They climbed the stairs of the huge West Coast-style house and pressed the bell. He half expected a butler to open the door, but it was Allan who greeted them.
Allan immediately grinned and reached out his hand. “Hey, Striker. I can’t believe you’re on the island. Great to see you again.”
Striker shook Allan’s hand. “Guy’s gotta take a vacation sometime.”
“Wouldn’t you rather do it in London?”
“I heard Blue Earth Island was the greatest place on earth.”
Allan glanced at Julie and his gaze rested there. “You heard right.”
“This is Julie Green and Erin O’Connell,” said Striker. “They’re both friends of mine.”
“Great to meet you.” Allan took Julie’s hand and then Erin’s. Then he stepped back into the flagstone foyer, gesturing them inside.
The foyer opened into a cathedral ceilinged living room. Although Striker had visited beautiful homes all his life, he was impressed with this one.
It was open and spacious, with two story glass walls overlooking rocky cliffs that dropped down to a windswept, dusk-darkened coast. Built on a spit of land on the windward point of the island, it was private, ruggedly gorgeous and invitingly comfortable, dotted with West Coast carvings and lit candles.
Allan addressed Julie and Erin as he led them towards two blue-plaid overstuffed couches in a sunken conversation nook where a small fire burned in a stone fireplace. “Are you both from the Seattle area?”
“From New York,” said Erin as she sat down.
“Oh.” Allan’s eyebrows arched. He gestured to Julie to take one end of a couch. “Striker flew you in?”
Erin nodded.
Allan’s smile turned contemplative.
Striker paused.
Uh-oh. This was an unexpected curveball.
“Yes, he did,” said Erin, not realizing what her answer would mean to Allan.
“Really…” Judging by the slightly amazed edge to Allan’s tone, he assumed Erin and Julie were pickups from some New York party—the kind of women Striker usually dated.
Not that Erin and Julie were the kind of women Striker usually dated. In fact, Allan must be pretty impressed with Striker’s pickup ability. Good for Striker’s reputation, but he somehow doubted Erin would be thrilled.
Allan sat down on the same couch as Julie, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
Striker took the seat next to Erin. He couldn’t really blame Allan for the assumption. After all, he was well aware of how Striker got his nickname—Striker never struck out.
Too bad he had to set the record straight this time.
“They’re both just my friends,” he told Allan, shooting him a meaningful stare.
Erin gave Striker a puzzled look.
“Of course,” said Allan, in a tone that told Striker he’d be happy to go along.
Striker didn’t know whether to swear or laugh.
“Can I get anybody a drink?” asked Allan, rising. He looked down at Julie first, obviously assuming she was his date. “A cocktail? Some wine?”
“Wine sounds great,” she said.
“Red or white?”
“Whatever you have.”
He gestured towards a hallway. “Come and take a look in the wine cellar.” Then he shifted his attention to Erin and Striker. “Anybody else want a tour?”
Erin moved to get up, but Striker put a hand on her arm.
“You two go ahead and pick something out,” he said.
Erin shot him a glare. She hissed under her breath, “What are you—”
“Stay,” he warned in an undertone.
She hesitated, obviously wanting to get to know Allan better.
Striker increased the pressure on her arm.
Finally, she spoke out loud, her tone pleasant despite the fact that she had to be annoyed. “You know what I like, right Julie?”
“You bet,” said Julie.
Allan smiled and offered Julie his arm.
Striker could only hope he didn’t make a pass at her in the wine cellar.
As soon as they were out of sight, Erin rounded on Striker. Her brown eyes flashed, dark and angry. “What are you doing?”
“We have to talk,” he said.
“About what?”
Striker shifted sheepishly. “We need to come up with a cover story.”
“We already have a story.”
Striker shook his head. “It’s not good enough.”
“Now you tell me this?”
“I didn’t realize…”
“Didn’t realize what?”
He ran his hand through his newly cut hair, shifting his gaze from her face to the fire crackling in the cavernous stone, feeling unaccountably embarrassed about having to explain. “We have to pretend I’ve known you for a while.”
“Why?”
“I, uh, kind of have this reputation…”
A small crease appeared in her forehead. “So?”
He’d never tried to put this delicately before, never felt the need to put it delicately before. “In high school,” he began. “I picked up a lot of girls.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment.“…and this somehow means I can’t go see Allan’s wine cellar?”
He cleared his throat. “In high school, I picked up a lot of girls in my Mustang…You know…Then, when I got older, and I got a plane…”
“And…”
“I picked up women.”
“You’re telling me you’re a hound dog?”
Striker shifted, wanting to phrase it differently. But…
Well.
Yeah.
Okay.
Actually, he was.
She glanced at the doorway Julie and Allan had left through. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“Thing is, when you told Allan you flew in with me, he assumed…”
Her eyes went wide in the candlelight. “That we’re a couple of your pickups?”
“Yeah. Striker never strikes out.”
Erin dropped her forehead into her hands. “Oh, perfect. Just…perfect.”
“I think we can fix it,” he said.
She shook her head. “How? Good grief, I get you to help me so that Allan won’t think we’re coming on to him, and now this.”
“We tell him we’ve known each other for a few months. Convince him we’re friends—”
“Instead of temporary lovers?” Her laughter rang hollow.
“Yeah. Basically.”
“You think he’s going to believe that?” she asked.
“It’s not like we are…” Striker remembered the kiss again. His voice dropped. “Lovers, I mean.”
She looked up, and the atmosphere shifted, until the kiss hung in the air between them. He swore he could still feel the sweet sensation of her body, and it drowned out everything else.
He wanted to kiss her again. Desperately. And he knew the hunger must be shining in his eyes. If he didn’t cut this out, Allan was going to be convinced there was something going on between them.
“The only problem is…” he said.
She shook her head, sighing in disbelief. “The only problem?”
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“You’re trouble,” she replied.
“Definitely.”
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked.
“For starters, don’t give me openings like that.”
“Striker…”
“Erin…”
“This morning…”
“Happened,” he said. “And there’s no point in pretending it didn’t.”
“It was just a kiss, you know. It didn’t mean anything.”
Striker paused, gazing at her creamy soft skin in the flickering firelight. “If it didn’t mean anything,” he said. “I wouldn’t be trouble.”
She didn’t deny it. Just stared at him long enough to jump-start his libido. And he was seriously thinking about kissing her again here and now.
“Huh?”
“Our cover story. Where are we going to tell Allan we met?”
Striker batted down his desire. “New York,” he answered. “Keep it simple.”
“Have you been there?”
“Yes. I have.”
“Where in New York?”
“The River Café.”
“You’ve been there?”
Striker hesitated. “I’ve seen it on TV.”
Erin nodded.
Julie’s laughter sounded from the hallway.
“We picked a merlot and a Beaujolais,” said Allan, holding up two bottles as they entered the living room. “The cook’s barbecuing filet mignon.”
STRIKER WAS a hound dog. Why did that not surprise Erin?
It fit with everything else she knew about him. And it proved the only reason his kiss felt special was that he’d practiced it on dozens, maybe hundreds of women. No wonder his lips had just the right pressure, not too dry, not too moist, warm, tingly, minty fresh.
Well, now that she’d learned his little secret, it was definitely going to be a whole lot easier to ignore him. Take now, he was sitting right beside her at a small, round table in the apex of Allan’s two glass walls, and she barely even knew he was there.
The steaks were perfect, the wine superb, and the view of the lit yard was magnificent. And she was taking full advantage of her big opportunity with Allan because she was no longer worried about Striker getting under her skin. He was just a man, a convenience to her current purpose. Nothing more.
“…that’s when I met Erin in New York,” he said to Allan.
Erin mentally braced herself, keeping her features even, trying to keep her expression from giving away their lies.
Allan frowned and turned to look at Julie. “I thought you said you met him on Monday?”
“She did,” Striker put in smoothly. “It was Erin that I met in New York.”
Julie shot Erin an incredulous look.
Striker turned to Erin, tapping his index finger against his wineglass. “Where was it? That little restaurant just over the Brooklyn Bridge…”
Erin took her cue. “The River Café.”
Julie’s eyes widened.
Striker snapped his fingers. “That was it. You had the duck, but I couldn’t convince you to go for the crème brûlée.” He returned his attention to Allan. “Derek introduced us.”
Julie continued to stare at Erin, biting down on her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to mask a smile. Oh, sure, she’d love this. Despite Erin’s determination to guard her ethics, she was stuck playing along with the lies that rolled off Striker’s tongue.
Thank goodness Julie didn’t know he’d kissed her.
Allan refilled the wineglasses. “How are your brothers doing?” he asked Striker.
“Tyler just got married,” said Striker.
“Really?”
Striker nodded. “In July.”
“What about Derek?”
“Derek? Not married.” Striker shook his head and both men chuckled. “I doubt there’s a woman alive who’d take him on.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t—”
“What about you?” asked Striker. “Tell me about your diamonds.”
Erin quickly kicked him under the table. She couldn’t believe he’d blurted that out.
She’d planned to fake an epiphany moment later on. She could see it all now: “Oh, you’re that Allan Baldwin. What an unexpected surprise. Julie and I are in the gem business…”
But how was she going to fake surprise if Striker started talking about diamonds right off the bat?
Striker didn’t flinch from her kick. He didn’t even look her way.
Allan cupped his wineglass and swirled the merlot, gazing into the candle flame for a moment. “It’s not the diamonds we’re excited about this week.” He leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially, “In fact, I just heard from the assayer on the Green Ice property.”
“Make sure you don’t give us any state secrets,” said Striker, a warning edge to his tone.
Erin kicked him again. Quite frankly, she was curious as all get out about the state secrets of Allan’s new emerald mine.
“Portal number forty-four is showing some serious gem-quality stones,” said Allan. “They’ve come up with a few flawless and a Trapiche.”
Julie jerked straight up. “You mined a Trapiche outside of Colombia?”
Allan nodded.
“How is that possible?” she asked.
Striker leaned over to whisper in Erin’s ear. “Kick me one more time and I’ll make you kiss it better.”
The image gave Erin a little shiver. She tamped it down.
“Carbon,” said Allan.
“But…” ventured Julie.
“You know your emeralds,” he said.
Julie obviously regrouped. Taking a sip of her wine, she blinked guilelessly. “I really like jewelry.”
“It’s rough. But do you want to see it?”
Julie coughed, then sputtered. So much for regrouping. “It’s here?”
“In my safe.”
“Will you marry me?”
Allan grinned and gently tapped the bottom of her chin with his index finger as he stood up, dropping his napkin onto the tablecloth. “Now there’s an offer I don’t get everyday. Be right back.”
As soon as he was gone, Erin turned on Striker. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Me doing? You’re the one beating the crap out of my shins.”
“You asked him about his diamonds.” She couldn’t believe it.
“So?”
“So, now I either have to cough up who we are right away or get even more tangled up in lies I won’t know how to get out of.”
“So, cough.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not part of the plan. We’ve barely met him. And now there’s the emeralds. I don’t even know what terms I can offer him for the emeralds. I have to talk to my boss. I have to—”
“Uh, guys?” Julie interrupted, quickly glancing at the door Allan had left through. “Not that this isn’t the single greatest moment of my life, seeing his Trapiche and all—”
Striker clamped his hand around Erin’s wrist and included Julie in his hard stare. “You two can not use anything you learn from Allan under these circumstances. About a Trapiche or anything else.”
Erin was insulted. “What? You think I’m going to rush out and indulge in a little insider trading?”
Julie cleared her throat. “Before Allan gets back, I think you two better tell me why you lied about meeting in New York.”
“I need your word,” Striker growled. There was an underlying hardness in his expression, an astuteness she never would have imagined. “Both of you. You can’t use anything you learn before he knows who you are.”
“New York?” Julie prompted.
“Your word,” said Striker.
“Fine. Yes. Of course you have our word. I’m a buyer not an investor.”
He let go of Erin’s wrist and she turned to Julie.
“We lied because Allan thought we were Striker’s pickups. Turns out Striker had quite a reputation in high school.”
Julie quirked one eyebrow. “Oh. I guess that explains the wine cellar.”
Erin sat back. “What happened in the wine cellar?”
Before Julie could do more than smile secretively, Allan came back into the room.
He opened a blue velvet case and held it in front of Julie. “You are the first people outside the company to see this. They also sent down a couple of the bigger flawless.”
“My kingdom for a loupe,” breathed Julie, reaching out to reverently touch the stones, obviously dying to examine them more closely.
“You should seriously consider a rich husband,” said Allan.
Julie looked up at him, eyes sparking with mischief beneath h
er thick lashes. “I am.”
Allan smiled back at her, chuckling low as he handed the velvet box to Erin and Striker.
Erin wasn’t as much of an expert as Julie, but she’d been around enough stones in her life to know greatness when she saw it. Allan’s diamonds were acknowledged as spectacular. His emeralds were going to set the world on its ear.
She knew she should tell him they were from Elle. But she needed some time to think strategically. She absolutely could not blow this opportunity. If she didn’t get in on the ground floor of North America’s first major emerald find, Patrick would have her shot at sunrise.
“Coffee on the patio?” asked Allan.
Striker handed him back the gems. “Sounds good to me.”
Allan pulled out Julie’s chair. He put his hand on the small of her back as they strolled toward the glass doors, heads bent together, talking.
Striker pulled out Erin’s chair. “I think you’d better tell him,” he singsonged in her ear.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
She stood. “I have to talk to Patrick first. My boss.”
“I’m no expert—”
“An important point.”
“But it seems to me that, in order for this to work, Allan has to trust you.”
“He will.”
Striker settled his hand in the small of her back. “You’re not making it easy for him.”
She tried to ignore the hand. He was just copying Allan, trying to play the classy gentleman.
“Nothing in life is easy,” she said. “It’s a balancing act. Total honesty versus strategic interests.”
The pressure of his hand increased and his voice suddenly sounded far away. “You sure got that right.”
6
TOTAL HONESTY versus strategic interest.
Striker mulled those profound words as he watched Erin move around the dim kitchen. They’d walked home from Allan’s along the beach, then Julie had decided to take a shower.
Erin had decided to make some coffee.
Striker had decided to watch her.
She’d taken off her silk scarf, and the dress shimmered pearlescent in the moonlight against her pale skin. It hugged every curve and hollow, setting off her dark eyes. Her bare feet were soundless as she padded from the cupboard to the counter and back again.
Flying High Page 6