by Dani Collins
“I’m out. It’s okay. You don’t have to come,” Rozalia told her.
Gisella asked if she was coming home, then offered to come anyway, to wait with Rozalia until the lawyers closed the file.
“I’m not sure how long it will take. Can we talk later? I have to call Mom,” Rozalia said.
“Yes, of course, but Rozi—Forget the earring, okay? It’s not worth this kind of trouble.”
Rozi. He liked that.
“Will you talk to Grandmamma about it?” She flicked him a glance of consternation. “I don’t think we have the full story.” Her phone buzzed midcall. “Oh, there’s Mom, trying to reach me again. I need to go. I love you!”
The next call was full of tears on the American side of the screen, and many reassurances from Rozalia that she was fine. She was sorry she had caused a fuss. It was a misunderstanding. He lost track of the many ways she downplayed the situation.
“Why are you even still looking for those silly earrings?” her mother asked. “I thought you two had grown out of that.”
“My phone is dying, Mom. I’ll call you later, after I’ve had a shower and slept.”
She clicked off her phone and dropped it into her purse, then took stock as she realized they were arriving at a private airfield. Her eyes were red with emotion and now sharpened with accusation.
“I thought you were putting me on a bus.”
“A bus,” he repeated. “I do enjoy your sense of humor, Rozi. I’ve never been on a bus in my life.”
The car stopped next to his helicopter and he escorted her into it.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE FLEW THE chopper with a copilot, which left her with no opportunity to talk to him, but that suited her fine. Was she supposed to thank him for getting her out of jail when he’d put her there?
Arresting you was overeagerness on their part.
Maybe, but he could have called her first thing this morning, rather than involving the police. Of course, if she had been some sort of international jewel thief, as he seemed to suspect, a phone call inquiring about the earring would have been her cue to get herself out of Dodge.
But she didn’t want to see his side of it. She wanted to stay affronted and acrimonious because even if her arrest had been a misunderstanding, the way he had accused her of trying to trade her virginity for that earring was still insulting and hurtful.
She brooded the entire flight, only becoming aware of her surroundings as she saw the fading light hitting the Carpathian Mountains as they grew larger before them.
He landed behind a beautiful chalet tucked on a small plateau on the side of a valley.
“Your luggage was retrieved from the hotel. I’ll bring it inside,” he said as he helped her down to the lawn. “If the housekeeper is here, she’ll unpack it for you.”
She shrugged that off, capable of handling her own luggage and not wanting to talk to anyone right now. Instead of following him into the kitchen, she went up the steps at the side of the house to a veranda that circled around to jut out over the canyon. On one side, the view went up the valley to a lake puddled in a forest-rimmed plateau. The water was turning navy while the sky above it was stained pink and mauve. The water overflowed in a dozen small trickles that cascaded off the cliff in slivers of silver lace down a wall of greenery into the boulder-strewn river below.
In the other direction, the river widened and calmed as it meandered into foothills. A quaint village in the distance was a jumble of stone buildings and red tile roofs around the steeple of a church.
As she stood drinking in the sheer majesty of the world before her, she heard the whine and patter of the helicopter starting up. A moment later, it rose behind the house and faded back the way they’d come.
He hadn’t even said goodbye. She swallowed, wondering why she was so bereft when this was exactly what she wanted—privacy to deal with all she’d been through since meeting him yesterday afternoon. She ought to breathe the biggest sigh of relief, but her chest ached. She hadn’t expected he would disappear without saying another word to her, like he was discarding garbage at the landfill.
The door into the house clicked and Viktor came out to join her.
She jolted with surprise.
“I thought you left!” Panic returned in a rush as she strained and couldn’t hear the helicopter at all. Leaving without saying anything would have been rude, but, “You’re not staying here, are you?”
“Of course. The housekeeper stocked the kitchen and left some food we can warm later. If we need anything, she can bring it when she comes back in a few days.”
A few days?
She looked to the distant roofs of the village, wondering how long it would take her to walk there, in the dark. They must have a hotel of sorts, but would they have a room? Was there a taxi service in such a small town?
How much room was left on her credit card and how much would she need to get herself back to Budapest for her flight home?
“You told your mother you wanted to shower and sleep,” Viktor reminded. “Shall I show you your room?”
She wanted that so badly, she nodded dumbly, abandoning the idea of leaving.
Maybe if the house hadn’t been so exquisitely perfect, she might have clung to independence. Anxiety and weariness overwhelmed her, though, and she instinctively relaxed as she entered the interior of the house.
It was a very modern home and a feat of clever architecture, providing stunning views of the dusk-cloaked landscape from every window while leaving the impression it hung in midair on the side of the canyon. A few of the family’s cherished antiques and priceless art pieces had made their way here, putting a classic stamp on the decor, but the high ceilings and earthy tones made it very much a retreat.
She was a city girl who walked through Central Park or went to the seaside to get back to nature. This forested vista was postcard beautiful and the kind of five-star surroundings she only experienced if her cousin spoiled her with a spa day.
“Is this your mother’s room?” she asked as he brought her to a decidedly feminine bedroom with a luxurious en suite.
“She decorated this house over the tablet. I’m the only one who comes here. But the house was designed with the expectation I would bring a wife and family here one day. I use the adjoining room.” He pointed to a pair of doors that would remain closed and locked, if she had anything to do with it.
“You think your future wife is going to appreciate you letting—” What should she call herself? Not his lover. His affair? His one-night stand? “—some other woman use this room before her?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
“We won’t.”
He didn’t reply to that, only asked impassively, “Are you hungry?”
“Tired.” It wasn’t a lie. Mostly she needed time to regroup. He was too disturbing with his air of containment while being so watchful. She felt both judged and pitied. She didn’t know if she was supposed to be angry or obliged.
Most of all, she kept thinking about the last time they’d been in a bedroom, naked and—
“I’d like a bath and to charge my phone. Is there Wi-Fi?”
He gave her the code and she locked herself into her room—not missing the irony of longing to get out of jail only to cage herself here, but this was voluntary and she needed time to think.
She tried to relax in the bath but went to bed with her mind still a whirl of confusion. It took her a long time to fall asleep. When she did, she slept until noon the following day. Some of her exhaustion was leftover jet lag and the aftermath of her horrendous experience in jail. A lot of it was a pity party. Every time she woke and remembered where she was, she decided she wasn’t ready to face whatever was beyond those doors. Wasn’t ready to speak to Viktor again. She rolled over and went back to sleep.
At one point she spent an hour answering texts fr
om family, assuring everyone she was fine, but she was worried about Gisella. It sounded like she was seeing a lot of Kaine and was beholden to him because of her arrest. Rozi threw her arm over her eyes, wishing she hadn’t put Gisella in that position, and silently promised her cousin she would fix it as soon as she got herself home.
Then she sought the blackout of sleep again.
When her stomach threatened to hunt down and kill something, she rose to fill it. She dressed in her yoga tights and a long T-shirt, then crept down the stairs. In the kitchen, a single plate was in the sink with a knife and fork.
The coffee pot was off, but the dregs in the carafe were still tepid. When she peeked back out to the lounge, she noticed a door off it, not closed completely. She could hear Viktor speaking Italian.
She put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then stood at the window. The mist off the waterfalls was casting rainbows against the granite wall behind them.
Damn this man’s world and its spellbinding magic.
She started fresh coffee, then searched the fridge and cupboards, deciding to make palacsinta since the ingredients were here. The crepes were a comfort food for her and she really needed a taste of home right now.
Viktor entered as she was setting the small table in the kitchen nook. Had she thought twice about making enough for him? Absolutely. But she was not above taking the high ground out of spite, to prove she was better than someone she was mad at.
She just wished she could keep a firm grasp on her malevolence. Instead, she found herself feeling defensive, reacting to the sight of him, heart turning over while a shy smile of greeting tried to form on her lips. The ambivalence caused a physical ache behind her breastbone.
He wore dark pants with a cuff and a button shirt open at the throat. He’d shaved this morning and the spice of his aftershave was still faintly evident. His eyes held dark circles and his mouth was tense and unsmiling. He carried in an empty coffee mug and a plate with a few toast crumbs on it.
“Jó reggelt,” he said, even though it was pushing midafternoon.
His voice caused a shiver of chill bumps all over her body.
“Good morning,” she replied, pouring fresh coffee for him with an unsteady hand, then freshening her own.
“Thank you,” he said.
She could feel the heat off his body and the crackle of dynamic energy he stored beneath that taut skin of his.
He was a powerful man. There was no denying it. Right or wrong, it was the way the world worked that the police would leap to do his bidding and suspect the outsider, the young woman with less money and an unknown reputation. If she had stolen the earring, arresting her would have been exactly what ought to have happened.
In fact, given that she had come all the way here to see the earring, it wasn’t a stretch of anyone’s imagination that she would be the first suspect when it went missing.
“Where was the earring?” She carried the plates of crepes, one savory, one sweet, to the table.
His mouth tightened as though he had to take firm control of his temper. “It was moved.”
“By someone on your staff?”
“By a woman my mother wishes for me to marry.”
“You’re engaged?” She nearly dropped the plates.
“Not even close. Eat. You have to be hungry.” He held a chair for her.
She had been snacking on fruit the entire time she’d been cooking, but lowered into the chair, freezing as a horrific thought occurred.
“When was she there?” she asked with appalled dread. “She wasn’t downstairs when—”
“No,” he cut in flatly. “She came by after you’d left. Endre didn’t realize you’d gone so he didn’t disturb me. He sent her away as quickly as he could.”
“Oh.” She had arranged a pretty array of fresh fruit and helped herself to it along with yogurt and muesli. “You didn’t invite her, then.”
“My mother had, without telling me.” He sat and took a serving of the crepes. “She has encouraged Trudi to believe she is in contention for becoming my wife. Trudi saw a paparazzi photo of our arrival at the house. She was dismayed I had brought home a dinner guest when she thought she had a date with me.”
“It’s her fault I wound up in a cell? Moving the earring was a deliberate effort to have me blamed?”
“She claims it was for safekeeping, but you have a right to your outrage.”
Rozi couldn’t take that in. What sort of person did that?
“Your ring obviously means a lot to you. Did you make it?”
She sensed he was trying to change the subject to something less contentious. She glanced at the ring she rarely removed. “Gisella did.”
“May I?” he held out his hand.
She tentatively offered hers, bracing herself for the zing as he gently clasped her fingers and studied the rose gold setting of vine leaves around the rainbow mosaic inside a black opal. Small diamonds glistened as dewdrops against the leaves, giving the ring some sparkle, but Rozalia wasn’t someone who flaunted and flashed. Gisella knew that. It was fairly understated unless you took the time to study it.
Viktor used his thumb to move the ring incrementally, watching the shift of colors inside the stone.
“Half the time people think it’s a mood ring, which suits me. Otherwise I might get mugged,” she joked, trying not to react to his innocuous touch, but her nerve endings were jittering. “It’s actually quite a rare stone. Blues and greens are common and flecks of red aren’t unusual, but this one has pinks and yellows. Even glints of gold.”
“It’s an opal?”
“The least practical gem,” she agreed with a rueful twitch of her mouth. “They can crack, but Gizi knows I adore them. The way it’s cut and set should protect it from all but deliberate mistreatment, though.”
“It’s more than meets the eye on first glance.” His gaze lifted to hers and something in his tone made her heart stutter. “Was it a birthday present?”
“A graduation gift.” She withdrew her hand and nervously picked up her fork, accidentally clanking it against the edge of her plate. “We’re the same age and do almost everything together. School, apprenticeship... Our uncle commissioned us to make a ring for each other and left it to us to judge whether we had mastered our vocation.”
Viktor’s brows went up with interest. He reached for his cutlery while keeping his attention firmly on her, encouraging her to expand on that.
“Making jewelry on spec is one thing and you’ll almost always find a buyer for your vision if you wait long enough, but if you want to make a living, you have to be able to set aside your own preferences and give the customer what appeals to them. This isn’t anything like what Gisella would make for herself.” Rozi rotated her wrist. “She made what she knew I would love and I do. So I said she was ready.”
“What did you make for her?”
She glanced for her phone, wishing she could protest that she’d left it upstairs, but it was right there where his long arm easily snagged it off the end of the counter.
She flicked to pull up the art deco ring of tapered baguettes in a rainbow of seven colors and handed it to him. “I wanted it to represent our generation of cousins. Gisella sometimes feels she’s not really one of us, since her grandfather was Istvan, not Benedek.”
“So she always has the strength of her family with her,” he mused, studying the photo.
Her heart took another trip, startled that he grasped her intention so quickly. “Yes.” She strained to swallow.
“It’s beautiful.” He handed back the phone, gaze on her again. Not on her ring, or her chest, her. As if he was seeing facets he hadn’t seen before.
She went back to eating, wishing it was as easy to hide herself as it was to tuck her ring hand under the table and into her lap.
“I’m worried about her,” she murmured, more
to deflect from herself than anything else. “I don’t know why she turned to Kaine Michaels to pay for my legal fees.”
“I’ll take care of that bill.”
“That’s not what I was driving at. I was just...” Making conversation. She set down her fork and tucked both hands in her lap, so he couldn’t see how she was nervously twisting her ring. He completely disarmed her.
All she could think about was their intensely intimate night. She’d been wrung with an intense pleasure that had been a type of agony. Now she was in agony again, but it was one she embraced, because being in his presence was both torture and joy. She ought to know when to cut her losses, and not sit here longing to find their way out of the hurt and misunderstandings to a place with potential. There wasn’t such a thing. Not for them. And she hadn’t stayed with him the other night expecting long-term. She had known it was a one-off. That’s why—
“Oh, my God!” She covered her mouth with both hands, recollection striking like an anvil smashing a piano, filling her ears with a discordant crash.
“What?” he demanded, looking around, instantly going on high alert at her clear alarm.
She could feel the blood draining out of her face, a shock even greater than getting arrested flowing over her like an ice bath. If she hadn’t been sitting, she would have fallen down. As it was, she had to take hold of the table to maintain her balance in the chair.
“Rozi,” he urged, grasping her wrist as she uncovered her mouth. “Tell me.”
“It was too late when I got back to my hotel,” she said faintly, mortified and horrified. Scared. “I meant to go in the morning, but the police came. I was arrested, then we came here.” She spoke faster as she saw his expression closing up with tense suspicion.
He let go her arm and sat back, expression carved from granite.
“I forgot, Viktor. I honestly forgot.”
* * *