick, quit being such a baby."

  He clenched his teeth and swallowed a retort. Then he felt her warm breath blowing on the wound. He imagined her lips puckered as she blew against his fevered skin.

  "There, is that better?"

  "It's great. Kind of like a carnival ride but without the cotton candy. Thank you."

  He heard her moving behind him, heard the sound of the cap going back on the bottle. He felt her fingers graze his skin as she placed a bandage over the cut and taped it to his skin. He tried desperately not to react to her touch in any way, to pretend she was some platonic stranger tending his wound. "You need to ice it. I'll go get some."

  While she was gone, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking some inner steadiness. Why was she here? She quickly returned and gently set a plastic bag filled with ice across his shoulders, then sat on the couch that angled with the chair so that she faced him.

  "You never answered my question," he said, staring at her with those brown eyes that always made her uncomfortable. "What are you doing here?"

  "They're painting my brownstone today and tomorrow. My furniture is under sheets in the middle of the rooms. Robin never told me that you were going to be here." She looked down at her shoes. "I really am sorry, Derrick."

  "I guess I forgot to tell her where I was staying. I thought Tony might've let her know." He reached behind him and shifted the bag of ice. "You would have had to park next to my car in the garage though."

  "I walked."

  He narrowed his eyes. "From where?"

  She gestured at her pastel pink pants, the matching top, and the white jacket with the pastel slashes of color. "Hello? From the hospital."