by Tracy Wolff
Marc glared at him, offended. “I don’t get freaked out.”
“Well, you sure aren’t freaked in.” Nic crossed to the bar in the corner, pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge and tossed one Marc’s way.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means I’m going to keep bugging you until you tell me what’s wrong, so you might as well spit it out. Otherwise, you’ll never get back to that spreadsheet of yours.”
“What makes you think I’m looking at a spreadsheet?”
“Face it. You’re always looking at a spreadsheet.” Nic settled back into one of the visitors’ chairs and kicked his feet up onto Marc’s desk. “Spill.”
Marc pretended to focus on his computer screen, but Nic didn’t get the hint. Or if he did, he totally ignored it. Silence stretched between them, broken only by Nic’s occasional swallow and the low, clicking sounds that came from Marc’s gritted teeth. Finally, in the hopes of saving himself a hefty dental bill, Marc did what his brother asked and spilled.
“I ran into Isa today.”
Nic’s feet hit the ground with a thud as he sat straight up. “Isa Varin?”
“Isabella Moreno now.”
“She’s married?” He whistled low and long. “No wonder you’re in a foul mood.”
“She’s not married!” Marc snapped out. “But even if she was, it’s no business of mine.”
“Oh, certainly not,” Nic mocked. “You’ve just spent the last six years dating every redhead you could find in a ridiculous attempt to replace her. But her marital status is none of your business.”
“I’ve never—” He broke off midrant. He wanted to tell his brother that he was dead wrong, that Marc hadn’t done anything of the sort. But as he thought back over the last few women he’d dated, Marc realized that Nic might have a point.
He’d never noticed before but all the women in his life were redheads. Tall, slender redheads with delicate bones and great smiles. Hell. Had he subconsciously been trying to find a replacement for Isa all these years? He’d never thought so, but the evidence was hard to ignore. Damn it.
“So, why the name change if she isn’t married?”
He didn’t know, but he was going to damn sure find out. Still, he told his brother what she’d told him. “She said she wanted to start over.”
Nic made a sympathetic noise. “I bet.”
He didn’t like Nic’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means? Things didn’t exactly end well between you. I know when you kicked her out, it was what you felt you had to do.”
“It was what I had to do! Do you really think there was another option?” Marc waved the question away before Nic could answer it—they’d been over this ground hundreds of times since that night. “Still. I’ve paid a hell of a lot of money to private investigators through the years. You would think one of them would have turned up this name change.”
“Not if she didn’t do it legally.”
“It’d have to be legal. She’s employed under the name.”
“Have you forgotten who her father is? With the kind of contacts he had, she could buy herself a whole new identity without breaking a sweat.”
“Isa wouldn’t do that.” But even as the words left his mouth, Marc wasn’t so sure. What his brother was saying made a lot of sense. After all, she’d lied before. Stolen before. How else could the daughter of a world famous jewel thief—a woman who had been a thief in her own right—end up teaching at the world headquarters of the Gemological Institute of America—even if she was one of the best in her field? Working there, she had access to some of the finest gems in the world—they rotated through the institute on loan on a pretty regular basis, after all.
And while she might not be a thief, her father’s reputation would be more than enough to keep the doors at GIA firmly closed to her. Unless she had done exactly what his brother surmised. Because if she’d changed her name legally, there was no doubt that the detectives Marc had hired to look for her in those first couple of years would have caught it.
“So, how’s she doing anyway?” Nic broke into Marc’s musings. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.” Better than fine. She’d looked amazing—healthy, happy, glowing even. At least until she’d seen him. Then the light inside her had died.
“I’m glad. Despite the debacle with her father—and despite what happened between the two of you—I always liked her.”
So had he. So much so that Marc had asked her to be his wife, despite his determination before he’d met her to never marry. It wasn’t as if his parents had set such a great example for him and Nic in that department.
“So, did you ask her out?”
“Did I—? Are you kidding me? Aren’t you the one who was just reminding me how badly things ended between us?”
“You were a bit of an ass, no getting around that. But Isa has a big heart. I bet she’ll forgive you—”
“I’m not the one who needs forgiveness in this equation. She nearly ruined all our plans for Bijoux!”
“Her father nearly ruined all our plans, not her.”
“She knew about everything.”
“Yeah, but what was she supposed to say? ‘By the way, honey, that diamond heist you’re so worked up about? The one that might bankrupt your business? I think my daddy did it.”
“That would have been nice. So that I didn’t have to hear about it from the head of our security team.”
“Cut her a break. She was twenty-one years old and probably scared to death.”
Marc frowned at him. “You’re pretty damn understanding all of a sudden. If I remember correctly, you were calling for her head when everything was going down.”
“Her father’s head,” Nic corrected. “I thought he should fry for what he did, but you were the one who refused to press charges. And who pulled every string you could to get him out of trouble. Hell, you’re still paying back favors from that whole debacle.”
Nic was right. Marc was—and the favors were often uncomfortable ones. More than once, he’d wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. Why had he worked so hard to keep Isa’s father out of prison after what the man had done? But then he’d seen her face in his mind’s eye—pale, drawn, terrified—and known that he hadn’t had a choice.
Getting up, Marc crossed to one of the two picture windows that formed the outside walls of his corner office. Beyond the glass, he had a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean as it crashed against the rocky shoreline. He studied it for long seconds, letting the roll of powerful waves calm some of the annoyance—and confusion—inside of him. Moving Bijoux’s North American headquarters to San Diego six months ago was one of his smarter moves. He’d done it because of the proximity to the world headquarters of GIA, but access to the ocean was a very nice side benefit.
“He was a sick, old man. Salvatore was dead before the year was out, anyway. He didn’t need to spend the last couple months of his life in a cell.”
“You did that for Isa, and because underneath that crusty exterior you’ve actually got a soft heart—”
“Crusty? You make me sound like I’m ninety!”
“You said it, I didn’t.” Nic’s smartphone alarm went off and he sprung to his feet. “I’ve got to go. There’s a marketing meeting starting in five minutes that I want to sit in on.”
“Everything going okay with the new campaign?” Marc asked. He was the CEO of Bijoux, the guy who handled all the business stuff—governmental contracts, mining, employees, distribution. But his brother was the creative genius in the family. He handled marketing, public relations and sales. Anything that had to do with Bijoux’s public image. And he did it brilliantly, something Marc appreciated because it gave him time to concentrate on what he loved best—growing his fa
mily’s gem company into the largest socially and environmentally responsible diamond company in the business.
“It’s going great,” Nic said dismissively. “I just like to be at all the meetings to hear the ideas, see what’s going around. Get a sense of the zeitgeist, I guess you could say.”
“And they call me the control freak in the family?”
“Because you are. While I am merely conscientious.” Nic crumpled up his empty soda can and shot it toward the recycle bin in the back corner of Marc’s office. “Yeah, baby, nothing but net.”
Marc bit his tongue to keep from telling Nic that there was no net. God forbid he get another lecture on not being the “fun” brother.
Nic made his way toward the exit, then stopped at the doorway and turned back to Marc.
“Seriously, bro. Fate’s given you another chance with Isa. You should take it.”
“I don’t believe in fate. And I don’t want another chance with her.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.” After everything that had gone down between them? The last thing he wanted was to give Isa another shot at screwing up his business...or his heart.
Did he want to sleep with her again? Hell, yeah. What man wouldn’t? She was beautiful when she was aroused. Not to mention sexy as hell—especially when she screamed his name while she came. Being with her had been the best sex he’d ever had.
Then again, she’d always been more the type to make love than have sex. He’d loved that about her when they’d been together. Now, however, it was nothing but a pain in his ass—not to mention other, more notable parts of his anatomy. He didn’t do the whole tenderness thing anymore.
“Well, then, forget about her,” Nic told him practically. “The past is dead. You’ve both moved on. Keep it that way.”
“I intend to.”
And yet, Marc couldn’t help thinking about Isa—and about her date to the party that night. Gideon. Just the name set his teeth on edge. What kind of name was Gideon, anyway? Who the hell was he? And what the hell did he want with Isa?
An image of her standing in front of her classroom flashed through Marc’s mind. Her eyes alight with the thrill of talking about her favorite subject, her skin flushed and glowing. Her miles of red hair locked down in that ridiculous braid, her gorgeous body hidden, and yet revealed, by the tailored pants and turtleneck sweater she’d been wearing.
When he’d known her, she’d been all warm, sweet passion—for life, for gems, for him. Now she was a contradiction, a bunch of stopping-and-going that, combined, made for an even more intriguing woman. One that he couldn’t help wanting despite his anger, and her betrayal.
No, Isa hadn’t been eager to renew their acquaintance that afternoon. But he’d seen the way she looked at him, the way she swayed toward him when he touched her. Maybe getting her into bed again wouldn’t be nearly as challenging as it once had been. The thought made him smile. Because once he got her there, he would take her—over and over and over again. Every way a man could take a woman.
He’d get her out of his system once and then, finally, he’d be able to put her—and all their unfinished business—behind him once and for all.
Three
He was there. Marc. Though she hadn’t run into him yet, Isa had felt him watching her from the moment she and Gideon had walked in the door of the faculty mixer. It had always been that way with them—she couldn’t help but sense Marc whenever he was anywhere close to her.
“Can I get you a drink?” Gideon asked, his mouth inches from her ear. She knew he did it because it was hard to hear in the gallery—overlaying the soft music was the sound of a hundred voices, all vying to be heard—but still, feeling his warm breath so close to her cheek and neck unnerved her. Made her feel a little uncomfortable.
Which was stupid. Gideon was her friend and occasional movie/mixer date. It had been that way since they’d met three years before and never once had he given any indication that he wanted more. They were buddies, pals, each other’s port in a storm. So why was she suddenly feeling so awkward around him?
A shiver ran down her spine, and with it came the answer to her question. Because Marc was there, watching her. And though she hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him, she knew he wouldn’t like the fact that Gideon was so close to her, his face next to hers, his hand resting softly at the center of her back.
As soon as the thought came, she beat it down. She and Marc had been over for six long years. He probably couldn’t care less that she was here with Gideon—any more than she cared who he was with. Any feeling she had otherwise was probably just a leftover from when they had been together. Back then, Marc had been extremely possessive of her. But then, she’d felt the same way about him.
“Isabel?” Gideon’s smooth voice dropped an octave as concern clouded his bright green eyes. “Are you all right? You’ve seemed off ever since I picked you up.”
He was right. She had been off—and not just for the past half hour. She’d been feeling strange ever since her encounter with Marc in the hallway earlier that day. And now, knowing that he was here made her feel a million times more off-kilter.
To make up for it, she flashed Gideon a wide, warm smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been caught up in my thoughts. But I’ll put them away for now, I promise.”
He grinned back at her. “Careful with that smile, woman. It’s a lethal weapon.” His own grin faded. “You know, if you need anything you can count on me, right?”
“Of course. But I’m fine. I swear.” She leaned into him, gave him a brief kiss on his cheek. “Though I am thirsty.”
“Your usual?” he asked, steering her toward a group of colleagues that they were both friendly with.
“That would be perfect.”
After depositing her among their friends, Gideon took off toward the bar. Isa tried to relax, to enjoy the ebb and flow of the quick-witted conversation she was usually right in the middle of. But she couldn’t. Not when it felt as if Marc’s eyes were boring holes right between her shoulder blades.
“So, how was the ballet you went to last week?” asked Maribel, one of the other professors at the GIA. “I’m so sad I had to miss it.”
“Yes, well, I think an appointment with your obstetrician trumps an afternoon at the theater,” Isa told her. “But the ballet was great. It was student written and performed, but you would have never known it. The San Diego Ballet Academy has a really good program.”
“Well the next time one of those afternoons of student work comes along, I want in. Even if it means I have to get a babysitter.” Mirabel softly rubbed her swollen tummy.
“How is the baby? And how are you feeling?”
“The baby’s fine and I feel gigantic. I can’t believe I have two more months of this to go.”
“Hopefully it will go fast,” her husband, Michael, told her as he gently rubbed her back.
She snorted in response. “Really? And you know this because you’re carrying around a beach ball in your stomach?”
They all laughed, even Michael, and Isa felt the tension finally begin to drain from her shoulders. Yes, Marc was here but there was no reason they had to do anything more than exchange a polite hello. If that.
Gideon came back with her drink—a crisp, cold glass of Pinot Grigio—but before she could do more than smile her thanks at him, she heard the dean’s voice right behind her. “Good evening, everyone. I’d like to introduce you to the newest guest lecturer on our faculty.”
The man hadn’t even said Marc’s name before her stomach dropped to her toes. Because, really, who else would the dean be personally escorting around the cocktail party besides the CEO of the second largest diamond conglomerate in the world?
Her friends welcomed Marc easily, much to her dismay. Not that she could have expected any differentl
y. They were a fabulous, friendly, nosy bunch of people and any new lecturer—especially one of Marc’s stature—would be of interest to them.
He fit in well, of course. Remembered everyone’s name on the first go round. Told a quick story with a punch line that had everyone roaring with laughter. Asked appropriate questions that gave everyone in the group a chance to show off a little.
In other words, Marc was in perfect social mode—the one he slipped into so easily when he was doing the party circuit and the one she’d never been able to perfect, no matter how hard she’d tried. When they’d been together, she’d wanted to be the fiancée he could be proud of. She had tried so hard to be as charming and at ease as Marc was in the various social situations he’d thrust her into. But the fact of the matter was, she was shy.
She loved talking to her students, loved talking to her friends. But making small talk with strangers? Struggling to come up with something to say that would hold people’s attention—especially the people Marc introduced her to? Those situations had made her intensely uncomfortable to the point that she would have anxiety attacks hours before they went out.
She’d never told Marc, of course. Had never wanted him to feel ashamed of her or find her lacking. She’d loved him so much, had been so desperate to be Mrs. Marc Durand, that she would have done anything he asked of her. Had done anything, everything—except betray her father. And that one decision, that one stand against Marc, had cost her everything.
Anger churned in her stomach, combined with the wine and nerves until she felt more than a little nauseous. Gideon noticed that something was wrong right away. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his lips pressed against her ear so no one else could hear. He was one of the few people she’d ever trusted with her social anxiety. It was one of the reasons he insisted on being her escort to parties, and why he always made sure she was with friends before he left her side to get drinks or anything else.
“I need some air,” she whispered back.