Diamonds Are For Lovers: Satin & a Scandalous Affair

Where were her cautionary affirmations? Where was her regard for that unknown woman, waiting somewhere for her diamond? That woman, at least, would understand, would realise that to be kissed like this was impossible to resist.

Dani wouldn’t have stopped it; he taught her that in just a few seconds. How beautiful and right it was that she sat on a log in her favourite place in the world at sunrise, and the door to perdition was open and inviting. With his tongue stroking hers, his lips commanding hers to give him more, desire pushed her to where the sunrise would claim her, consume her with pleasure.

Then he raised his head abruptly and she sagged back onto her log, gasping for breath. The young sun disappeared behind him as he straightened, and all she could think was “I’ve done it now.”

Quinn looked down at her, his eyes a swirling brown storm of intent. “Did that feel like a cousin’s kiss, Danielle?”

While she was still trying to collect coherence and dignity—and maybe some form of protest—he turned and jogged away, his strong legs pumping, his back bristling with tension.

She registered a sharp pain in the tip of her middle finger and raised her hand to her mouth to nibble at the splinter.

She was so out of her depth.

Five

Thankfully Quinn left her alone for the rest of the day and she completed the first of several wax models she would make in these initial stages. Dani worked late, said her good-nights from his office door and went to bed, trying to dampen down the memory of the kiss. But even though she’d had little sleep the night before, it still eluded her tonight.

She tossed and turned, listening to the waves through the open window. She considered a walk along the beach, something she did sometimes when troubled or unable to sleep. But she discarded that idea, knowing all she’d see was his face, all she’d feel was his mouth on hers.

Finally at about 1:00 a.m. she rose and threw on her robe, hoping that chocolate milk might help.

Downstairs, Quinn’s office light was on, the door ajar.

She halted for a minute that seemed to stretch on forever, her heart thudding in her ears. All was quiet so she crept closer and pressed her ear carefully to the wooden door. Then his voice sounded and Dani nearly leapt into the air. She only let her breath out when she realised he was on the phone.

Who could he be talking to at one in the morning? A nasty combination of guilt and jealousy clawed at her as she wondered about the special woman in his life. Perhaps it was a long-distance love affair and that’s why he was calling so late. Hi, honey, I kissed someone today….

But it was soon apparent this was a business call—exciting business. From what she could make out, he was in the middle of a live auction, bidding by phone. When she heard him murmur “Five million,” her decorum abandoned her and she straightened and inched forward, snaking her head around the door.

Quinn sat at his desk, the phone to his ear. She felt the leap of interest as his eyes swivelled toward her, a palpable, inescapable sense of awareness, zeroing in on her. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and undone his top buttons. One hand rested on a file in front of him, under a half-full glass of some amber liquid. The desk lamp was on, but otherwise the room was in darkness.

Dani lingered in the shadows, although he gave no sign that he was either displeased or happy with her presence. But he did not release her from his gaze. She leaned against the door, her heart thudding along in the silences that punctuated his infrequent responses.

After a couple of minutes, Quinn sipped his drink and then laid the receiver down and turned the speaker phone on, all without taking his eyes off her face. She took that as something of an invitation. Here was an opportunity to have a glimpse into his world, see the negotiator at work.

She moved a few steps farther into the room and rested her hands on the edge of a chair to keep that barrier between them.

The voice on the speaker was unmistakably English. She heard the name of a well-known auction house and the words lot seven. Presumably the auction was being conducted in London. Dani wondered if the man on the phone was a bid clerk from the auction house or an employee of Quinn’s.

The item being bid for was a famous painting by a contemporary Irish artist who’d died in the sixties. She only knew that because Howard had one of his paintings. She wasn’t sure how many bidders there were for this particular item. The bids were relayed to Quinn as they happened, although Dani heard nothing of the activity in the auction house, only the man’s voice. The pauses in between bids seemed interminable. They probably weren’t, but she guessed there was a lot of tension on the other side of the world. Lord knows there was enough in this office.

Would he smile if he won the bid? Celebrate with a drink? She held his gaze, and no doubt her face was alive with questions. His, however, was framed in intense concentration that held her captive.

The price was now up to eight million pounds. Dani inched a little closer to the desk, marvelling at his calm. It probably wasn’t his money he was spending, but if it’d been her, she would have buckled under the pressure. The next million took only two or three minutes to be disposed of. Still Quinn looked at her face.

“Ten million pounds, sir?”

He didn’t flinch, but she did. While she’d been thinking about him, about his face and concentration and possible means of celebration, she had waylaid a couple of million.

Quinn quietly affirmed.

Ten million! That was how much in Australian dollars? For a painting?

The next pause was a long one. Dani was halfway across the room now, just a few more steps to the chair in front of his desk.

“The other party has just bid eleven, Mr. Everard.”

“You may proceed,” Quinn said quietly, and flexed the fingers of his right hand.

Dani covered her mouth with her hand and moved to the desk. The tension was killing her, but how cool he was. No sign of emotion crossed his features. He might have been reading the paper.

The minutes crawled by. Twelve million came and went. Her throat felt like sandpaper and she swallowed. Quinn lifted the glass and moistened his lips, then held it out to her.

Cognac. She would never smell it again without remembering this night. It slid down her throat and washed her lungs with heat. Slowly she rolled the glass over her forehead before setting it down on the desk. She had to lean well forward to get it within his reach, so she edged one hip onto the desk, twisting around to face him.

His eyes were inscrutable. A trickle of sweat began its journey down her spine, surprising her. She arched a little as the fabric of her silky robe slid over and cooled the moisture. A tiny flicker of that mahogany gaze told her he’d noticed, but not one muscle in his face twitched.

“Mr. Everard,” the bid clerk’s nasal voice intoned. “The other party has entered into a consultation with his client. Are you happy to hold?”

“Yes.”

Dani’s breath gushed out and she stretched her tense limbs and rubbed the back of her neck, thankful for the intermission.

“By the way, Quinn …” The man on the line lowered and warmed his voice. “That commodity you were interested in? A blank wall so far, I’m afraid. However …”

Quinn shifted but made no response to her raised brows. “Go on.”

“A gentleman of my acquaintance has recently returned from visiting the big house on the other side of town. He owes me certain favours.”

Quinn chuckled. “You run with the most appalling crowd, Maurice.”

“I will let you know directly if I can be of any further assistance,” There was a muffled crackle and muted voices. “I think we are ready to resume, sir.”

“Thank you,” Quinn murmured, his eyes back on Dani’s face.

She lost the ability to judge time in the airless room. The performance may have lasted ten minutes or an hour. The last two million pounds advanced and Dani took another sip of liquor, her nipples prickling with the knowledge that he watched her every move. Rather than push the glass across the desk, she walked around to his side, placed it in front of him and leaned against the desk beside him. Quinn swivelled in his chair to face her, still holding her prisoner with his eyes.

Fourteen million pounds.

Dani swallowed.

Fourteen-point-two million. The other bidder had opted to chop the bid. Quinn offered no objection, neither did the auctioneer, apparently. Dani cleared her dry throat and helped herself to another sip of cognac while he watched.

Fourteen-point-five million. The room spun a little, which could have been the cognac. It was like a vacuum in here. Quinn Everard stared at her calmly, steadily, and the bid rose another massive increment. The tension was unbearable.

The skin of her throat and face tickled and she swiped at it, somehow agitated and afraid for him. She could not even contemplate him losing now, not after this. Not when she felt so sensitised, so aware of his gaze gripping her, holding her up.

Fourteen-point-seven million pounds for lot seven, going once. She chewed on her thumbnail, praying. Her chest rose and fell as each breath tortured her lungs.

Fourteen-point-seven million pounds for lot seven, going twice. Dani sucked in a massive breath, held it. This was it!

It was over! Quinn had won the bid.

Air gushed out from her lungs and she slumped momentarily, but then elation poured through her like the most illicit rush. She leapt in the air, her arms high above her head, her hands fisted in victory. For the first time in many minutes, maybe even an hour, Quinn was not looking at her. He stared at the file on the desk. His shoulders were rigid.

“Congratulations, Mr. Everard, and thank you for participating.”

He exhaled slowly. “Thank you, Maurice.” He paused, as if about to add something, but then looked up into Dani’s face. “Thank you,” he repeated, and she saw that his teeth were clenched. His hand shot out and hit the switch of the phone. Then he was standing in front of her, gripping her waist hard. He dragged her forward into him, his body like stone against her soft, yielding form.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sagged against him, burying her face in his shoulder. Quinn moved so that her head tilted up, her throat exposed.

Bite me, she thought, her blood screaming in her ears. She was leaping out of her skin. Never had she reached this peak of excitement in her life, and she couldn’t begin to think of consequences, other women, her heart, his hatred for Howard.

As if he’d heard her plea, Quinn lowered his head and nuzzled the hollow at the base of her throat briefly, then took her mouth hard. The taste of leather and almonds from aged cognac filled her mouth. His need for her came from farther down where his groin pushed into the silk-clad vee of her thighs. With a strangled gasp, she pushed back, feeling the distended ridge of his fly, every link of his zipper.

His tongue lashed hers, teeth knocked and scraped. She gasped breathlessly when his hand cupped and squeezed her buttock, forcing her forward. Then his hand ran down the short robe and to the sensitive back of her thigh, lifting it high and hard against him, so that her leg came up and wrapped around his hip. Her mind splintered with a desperate need of carnal contact.

She got it in spades, and the more she jerked against him, the higher she went. Grinding and straining, she became something—someone—she had no control over. She was on a collision course with a cyclone, building higher with every lash of his tongue deep in her mouth and every hard, fast thrust against her hot centre. And then he gripped the soft inside of her leg from behind and moved up, his seeking fingers sending a bolt of fiery energy searing through her. She lost the battle to be aware of her actions or his. All she knew was a wave of scalding pleasure that fisted and ebbed and fisted again and again, driving everything out of her mind.

She sagged against him, trying without success to halt the slide of her leg down his. Boneless, still swimming in pleasure, she trusted him to hold her up because her only tenuous grip was one hand around his neck. The other arm was behind her, palm pressed into the desk and trembling.

Quinn dragged her thong down her legs and made short work of the knot of her robe. While she still lagged, he plunged his hand into her hair and lifted her face to his.

His eyes snapped at her, fierce and hot. “Again.”

“Yes.” She sucked air into her lungs and pushed up off the desk and the madness started again.

Hands tore at clothing, mouths scraped over heated flesh, breath gushed from screaming lungs. When she got her hands inside his shirt, they slid on his slicked flesh. Cool, calm Quinn Everard was sweating, her mind crowed. She had reduced him to this, a wild animal desperate to copulate, so far removed from the suave, sophisticated businessman he was.

Where had she come from, this wanton, panting woman using her teeth and nails, taking his tongue into her mouth as if it was a drug she was addicted to? She was a nice girl about sex, only did it with someone she really cared about. One didn’t do nasty sex when one had lived in a fishbowl all one’s life, just like one didn’t do drugs or drunken rampages, either.

“Do it!” the nice girl panted, desperate to have all of him now.

His hands tangled in her hair. “You think I have any control over this?” he gasped, holding her face up and scowling down into her eyes. “That went when you walked into the room.”

The only answer she was capable of giving was to pull his torso against her and swipe her breasts back and forth, again and again. His crisp chest hair scraped and burned her nipples, spurring her into intensifying her efforts with his pants fastening. She finally got his pants down and at last he was naked, in all his pure, proud, masculine glory, roped with muscle, rough with hair, fierce with need.

There was a brief halt when he clapped a hand to his head. “Wallet?” Feverishly, he picked up his pants, slapping the pockets, then his face cleared and he reached behind her to the drawer and drew his wallet out.

Grateful for his foresight—protection hadn’t even occurred to her—she took the pack from him and made it memorable, smoothing the condom over his hot, hard flesh with a dedication that had both of them holding their breaths for long seconds. He was built. Even her wildest daydreams hadn’t done him justice. Then he groaned and grabbed her hands in a viselike grip. This agitated man before her, streaked with sweat and with rumpled hair, was a side of him she could come to like. But right now, her body was screaming for him, she needed more than like.

Then his palms were covering her breasts and his mouth was stealing her breath and the eye of the storm moved on, throwing them into a sexual frenzy again.

Quinn kept one arm firmly around her back for support while the other swept clear the surface of his desk. Then down she went, clutching at his shoulders and arms, dragging him down, too. Limbs tangled, teeth gnashed, her heart threatened to explode out of her chest. The storm overtook her, both of them. The air was filled with grunts and bumps and harshly drawn breaths. He dug his fingers into her hips and dragged her forward. She felt heat meeting heat and then the delicious, brimming slide of his total invasion. For a second, the absolute shock and pleasure of him deep inside immobilised her. Then she strained up, locked her legs around him and held on for the ride of her life. He kept one arm under her to shield her from the unforgiving desk. The other he plunged into her hair, pulling her head back to give him access to her mouth. Bodies and mouths locked together, she threw herself heart and soul into a coupling so intense, as full of the fire and brilliance of the diamond upstairs, that she wondered if they’d survive or just combust.

Her second orgasm slammed into her, making her falter and lose her rhythm. Her legs relaxed suddenly from around him, splaying wide as coils of sensation pumped and flowed to every extremity. She sobbed with delight and Quinn straightened a little, lifted her higher, changing the angle to drive new pleasure into her. She was assailed by so much sensation, she couldn’t contain it and was swept away in another inferno of red-hot pleasure that never cooled, only soared higher. Somehow she held on, lifting her legs around his waist again, rising to meet him, until she felt the change in his grip intensify, his arms becoming so rigid, her hands lost purchase. But he gathered her whole body to him, right off the desk, threw his head back and in a groaning rush of breath that went on and on, he pumped, again and again, and then collapsed on top of her.

Minutes later sometime in the next millennium, Dani stirred and tried lifting her head. She was trapped with Quinn’s face buried in her hair on one side. It was an interesting predicament, unable to move, the harsh light of the desk lamp only inches away, burning her face and revealing all her flaws, no doubt. Quinn’s heartbeat, right on top of hers, rattled away at an impossible rate. She swivelled her eyes to the side, saw the devastation on the floor, clothes mixed with papers and with cognac.

Her hair scratched and whispered on the white blotter pad. She blew softly into his ear, repeating the gesture when there was no response. His lashes flickered and he turned his head and licked his lips. Slowly his eyes focussed on her.

“You okay?” he asked weakly.

Dani’s dry lips stretched in a strained smile. Oh, man, was she ever!

He blinked apologetically, lifting his torso a couple of inches. “Sorry. I’m squashing you.”

Quinn Everard was embarrassed, she thought. Like her, he probably didn’t do nasty sex.

That made her smile wider. “I never took you for a desk man.”

He blinked, looking appalled. “I’m not. I’m … sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She bit back a full-on smile. “Only if you call pleasure pain.”

They shifted jerkily, which brought about an interesting sensation since he was still inside her. He lifted a little higher and ran his eyes down her body, making her squirm. Distracted by her belly button jewellery, he tugged lightly on the barbell she wore; a triangular knot of sterling silver, studded with deep red Swarovski Austrian crystals. “Did you make this? It’s very pretty.”

Dani made belly button jewellery only for herself. The precious stones she preferred working with were too expensive, since they were destined, for the most part, to be hidden under clothing.

His big hand, spread wide, covered her belly, then moved slowly up to pass lightly over the tips of her breasts. She squeezed around him, as tight as she could, pleasuring them both. Smiling, he bent his head and tongued a rapidly hardening nipple, even as she felt him harden inside her.

“I think I can dredge up some finesse, if you’d consider giving me a second chance.”

“While I have nothing at all against the desk man—” she smiled and put her arms around his neck, arching up into him “—I wouldn’t be averse to some finesse in the very near future.”

Six

Quinn declared the next day a holiday to celebrate the results of the auction. He’d made all the arrangements by the time she’d showered, and within the hour, they were at Port Douglas Marina boarding a bareboat charter catamaran named Seawind, a ten-metre flared-hull beauty with mainsail.

They sailed out to the Low Isles and snorkelled around the breathtaking underwater garden of the Great Barrier Reef. But by late morning, the area was overrun by hordes of tourists on day trips, so they set sail for a small inlet to put into and enjoy the hamper the charter company provided.

The weather was perfect, calm and clear. Quinn was happy to find that on the water the humidity didn’t bother him at all. Either that or he was becoming acclimatised.

“This is the life.” Dani appeared from below deck with her lime-green sundress on again; he liked the bikini better but she’d burn easily with her skin. And at least he now knew exactly what was under that dress. It would give him something to do later, peeling it off her….

He offered her a plate and glass from the hamper and she stretched her legs out along the seat, sighing with pleasure.

“Ever sailed before?” he asked.

“No. Howard was never interested in boats.”

Quinn popped a cheese-topped cracker in his mouth. “Did you get on?”

“With Howard?” She considered. “Most of the time. He wasn’t averse to sharing his opinion on clothes, friends, music and so on, but I suppose that was his right since he paid the bills.”

She unscrewed the cap of the chilled sauvignon blanc wine and held it up to him.

Quinn had his mouth full but shook his head, holding up a bottle of water instead.

Dani leaned back on the seat with her wine and a plate of nibbles. “He was kinder to me than to the others. I was never going to run his company, so I guess he went easier on me.”

“He bought the shop for you, didn’t he?”

“It was a loan, one I’ve nearly paid off.”

“Why do you think they never married?” Quinn really wanted to know why the bastard never publicly acknowledged Dani as his daughter.

“Who?” She looked blank.

“Your mother and Howard.”

She took a sip of wine, her brow wrinkling. “Why would they marry? He was her brother-in-law.”

“They obviously liked each other well enough to stay together all those years,” he mused aloud.

“They were a bit like an old married couple, I suppose, when he wasn’t out putting it around …” She grinned.

“But she still stayed?” Don’t tell him Sonya wasn’t in for all she could get. Quinn had never met Sonya Hammond, but the Sydney press had long speculated on the relationship between the womanising Howard Blackstone and his sister-in-law. No matter how often the Blackstone publicity machine denied it, Dani’s paternity was subject to debate on a regular basis. Most—Quinn included—assumed she was Howard’s love child.

“I know everyone thought Mum was his mistress,” Dani said moodily. “I’ve lived with the scandalised looks and whispers all my life. But my mum has more class in her little finger than all of them.”

“But there was you.” If Howard didn’t want to acknowledge his love child, why did he flaunt them, keep them in his house?

Her gaze was unwavering, if a little cool. “Howard’s not my father,” she said tiredly. “Look, I know you hate him and I know he has—had—his faults. But he looked after us.” She looked down, picking at the hem of her dress. “Which is a lot more than can be said for my real father.”

“Who is …?”

“Who cares?” she shot back. “Not him, that’s for sure.”

Quinn held up his hands, remembering the cliché about redheads and temper. “Sorry. Touchy subject, huh?”

He sympathised but was still reeling a little to find she wasn’t Blackstone’s daughter. That was a turn up for the books.

“Not touchy, boring.” Her voice dropped. “He didn’t want us. End of story.” She stared moodily out at nothing but sea, and the sun glinted off her copper curls. “I wouldn’t have minded very much if Howard was my father. At least he was there.”

Quinn supposed he should feel guilty. Sleeping with Dani wasn’t a victory over the old man, after all. Regardless, it still felt damn good.

And then she smiled brilliantly, unfolded those glorious legs and came to stand close and rummage through the hamper. “Who taught you to sail?”

“My father.” Quinn spent many a Saturday morning on the water as a kid until his parents decided the boat was a luxury and the money would be better spent elsewhere.

“Was it very rough, growing up in a foster home?”

“Rough?” He smiled. “Sometimes. Bloody noisy. It was more or less open house. I doubt even Mum and Dad knew how many kids were under the roof at any one time.”