by Kat Faitour
Still laughing, he completely ignored her feeble attempts and arranged her legs over his lap then looped both arms around her to keep her in place.
He leaned forward, and she briefly entertained the crazed idea of head butting him. While amusing, she’d more likely hurt herself on his undoubtedly thick skull.
Plus, it would be undignified. But she’d be damned before she’d be a complete pushover.
She turned her cheek, but rather than try to kiss her, he moved his mouth close to her ear.
“I’m sorry.”
The words whispered through her, sincere and simple. She looked down and smoothed her hands over her knees, unsettled. He took the opportunity to place her headphones back on before adjusting the microphone so they could more easily speak again.
“Forgive me. I have no right or basis to judge you,” he said quietly.
He was eyeing her, his gaze level.
“Then why did you?”
He huffed out a sigh, looking as acutely uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him.
“I didn’t expect it, but seeing the mine upset me.” His arms momentarily tightened around her. “My father was an engineer. He was killed in a mine collapse.”
Oh God. Without a word, Margaux pulled him into a hard embrace. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
She thought he might have said, “Me too.”
Either way, Mason didn’t have to push at all. She was his.
At least for today.
Chapter 5
Mason shifted in his chair, uncomfortably aware he was procrastinating. It was mid-morning, yet he’d put off the necessary phone call he needed to make. Margaux had left well over an hour before to return home, shower, then go to work in her lab.
After the rocky start in the helicopter, they’d had a magical day playing tourists around various parts of South Africa. Then they’d returned to his hotel where they’d spent the entire night locked in each other’s arms.
Just when Mason thought the sex couldn’t get any better, it did. And just when he thought he could keep his head above water with their affair, he sank.
Worse, he was still very, very unsure of her.
And that wouldn’t bode well with Clara. He inhaled, held it, then blew out his breath on a rush of air. All the moving parts weren’t in place, but he simply couldn’t put off contacting his mentor any longer.
He opened his laptop and tapped in her number to initiate a video call. After several rings, Clara Bridges’ face filled the screen. An off-white wall served as background.
“Hello, Mason. I’ve been wondering about you.” As was typical, she was neatly attired in a dark blazer with matching black turtleneck to accommodate the Amsterdam winter. Short, silver hair waved back from her remarkably unlined face. Onyx eyes looked back at him with a mixture of humor and patience.
Mason ran a finger underneath his collar, pulling his shirt away from his neck. “I’m sure you have. I apologize I haven’t been in touch sooner.”
“You’re still in Johannesburg.” It was a statement, not a question, and Mason was left to wonder how Clara always seemed to know everything about him. All the Orphans, actually.
“I am.” He girded himself before blurting out the worst. “The robbery was a bust, Clara. I didn’t get the lot of diamonds.”
She nodded, her face impassive. “Okay.”
She didn’t ask what happened, but Mason felt the need to defend himself. “Someone else tried to beat us to it. In fact, I was there when it happened and saved the case from being taken.”
Again, Clara nodded.
Mason rushed ahead. “Obviously, Margaux still has the stones. But I’ve figured out a way to handle this.”
“Go on.”
“Margaux and I have developed a r—“ Mason was reluctant to admit just how close he’d gotten with Margaux. “A rapport.” He took a sip of sparkling water, his throat dry. “I’ve suggested the attempted robbery might be the fault of someone near her, who knew what her routine would be that night.”
“And do you think that’s true?”
Mason shook his head. “No, I don’t. I think it was a random mugging. She was walking alone in the diamond district after dark with a metal case that looked like the American version of the nuclear football. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was carrying valuables of some sort.”
“So why are you trying to convince her otherwise? That the attack was planned by someone on the inside?”
“Because it’s important she trusts me.” He paused, swallowed. “I’ve been thinking. There’s no need to completely abandon our mission to get the diamonds. But instead of stealing them outright, we can do a switch—the blood diamonds for our lab-grown ones.”
Clara dropped her eyes, and Mason could see her lean back in her seat. When she looked up again, her gaze was direct. “We discussed this, Mason. A switch doesn’t get Taylor Corporation to stop trying to pass off conflict diamonds again. Stealing the stones keeps them off the market.”
“I know, I know. But we’d still be stealing the dirty stones and removing them from trade.” He kept his voice low and steady. Clara was always a tough sell when it came to changing a plan. But he’d managed before, and he’d do so again. “Let me finish. By planting doubt in Margaux’s mind about her team, I think I can convince her to let my people—us, the Orphans—do the cutting and polishing. The attempted robbery set her back on her heels. She’s wary and vulnerable. If I can get her to let us process the stones, then the risk of doing a switch falls to near zero.”
Clara sighed, and Mason saw frustration war with disappointment on her face.
“You’re still not solving the bigger problem, Mason. After you do a switch—assuming that goes to plan as seamlessly as you say, which I doubt—the stones will be sold, and Taylor will think they can get away with passing off blood diamonds for ones from legitimate mines. It will only encourage them to continue the practice rather than stop.”
In his eagerness to alter the proposed plan after his botched attempt at stealing, Mason hadn’t fully considered his argument. He pressed his lips together, frantically thinking through the obstacles. He should have done this already. And he knew, deep in a tightly knotted part of his gut, that he would have if he weren’t so distracted by Margaux Taylor. If he didn’t get a handle on himself, the woman was bound to ruin him.
He clenched his teeth and pushed back his shoulders as the solution presented itself clearly in his mind.
Of course.
“Okay, I have an idea. What if we do the switch as planned, but once our stones are sold, we leak that they’re fakes. Not mined diamonds at all, but lab-grown ones. It would positively ruin Taylor’s reputation. Which is what they really deserve, if we’re honest.”
She was silent for several long moments. Mason knew better than to press her when she was thinking something through. Clara Bridges would not be rushed, pressured, or otherwise compelled to do anything she thought would be to the detriment of the Orphans.
“It might work,” she conceded. “Or it could spectacularly backfire.”
“How so? I think it lowers our risk.”
“And I think your judgment has become clouded.” She sighed again and warned off Mason’s instinctive denial by holding up her hand, palm outward. “You yourself said the detection techniques for lab grown diamonds is advancing every day. You’ll be trying the switch in Antwerp, where the best labs with the best equipment reside. It’s risky. And it’s even more risky if you start thinking it’s not.”
Mason gave one sharp nod of his head. She was right.
“We can use some of our inside people to help out,” she continued. “They can either facilitate the switch after the stones are analyzed or make sure they’re not analyzed at all but falsify certification reports. We can discuss the details later.” She tapped her upper lip with her index finger while Mason held his breath, waiting.
He couldn’t say why it was so important for Clara to approve his plan. But h
e did know her support was important to him, as was her respect.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“Once you leak that the stones are fakes, there will be no going back. Margaux Taylor will need to save face, and her father will need to save his business. Our lab will be revealed as the one who perpetrated the fraud. Your business will lose credibility. And the Orphans will be finished.”
Mason reared back in his chair. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was a critical error in his thinking.
“Then I’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t reveal us.”
Clara shook her head, her lips downturned in a sad smile. “Oh, Mason. You’re involved with her, aren’t you?”
He leaned forward, hands clasped together as if her were praying. “I’ve messed up, but I can fix this. I just need some time. Trust me, Clara. I would never do anything to jeopardize you or any of the others. You have to know that.”
This time, Clara’s silence was loaded with an unbearable tension.
“I’ll agree with your plan for now, only because it’s that or give up on obtaining the Taylor diamonds altogether. But please be careful—and for God’s sake, try to think of a different way of protecting the Orphans from the fallout. And Mason?”
“Yeah?” his voice sounded flat and tired, even to his own ears.
“Never underestimate the damage a woman can do when she feels she’s been betrayed.”
He nodded, unable to meet Clara’s eyes. Since sleeping with Margaux, he’d never given thought to their unavoidable ending. She would never forgive his deception. And betrayal was inevitable.
His stomach rolled, leaving a sour taste in the back of his mouth.
Mercifully, Clara interrupted his thoughts. “There’s one other thing I want to talk to you about. It’s off topic.”
Thankful for the reprieve, Mason straightened in his seat. “Okay. What is it?”
“Ruby.” Her brown knitted. “Have you spoken with her?”
“No, not for over a week. She’s upset with me.”
“It’s as I suspected, then. She’s gone dark, dropped off the radar. And she hasn’t answered any of my calls.”
Mason chewed his thumbnail. It wasn’t completely out of character for Ruby to drop off the grid, but as far as he knew, she never avoided Clara.
Clara rubbed her hands together, her face pensive. “Well, that’s it then. Tomorrow, I’ll head to Monte Carlo.”
“Where are you now?” It wasn’t an unusual thing for Mason to have to ask. Besides Amsterdam, Clara held apartments in Stockholm, Brussels, and London.
She surprised him by chuckling. “Actually, I’m at your house.”
Mason cocked his head. “Yeah?” Clara had a suite on his estate that she frequently used. But usually, she informed him of her visit in advance. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes. I just had a hankering to visit the horses. They’re soothing.” Mason heard the faint sound of her thrumming her fingers on the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll find Ruby.”
“Why do you think she’s still in Monte Carlo? She agreed to leave.”
Clara’s face seemed to sag a little, for once hinting at her true age.
“Simple. Because that’s where Liam is.”
* * *
Across town in the diamond district, Margaux stepped out of a hired car, the metal case of stones firmly grasped in one hand. It was still very early, and the air was cooler where the sun had yet to brighten and warm the shaded, concrete sidewalks.
Despite the pleasure of the day before spent with Mason, Margaux was angry with herself, a feeling she wasn’t particularly familiar with. As a rule, she didn’t practice emotional self-flagellation. Nor was she prone to regret, being utterly comfortable with indulgence, gratification, and satisfaction.
She worked hard. She also played hard. And ordinarily, she saw no earthly reason to apologize for that.
But she was also a professional. It was a trait she practiced faithfully, especially considering her place in the company had been guaranteed by birth rather than brilliance.
Not that she wasn’t smart. She’d excelled by every academic measure, had even completed her graduate studies in business, as befit her executive position within Taylor Diamond Corporation. She always met—and exceeded—what was expected of her peers. Even her assistant Julian had obtained his graduate degree at her suggestion.
As far as Margaux was concerned, it made them a formidable and respected team within the company. And that was not only desirable but necessary in the competitive world of diamond trading.
Normally, Julian would have been with her as she went to work, especially after the debacle of the failed robbery. But she hadn’t been able to tell him she still hadn’t brought the stones to the lab. Until today.
He’d have blown a gasket, she was sure, and with legitimate cause. She’d been unforgivably lax since she’d arrived in Johannesburg. If she weren’t naturally confident, she would find her actions humiliating. She liked men and fully enjoyed their company. But they had their place in her life and it didn’t interfere with her career.
Mason had been an exception, but that would stop today. She’d taken the time to be with him yesterday—needing it—if only to prepare herself for the end.
She wasn’t sure that had worked. Unexpectedly, her breath hitched, and the back of her throat ached.
What was it about Mason Graff that made her feel things she never had? She was acting out of character, yet at the same time, she couldn’t help but believe she was more herself in the past week than in years. Maybe ever.
She’d set up an easel in her bedroom at the apartment, determined to seize the creative spark that had risen up, catching her by surprise. She loved to paint; it was a passion of hers that she largely kept to herself. But never had she felt so driven, so compelled to put paint to canvas, desperate to capture the images her mind conjured.
Mason couldn’t be bad for her, could he? Not if he provoked that level of passion and vitality.
It was a question she couldn’t answer and one she wouldn’t allow Julian to ask. Which was why she’d come to the lab early and alone, long before he could rise and challenge her.
Margaux flipped open the leather wallet containing her Taylor ID as she neared the building that housed their labs. A discreet metal box contained a card reader, and she pressed her ID close so it would scan.
A green light flashed, and she heard the outer door unlock. Pushing her way inside, she remembered another lapse from the day before. Early in the day, she’d asked Andrew, the manager of her lab, to meet her after hours but so he could begin his preliminary analysis of the stones once she delivered them.
Good God, she hoped he hadn’t waited too long before leaving.
Heat flushed Margaux’s face and body as she recalled what she and Mason had been doing instead. He’d convinced her to return with him to his hotel. Later, when she offered a token suggestion that she should leave, he’d set to convincing her to stay.
And he’d succeeded. Resoundingly.
Margaux couldn’t help a small smile of satisfaction, even though she was simultaneously irritable with herself. She would call her lab manager and apologize. Then she’d ask him to come in this morning as early as possible. In the meantime, she would get to work on her own assessment.
Stepping out of the elevator, she was slightly surprised to see all the lights in the lab turned on, the bright fluorescent bulbs shining an unforgiving light on the equipment and soapstone counters. She was still in the hallway outside, but large picture windows allowed her to see everything in the room. No one appeared to be working.
Usually, whoever was last to leave shut all the lights off and locked up. Experimentally, she tugged on the outer door and it swung open freely.
Odd.
She made her way inside, her steps hesitant as she rested the case of diamonds on a lab table. The room was completely silent, except for the low hum of
the equipment coupled with a subdued buzzing from the lights overhead. Squinting a little, she reached for the panel beside the door and pressed a button. Immediately, a few strategic bulbs were extinguished and the light—though still bright—dimmed to a more respectable, workable level.
Also odd.
The team joked about the lighting in the lab, calling the room’s brightness equal to a landing strip if all the bulbs were turned on. A few years ago, as a surprise, she’d had the panel refitted so the team could adjust the lighting to align with their preferences.
The room suddenly felt abnormally artificial and still. Nerves ratcheted Margaux’s pulse rate until the pounding of her heart was all she could hear. A chill shivered up her spine, and she crossed her arms, feeling at once fearful and foolish.
She rolled her shoulders and straightened. This was ridiculous. She had work to do—work that was actually overdue. She couldn’t stand around like a simpleton, spooked by absolutely nothing.
Labs were sterile, quiet, well-lit spaces. This was normal.
A row of pegs on the wall held the staff’s lab coats. She reached the far end and took down the one with her name embroidered on it. Slipping it on, she immediately felt more at ease and warmer in the artificially cooled room. With a small chuckle at her own expense, she walked toward the stereo system, sure that a little Mozart would further settle her nerves.
Good grief, she’d never been this high-strung in her entire life.
An old-school, classic iPod sat in the sound system’s dock, and she picked it up to scroll through the endless list of artists. As she did so, a splash of red caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.
Her finger remained poised over the music device as she walked to the lab bench at the far end of the room. The smell reached her first, slightly sweet, damp, and metallic. Dark blood pooled on the counter’s surface and dripped over the side where it lay congealing on the tile floor below.
And beside the blood was Andrew. Her lab manager lay inert and unmoving, a gaping head wound splitting the back of his scalp from crown to nape.
