Vows & a Vengeful Groom / Pride & a Pregnancy Secret

“Because you’re a Blackstone.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“Other things have,” he said with quiet resolve, coming to his feet and meeting her gaze across the width of the loungers. “The board of directors is seven strong. Currently that’s Ryan, Garth, your uncle Vincent, David Lord, Allen Fitzpatrick.”

“You—” she tapped finger against thumb, counting off number six “—and my father.”

Ric inclined his head in confirmation. “Chairman, managing director…and, with Ryan and Vincent, one of three Blackstones required on any sitting board, according to the articles of constitution.”

“And you’re thinking about a replacement?” With her quick brain, she’d caught on immediately. But the dark flash of her eyes and the tone of her voice indicated that she didn’t like the taste of that catch one little bit. “Isn’t that a little premature?”

“The board is due to meet Thursday this week. I imagine we will have news by then, and the directors will look at appointing a replacement. That may sound callously quick, but as directors we have a duty to our shareholders and our staff—at the moment that duty is projecting stability in the face of press that’s suggesting otherwise.”

“The power struggle between you and Ryan?”

Obviously she’d read today’s business pages. Ric’s jaw tightened. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, Kim. The board will decide Howard’s successor as head of the company, when and if it has to. There won’t be any fight.”

She had a comeback—something acerbic, by the flare of her eyes—but the melodic chime of a ringing phone distracted her. With a quick, “Excuse me, I’m waiting on a call,” she ducked down to retrieve the flip phone from beside her lounger. The distraction in her eyes turned to something like relief when she read the caller ID.

“I have to take this,” she said shortly, already turning away.

Hammond, Ric surmised, cursing the timing. The last person he wanted in on this decision.

Phone at her ear, she’d already started to walk away, but in several long strides Ric caught up and put a hand on her shoulder.

Kimberley whirled around as if she’d been scalded. “One minute,” she said into the phone. Then to Ric, “Excuse me?”

He didn’t allow her rapid turnaround to dislodge his hand. Instead he fastened his hold on her smooth, warm skin until her eyes widened slightly and he knew he had her full attention. Then he said, “When the board meets, your name will come up. Think about it. This is your chance to be on the inside, to shape something positive from this disaster.”

Her deep green eyes snapped. “How?”

“As part of the force that determines how Blackstone’s goes forward into the future.”

* * *

Kimberley had so many questions, so many rejoinders, but Perrini silenced them all with the latent power of that last statement. She watched him stride back toward the house, her heart beating too fast and too hard as the implications raced through her brain.

She could make a difference. She could solder broken links. She could make up for her father’s mistakes.

Then his long, decisive strides carried him inside and out of her sight, and she felt as though she’d walked into the shadows. Reflexively she rolled her shoulder, which still bore the imprint of his touch, and remembered the phone call. Matt. Damn. For the past three days they’d been playing phone tag, and now, finally, they’d managed to connect and she had left him on hold.

Just because Perrini had unsettled her again, first with the heat and the texture of his hand on her bare skin, then with the juicy enticement of righting the Blackstone wrongs toward her uncle and her cousin.

“Matt?” She swung around, phone to her ear. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

She released a soft gust of relief. “Thank you for holding. I was just in the middle of something.”

“I can call back.”

“No, no. It’s okay. He’s gone. I’m done. I’m just so glad I’ve finally found you with feet on the ground…your feet are on the ground?”

“I’m in Sydney,” he said in short, succinct contrast to Kimberley’s delivery. She was pacing, too, unable to stand still. “Landed this morning.”

“Where are you staying? The Carlisle Grande? Why don’t I come in. We could have coffee or even dinner, if you’re free. Is Blake with you?”

“This isn’t a trip I’d bring my son on.”

His cold, clipped tone brought Kimberley’s pacing to a brickwall halt. She palmed her forehead in her hand. How stupid and thoughtless. He’d come to identify Marise’s body, lying cold and lifeless in a city mortuary. How could she have asked about bringing Blake?

“I’m so sorry, Matt.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she said it again. “So very sorry for your loss. Especially this way.”

“Is there an easy way to lose your wife?”

“Good God, no, of course not! I meant the headlines and the tabloid frenzy. I can only imagine that’s as bad for you as for us.”

“No,” he said after a heavy beat of pause. “I don’t think you can imagine.”

He was right, and she felt too choked up with emotion—and with the foot she couldn’t seem to keep out of her mouth—to answer for several taut seconds. In person this would be easier, the same as it had been with coming home and seeing Sonya and Ryan. “Can we meet for coffee?” she asked again.

“I won’t be here any longer than it takes to arrange a funeral.”

The shock of that last word turned to ice in Kimberley’s veins. She rubbed her free hand up and down her arm. How could her skin be so warm when she felt cold to the core? “When you’ve made the arrangements,” she said stiffly, “please let me know when and where. I would like to be there.”

“It will be a private burial. No cameras. No headlines. No Blackstones.”

Kimberley understood his point. She knew pain had honed his voice to that diamond-hard edge but she still felt the rejection like a slap. It brought her head up and put a sting into her response. “I’m sorry I won’t be there, for you, for Blake, for Marise. But with Howard gone, surely it’s time to put this Hammond-Blackstone animosity to rest so we don’t have to choose sides. I hate that—I’m sure Sonya does, as well. I’ve been approached about a possible position on the board of Blackstone Diamonds, and perhaps that is a good place to start mending the broken links.”

“A conflict of interest with your position at Hammonds, wouldn’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think that has to be the case. The business rivalry has only come about through the old feud and personal bitterness, some of which was between Howard and me. With that over now—”

“No.” Matt’s objection was low, but delivered with such chilling finality that it sliced right through Kimberley’s argument. “It’s not over. After what Blackstone has done to my family, it can never be over. Not until everything the bastard took from us is restored to Hammond hands. Since one of those things is the wife I’m burying next week, I don’t give that outcome a chance in hell of succeeding. Do you?”

Five

“That’s all for now. Thank you, Holly.”

Ric closed his office door behind the PR assistant who’d delivered the press clippings from Tuesday morning’s papers. It didn’t matter that there’d been no new developments in the search for the jet’s wreckage or that no further bodies had been found, the headlines kept on coming. This week the focus had shifted from the present to the tragedies in Howard Blackstone’s past, everything from the kidnapping of two-year-old James Hammond Blackstone thirty-one years ago to Ursula Blackstone’s suicide and the disappearance of the Blackstone Rose necklace.

“This isn’t news,” Ryan said as he tossed a national broadsheet onto Ric’s desk with barely concealed fury. “I expected better from them.”

Ric didn’t expect anything from the media except more sensational headlines. They’d stalked Howard Blackstone throughout his life and now they haunted him in death, with the biggest scandal—the possibility of an illicit affair with Marise—still hovering over them like a fat black thundercloud. So far they’d reported nothing beyond her positive identification, running poignant photos of Matt Hammond’s grief-ravaged face as he arrived in Sydney to claim her body, but following tomorrow’s supposedly private burial the storm of speculation would build. As sure as thunder followed lightning.

They had to do more than wait it out. Ric owed that to Howard, to his staff, to the shareholders.

He didn’t return to his desk but chose a central position where he could face the other two men, the seated Garth and the prowling Ryan, to explain why he’d called them to his office at the company’s Sydney headquarters after days of monitoring the search from the Blackstone home. “We’ve waited as long as we can but in the absence of new developments, it’s time to move on. We—”

“Move on?” The words exploded from Ryan’s mouth. “No. We’re not giving up yet, Perrini. Who are you to say we abandon my father?”

Ric met the sharp spear of the younger man’s gaze without flinching. He’d been prepared for the hostility. Ryan wouldn’t like him taking the initiative in calling this meeting any more than he’d like what Ric had to say. “I’m not suggesting we give up anything. Not the search and not this company your father built up from nothing but an exploration lease and his belief that diamonds were there to be found. Howard wouldn’t appreciate us sitting on our hands, waiting for an outcome of a search that could go on for weeks.”

Garth made a sound of agreement. He folded the paper he’d been scanning and placed it neatly on top of the others. “I can hear him now, growling in horror at the share devaluation.” “The price is still sliding today?” Ric asked.

“Down another five since opening. At this rate every second analyst will be tipping us as a prime takeover target by the end of the next week.”

“It’s not the raiders I’m concerned about.”

Ryan turned in front of the window, hands on hips, framed by the city skyscape at his back. “Who are you concerned about?”

“Matt Hammond.”

“Still holding him accountable?”

Ric’s jaw tightened although the blow had been aimed much lower. He didn’t give Ryan the satisfaction of responding. Instead he zeroed in on the reason he’d called them together. The threat of a takeover, not by an anonymous corporate raider or venture capital consortium, but at the hands of a man motivated by vengeance. “Howard holds fifty-one percent of the Blackstone Diamonds stock.” He turned toward Garth, the company secretary, who was also the executor of Howard’s will. “Can you confirm how that will be distributed?”

“Equally between you, Ryan and Kimberley.”

“No chance he wrote Kim out of the will as he threatened?” Ric asked.

Garth shook his head. “He was set on that course when he returned from his November trip to New Zealand, but maybe he thought twice after he cooled down. Maybe I managed to talk him out of it. God knows, I talked long and hard enough. And maybe he took his lawyer along on this trip with a new threat of disinheritance. Whatever the reason, his will remains unchanged. That three-way split of his company stock still holds.” The older man’s eyes narrowed astutely. “I take it you’re concerned about Hammond pursuing Kim’s share, the way he went after William’s ten percent?”

Two months ago Howard’s older twin brothers, William and Vincent, each had owned a stake in Blackstone Diamonds. Then Hammond took advantage of rumours of a falling-out between the brothers. Needing cash in a hurry William had seized the chance to unload his stock at a premium price, and he’d been dirty enough on Howard to relish selling to his adversary.

“He wouldn’t have to be that aggressive in chasing Kim’s stock,” Ric said. “She wouldn’t be looking for instant profit. He would only need to spin a good story, convince her she was doing the right thing, and with those two bundles and whatever else he can pick up on this depressed market, it’s conceivable he could acquire a majority share.”

“We know he’s not a player. He’s only doing this for one reason.” Ryan’s expression was as hard and dark as black diamond. “The son of a bitch would gut the company.”

Garth grunted in agreement. “We need Kim on our side. Any chance she would reconsider returning to Blackstone’s?”

“I’m working on that,” Ric said. His gaze shifted to Ryan. “As long as there are no objections.”

“She’s a Blackstone. She should never have left.” There was a world of condemnation in the words and in the other man’s expression as he faced Ric down. “Makes me wonder what you intend offering to bring her back from Hammonds.”

“A fair question.”

“Do you have an answer?”

“I’ll offer whatever it takes,” Ric said with steely resolve. “Leave it in my hands. I will bring her back.”

“You’re not wearing the new dress?”

Kimberley hesitated on the staircase, her gaze dropping from Sonya’s arched eyebrows to the plain oatmeal linen sheath she’d changed into at the last minute. Okay, so she’d changed several times. Possibly half a dozen. And during that process the dress Sonya talked her into buying had been relegated to the very back of the queue. Not that she didn’t like the soft, inviting fabric or the leopard-spot print—even the sexy touch of lace was growing on her—but it was just too unbusinesslike for a dinner that was all about business.

“This is more suitable,” she said, lifting her head and continuing resolutely down to the foyer.

Sonya had paused, a stem of roses in each hand, in the middle of arranging a massive vase of freshly cut blooms from the Miramare gardens. She raised her elegantly shaped brows even higher. “I thought the purpose of today’s shopping expedition was to choose a dress for tonight.”

“That was our excuse to go shopping,” Kimberley said with a wink. Then, over her shoulder, as she proceeded through to the living room, she said, “I would never have got you to agree to come along otherwise.”

And they’d both needed to get out of the house. Kimberley hadn’t thought she would miss the presence of Perrini and Ryan and Garth, after they’d taken their mobile phones and their constant grim-faced pacing and returned to the city megalith that housed the headquarters of Blackstone Diamonds. Danielle had left, too, to apply the final touches to her col lection for the annual Blackstone Jewellery show. Each year the event launched the latest in-house collections, as well as showcasing an emerging young designer. This year was Dani Hammond’s big break.

This is what you’ve worked so hard for, Sonya had said, encouraging her reluctant daughter to return to her Port Douglas studio. I have Kim here now, so I won’t be alone. You still have work to do, so go, be inspired, be brilliant. Make me proud, make Howard proud…and make those critics who pooh-poohed his choice eat their words!

Without them all, the house echoed its vast emptiness. Kimberley had felt the impact most acutely when she’d woken that morning. Wednesday. Marise’s funeral day. Beautiful, headstrong, self-assured Marise was dead and for the first time Kimberley forced herself to face the reality that her father, too, was gone. This house, which had always been a reflection of the man and his taste for the grand, the opulent and the glamorous, would forever feel empty without him and the ever-present party of business and society acquaintances he brought home.

Sonya felt the emptiness, too. Kimberley had taken one look at her aunt’s haunted eyes and restless hands as she fussed around preparing a breakfast neither of them would eat, and she’d decided they both needed a distraction.

Perrini provided it with a phone call and what had sounded like an off-the-cuff invitation.

“Dinner?” she’d asked. Her heart kicked up a beat and her free hand curled around her pendant charms. “I don’t think that—”

“You need to eat? To get away from that house for a few hours? To discuss details of my proposal about the Blackstone’s board vacancy….”

Oh, yes, he’d been clever. He’d known over the weekend that the waiting and inactivity were making her stir-crazy, and he’d picked the perfect time to lure her with the board position and the prospect of changing old animosities from the inside. Then he’d left her a day too long to think it over. Now she was hungry for more information, to find out exactly what was going on at Blackstone Diamonds…and why she’d been targeted for the Blackstone-only board position.

That’s the only reason she’d accepted his invitation. That’s why she’d gone with the plain business-meeting dress, despite playing along with Sonya’s fancy to choose something fun, flirty, and way different from her usual classic style. The shopping trip to her favourite Double Bay boutique had been a game, a ploy, a distraction to take both their minds off the funeral in progress just a couple of suburbs away.

It had nothing to do with tonight’s “date.”

Now, as she wandered the living room unable to sit or stand or settle, Kimberley wished she’d insisted on meeting Perrini at the restaurant instead of letting him railroad her into the “more convenient” pickup. Being all dressed up and waiting for a man to arrive on her doorstep only played into the nerve-jangling notion of a real date.

She should have asked him to call when he left the office. Then she could have timed this better. Perhaps she still had time to go upstairs and change her earrings. Or to pin her ponytail into a chignon. At least that would fill some—

The chime of the doorbell echoed through the cavernous interior and startled Kimberley’s jumpy heart. He was here. About bloody time.

“I’ll get it,” Sonya called. Seconds later Kimberley heard the murmur of voices fol lowed by the deep rumble of Perrini’s laughter. She’d already taken several strides toward the foyer but the punch of that sound brought her up short. Laughter, so unexpected, so familiar to her female heart.

A hot charge of anticipation rocketed through her veins, tightening low in her stomach and tingling through her skin. She so wasn’t ready for this. She needed a minute or two to compose herself, to restore her cool poise…time she didn’t have as footsteps and the melodious notes of Sonya’s voice heralded their approach.

At the last second, she scurried for the nearest chair and picked up a glossy from the side table. When Sonya said, “Kim, Ric’s here,” she managed to lower the magazine with surprisingly steady hands. Her smile was cordial, calm, controlled. Then she looked up into the deep sapphire of his eyes and her heart lurched like a poleaxed drunk.

“You’re here,” she said nonsensically.

Not the opening line she’d rehearsed—that was supposed to be a cool you’re late, as she swept past him and strode out to the car—but better than thanking him for being here and bringing laughter into the emptiness.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She put down the magazine. “For the past twenty minutes.”

One of his brows rose marginally. “Nice to know you’ve acquired punctuality.”

The subtle jibe at the past, referencing one of the flaws she’d fixed in the new grown-up version of Kimberley Blackstone, cooled the remaining impact of his arrival from her blood. Ignoring his proffered hand she rose to her feet and, after kissing Sonya on the cheek, swept past Perrini and out to his car. Marcie, the housekeeper, opened the front door and allowed her to proceed unimpeded. If only they had valet parking she could have swept all the way to his car and into the passenger seat.

Instead she was left beside the locked Maserati cooling her three-inch heels. She’d chosen them to help level out the height difference and therefore the power dynamic, although she still needed an extra couple of inches to bring her eye-to-eye with Perrini’s six-one.

Why in heaven’s name had he felt the need to lock his precious car?

Arms folded, she tapped her toe and frowned back toward the still-open front door. Several minutes later he appeared, and paused to speak to Marcie. Okay, she was honest enough to admit that he looked bloody good. Even though he’d likely come straight from the office after a twelve-hour day, his charcoal suit was immaculate, his white shirt crisp, his sapphire tie perfectly knotted.

But it wasn’t only the expensive hand-tailoring, it was the way he wore the clothes. Whether he was striding into a meeting wearing one of his suits or sauntering by the pool in nothing but a brief pair of swimmers, he had a unique combination of cool authority and kick-ass confidence that drew attention to the man rather than the external trappings.

The effects of that long, open inspection were still rippling through Kimberley’s body when he bent and kissed a blushing Marcie on the cheek, and peeled away to jog down the steps. The remnants of a smile softened his mouth and she had to work hard to maintain her irritation.

“Don’t you trust our staff?” she asked, inclining her head toward the locked car.

“Force of habit.” The doors popped with a scarcely audible snick. He opened her door, then waited until she’d slid inside before he leaned down to meet her eyes. His were no longer smiling. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t expecting to see any staff.”

Kimberley recognised the pointed dig. “I couldn’t see the sense in keeping loyal, long-serving staff laid off for fear they may leak private information, when it is obvious the press is getting whatever details they want from their own sources.”

“Are you referring to Marise’s supposedly private funeral?”

“That’s one instance.” It had been mentioned in more than one of today’s newspapers, which made her mad enough to spit. “They seem remarkably well-informed about everything.”

“It’s their job to be.” Perrini’s expression tightened with his own irritation. “Seat belt.”

“I’m not a child. I know—”

She sucked in a breath as he short-circuited her indignant protest by leaning across to retrieve the belt. In the process his arm brushed the side of her breast and she felt the fleeting contact reverberate low in her belly and pull tight in her nipples.

Damn.

He stilled a moment—or perhaps that was just her, her heart, her senses—before clicking the belt into place. Then the dark heat of his eyes locked on hers and he spoke in a low and rough-edged voice. “I know you’re not a child, Kim, despite indications to the contrary.”

Indications to the contrary? What the hell did he mean by that?

The door thudded shut, leaving her quivering with suppressed wrath for the six seconds he took to round the car and slip into the driver’s seat. Kimberley counted to six again, while he started the engine and she controlled her urge to shriek those questions.

“Indications to the contrary?” She managed to sound cool and composed. And adult.

“This decision to reappoint the household staff without consulting me—did you have a reason other than to thumb your nose at me?”

“Without consulting you? I’m sorry, but I didn’t realise you were now the head of my household.”

As he powered through the security gates and into the street, he cut her a narrow look. “I didn’t realise you considered yourself a part of this household.”

Touché.

Kimberley inhaled long and deep. Provoked by his remark about her childishness, that head-of-my-household comment had just slipped out. “You’re right,” she admitted in a more reasonable tone. “I’m only a visitor, but I did consult with Sonya before calling any staff back on duty. I didn’t think she needed the extra work.”

“Perhaps she does.”

That perceptive comment deflated the last of Kimberley’s resentment. How could she remain piqued when they were on the same wavelength regarding Sonya? “Yes, she does…to an extent, which is why I asked the cook to take an extra week of holiday leave. Sonya enjoys the kitchen and that’s enough for the moment. Plus with Marcie in the house she has both help and company.”