Family Jewels

by Rita Sable

  Because you were always too involved with your job to spare a moment of thought for what your woman needed from you.

  He’d discovered too late that a woman wanted more than security and the social status of his family’s name in marriage. His former fiancée, the lovely and very proper Miriam Elaine Belford, hadn’t settled for that. She’d wanted his participation in all things. She wanted children and a husband to help raise them. Trevor could never guarantee how long he’d be away from home while he pursued his job. A week, months, or even half a year wasn’t uncommon.

  He’d been so dense and self-absorbed during their short time together. When she accused him of being married to his job, he brushed it off. He shouldn’t have been so surprised or shocked when she ended their engagement.

  How odd to realize now what a blessing in disguise Miriam’s decision had been. He’d found out on his own how empty his life really was. And now that he’d met Cynthia he knew he wanted her for more than tonight. At nearly thirty-three, he no longer craved the thrill of his job and the intrigue that fueled it. A loving wife, being home each night, perhaps having some children–-those things had an uncanny, satisfying appeal. New feelings pulled at his heart in a way he’d never really appreciated.

  Not being able to understand it all made him nervous.

  Hunger rumbled in his stomach, reminding him they’d hadn’t eaten since before noon and that hadn’t been more than a bite to satisfy a flea. Her knee would need some ice too. Although she hadn’t complained after her first mention of it, he had noticed she rubbed her knee often to soothe the pain.

  His eyes wandered to the leather backpack she carried. It rested beside her hip on the seat. Instinct told him she valued it more than her lost purse and he suspected he knew why. Was she truly brave enough to hide the diamond in that inexpensive, scuffed leather bag? He itched to search the contents while she slept but respect for her kept him from doing so. He had to convince her to give the diamond to him. For some damned reason it meant something to have her trust.

  If she didn’t, he would attempt a search. Later.

  He reached out and lightly stroked a finger down her soft cheek. She jerked awake with a gasp, wide-eyed and fearful.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered reassuringly.

  Cynthia rose from her slumped position and rubbed her forehead with the back of one hand. “Sorry. I guess I dozed off for a while. Where are we?”

  “At the hotel, in the garage. Ready to go inside?”

  Her hands fluttered over the backpack lying on the seat beside her. She looked relieved after lightly pressing on it. He felt another pang of guilt for her lost purse.

  “Come on, darling. I’ll order dinner to be brought to my room. You can rest.”

  He carried her large suitcase inside the hotel lobby. The elevator whisked them up to the fifteenth-floor concierge level, stopping twice to take on other guests. Cynthia leaned against him, whether from weariness or her role-playing for the benefit of the others in the elevator, he didn’t know for sure. He only knew he welcomed the way her body fit alongside his. It felt right, like she’d always been there. Like she belonged there beside him.

  By request, he’d taken a room farthest from the elevator near the stairwell. Cynthia eyed each hotel room door they passed as if she expected them to open and reveal a monster. She lagged behind him the closer they got to the end of the hall. He keyed his hotel suite door and pushed it open wide.

  Cynthia hesitated before entering. She chewed her bottom lip and glanced down the hall toward the elevator. He waited, giving her plenty of time to decide to go in or back out completely. What would he do if she decided not stay with him? He hadn’t considered any alternatives. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

  On a weary sigh, she walked in. She placed the roses on a side table and then turned around to wait for him, hugging her coat close to her body as if she were still cold.

  He set her suitcase down and closed the door. They’d only known each other for the span of a day. Bringing her to his hotel room held a certain connotation of implied intimacy. The circumstances surrounding her ordeal must have taken a toll on her both physically and mentally. Yet he couldn’t forget the way she’d melted into his embrace and opened for him earlier, meeting his passion and need with an amazing fire of her own.

  He crossed over to the small dining table and picked up the room service menu. “What would you like to eat?”

  Her face was pale but she took the menu from him with a little smile. “Anything sounds good right now. I’m starved.”

  This moment felt awkward and stilted—as if he were a school-aged boy on his first date. He reached for her coat and she dropped her backpack on a chair before letting him slip the coat off her shoulders.

  “Choose whatever you like from the menu,” he said. “I need to make some calls before dinner arrives. Shouldn’t take me long.”

  She nodded and opened the menu, scanning the contents quickly. “I’ll take the chicken Caesar salad.”

  “Something to drink? Dessert? I’m a big fan of desserts.”

  Cynthia set the menu down on the table. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her words. “I want you for dessert.”

  * * * * *

  The words came out of Cynthia’s mouth before she could stop them.

  Hunger blazed from Trevor’s eyes, burning bright and hot. He gave her a wolfish smile. “Careful what you wish for.”

  She swallowed past the hot lump in her throat. Her skin prickled when he stepped near and walked by without touching her, a smile still curving his lips. He picked up her suitcase and carried it into the bedroom, setting it down by the TV cabinet. She collected her backpack and followed him.

  A king-sized bed dominated the room, tastefully decorated with warm golden tones and complementary royal blues. The open drapery revealed the glittering skyline of New York City. He yanked them closed.

  “Wow. Interpol must have a hefty budget to afford a suite like this for you.”

  Trevor shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a chair. “Not at all. I have a stipend but I always upgrade when I can. With my own money.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the large, gleaming gun strapped to his side. With deft fingers, he removed the harness and placed the weapon on the nightstand beside the bed. To her surprise he lifted his pants leg and removed a smaller gun from a strap around one muscular calf. She’d had no idea he carried a weapon there too. He put that one next to the bigger one on the nightstand and then reached for the phone.

  “I’ll order dinner now and place my calls. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

  Her cheeks still burned. How could she be so sexually forthright with him? What woman in her right mind tells a man she barely knows that she wants to eat him for dessert? Trevor must think she was loose and easy. She wasn’t, never had been. Yes, she enjoyed sex. But she never solicited it this freely. This man had a very powerful effect on her common sense. Or lack thereof.

  “I’ll be in the bathroom.” When Trevor didn’t acknowledge her she hurried inside with her backpack and locked the door.

  First things first, she had to take one more look at that diamond. She turned the water on in the sink to mask any revealing sounds and then opened her leather bag. Finding the jeweler’s case at the bottom beneath her cosmetics, she sat down on the toilet lid and carefully popped the velvet container open in her lap.

  Against the brightly colored gems, the Russian white blazed with a fire that outclassed and outshone them all. It took her breath away. She used her gem grip to pick up the stone this time, locking it in place securely. The tiny, wire-thin grabbers held the diamond in a classic, four-pronged setting for easy viewing.

  To the naked eye the stone looked normal enough, if exceptional. Using her loupe she examined the diamond through great magnification. An absolutely clear, bright white interior reflected back at her, like icy water with a rainbow of color skating through it. Not a single incl
usion to mar the perfection. The faceting was just as flawless. Whoever cut this stone had done a masterful job, enhancing and highlighting the natural beauty of it, allowing light to enter the stone’s interior and reflect back with an astounding array of color.

  A sigh escaped her lips, muffled by the water gushing in the sink. She turned the stone sideways to examine the girdle. Twirling the stem of her grip, she scrutinized the polished band that circled the entire crown. As she expected with a gem of this quality, it was precise and even all the way around.

  Cynthia peered at the curious series of numbers on the girdle. She studied their shape more closely. The more she eyed them, the more uncertain she became. A few numbers could be one or the other. Was the number “1” really the letter “L”? And the number she thought was a “9” could also be a “G”.

  Doubt scratched through her conscience. More than likely, she’d given Mr. Andrews a false reading. If his life depended on her deciphering of these numbers—oh no! She shuddered at the implication.

  What could these numbers mean if not certification of some kind? Was this why everyone wanted this spectacular diamond? For whatever reason, a man tried to kill her last night and at least two others followed her with deadly intent. Even Trevor searched for this diamond—or at least the numbers engraved on it.

  She rummaged inside her tool bag and found the small spiral notebook and pen she kept for idea sketches. She copied the numbers exactly as they appeared on the gem, underlining those she questioned.

  Now what? Should she tell Trevor she had the diamond? Or should she hide it and just give him the numbers? Would that be enough for him?

  Maybe not. Doubt scuttled into her mind like a nasty cockroach looking for a dark crevice to hide in. It made her feel dirty and tainted. She hardly knew Trevor. It seemed like a sin to give her client’s information so freely. Her physical attraction to this incredibly handsome man could be blinding her judgment, encouraging her to trust him with her life. He certainly did a good job of making her feel he was attracted to her too.

  Was it all an act? She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Her heart warred with her brain, insisting what she felt from him was real. Until the doubts about Trevor’s intentions were erased completely, she would keep the diamond and the cryptically engraved numbers to herself. Trevor still needed to provide a good reason why he should have it—why she should risk her reputation and send her career down the toilet.

  She returned the stone inside her jeweler’s case and stuffed it in the bottom of her bag, hiding it beneath her tools and cosmetics again. It was as safe as anything right now. Trevor would have no reason to question her need to carry this backpack everywhere she went.

  Satisfied with her resolve, Cynthia glanced in the mirror for the first time. What she saw horrified her. Her hair had come loose from her braid and purple circles of fatigue shadowed her eyes. She untied her hair. Running her fingers under the water, she combed the long strands back. At least she didn’t look disheveled and windblown now. She splashed water on her face and scrubbed a towel across her skin to liven up the color.

  Time to go, before he came searching for her again. She turned off the water and unlocked the door, draping the strap of her backpack over one arm. She found Trevor seated on the bed. He’d removed his socks and boots and propped all of the pillows against his back. His long jeans-clad legs stretched out on the bed with bare feet crossed casually at the ankles. Pages from the report that Captain Hill had given him earlier lay spread out around him. He ignored her, listening to someone on his cell phone.

  A knock sounded on the hotel door. Before she could turn around, he’d slapped his phone shut and grabbed his gun from the nightstand. “I’ll get that. You stay here.”

  Stunned by the rough tone in his voice, she stepped aside to let him pass. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and closed the bedroom door behind him. Left alone, she looked for a place to keep her backpack out of his way, yet easily accessible. The corner behind the television cabinet looked perfect. It wouldn’t attract undue attention there. She tucked her backpack in there. Then she unzipped her larger suitcase and searched for a change of clothes.

  She chose a loose-fitting white cotton t-shirt and faded jeans. After removing her sweater, bra, skirt and tights, she donned the shirt and then propped her foot up on a chair to examine her knee. Sure enough, a large purple and green bruise decorated her kneecap. It was swollen and tender to the touch.

  The door opened. Trevor walked in, his eyes searching the room until he found her in the corner. His smoldering gaze singed the skin off her legs and nearly naked ass.

  She had to look away, her lips pressed together, to keep from grinning like a chimp at his lusty reaction and slowly reached for her jeans.

  Chapter Twelve

  “This will be easier if you keep them off.” Trevor came to her, holding a plastic bag full of ice in one hand.

  “I really think I should get dressed.”

  With a gentle but persistent tug, he took the jeans out of her hand and dropped them on the floor beside the chair. “Sit down, Cyn. Let me look at your knee.”

  Cynthia sat, every inch of her aware of Trevor’s tall, warm body standing so close. She tried to sit modestly, keeping her legs together, tugging on the hem of her t-shirt to bring it down over her hips.

  He knelt at her feet. When he smoothed his palm over her sore knee she sucked in a sharp breath. He placed the ice bag upon the purple bump.

  “It looks painful. I’m sorry you were injured.”

  “Oh, I’ve had worse. I’m just glad it doesn’t hurt too much to walk.”

  Goose bumps sprang to life on every inch of her skin but not from the cold he applied to her knee. His large warm hand rested on her outer thigh, away from her aching knee. The firm pressure of his fingers seeped into her skin and sent tingles up between her thighs. She’d always been quick to arouse, never needing a lot of foreplay or stimulation to reach orgasm. Her body reacted to him now. The pulsing throb inside her pussy brought with it the heady scent of her woman’s musk. She glanced down at herself, fully expecting steam to be rising up from between her legs.

  She looked up. When her eyes met his he raised one dark eyebrow. He watched her intently, the blue depths swirling with sexual heat.

  Did he smell her arousal?

  His nostrils flared as if he inhaled something delicious. “I think we should eat dinner first. Hold this right here.”

  He took her hand and placed it upon the ice, keeping the frozen bag secure on her injured knee. Then he dragged the ottoman from the chair over and reached for her foot. Sparks of pleasure swarmed up her leg from his warm fingers. He cradled her foot, caressing her sensitive arch with soothing strokes and then settled her leg on the ottoman with great care.

  The ice bag lay perfectly balanced and draped over her entire knee now. She let go of it and tucked both hands under her thighs, feeling exposed and uncomfortable about her nearly naked state.

  Trevor stood up and exited the bedroom, returning quickly with the small, wheeled cart and their dinner.

  He pulled the small table over and lifted the other chair next to hers. Smiling like a satisfied wolf with a trapped rabbit, he placed a cloth napkin on her lap, handed her a fork and a large plate with a mound of chicken Caesar salad large enough to feed three people. Then he picked up two wineglasses from the cart, set them on the table and uncorked a bottle of white wine.

  “I hope you like Chardonnay?” He showed her the label.

  “Yes, I’d love some.” She waited for him to pour wine and serve his own dinner of grilled pork chops and herbed pan-roasted potatoes. He removed the gun from the back of his jeans and returned it to the nightstand before he sat down.

  “I promise, no getting up and running away this time.” He lifted his glass to her. “Bon appétit, chéri.”

  “Thanks.” Cynthia clinked her wineglass with his and sipped. It was cold, fruity and delicious. If she weren’t careful about h
ow much she drank, she’d lose all her inhibitions and attack him with her fingers, hands and mouth. She set the glass down on the small table and stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork, desperately searching for something to get her mind off him. “Do you speak French, or just those few words?”

  “Plus que quelques mots,” he said and sliced into his grilled pork chop. “More than a few words. Do you?”

  “Me? No, only a little that I’ve picked up here and there. I took two years of Spanish in high school. I haven’t used it much, sorry to say. Do you speak other languages?”

  He chewed with obvious relish, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, besides French, which is my strongest foreign language, I also speak German and some Dutch. Russian when I have to. Those are the languages I need most when I’m on assignment.”

  She nodded and took another sip of wine before speaking. “You spend a lot of time traveling, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” A shuttered expression crossed his face. “The items I recover rarely remain in their country of origin and switch hands many times.”

  “It sounds intriguing.”

  “Sometimes it is. More often it’s tedious work. I ask a lot of questions of people who’d rather not give me any information, or who have conveniently forgotten. In many ways it’s a hunt for a missing clue.”

  Cynthia glanced toward the nightstand where his guns rested in cold, deadly silence. “Are you in danger often?”

  He grinned. “Define ‘often’.”

  She shrugged. “Do you carry those guns with you everywhere you go?”

  “Usually. The items I’m recovering for their rightful owners are often priceless or worth millions. The people who stole them will do almost anything to keep them. Even kill.”