Untouched by His Diamonds

by Lucy Ellis

  Yet there was something else about her.

  He could still hear her husky laughter, see her clapping her hands, singing along with the music last night although she didn’t know the words and it was a foreign language to her. He remembered how she had been dismayed by his attempt to kiss her and then covered it up.

  He wanted to phone her and hear her voice. He wanted to see her. More basically he wanted those long legs wrapped around him and her little sounds of pleasure urging him on.

  But he was going to New York and time was what he didn’t have. She’d said something about a launch tonight. He could turn up, try his luck.

  A wry smile touched his mouth. Life wasn’t about luck. It was about going after what you wanted with single-minded determination and not stopping until you had it. In business and personally.

  No, better to ring and arrange to meet up with her. He didn’t want to give her much choice, and in the flesh, in broad daylight, he’d be a little more persuasive than he’d been last night. He’d respected her boundaries but it hadn’t got him far. He hadn’t turned a single gym into a billion-dollar business without knowing when to push.

  Clementine settled at a pavement table, thanking the waiter who brought her a coffee. Across the road was the Verado flagship store, where she’d spent the morning and most of this last week. She’d agreed to meet Serge at this café because of its proximity to work.

  When she’d heard his voice a couple of hours ago her whole world had ground to a halt. She’d drifted away from the group she was talking to and said breathlessly, ‘Serge,’ and literally heard his intake of breath. His voice had been pitched lower then, darkly seductive in its accented rumble. She’d closed her eyes just listening to it, lost in the sensual spell.

  She really hadn’t thought he would call.

  But he had, and now she was waiting for him because he wanted to see her, speak to her, probably organise a second date. He’d have to be quick. Her plane flew out at four tomorrow morning. He was keen, though. Barely twelve hours had passed since they’d said goodnight.

  He might ask her to stay a little longer, and a big part of her was considering saying yes—oh, hell, yes.

  Imagining she had lost him last night had made her a little more reckless than usual this morning. She had lain awake going over every minute of their date, isolating everything that told her Serge was nothing like Joe Carnegie. All of her instincts told her he was a good guy. He hadn’t pushed when it had been clear enough he had hoped for more. She wasn’t going to read anything into that. All men wanted more. It was just some could be obnoxious about it.

  What bothered her was that she had let Joe Carnegie come between them at a crucial moment. She had wanted to kiss Serge last night but fear had held her back. Fear of it only being some sort of sexual conquest on his part, of opening herself up to another man only to have her sensibilities ripped apart. It was only a kiss, she reminded herself, but she had never felt so strongly attracted to a man in her life, and she needed to be sure before she went any further.

  Thinking about it now, she tried not to have any regrets. Serge hadn’t walked away, and this morning he wanted to see her. He was keen. He liked her. He was making an effort.

  Except he was late.

  She glanced at her little watch, with its pretty diamond-studded face. She had bought it for herself soon after she’d landed the job with Verado. Most people had parents or significant others to help mark special occasions like that. A psychologist friend had told her it was important that when you didn’t have those mainstays in your life to make an effort to look after yourself, and so she had. And every morning when she slipped it onto her wrist she felt she was taking care of herself.

  I’ll give him another five minutes, she told herself. He’s only a quarter of an hour late. Maybe it was traffic. But definitely five minutes. Maybe at a stretch ten…

  ‘Hello, beautiful girl.’

  He was idling in front of her table, all height and muscles and testosterone. She took in the jeans, white T-shirt, brown leather jacket. He was freshly shaved, hair tousled, energy rolling off him in waves. Clementine didn’t look at him so much as collide with his deep green Tartar eyes, and her heart began to do a thuddy thing that made it hard to hear over the pounding of blood in her ears.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ She endeavoured to sound casual.

  He gestured abruptly to the waiter. ‘What would you like to eat, kisa?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t stay,’ said Clementine, getting herself together. ‘I’m supposed to be at my job, and you’re late, so I can only give you five minutes.’

  He dragged a chair up close to her and straddled it. As he dropped in front of her she gave an involuntary jump. His sudden physical proximity made it very difficult to hold her ground and her first instinct was to retreat back in her chair. He smiled knowingly, as if her reticence was exactly what he was after.

  ‘Give me five minutes, then.’

  Unaccountably she flashed back to how last night had ended. Even now her cheeks grew warm as she remembered Luke’s condoms, like neon signs pulsing on her bedside table. He probably hadn’t thought anything of it, but she had blushed, and he’d certainly seen that, and she had spent last night tossing and turning—convinced he’d seen through her to the gauche girl she sometimes felt herself still to be. That was before Joe Carnegie had torn the scales from her eyes.

  He was studying her face, her pink cheeks, lingering on her mouth. ‘You are a gorgeous woman, Clementine.’

  She’d been told that before, although it wasn’t strictly true. She was far from being a beauty. Her nose was slightly too long, her chin a little pointed, and she had too many freckles…

  ‘Am I?’ She made herself hold his gaze. ‘Is that what you came to tell me?’

  ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’

  Oh, she liked that. ‘I’m flattered.’

  His eyes were knowing, full of promise. They were playing some sort of game, she recognised, except she didn’t know the rules.

  ‘I’ve got a proposal for you, kisa.’

  Clementine gave an internal sigh of relief. Mentally she began shifting her entire afternoon. Surely she could carve out a few hours before the launch, when all the work had been done, and she had planned to take a nap and get ready for the evening.

  She really, really wanted to spend more time with him.

  Serge studied her expectant expression and the rest of her, liking what he saw. She was all dressed up this morning, in a dark blue suit, but managed by dint of the pinched waist of her jacket and the cling of her pencil skirt to look outrageously sexy. In a classy sort of way. This look played havoc with his hormones in a way the tight leather skirt hadn’t. He liked her all covered up. It made it more of a challenge to imagine what was underneath.

  Well, here went nothing.

  ‘I’ve got to fly to New York City tomorrow on business, I’d like you to come with me.’

  Clementine felt as if she’d been slammed at speed into a wall.

  ‘I’m staying in the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons for a week. I think you’d enjoy yourself, Clementine—a little pampering, some nice restaurants, buying you some pretty dresses, see a show…me.’

  Him. Clementine felt sick. She was thrust back in time to Joe’s smooth delivery as she had bleated across the table at him, ‘But I don’t want you to buy me a place to live. Anyway, I have a place to live.’ And he’d frowned and told her he wasn’t spending his free time in London shagging her in a shared flat.

  That brutal. And that fast she’d lost all her girlish illusions. The next morning the newspaper had shredded her self-respect.

  ‘I understand it’s presumptuous, but I need to be there, and I think we have something, Clementine. I’d like to explore that.’

  She picked herself up and brushed herself off. ‘Would you?’ Her voice came out like a shard of ice.

  It was happening all over again.

  He was offering her stuff as if
she were for sale. As if her body was for sale. Because come with me to New York City, baby wasn’t an invitation to enjoy his hospitality without serving herself up to him on a plate.

  More fool her.

  All she’d wanted was a date. A chance to spend some more time with him, get to know him. All of it hopelessly naive.

  Right in front of her was the reason she had tried to settle down with boys who didn’t push, who weren’t driven by their libidos—nice, gentle guys who in the end left her cold. Men like Serge were the other end of the spectrum—exciting, challenging, but fuelled by testosterone, confident in their ability to run the world on their own terms and by extension run her.

  Well, she was running in the other direction. She’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t some rich man’s plaything.

  She stood up so abruptly her chair almost toppled over onto the pavement. ‘That’s quite an offer, Serge, but I think you’ve got the wrong girl,’ she said hotly.

  He was on his feet, not looking so sure of himself now. She could actually see him thinking. Probably working out which girl was next on his list to invite for a little nookie in New York. God, men could make you feel like crap.

  ‘Clem?’

  She turned as Luke’s hands closed around her upper arms.

  ‘Are you okay, babe?’ He was looking Serge up and down. ‘Have you upset her, mate?’

  Given any other situation, Luke’s suddenly aggressive stance in support of her would have been amusing. It was kind of like a meerkat standing up to a Siberian tiger.

  Serge’s gaze had narrowed on Luke’s hands, and she couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Did he actually think she now belonged to him? One date and her body was his to ship off to his penthouse for his use? Was he going to take on Luke? Because she didn’t think her gentle friend was going to come off pretty face intact!

  She shook her head at Luke. ‘It’s all fine, sweetie. Let’s get back.’ She cast Serge a frosty look. ‘I’m finished here.’

  Serge went cold. What in the hell had just happened?

  Had he not been explicit enough in everything he’d offered her? It was a very lucrative deal over and above the sex. What was going on? Was she holding out for something else?

  Okay, maybe he’d been a little cocky about it. But he’d been so convinced she’d say yes.

  She’d said no. Had she said no?

  And now she was with this metrosexual guy who was bristling like a guard dog at him.

  As if he’d ever hurt a woman in his life. Suddenly what had seemed simple and straightforward felt like a huge mistake.

  ‘I have your answer, Clementine,’ he said formally. ‘Forgive me if I’ve offended you. It wasn’t meant that way.’ He wasn’t going to stand there and pressure her in this thug role he was beginning to feel he’d been cast in. ‘Enjoy the rest of your stay.’

  His good manners welded Clementine to the spot. All of a sudden the last few minutes seemed to have rolled up into a ball of confusion in her head. Maybe he hadn’t propositioned her. Maybe it was up-front an offer to spend time with him—his best effort to fit her into his schedule. She knew all about seventy-hour weeks. He said he had business in New York City. It wasn’t a pleasure trip for him. Maybe he just wanted to get to know her…

  Had she read him wrongly? Was it just an innocent invitation from a very busy man?

  Suddenly the entire world seemed to narrow down to that pinprick of vision she had fastened on the spread of Serge’s muscular shoulders as he walked away.

  Was she really never going to see him again?

  You’ll never meet anyone like him again, a little voice whispered in her head. You knew that yesterday—the moment you clapped eyes on him. You knew that he was special. You knew he had been made especially for you. He was your fantasy come to life.

  And maybe you’re his. Maybe he’s feeling exactly the way you do and you’ve said those terrible things to him and you’re never going to see him again.

  What had she done?

  What had she done?

  Her feet were moving. She could see him a long way from her now. She wanted to run but it wouldn’t be any use. She could see him getting into his car. She opened her mouth to call out to him but her throat had closed up, and then she just stopped, dead in the middle of the pavement, as his sports car swiftly rejoined the traffic.

  She still had Luke’s mobile. She had Serge’s number. She began rummaging in her bag. What would she say to him? I’ve changed my mind. I want to come. I want to see where this leads me…where you lead me…

  ‘Clem.’ Luke had caught up with her. ‘What is it, darl? What’s going on?’

  It was the reality of Luke’s voice and the memories that came back with it that had her dropping the phone back into her bag, the frenzy of feeling subsiding. Luke had helped pick up the pieces when the Joe Carnegie incident had exploded in her face. She had slept in his and his partner Phineas’s spare room for a week, and he had cared for her with all the kindness and tenderness she had never found in any of the guys she’d dated.

  Serge Marinov was no different. She’d imagined him as her hero come to life, but her history told her the odds were against it ever working out.

  Her best friend Luke was a reminder that she deserved more.

  It wasn’t in her nature to mope. There was work to do, and she was kept busy all afternoon sweet-talking the snooty representative of a high-profile fashion magazine who had been housed in the Grand Hotel Europe instead of the Astoria Hotel.

  Try the Vassiliev Building, she thought, even as she twittered on about the incredible history of the Grand Hotel. The painful irony being she only had those stories because Serge had told them to her on their magical date. She must have been convincing because the woman, mollified, agreed to a larger suite in the hotel.

  I can do this, she thought, walking through the lobby. She was spending the night with Luke, unable to face even one more night in the fleapit. Her dress was upstairs and she intended to take a long hot shower.

  She had a party to go to. Parties she could do. It was men she had a problem with.

  As she stepped into the elevator one of the species gave her a covert once-over and she narrowed her eyes, mean as a dunked cat.

  She was still feeling prickly as she moved through the crowd at the launch. The fashion show didn’t go smoothly, but it was the hiccups that made it fun. The models galloped down the runway—pretty boys carting luggage, wearing watches, flashing cocky grins at the cameras. Clementine did her usual meet-and-greet, brain switched off, dress switched on. She loved this black velvet evening gown. It was elegant and flattering, and Verado had loaned her a string of diamonds to wear around her neck. She was a walking advertisement tonight, and it suited her down to the ground. She was good at her job and it correspondingly made her feel good about herself.

  If men thought she could be bought maybe it was time to start asserting her financial independence. She earned a reasonable living. She just had an expensive clothing habit. But she was twenty-five years old. It was time to stop living like a teenager and start looking towards her future. The fairytale husband and three children might never materialise—and given her romantic history and today’s disaster it felt further away than ever. She needed to look after herself. Protect herself. And that meant settling into her career.

  She was turning from one group of buyers to cross the floor to another when she saw him.

  Six and a half feet of Russian male wasn’t easy to miss. He was all dressed up in a tux, his unruly hair tamed. He looked devastating, a powerful man among many lesser men, and for a moment in time she merely stared. Until she recognised the older gentleman he was speaking to was Giovanni Verado himself.

  Verado was a notorious womaniser. Probably swapping notes, she thought snappily. But in her heart she knew it wasn’t true. Serge had been nothing but up-front with her, and she kept replaying his expression when she had thrown his invitation back in his face. He’d actually looked
baffled.

  But why was he here? He knew this was her job. She’d certainly blabbed all about it last night, revealing more than she was comfortable with now. She’d said some indiscreet things about Verado. Serge hadn’t mentioned a connection to the owner. Serge hadn’t said much of anything that was personal.

  Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, her palms moist.

  It didn’t fit the character of the man she believed she knew to drop her in it. Why would he? Why would Verado care about her opinions as long as she did her job?

  No, what was worrying her was that she suddenly realised she knew nothing about him other than the fact he made her senses whirl every time he looked at her, and she’d felt so safe and admired in his company.

  Right now her heart was leaping into her mouth because he’d come, and it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

  He’d come for her.

  A rush of nerves bubbled up in her tummy like champagne. All of the tales she had told herself this afternoon about Serge Marinov being just some guy disintegrated as she entertained the possibility that she was getting a second chance, and now she could give him one.

  Clementine tugged at her dress, straightened her shoulders, and headed over. She wasn’t going to make his finding her any more difficult than it needed to be.

  There were a lot of people between them, and then there was a break in the crowd and she saw what she had missed before. There was a woman with him—a slender brunette in a sparkly blue dress. She was beautiful, perhaps around thirty, and she had her hand on his arm. It was that territorial display that stopped Clementine in her tracks.

  Almost. She’d almost made a fool of herself.

  Another woman. Well, that was quick. But what had she expected? Clearly it was exactly what he’d been thinking this morning in that fraught silence. Not, I’m disappointed Clementine won’t be coming with me. Simply, Where’s the next in line?