by Kat Faitour
All she’d done was change into fresh, casual clothes and clean her face. Yet, he’d been too shocked when he interrupted her mugger, then too worried when he’d seen she was hurt, to notice how astonishingly, breathtakingly gorgeous she was.
He dropped his eyes and saw that her feet were bare, her toes painted pink.
He closed his eyes. He was doomed.
Lust uncoiled inside him, bringing instant heat and hardness. He shifted, worried for the first time in his adult life that he was in serious danger of embarrassing himself.
Inhaling, he brought his gaze back to her face. A bandage stretched across the small cut from where she’d struck her head on the concrete. And he was abruptly, painfully reminded of what she’d been through.
He blew out his breath. He was sex-crazed. A savage. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was the one who’d hit his head. Struggling, he brought his wayward libido back under control. He’d never been so instantly attracted to a woman in his life.
Her lips, lush and lightly glossed, tilted in a Mona Lisa smile.
“Stay with me.”
The invitation, coupled with her low, husky voice, brought his hunger raging back to the fore. She was every fantasy he’d never known he had.
Her smile widened to a smirk. “Let’s have some wine. It’ll help both of us relax.”
Mason stuck both hands into his front pockets and rolled awkwardly onto the balls of his feet. “I should probably be going.” At her tiny sound of distress, he jerked his head up. “Unless you need anything? Are you sure you’re okay?”
She moved towards a modern, marble-topped bar, and Mason instinctively followed. “I’ll be better if you stay with me,” she tossed over her shoulder. When he stopped, she turned back. “One glass of wine, Mason. Honest, I don’t bite.” She had the audacity to wink. “Unless you ask me to.”
Instantly, a carnal image rushed into his imagination. Her lips wrapped around him. Her teeth lightly grazing his flesh.
Mason bit back a groan.
She waved for him to follow. By the time he unlocked his knees and lurched forward again, she’d already poured two glasses of red wine. He accepted one large-bowled glass before joining her in the living room.
The decor was modern and minimalist. A low-slung leather sectional offered seating while another marble-topped table provided a place to set their glasses. She patted the sofa, and Mason obediently sat down beside her. A massive, sable shag rug covered the dark hardwood flooring. He cocked one brow.
“Don’t worry. It’s faux. No animals were harmed in its production.”
Mason leaned forward and linked his fingers over his lap. The woman was clearly a witch, able to read his thoughts. When she reached out and laid her hand on his thigh, he felt beads of sweat break over his brow.
“Relax.” She practically purred. “You seem so tense.”
Definitely a witch.
Mason felt her spell slip over him, tempting him to forget who he was and how he’d come to be here.
Desperate to remind himself of her recent trauma, he reached out and lightly stroked his finger below the bandage. “You’re—” his voice was rough. Raspy. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’re hurt.”
Instinctively, she started to pull away then seemed to check herself. “I’m fine.” Her smile was stiff and didn’t stretch to her eyes. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
Her forced bravado dampened his desire. She was vulnerable, and clearly not as sanguine as she seemed. Something soft unfurled inside him. Something less like want and more like need.
Her hand moved from where it lay. Upward. Closer to where his length still pushed against the confines of his jeans.
Before she reached him, he closed his fingers over her wrist. To soothe the minor rejection, he pressed his lips to the soft underside, where the veins met in a cluster of bluish-green.
“You’ve had a terrible scare tonight. Let’s not rush into anything you’ll consider a mistake tomorrow.”
He’d sure as hell have enough regrets for the both of them. For not taking everything she offered and giving more back again. She was a goddess. And he was turning her down.
Her cheeks flushed red, and her eyes seemed too bright in the dimly lit room. A false smile stretched widely across her face. She pulled her hand free of his. “Fine,” she bit out. She ducked her head, then quickly relented in a swift change of mood. “Fine,” she repeated softly. “You’re right, of course.”
Unable to do anything else, Mason chuckled. “Trust me, I don’t want to be.” He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers in a too-brief caress. “I’d like nothing more than to take you straight to bed and strip you naked. To make you beg, as I want to beg. To make you burn, as I burn.”
He smiled, rueful.
“But I’m not going to.” At her slight moue of disappointment, he continued. “If you feel the same way tomorrow, then you can find me at The Four Seasons. I’ll be in town a few more days.”
Mason heard the words but could scarcely believe they’d come from his own mouth. What was he doing? He was in Johannesburg to steal her diamonds. Not to save her, as he had. And certainly not to seduce her.
The tip of Margaux’s tongue snaked out to moisten her upper lip. Mason barely stopped himself from scooping her into his arms and doing all the things he’d fantasized about for the past ten minutes.
Instead, he grabbed his wine glass and downed half its contents in one, undignified gulp. His eyes veered wildly around the room, desperate to land anywhere but on the golden-haired perfection of the woman sitting too closely beside him.
A movement caught his attention, and it was several seconds before he realized it was his own reflection. He was staring at the bookcases again. One particular award was made from crystal, and its facets refracted the light into dozens of rainbows.
“You’re a Taylor,” he murmured. How could he have forgotten?
“What?”
Mason scrutinized Margaux. “Margaux Taylor. Of Taylor Diamond Corporation.”
Her eyes narrowed on his. “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”
How could such a beautiful woman be involved in such an ugly business?
Mason tried to remind himself of all the reasons he should be repelled. Yet, the energy between them was electric. Like two magnets, they were drawn inexorably closer.
He rose, keeping his back to her. “It’s time I got going.”
“Don’t.”
Surprised, he looked back to see her hand outstretched. Slowly, he rotated to face her.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she blurted. “And Julian still hasn’t returned.”
“Julian?” If she were involved, it would save him from this cursed attraction he felt. Perhaps, he prayed, there was a lover he didn’t know about. “Is he your husband?”
She stood, then laughed and laid her hand on his chest. Mason fought back a flinch, the heat of her hand scorching him through the fabric of his shirt.
He really needed to get the hell out of her apartment.
“No,” she chuckled in mock outrage. “I’d hardly have flirted with you if I’d been married.” She patted his chest. “Julian is my assistant. Normally, he would have been with me, but his driver had car trouble outside the city.”
Mason fought her bewitchment with the only tool left in his arsenal. Anger.
Before she could stop him, he strode to the door. “It was stupid of you to walk alone in downtown Johannesburg.” His tone was harsh, accusing. “Especially carrying…” Mason bit off what he’d been about to say, cursing himself for letting emotion get the better of him.
Suspicion darkened Margaux’s pale jade-green eyes. “Carrying what, Mason?”
“How should I know?”
“You shouldn’t. But maybe I was wrong about you.” She slipped between him and the exit. “After all, I never got a look at the person who tried to mug me. Maybe it was you. Maybe your presence was a little too convenient.” A
muscle throbbed in her jaw. She grasped the doorknob and rotated it. “You should leave. Now.”
“Perhaps I should.” He agreed, but for reasons best not examined right now. And her accusation rankled, even though he knew he’d originally intended to steal her diamonds, too.
Except he hadn’t. He’d rescued her instead, for all the good it did him.
He cupped her shoulder and idly rubbed her collarbone with his thumb. “I’ll go. But for the record, I wasn’t the man who assailed you. I was the man who stepped in to help you. Whatever you were carrying was safe because of me.” She breathed in to interrupt, but he didn’t allow it. “As for the contents of the case, I have no idea what was in there nor do I care to know. But it was pretty damn obvious whatever was in there was valuable. I’ve seen mothers protect their children with less zeal. And frankly, it wouldn’t be too hard to presume it was a case full of gemstones.” At her gasp, he sneered a little. “You’re a Taylor, after all. Plus, we’re sitting smack in the middle of the diamond district in Johannesburg, South Africa. Get real, Margaux. And rest easy knowing I have no interest in you or your diamonds.”
It was an extraordinary, astounding lie. But as a parting shot, it did the trick. Margaux blanched.
And Mason walked out her door, slamming it closed behind him.
Chapter 3
With fingers linked behind his head on the pillow, Mason stared up at the plastered ceiling of his hotel room. Bare-chested and wearing loose linen pajama pants, he’d kicked off most of the covers, finding it too hot even with the air conditioning turned down.
So much for luxury.
He should get up, book a flight back to Belgium, and pack. But inertia had him within its grip, and he remained lying in the bed.
He had no idea what time it was. The heavy drapes pulled across the windows didn’t allow for the tiniest sliver of sunlight to make its way through the thick velvet. Shifting to his side, he grabbed his thin, platinum watch from the bedside table.
Five a.m.
Too damned early to be awake, considering how late it had been when he’d returned after leaving Margaux’s and making a stop in one of the hotel bars downstairs. Mason huffed out a breath.
It was no use. Once awake, he tended to stay that way. Besides, it was never too early for coffee.
He dialed room service and ordered a pot of their darkest brew, along with eggs, bacon, and toast. He might as well get a hearty start on what would be a long day.
Ruefully, Mason eyed his laptop where it sat dark but open on a desk across the room. He would give most anything to call Ruby, tell her what had happened, and ask some advice. She would have him laughing off the events in no time, as she was sure to see the black humor in the whole farcical affair.
What were the odds of someone else trying to rob Margaux Taylor? On the same night and at the same time?
Mason shook his head, chuckling. He had to tell Ruby. Seriously, she was the only one who would truly appreciate the dark comedy of events.
He rose, stretching his arms high overhead then leaning over to touch the floor. He was stiff, unused to the limited physical activity of the last few days. He could have gone to the gym but preferred to exercise outside.
He missed being home in Antwerp.
He missed the smooth routine of working in his lab, growing diamonds better than nature itself produced.
Most of all, he missed the company of his horses.
There was a discreet knock on the door announcing the arrival of breakfast. Hotel staff rolled the cart near a table and set of chairs close to the window while Mason went to the closet to slip on a terrycloth robe.
“Would you like the drapes pulled, sir?”
“Yes, please.” Mason sat down at the table while they opened the curtains. It was early morning, and weak sunlight bathed the room, highlighting the burnished maize palette of the carpet and upholstery. Along with his breakfast, the hotel staff brought a small bouquet of yellow and orange lilies set amid glossy, pale ferns. Mason thought of Margaux, with her bright-blonde hair and jade-green eyes.
He shook his head. No point in going down that particular memory lane. He’d botched the mission. And if that weren’t bad enough, he’d blown his chances with Margaux Taylor.
Not that he wanted her, he hastily reminded himself. He was acquainted with plenty of women, many just like her. And the only reason he continued to move in their circles was because of his work with the Orphans.
Mason possessed a doctorate in chemical engineering with a master’s degree in geophysics. He could work anywhere. But he’d chosen to open and operate a complex, state-of-the-art laboratory that grew diamonds that were chemically identical to those mined from the earth.
After the hotel staff left, Mason rose to fetch his laptop. He would try Ruby. It couldn’t hurt, and she just might answer. He could apologize for their last conversation and, hopefully, gain some advice and insight into what he should do next about the diamonds he’d failed to steal.
He grinned while opening the computer and powering it up. Ruby would have a lot to say about the fact he’d been unable to get his hands on the stones.
In a better mood, he forked eggs and toast into his mouth while waiting for the video call to connect.
Ruby’s face filled the screen. Her dark-red hair was disheveled and she seemed to be sitting in the dark.
“Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.
Mason hastily laid down his fork. Shit. He’d forgotten how early it was here.
And it looked even earlier wherever Ruby was.
“Are you still in Monaco?”
His intention was to figure out what time it was on her end. But Ruby didn’t take it that way.
“You never quit, do you, Mason? You really believe you’re in charge of everyone.” She flipped her hair back behind her shoulder. “Well, whether I see or speak with Liam is my business. And mine alone, since it was me he followed to Monte Carlo. So piss off.”
The screen went dark.
Well, she certainly told him. Mason took a sip of rapidly cooling black coffee and closed his laptop. He continued to eat his breakfast, deep in thought.
What was with him and women these days? His mind clicked from Ruby back to Margaux.
He’d had his share of relationships over the years and could say with pride that they’d always been conducted with mutual respect and dignity. And if he was the one who usually ended things, it was only because he thought it best for both of them.
He cared about women, enjoyed their company and friendship.
Yet, Margaux had practically accused him of assaulting her.
He hadn’t, damn it. And just because he’d meant to steal from her didn’t preclude the fact that he’d saved her from possible grievous injury, as well as losing a fortune in diamonds.
For the first time since the disaster of last evening, he thought about the fact that someone beside himself wanted those diamonds too.
Why?
It could be the simple fact they were diamonds. And, therefore, likely worth a tremendous amount of money.
But what if someone else knew they weren’t from the mine Taylor Diamond Corporation was claiming? And, if so, why would they want them?
He turned over the possibilities. Despite the Kimberley Process, which was supposed to keep conflict diamonds off the market, Mason knew there were plenty that made it there regardless. The industry was rife with corruption and bribes. There were a lot of shady people interested in passing off blood diamonds as ones that were ethically mined.
Clara and the Orphans couldn’t be the only ones who searched out those conflict stones. But their group did it to remove the bad diamonds from the market. Maybe other people didn’t care about doing what was right. In fact, there were too many corrupt stones out there for it not to be a money-making enterprise.
But why? Why risk getting caught?
Mason picked up a strip of cold bacon and munched on it, absently wiping his fingers on
his napkin.
Despite all the blood diamonds on the market, there were way too few sellers being prosecuted. That meant a lot of dark deals, but what about when a firm like Taylor Diamond tried it on and then lost their lot?
Mason clicked his fingers then drained what was left of his cold coffee.
Easy. They never reported the thefts. There was probably an entire shadow enterprise of thieves stealing conflict gems from companies that were trying to pass them off. The companies couldn’t report the losses since the truth about the origin of the stones might be revealed.
Hell, it was brilliant in an evil sort of way.
As the Orphans’ resident master thief, Ruby was probably already aware of the level of illegal activity in the market now. In hindsight, he could see that she’d been seriously concerned for him when she’d joked about coming down to help him out.
Mason stood, stacking his breakfast dishes back on the silver cart to wheel out into the hall. He’d made no decisions about how to proceed from here. He needed those diamonds, but they were probably locked tight in Margaux’s apartment safe. She might take them to her lab today, but he didn’t see how that helped. She’d be on guard after last night, and it would be too much of a risk to approach her since she already suspected him.
He checked his watch and headed for the shower. It killed him to admit defeat, but he might have to consider the very real possibility that he would be returning to Antwerp without the Taylor diamonds.
Not to mention, he’d never see Margaux again. He started to shrug off his robe, but stopped, arrested.
His stomach sank, heavy with bacon, eggs, and an uncomfortable truth. Losing the diamonds was bad. Forfeiting his chance with the exacerbating, frustrating, but fascinating and provocative Margaux Taylor felt much, much worse.
He walked back into the main salon, absentmindedly tying his robe back on. Never, not once, had he been so intrigued or affected by a woman.
Why did it have to be her?
