The Gem (D'Arth Book 4)

by Camille Oster

Leaning his head back on the wall, he looked at her, grinning. Yes, he knew that already. Arrogant sod. "Bye, Shay," he said, and she gave him a little wave before turning away and rushing out the door.

  Down on the street, she bought herself an Orangina. She was incredibly thirsty. Checking her watch again, she realised she had to skip going back to the hotel and had to go straight to the ferry. She waved over a cab and got in. She had to haggle over the price before he finally zipped her off down to the port.

  "There you are," Jess called when Shay stepped out of the cab. "Look at you. Walk of shame, you dirty girl."

  Shay gave her a withering look, but couldn't help the smile breaking out on her mouth. She couldn't deny that she was turning up in the same clothes she wore yesterday, probably looking quite dishevelled, not even having had time to brush her teeth. It might not be the most stellar start to the day, but she had overslept.

  "I got a pair of shorts for you. Some knickers, too."

  "You're a saint," Shay said and took the last gulp of the Orangina and threw the container in the waste basket.

  "I had a feeling you might not have your wits about you this morning. How was it?" Jess asked. "You didn't bring him with you then?"

  "Nope," Shay said. "Although it was lovely, and it really, really was lovely. He's a one night stand kind of guy." Although she hadn't even bothered asking him, suspecting it was much better for herself to not drag it out. She could not afford to let things get messy with Peter Dunham, having no doubt of his ruthlessness when he was done with something. She had no intention of sticking around to discover that part of him. They'd had the perfect night and she was happy to leave it at that.

  "Is he going to be here when we get back?"

  "I hope not," Shay said, looking at the ferry taking them to Kos as they stood in line with the others waiting to board. "I kind of didn't mention to him that we were coming back."

  "Like that, is it?"

  Shay shrugged. "Just best to keep it as one of those what’ happens in Bodrum stays in Bodrum’ kind of thing."

  "From what you've told me about him, you're probably better off. But crap he was hot."

  There was no way Shay could disagree, but issues galore if she'd ever seen it. She didn't regret spending the night with him; it almost felt like it did finish something, and Shay wasn't going to look back. Ironically, they got a table at the back of the boat, where they sat and watched as they sped up, giving them a view back at sun-soaked Bodrum. Shay paid for a couple of expensive cokes and they sat watching the buildings get smaller and the white wake of the water behind them. She dismissed thoughts of Peter still being back there—maybe even still lying in bed, utterly naked and delicious. There would be no harm done if she left it all behind now.

  The ferry ride took an hour and it was midday by the time they reached Kos. The sun was beating down as they walked around town until they found a little souvlaki place with plastic tables and chairs. They ate in silence, utterly relaxed. Neither of them felt like doing much more than taking it easy, but they eventually hired a scooter and rode around the island, which was really fun.

  Shay couldn't shake feeling like she had a hangover and it wasn't the alcohol. There was something in her that was really sorry it wasn't Peter she was sitting behind on a scooter, exploring a Greek Island, but there was no use thinking about what could never be with him. He was what he was and she was one of his conquests.

  In the afternoon they found a bar right on the beach and bought a couple of beers. There were some young British guys a table over, giving them every opportunity to come over and hang out. In the end the boys gradually migrated over to their table and Jess struck up a conversation with one guy, from Manchester apparently.

  "I might go for a walk along the beach if you're okay here," Shay said to Jess.

  "I'm alright," Jess said.

  "Yeah, we'll keep an eye on her," one of the guys piped up. They were just normal guys. Neither of them had gotten any creepy feelings off the group of friends, so Shay knew Jess would be okay. She wasn't going to go far anyway; she just needed a breather.

  Getting up, Shay walked down to the water, then along the beach. Her lack of sleep was catching up with her, but she'd had other things to do last night. It really had been the most spectacular night. In bed, Peter had been slow and tender, undoing her again and again. He certainly hadn't been lying when he said he'd worked at excelling in bed. Another goal he could count as achieved. Her stomach still flipped whenever she thought of it.

  She pushed the thoughts away. She needed to stop thinking about him. Sitting down, she stared out at sea. It was the most gorgeous place. The sand was bright, the sea blue and the sun warm. Maybe she should just forgo London and get a job here. The thought was quite temping. It also significantly decreased the risk of her falling into any traps with regards to some much too attractive men, one in particular. Likely there wouldn't be much of a risk. Peter had gotten what he was after and according to his modus operandi, he was all done now.

  Just a few more days in the sun left, then back to London and their little flat. Shay was excited about the new job waiting for her at an Ear, Nose and Throat clinic. Perhaps not the most intense of work environments, but at least it was properly medical. If she could avoid it, she wouldn't do any more private assignments. The last one messed with her head a little too much.

  Chapter 23

  * * *

  Peter sat back in the large, comfortable chair watching the view over Hong Kong harbour. He'd arrived that morning from Shanghai, to check in with the Hong Kong office, which was currently running the Chinese business for the firm.

  "Rumour has it the China Telecom account will be up for grabs sometime next year," Henry Chen said. Chen ran the Hong Kong office, and by default the Chinese market for the last eighteen months. Being a local man, his networks reached into every facet of Hong Kong society. But Hong Kong wasn't China and it wasn't optimal to run the two markets from here.

  Twisting his cufflink, Peter looked out at the countless lights surrounding the harbour, and the boats travelling across its inky water. A ferry was just pulling out of the terminal, probably the late ferry to Macau. Peter had never had a reason to go to Macau, but he could well imagine Shay would be on that ferry, off to explore for no reason other than to see. Inexplicably, she had popped into his head, which she tended to do at odd times.

  "The Government is, of course, trying to give preference to local firms, but they've also been burned by that in the past," Mr. Chen continued. "Here come the women."

  Peter turned to see Mrs. Chen walk in wearing a Chanel suit. Her hair was cut short and her almond eyes looked bright. "Peter," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "It is good to see you again. How long has it been? A year."

  "Close to. You look lovely, Evelyn."

  Evelyn slapped him on the arm lightly and sat down, followed by another woman Peter didn't know. Peter had the sinking feeling he was being set up on a date. "This is Serena. She works at the firm. One of our up and coming." Or maybe not, Peter smiled. More likely the Chens wanted their own asset in the Shanghai office. While Evelyn Chen didn't officially work for Grossman Altitude, she was just as big a part of the Hong Kong operations as her husband. "Very bright girl. Graduated from UCLA with honours."

  Peter shook the girl's hand. She had silky black hair and was dressed in a pale blue cashmere cardigan.

  "Champagne," Evelyn ordered. "How long are you staying?"

  "I head back to London tomorrow."

  "I love London," Evelyn said. "Such traditions. We lived there for a while shortly after we were married. It was dirtier then, but it has revitalised."

  The waiter arrived with glasses for the women, telling them their table was ready when they were.

  They continued sitting for a few moments until Evelyn decided that it was time to find their table. The restaurant was sumptuously decorated, in muted browns and beiges. A water feature covered a wall, the water trickled softly down over a ro
ughened surface, but it was the floor to ceiling windows showcasing the harbour that was the true attraction.

  "Peter is an excellent skier," Evelyn said, speaking to Serena, then back to him. "It is not a sport us Chinese have adopted. In Europe it is much favoured, isn't it?"

  "It makes for a good weekend."

  "And expensive."

  "It can be."

  "China has a lot of snow. It is a business opportunity that has gone unnoticed," Evelyn continued, sitting down on one of the chairs at their table. "The Chinese are seeking entertainment, especially here in Hong Kong. Singapore has the same problem: it is too small. There is nothing new to discover here. The town talks when a new restaurant opens, but often people wish to get away, try new things. Ten years ago, everyone was too busy to spend money, but that is changing now. Have you been skiing, Serena?"

  "I went to Aspen one year, but I am not very good," Serena said. A hint of an American accent flowing through in her words.

  "That is good," Evelyn said, looking impressed. She turned her attention to Peter again. "Henry told me you were in an accident. You are recovered now?"

  "Yes. I had to have surgery. I have a big rod in my thigh bone now. Luckily, it doesn't set off the metal detectors at the airport. I was a bit surprised the first time."

  The first dish came. Some kind of fish in a teriyaki sauce. Peter always enjoyed fine Japanese dining. The flavours were exquisite and he didn't leave feeling heavy. It was a set menu apparently, so each dish was a surprise.

  "It is good that you are recovered," Henry said. "We were worried about you."

  Peter smiled. He liked the Chens. There was no artifice in them; they called it like they saw it, although they saw things strictly in a Chinese way, and they didn't do political correctness. They were typically Chinese and they kept their friends close, and friends included important business contacts.

  He spoke for a while with Serena, aware that it made Evelyn happy if he did so. Serena had recently returned from the US and was now working as an account manager for some of the smaller Chinese clients. Evelyn would be relentless in getting her way—not that Peter had any real issues with placing their girl in the Chinese operations, but even just spending a few minutes with her was enough to tell him that she wasn't yet of the calibre he needed. She was too young and too inexperienced. In five years, it might be another story.

  The second dish arrived. Salty and delicious sautéed vegetables. Followed by beef and green beans. They ate in silence for a while. Last came the desserts—small squares of chocolate mousse cakes, other delicacies made to look like peaches or flowers, one in the shape of a fish with some kind of thin cake material covering a sweet centre. The Japanese never skimped on preparation, priding themselves on their food being as beautiful as it was delicious.

  The cognac came last. Henry always finished a meal with cognac; the rich liquid arriving in heavy crystal tumblers.

  "And still no girlfriend?" Evelyn said. "Why no girlfriend? You are much too handsome to be a bare branch. Your mother must be anxious." Peter could never explain in a way that Evelyn would understand that his mother truly didn't care. The Chens were on the whole much more family centric than his family, and Evelyn lamented his bachelorhood more than his mother ever had. "What are you doing wrong?"

  Peter laughed. "I just haven't met the right one." It was a lie, but he'd never get her to understand that he wasn't looking.

  "You work too much. You need to take better care of yourself. There will never be balance in your life if don't have a strong home life. Who is taking care of you?"

  Balance was what he got by not having to bend and break to suit someone else's life. Although, saying that, he's been off kilter since the accident. As for taking care of him, there was only one person who had done that and he'd paid her to. He'd never needed anyone to take care of him and he wouldn't again, as soon as he managed to shake the after effects of this accident.

  His apartment was dark and quiet when he got home. The familiar lights of London greeted him. Heathrow had been hell, like it normally was and he'd had to wait for a taxi. Although exhausted, he was too wired to sleep right away.

  It was good to be home. Turning on the lights, the view of London disappeared, replaced with the reflection of his apartment. Everything was perfectly in place. The cleaner had been while he’d been gone. Nothing was out of order.

  Walking over to the kitchen he opened the fridge, feeling like something, but he didn't know what, a drink maybe, but not Champagne. Instead, he chose a bottle of beer and twisted it open, throwing the lid into the slide-out garbage can, which had nothing else in it but the clear plastic liner. Looking around the fridge, he saw there was nothing in these except for some condiments. The cleaner had cleared out anything perishable. Checking the freezer, he paused. A single foil-wrapped ice cream sat on the otherwise empty shelf. Shay had put it there when she was here and no one had touched it since. He just stared at it.

  Putting the barely touched beer down, he picked up the ice-cream. It was cold under his fingers as he turned it over. Chocolate-covered vanilla with raspberry, it said. Pulling the foil apart, he pulled the stick out of the wrapper. It was dark and dewy like a jewel.

  He walked over to the couch and opened one of the windows, letting the warming air fill the apartment. A distant sound of a siren came from across the river as Peter sat down. London was always noisy.

  Taking a bite, the cool chocolate rested on his lips before it cracked under the pressure as he bit down. Sweetness filled his mouth. Shay loved these. The creamy vanilla coated his tongue, and the tartness of the raspberry followed. The flavour and the cold almost overwhelmed his senses.

  Shay's thighs shook when she waited for him to come to her, waited for him to slide into her warm, welcoming body. He tightened painfully with the thought. Their night in Turkey had been perfect. Something had been different about it, but he couldn't put his finger on what. When buried in her body, there had been nothing else he wanted. He had felt her there. She wasn't just some body he was using. She had been there, welcoming him, wanting him.

  Girls he fucked always wanted something from him, a relationship, money, status, sometimes just a good fuck—but there was always something. Shay, on the other hand …, he couldn't place what she wanted.

  He'd been dismissed. She'd run out of the room like hounds were chasing her. Having been the one leaving the previous night's conquest behind more times than he could remember, he knew the process well. There was an art to doing it without promising something like some distant phone call or future catch up. Shay had just given a little wave and slipped out the door. He should have been grateful; it had saved him from having to do it.

  His tongue was cold and his body ached. He pictured her straddling him. If she were here, he'd have her knickers off by now, seeing that look in her eyes when she wanted him. His whole body was tight with need, aching for her velvet heat which would strip every thought from his mind.

  She was here somewhere, out there, he thought, looking out the open window. Suicide windows, his friend Tom has said. Peter had liked the apartment because the windows could open, linking the inside to the outside. Many apartments these days didn't because some losers who couldn't hack it had taken the windows as an easy option. Peter resented being told what he could do because of them.

  Grabbing his jacket, he reached into the pocket for his phone, scrolling through the contracts until he found her name. He pressed the call button and it rang, and didn't stop. She wasn't answering. Throwing the phone down on the table, he slid down further on the couch and crossed his arms. He needed company, but the problem was, he didn't want anyone else.

  Chapter 24

  * * *

  Someone bumped into her as she stared down at the screen on her phone. "Sorry," they said. "Hey, do I know you? I'm sure—" the guys said, standing too close for comfort.

  "Sorry, mate. No," she said absently. The club was busy and she's felt her phone vibrating in her
pocket. Having finished her first week at work, Jess had suggested they needed to celebrate. It was as good an excuse as any and they'd taken the tube to Chancery where there was a club popular with the New Zealand, Australian and South African crowd.

  Jess had met a South Africa guy and she was quite taken with him, and his defined pecs. He was nice enough and had a sexy accent. His friend had tried it on with Shay, but she hadn't been in the mood. The whole thing around being stuck with limited choices because of a partner was still freaking her out, and South Africa, although she would love to visit, had too many people fleeing the place to make her want to have to resort to living there because some partner wanted to be close to their family.

  And now, Peter's name was flashing across her phone. Shay frowned, not knowing what to do. If she answered it, she didn't know what she'd end up doing that night, probably crumble like a meringue and go running off into the night like some lovelorn idiot. She didn't truly know how she'd react. Suddenly, it was unbearably hot in the club.

  Without answering, she put the phone back into her pocket and took a sip of her vodka cranberry. It kept vibrating for a while, then stopped. She'd known there was a possibility he'd call her, but she wasn't going to go. The last thing she needed was some messy, protracted thing with Peter. "Gah," she burst out, clenching her fists. Trust him to crash her good time. Now she felt deflated. They didn't even have a thing and already he was ruining her good mood. It would likely be permanent if she let Peter run riot in her life, and her mind.

  Peter was the past and had to stay that way. There were certainly some absolutely awesome parts of that past, but there was no point living in what was and what was put aside. Putting her drink down on a table, she made her way back to the seats Jess and the South African boys had claimed.

  "Anyone need another drink?" a guy named Nick asked.