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She glanced over to where he leaned casually against the doorjamb, arms folded. “Why?”
“The diamond does not leave the premises.”
“So I come around here when I feel like it? When I have a spare minute?” She shook her head. “That would take months.”
Quinn turned to the door and stretched his arm out, indicating she precede him. His steady gaze challenged her to refuse.
Cautiously Dani edged past him, down the hall away from the stairs. She paused at the next door. He leaned past her, pushing it open, and she took a couple of hesitant steps forward.
Long white curtains stirred at the open window, and she heard the sea lapping the sand beyond the trees. A huge bed, covered with shiny satin in bold red-and-gold stripes, took up most of one wall. Purple-shaded lamps on the bedside tables matched plump purple cushions scattered on the window seat. Dani felt the smile start; it was a dream of a bedroom, and to think she could hear the sea. She was still smiling when she turned around to see Quinn in a long-legged lean against the doorjamb, arms folded, a pose that was fast becoming disturbingly familiar.
Her smile faded as his intentions finally sank in. He expected her to stay here—alone—with him. “No,” she said firmly, even though he hadn’t asked the question yet.
His dark head tilted. “Those are my conditions. You stay here and work on the diamond in the room provided until the job is done.”
Frowning, she shook her head slowly.
“It’s not negotiable.”
Dani thought he sounded bored. “I’m not staying here alone with you.”
His eyes were scathing. “Don’t be puerile, Ms. Hammond. Just what do you think is going to happen?”
If his intention was to make her feel gauche and stupid, it worked. “Wh-what possible reason …?” she stammered, her cheeks burning.
“Security and expediency. It is an extremely valuable diamond and I am a busy man. I don’t have time to sit around up here in Nowhere-ville for a minute longer than necessary.”
Dani shook her head again. “No deal. Bring the stone to the shop. I’ll work on it between customers.”
Quinn’s brows raised. “I don’t think so,” he said softly, and, turning, left the room. But the certainty of his voice, his potent male presence remained.
Dani waited a couple of seconds, worried. There was sympathy in his face as he’d turned away. Her refusal had not even registered. A vision of being locked in, of pushing against him, pounding against his broad chest to get out, made her head swim.
She was being ridiculous. Quinn Everard was an internationally regarded man in the gem and fine arts world. He was not going to kidnap her. She started off after him. “Look, if you’re worried about theft, don’t be. There hasn’t been a robbery in town for years.”
“You don’t understand, Ms. Hammond.” He turned so sharply to face her that she almost bumped into his impressive chest. “This is a very special diamond.”
“It will be perfectly safe in the shop, and, anyway, I’m insured.”
His eyes bored into her, making her heart thump. She stepped back hurriedly, excruciatingly aware that he hadn’t given an inch.
“Have you heard of the Distinction Diamond, Danielle?”
“The Dist …?” Air punched out from her lungs and her heart thudded. Either that or her chin hit the floor. The Distinction Diamond was nearly forty carats of fancy intense yellow, originating from the Kimberley mines in South Africa. No one had heard of it for years. “You’ve got the Distinction Diamond?” Her swallow was audible. “Here?”
Quinn Everard could do scathing very well. Was it the curve of his lips or the dangerous glint that lit up his eyes? “No, Ms. Hammond.” He turned his back and continued on to the door next to “her” room. “I have her big sister.”
Two
Quinn turned his back and walked into his bedroom, smiling when he felt her creeping presence at the door. Opening the panel in the wall that concealed the safe, he began keying the code into a digital keypad. The whole house was burglar and smoke alarmed, including this room and the workroom. The safe was dual combination and key, complete with trembler sensor. His company had the best security money could buy. After all, it was vital in his business.
He glanced to where she fidgeted at the door, chewing on her bottom lip. Quinn miskeyed and the thing beeped at him. He swore softly, ordering himself to stop thinking about whiskey eyes and plump bottom lips. She was on the hook. It was time to reel her in.
He went through the elaborate security measures with exaggerated care, then took out a heavy steel box from which he lifted a hand-stitched leather case after a barrage of additional code numbers. A hydraulic mechanism raised a small velvet-covered platform on which the diamond sat. Reaching out, he flicked the desk lamp on. Then he faced her and tilted his head, giving her permission to come near.
She moved slowly into the room, her eyes on his face. The light from the lamp washed over her skin, and he thought again, as he had earlier on meeting her, that her face was all wrong, a contradiction. Wide-set, wild-honey eyes, a straight no-nonsense nose, and then rosebud lips, suggesting innocence and insecurity.
And just like earlier when he’d first looked at her, the impact jolted him. She’d attempted to tame her wildfire hair with a scarf, but still, dark red curls sprang up in interesting dimensions. Her colour sense was outrageous, combining a red-and-pink-striped top with a captivatingly short floral skirt. She was exotic, unconventional, bubbling over with life and energy. He knew more beautiful women, but none so colourful, so vibrantly original.
She looked down at the diamond on display for her, her eyes glowing. When she finally looked back at Quinn, the gratitude in her eyes stunned him. She would know well how few people had ever been given the opportunity to look upon this treasure.
Enjoy it, he thought grimly. If it were down to him, he wouldn’t have Danielle Hammond within one hundred metres of this baby, no matter how interesting her face.
She put out her hand. It hovered over the glow and she hesitated. “May I?”
Half of him wondered what the diamond would look like against her skin, her hair. The other half protested, Get the hell away from this diamond! But he had his orders. He nodded tersely.
Her slim hand dipped and the middle finger stroked lightly, reverently over the crown of the perfect octahedron. Then she took her hands away, crossed them in front of her body and just looked down at the stone, as if giving thanks to a god. Her lashes made shadows on her cheek.
“Do we have a deal, Ms. Hammond?” he asked quietly, reluctant to interrupt what was obviously an awe-inspiring moment for her. As it had been for him when he had procured this very special diamond for his client six years ago.
“I have a choice?” she murmured.
He knew she didn’t. No jeweller in her right mind would say no to this opportunity.
She continued, “Since you’re blackmailing me …”
Quinn smiled at her nice recovery. “Of course I am.” He knew that she would crawl over broken glass to get her hands on this stone, blackmail or not. Money or not.
He perched on the edge of the desk. “The conditions are these—you stay here in the house for the duration of the work. You work on it day and night if possible. You tell no one about this stone.”
She sucked in a breath. “I have a life, you know.”
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head decisively. “Not for the next few weeks.”
“And my shop?”
Quinn had initiated a decent conversation with the young hippie called Steve in her little shop this morning. “Your assistant needs more hours. His partner is pregnant. They’re struggling financially.”
Dani frowned. “You found all that out in a couple of minutes?”
“I did not draw your name out of a hat, Ms. Hammond,” he said sharply. While he couldn’t blame her for being surprised, his reputation alone should have swayed her. Put that together with one of the most incredible stones the world had ever seen and it was unfathomable that he was still trying to persuade her.
“What sort of setting?”
Quinn shrugged. “You’re the designer.”
“I mean,” she sighed, “pendant? Brooch? What type of piece? I didn’t see any cutting gear.”
He drew himself up to full height. “You will not touch this stone with anything but your fingers, do you hear?”
Danielle Hammond rolled her eyes at him. “Of course not, but I may use other gems.” She eyed him speculatively. “You are supplying findings? Platinum, diamonds, the whole deal?”
“As long as you keep the stone whole, you have carte blanche to design whatever you like. I will need to approve a model and a list of your requirements.”
“This could take weeks….”
“You have three, less is preferable. The accommodation is acceptable?”
She nodded.
“I will feed you. Everything you need for the job is there. All you need to do is tap into your talent and work.”
“Who’s it for?”
Quinn opened his mouth, staring at her face. “A friend,” he said shortly. “A special friend.”
Dani nodded, and he could almost hear her mind ticking over. That was his brief; she was not to know who commissioned the piece. No harm letting her think there was a special lady friend. “Do we have a deal?”
She exhaled noisily and stared down at the diamond as if for reassurance.
Just to play with her longing, he closed the lid—slowly.
“I want half the money up front,” she said, “and throw in Steve’s wages.”
He scowled. “How very Blackstone of you.” Her family connections were his main objection to the deal. Quinn had no time for anyone bearing the Blackstone stamp and was sorely tempted to delegate this job to one of his staff. But it was a sensitive matter, one which he’d reluctantly agreed to handle personally.
He picked the box up off the desk, noting with pleasure the regret and loss in her eyes as she watched him put it away.
“This is going to be a barrel of laughs,” Dani muttered from behind his back.
“The sooner you get on with it, the quicker we can go our separate ways.” He banged the safe door closed. “I’ll take you home to pack and make arrangements.”
When he turned back to her, she was rubbing the side of her long pale neck, eyes closed, her head rolled back. Quinn teetered on the edge of a rogue wave of desire so intense that it stopped him dead in his tracks. Behind her, not two feet away, his king-size bed sprawled, inspiring all sorts of suggestive images.
Her eyes snapped open, finding his gaze immediately. “No need. My place is only a minute or two from here.”
He gestured to the door. “I’ll drive you,” he said firmly, intent on getting her out of his bedroom.
Quinn prowled her living room while she packed and made arrangements to cover her absence from her shop. He was fond of his comforts, and the climate up here in Northern Queensland was not to his liking. Luckily, unlike Dani’s tiny apartment in a dated resort complex, the beach house was equipped with an excellent air-conditioning system. He wiped the back of his neck while she scurried about packing with the phone plastered to her ear. The prospect of baby-sitting a spoiled girl with an artistic temperament and inflated opinion of her own talent, whilst sweltering in the suffocating humidity, was not a good one.
His internal temperature soared even higher when later that afternoon, after settling in at his rental, his house guest took a swim. Quinn’s office window offered an unobstructed view of the pool. His work forgotten, he stood at the window, watching the long-legged, flame-haired beauty. She wore long shorts and an oversize T-shirt; perfectly respectable attire—until it got wet. Quinn turned the air-conditioning dial down a couple of notches and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.
For the first time in many years, he wanted, with a savage unrelenting intensity. He was certainly not celibate, but preferred older, cultured and financially independent women. Women with similar interests and social mores as he. Danielle Hammond looked to be mid-to-late twenties and certainly had the wealth of the Blackstones behind her, but they were light-years apart.
It was totally undignified to stand at a window, salivating over the sights of wet fabric clinging lovingly to a fine pair of breasts, and of water streaming down well-toned, lightly tanned legs. He was much too discriminating to crave the slide of her wet, spiralling curls on his burning skin. Wasn’t he?
He returned to his desk, pushing aside the unwelcome intrusion. This wasn’t supposed to be a holiday, he chided himself. The next Famous Paintings auction was only days away. It was frustrating to be stuck here for such an important date on his professional calendar, but at least he had a contact to inspect a very special lot number for one of his most important clients.
Clearing his head one final time, he refocussed his attention where it belonged. On his work. He remained at his desk until Danielle interrupted him, after the dinner hour. Apparently she was ready to work and wanted the diamond to be brought to the workroom.
Quinn set it up on the workbench and watched her circle the desk, her small digital camera clicking and whirring as she took snapshot after snapshot.
He was totally absorbed by her concentration, not to mention her lithe form bending and stretching, and the interesting strain of fabric across her rump and thighs as she crouched and circled. So when she suddenly straightened and looked at him, he was a few seconds behind the eight ball.
Her finely arched brows seemed to mock him. “What’s she like?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your lady friend. The one you’re giving the diamond to.”
“Like?”
She looked at the ceiling briefly. “Her height and build. I don’t want to design something dainty for a big strapping girl. Or vice versa.”
Quinn hesitated. It wasn’t an unreasonable request.
Tonight she wore flowing baggy summer pants of an indeterminate colour that fell between pewter and light brown. A purple lacy top accentuated her shape, which was, he conceded, a work of art. A strip of matching fabric tied bandanna-style kept her forehead free of springy curls, and lime-green beads circled her throat. “Five nine, five ten.” He shrugged. “Slender but strong-looking.”
Dani held the camera up, checking the images. Quinn noted with surprise that her nails were short and some of them jagged, as if she chewed them.
“Pale or tan?” she asked distractedly.
“Lightly tanned,” he told her. “Freckles.”
Click, click. “Okay. Hair?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she lowered the camera and frowned at him. “What colour is her hair?”
Several superlative responses came to mind, but while he was deciding which best described her vibrant curls, her frown gave way to sarcasm. “You’re a little unobservant, Mr. Everard. Do you have a photo, perhaps?”
His mouth quirked. “Red. Dark red.” He pursed his lips, wondering when she would twig. “Curly.”
Her brows arched up to kiss the edge of the bandanna.
“Rather multifaceted in style,” Quinn went on, warming to his task. “Unconventional, definitely. Some would say bohemian, but that’s not it … She’s like no one else.” And that was the truth. Her use of colour, breaking all the fashion rules, should have offended a conservative like himself, yet somehow, it charmed the hell out of him. Living with Danielle Hammond, he knew, would never be boring.
Dani pursed her lips sternly. “You have good taste in women, Mr. Everard,” she told him smartly, and put the camera down with a sharp thud. “Contemporary bling, then, for the lady.”
“Knock yourself out.” Quinn pushed himself away from the doorjamb, trying not to be horrified about her terminology in reference to this diamond. He’d spent hours trying to talk his client out of this, citing Danielle’s age and inexperience.
Surprisingly though, he smiled all the way down the hall, pleased with himself, and with her. Maybe the next few weeks wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Dani Hammond had a bite to her. She seemed smart—almost street-smart—and Quinn knew all about that.
But how did she, with her luxurious upbringing?
Sightings of Dani were scarce the next couple of days as she immersed herself in her design. She worked late and rose late. Mid-morning she would request he bring the diamond to the workroom. He restored it to the safe on his way to bed. He kept the refrigerator stocked and was thankfully spared the ignominy of standing by the window like a Peeping Tom, because she didn’t use the pool again. Most of the food he prepared went to waste as she said she was too busy to be hungry. Despite himself, and without seeing any tangible results yet, he was impressed by her dedication.
The third night, she joined him for dinner, an impressive meal catered by one of Port Douglas’s surprisingly fine restaurants.
“Why me?” she asked over coffee. “You must know twenty world-class designers who would gnaw off their right hand to ingratiate themselves with you.”
