He couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even want to talk to him. “Jamie!” he called, but he knew in advance she wouldn’t stop.
He waited for her to come around again. Again she veered.
“Jamie!” He held out a hand, but she ignored him and sped off. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t keep this up. People were starting to stare.
The next time she came around, he stepped out onto the ice. “Jamie, please come over here and—”
“Nope!” Her cheeks pink, she turned on the speed again.
“For God’s sake, Jamie!” Frustration spurred him on, and he started after her. An attendant shouted something, but he paid no attention. Unfortunately his dress shoes weren’t made for running, let alone running on ice. He made it about thirty yards before losing his footing and going down hard.
The attendant, a kid with peach fuzz on his chin, hurried over. “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t allow—”
“Dev! Are you all right?” Jamie sprayed ice as she whirled to a stop beside him.
He glared at her. “Physically I’m fine.”
“Oh, good.” She sighed in apparent relief and crouched beside him. “When I saw you take a tumble I was scared.”
“I said I was physically okay. Mentally, however—”
“That’s what concerns me, sir,” the attendant said. “Anyone who would run on the ice wearing what you’re wearing most likely has some sort of mental prob—”
“It’s okay,” Jamie said, glancing up at the kid. “This is Deverell Heathcliff Sherman the Fourth.”
Dev groaned. “No, I’m not.” He’d rather be an anonymous crazy guy.
“I’m sure his family donated a huge amount to help build this rink,” Jamie added. “And he’ll be leaving soon anyway, right, Dev?”
“Not without you.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Dev, we have nothing in common. It’s better if—”
“We have more in common than you think.” Dev glanced at the kid. “Could you give us a minute?”
Although the kid looked more than ready to eavesdrop, he backed away.
Jamie bent close to Dev. “Look at me. Look at you. We’re polar opposites.”
He grabbed hold of her scarf and pulled her closer. “The only difference between you and me is that I’m a man and you’re a woman. And I think we’ve already worked through that obstacle.”
Her eyes filled with distress. “But I wasn’t being me!”
“And I wasn’t being me,” he said gently. “All my answers were lies, because I was afraid my questionnaire would be used to find me marriage prospects. I wanted to recognize them when they showed up.”
“You lied? I don’t believe it. Whenever I tried something from that questionnaire, you loved it.
You went bananas over the black lace, and the Jungle Goddess, and the leather—”
He tugged a little harder on her scarf, wanting her close enough so no one else could hear, and close enough to kiss those lips that didn’t have a trace of lipstick on them. “I went bananas over you,” he murmured. “I tolerated all the other stuff, because you were the one peddling it.”
“Tolerated? Peddling?” She gave him a hard shove.
He skidded a couple of feet on the seat of his pants, but he kept a grip on her scarf, so she was pulled along with him, sliding on her knees.
She was breathing hard. “This is ridiculous. Let go of my scarf.”
“Not yet. Listen, maybe I used the wrong words.”
“Duh. Do you think? You weren’t tolerating anything, Mister Hot Commodity! You were into it, and don’t try to tell me you weren’t.”
“Some of the stuff, okay. But—”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “At this very moment I’m wearing plain cotton panties and a sports bra. Don’t you dare tell me you’d find that as sexy as black lace. Don’t you dare.”
“I wouldn’t dare. You might shove me clear across the rink. I can only take so much public humiliation.”
“Dev, be serious.”
“I am serious. I’m getting hot thinking of you in plain cotton panties and a sports bra.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“If I didn’t have this overcoat to disguise the evidence, you’d have to believe me.”
A smile flickered in her eyes as she gazed at him. “You lied about everything?”
“Uh-huh. Told you the exact opposite of what I really like. What I really like is simplicity. Like when we got out of the shower Tuesday night. Just us. Nothing fancy.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you?”
“No, and I’ll prove it.” He pulled aside the flap of his dress coat.
“Dev.”
“Take it easy. I won’t flash the skaters.” He reached into his slacks’ pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried out of The Diamond Mine this afternoon. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jamie.”
She stared at the box for a long, long time. Slowly she reached out and took it. “Dixie got a locket from a secret admirer today. I’ll bet this is a locket, too.”
He sat there, his butt getting cold and wet, and the snow falling faster and faster.
“I didn’t expect a gift, you know,” she said.
“This isn’t a gift.”
“Of course it is. It’s a—” She gasped as she saw what was in the box.
“It goes with the wedding wrapping paper,” he said. “I didn’t know that back then. Well, I kind of knew it, but I didn’t totally trust my instincts.”
“Oh, Dev.”
“Marry me, Jamie. I love you. I don’t care what you wear or don’t wear. I can take any kind of perfume or no perfume. I just want you.”
She started to cry, tears streaming down her face as she looked from the ring to him, then back at the ring, then back at him.
“Jamie, what does that mean?” His stomach pitched at the thought that she’d turn him down. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes, you crazy man. I thought if this moment ever came I’d faint. Turns out I become a water faucet instead.”
His throat closed with emotion. “So…are you saying that…you’re in love with me, too?”
“I am so in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time. If you’ve only just fallen in love with me, you have some major catching up to do.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled his face to her tear-stained one and gave him the saltiest kiss he’d ever tasted. Snow pelted them in the face.
He held her tight and wondered how long it would take for them to find somewhere warm so they could get naked and do this thing right. He’d probably been in love with her for a very long time, too, but he hadn’t realized it until recently. Oh, well. She was just naturally smarter than he was. And she loved him, anyway.
After kissing him with enough enthusiasm to thoroughly convince him of that, she pulled back and gazed at him, her eyes still glittering with tears. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dev.”
At the look in her eyes, he forgot the cold ice, the heavy snowfall and the curious stares. He forgot about going somewhere warmer. “It sure is.” Then he went back to kissing her. He might not be a genius, but he knew that this would be a moment they’d tell their grandkids about. And you didn’t rush a moment like that.
DIAMOND MINE
Stephanie Bond
To Brenda, of course.
And many thanks to childhood friend
and jewelry guru Brigitte Blevins Waddell
for her expert story advice.
PROLOGUE
Valentine’s Day, 2002
FAITH SHERMAN checked her watch, then sighed and slid her empty wineglass across to the lady bartender at Mister’s restaurant. “Dixie, what would you say about a man who stood you up on Valentine’s Day?”
The attractive middle-aged blonde refilled Faith’s glass and sent it back. “That he had better be embalmed.”
Faith drank to that. The problem was, every time Officer Carter
Grayson was late for a date, she was caught between frustration that he didn’t care enough about her to be on time, and panic that he might have gotten his big self shot. She glanced toward the entrance to the restaurant for the millionth time, hating herself for willing him to appear. If Carter had been rushed to the hospital with his lifeblood pooling on the linoleum, it wasn’t as if her name would be in his wallet as an emergency contact—their relationship was too new for that kind of familiarity. Her heart pinched. Too new, in fact, for this…attachment she’d developed for the unpredictable man who could make her laugh the way no man ever had.
“He’s a thirty-seven-year-old cop, has never been married, and still rents an apartment,” her brother Dev had pointed out over lunch yesterday. “I don’t mean to burst your bubble, sis, but this guy doesn’t sound like commitment material.”
“What bubble?” she’d asked carefully. “I have no bubbles.”
“Oh, really? You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
Dev had pointed to her lettuce wedge and tomato soup. “That hungry look. You are on a diet.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“I am not on a diet,” Faith had insisted. “I’m just…trying to eat more healthfully.”
“Good,” Dev had said with a wink. “Because you certainly don’t need to lose weight, and especially not for a man, and especially not for this man, considering he disappears for days and he’s late every time you go out.”
“His job isn’t exactly nine to five,” she had argued.
“Does he wear a bulletproof vest?”
“What? I…he says it’s too confining.”
“There you go.”
“Did I miss something?”
Dev had set down his fork and taken a long drink of coffee in preparation for his big-brother act. “Faith, if everyone had your big heart, every day would be Valentine’s Day.”
“The point to your flattery?”
“That you’re…susceptible.”
“Susceptible? You mean I’m a pushover.”
“No.” Then Dev had sighed. “Yes. Sis, I’m sure this Carter is a nice guy, but he’s giving you signals.”
“Signals?”
“The ‘don’t fall for me because I’m a player’ signals.”
“And you know this how?”
He’d grinned. “Because I wrote the manual.”
True enough—Dev was the epitome of a happy bachelor.
“Look, sis, over the years I’ve given you good financial advice. All I’m saying now is don’t get too invested in this guy if you’re moving in opposite directions.” Then he’d clasped her hand. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Now Faith chewed on the last olive from the once full bowl on the bar meant for the martini drinkers—lots of heart-healthy mono-unsaturated fats, she rationalized—and mulled over her brother’s well-intended warning.
Dev was right, at least about the financial advice. He had convinced her and her best friend, Jamie, to invest in a handful of start-up technology companies, and then to sell while the market was booming. In fact, last year on Valentine’s Day, she, Dev and Jamie had been lifting a toast to their profits. It was the only decent Valentine’s Day she’d ever spent because she’d caught the glimmer of something romantic pass between her best friend and her brother. Then over a bottle of good wine, the girls had hatched a plan to someday launch an upscale boutique of lingerie, perfume and jewelry geared toward male customers. Even Dev had agreed the concept had merit. They’d been developing the idea further over the past year and Dev had been wonderfully supportive. His encouragement meant that much more because Faith trusted her brother’s business instincts implicitly.
But were his instincts about men—specifically Carter—equally on target? Although she hadn’t admitted it, Dev had managed to nail her feelings to the wall—she was dangerously close to falling in love with Carter Grayson, and that was without any encouragement on his part whatsoever. What if things went as she’d planned tonight and she wound up in his bed? And what if he turned out to be the powerful lover she fully expected him to be? If she was this miserably infatuated with only a few full-body kisses under her pillow, how wretchedly far gone would she be after a night in his arms?
Faith drank from her glass and noticed she’d managed to delay her decision to leave by a full ten minutes. She glanced at all the couples seated at the tables with their heads together above flickering candle votives, sharing forks of food from their plates. Champagne buckets and open ring boxes sat on a few tables, and smiles and touches prevailed. The whole world seemed to pair off on Valentine’s Day.
She caught sight of herself in the bar mirror, with an empty bar stool on either side. And as usual, the cheese stands alone. She tingled with humiliation that she’d gone to the trouble of pinning up her dark hair. And shopping for a new dress the exact shade of her pale blue eyes. And searching for the perfect Valentine’s card. And sliding a condom into her purse. She eyed the foil packet sardonically as she removed her cell phone to see if she’d somehow missed Carter’s call.
No call. She worried her lip with her teeth as she weighed how “susceptible” she would appear if she called him.
“Don’t do it.”
She looked up into Dixie’s knowing eyes.
“But he could be hurt,” Faith murmured. “Or dead even.” God, was that her voice sounding so pitiful?
The woman gave a disbelieving shrug and turned to serve another customer.
Faith squeezed her eyes shut. Dixie was right, of course. And so was Dev. She was being stupidly stubborn, holding on to the absurd fantasy of a magical Valentine’s Day that would never be. She slipped the phone back into her purse and wondered briefly about the condom’s shelf life.
And to think the day had started out so promising. She always dreaded the busiest jewelry retail day of the year, but this morning she’d been fueled by the anticipation of seeing Carter. He had to feel something for her—a man didn’t ask just anyone to meet him on Valentine’s Day evening, right? With Carter on her mind today, she’d lost count of how many engagement rings she’d sold. Zerrick’s Jewelry had been jammed with men wearing anxious expressions as they peered into the glass cases. How big is that one? How much does it cost? Do you have a financing plan? Do you have a—gulp—return policy?
Over the course of the ten-hour day, she had tried on every engagement ring in stock and held it up to the light, moving her hand this way and that so they could imagine how it would look on their girlfriend’s finger.
“Her hand isn’t quite as big as yours,” they would invariably say.
“Then the stone will look even larger,” was her standard cheerful reply as she curled her fingers under.
She took another sip of wine and studied her left hand. Long and broad, as the rest of her, she acknowledged wryly. And completely devoid of rings. It was a running joke among her friends and family—Faith the gemologist, who was surrounded by cases of engagement rings day in and day out, didn’t have a diamond ring of her own. Sure, she could buy herself any ring she wanted, but the only ring she wanted was the one that her husband-to-be would someday slip onto her finger. Was that romantic notion so far-flung?
Faith sighed. Maybe so, if she were willing to fall for a man who was a no-show on the most romantic day of the year.
She slid off the stool and tested her weight on feet that had gone a little numb from sitting. “I’d like to settle my tab,” she said to the bartender, pulling on her long wool coat—one did not toy with Chicago weather in February.
Dixie waved her off. “It’s on the house, hon. Happy Valentine’s Day.” She leaned forward and whispered, “The man’s a fool.” Then she handed Faith a stack of napkins and gave her arm a sympathetic pat. “For the ride home.”
Faith swallowed hard and stuffed the napkins into her purse. This was definitely a night for Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra ice cream. She sniffed, lifted her chin, and head
ed for the door, thinking ahead to what was on television tonight. Her feet hurt and a headache was coming on, but she’d feel better once she got home and into her fuzzy yellow robe.
She was about ten feet from the entrance when the door opened and Carter Grayson breezed in, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and leather bomber jacket, his jet hair still damp and holding the lines of his comb. She registered the fact that he seemed to be uninjured, but her relief at his blatant well-being quickly turned to irritation. He was a lumberjack of a man, wide and tall, with the face of a mischievous boy. She had liked the look of him from the moment he’d walked into Zerrick’s Jewelry following a robbery attempt just after Christmas. Allegedly, he had liked the look of her, too.
“Hey,” he said with a smile that took her breath away. “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time and—” He stopped and inspected her dress. “Wow, you look nice. What’s the occasion?”
Faith blinked. “Dinner. With you.”
He pursed his mouth and looked her over again, his gaze lingering on her strappy high heels. “Okay. Well, I thought we’d have a beer first, then get some ribs at Nuke’s, but maybe we should see if we can get a table here instead.” He took in the packed restaurant. “Sure is busy for a weeknight.”
Pure, abject, unadulterated mortification bled through her. With fumbling fingers, she began to button her coat. “That’s because it’s V-Valentine’s Day.”
He looked back, eyebrows high, then realization dawned. “Oh…right.”
She wanted to evaporate, and cursed herself for not leaving sooner. “Good night, Carter.” She flung the ends of her scarf around her neck, and walked out the door into the frigid temperatures. In her next-to-nothing shoes, her feet were instant blocks of ice. An arctic blast stung her eyes and dislodged one pin, then another, from her careful upswept do. She blinked back tears. Why had she even bothered? Walking to the curb, she held up her arm to hail a cab. Booted footsteps sounded behind her.
“Faith, wait!” He touched her arm, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. We can still have dinner.”
Behind the Red Doors Page 10