Diamonds are for Surrender: Vows & a Vengeful Groom

“Then I can’t wait to see you in it,” he murmured.

“I doubt that will happen.”

“Spoilsport.”

The start of a smile lurked around the corners of her mouth but she looked away quickly, peering out the side window in sudden rapt interest. He noticed the exact second her pseudo-interest turned real. Her shoulders stiffened, her head snapped around. “Where are you taking me?”

“My place. Is that a problem?”

“You said dinner. I assumed you meant at a restaurant.”

“I could get a table at Icebergs if you’d prefer,” he said mildly. “Although I can’t promise we’ll have privacy to talk or that our tête-à-tête won’t appear in a society column tomorrow.”

Indecision ghosted across her expression.

“Which wouldn’t be all bad,” he mused. “It’d give them something to talk about other than Howard and Marise.” Flicking on an indicator, he pulled over to the side of the road and reached for his mobile phone. “I can call ahead and secure a table if you don’t mind being noticed dining with me. Or we can eat at my place, as planned, with the privacy to talk business and no risk of interruption.

“Your decision, Kim. What’s it to be?”

Six

Perrini was too damn clever by half! Kimberley quietly simmered while she chose privacy, just as he’d set her up to do. They had business to discuss and if he tried baiting her again as he’d done over the dress and just now over the restaurant, then she might feel inclined to throw something at him. She would prefer if that didn’t appear in any society columns, thank you very much.

Which didn’t mean she felt comfortable returning to the house where they’d spent so many nights and weekends of their affair, plus their short, drama-filled ten days of marriage. During the days they’d worked side by side with cool, professional restraint, and in the evenings they’d driven into this street, this driveway, this garage, and torn into each other with a fevered passion that could not wait a second longer.

“You’re not nervous about coming here?”

Kimberley blinked herself out of the minefield of memories. Carefully she relaxed her fisted fingers and moistened her lips. “Should I be?”

“I don’t see why.”

But there was a dangerous glint of heat in his eyes as they rested briefly on her mouth, and she wondered if he, too, was recalling the times they hadn’t made it upstairs with all their clothes on. When they’d slaked their hunger for each other here in his car, or in the foyer leading off the garage, or in the slick elevator that glided between the three floors of this uniquely designed contemporary town house.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked.

The question had been brewing, unacknowledged and unspoken, ever since the day by the pool when he’d told her he still lived here. Now seemed the time to ask. Before he took her inside.

“At the moment,” he said after a beat of pause, “yes.”

Now, what was that supposed to mean? Had there been a live-in lover, one who’d recently packed her bags and departed? Or did he have someone waiting in the wings, all primed and ready to park her stilettos under his bed?

The thought crept up like a thief and ambushed her with unbidden images. Perrini with a faceless, nameless woman. Her hands sliding inside his shirt. Her mouth opening to his kiss. Her arms pulling him down to the bed.

No. Kimberley shut down the visuals with a vicious shake of her head. And while he opened the passenger door and ushered her from the car to the foyer and into the elevator, she struggled to tamp down the impact of her irrational possessiveness. She had no right to it. She had no claim on him.

Business, she reminded herself. It’s not about us.

But in the confines of the closet-size lift, she became hyper-aware of the whipcord tension in his body and the heat emanating from his skin despite the layers of fine Italian tailoring separating their shoulders, their arms, their hips. Those ten-year-old memories of greedy mouths and impatient hands and swiftly shed clothes worked back into her consciousness, blurring the imagery until the nameless woman’s face became hers.

Her hands, her mouth, her arms drawing him onto the bed and into her body.

“Hungry?”

The velvet murmur of his voice spent a moment meandering through her fantasy before Kimberley snapped her errant mind back into focus. “Yes, I am.” Cool. Somehow she managed to sound very cool. “What are we eating?”

“Seafood. For expedience I ordered ahead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That would depend on what you ordered.”

“Blue swimmer crab. Roasted scallops. Ocean trout. Catch of the day with aioli and Murray River salt.”

Although her taste buds had started to shimmy in anticipation, Kimberley merely nodded. The real test was in the final course. “And for dessert?”

“Ah, so you still start your order from the bottom of the menu? That hasn’t changed?”

She tilted her head, enough that she could favour him with a silly-question look.

Amusement kicked up the corner of his mouth. “Zabaglione and Roberto’s signature gelato.”

“Which is?”

“Good. Very good.”

Her taste buds broke into a dance just as the elevator doors slid open at the top level. And she realised with a jolt of shock how little notice she’d taken of her surroundings downstairs. Here the changes hit her full in the face.

Ten years ago the house had been newly built and decorated in stark white to play up the clean lines and irregular angles. But with the open plan and abundant windows, light had bounced off every wall with blinding impact. Many times she’d teased him about the need to don sunglasses before entering his house.

Not anymore.

Evening sunlight still beamed through the glass doors that opened onto a large curved balcony, but the effect had been softened with earthy tones of cream and pale salmon and rich moss green. Kimberley paused in the centre of the living room to take in all the changes. In the dining room one feature wall was painted with a mottled sponging of peachy cream. The artwork, the plants, the polished timber floors and terracotta sofas packed with plumped cushions, even the gilded shades on the unusual light fittings, all complemented the warm palette.

She finished her slow 360-degree inspection to find Perrini watching her from behind the kitchen bar. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat before him on the waist-high counter.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Did I get it right?”

There was something in his stillness, in the deliberate casualness of his question, that caused her heart to thump hard against her ribs.

He’d listened. The night she lay on one of the matched pair of snow-white couches with her head in his lap and described how she would decorate this area. He’d remembered.

She completed another turn as if she was still making up her mind, and then she lifted her arms and let them fall with the same fake casualness. “It works for me. Do you like it?”

“Overall, yes.” The hawklike intensity of his expression softened as he switched his attention to opening the wine. “I could have done without the peachy colours but Madeleine insisted.”

Kimberley’s heart stopped for a beat. Of course he hadn’t done it himself. How stupid to imagine him matching colours and cushions with her long-ago Sunday musings.

She wandered over to inspect a large abstract canvas, then on to the glass doors where she stared blindly out at the view. “Madeleine?” she asked.

“The decorator. She had her own interpretations on the brief I gave her.”

Not the live-in lover stewing in her imagination, but a professional. It was nothing personal, nothing to do with Kimberley at all, which was a very good thing. It was bad enough that she still felt an intense sexual pull every time he got too near, she didn’t need the emotional resonance of discovering he’d decorated to her specifications, to please her, to welcome her home. It was much better to acknowledge that he’d taken her overall idea and used it to inspire the overhaul. She couldn’t be disappointed. She would not allow herself that weakness.

When Perrini arrived at her side and handed her a glass of white wine, she thanked him with a smile. “Even if you painted the walls lime-green, it wouldn’t matter. This—” she raised her glass to indicate the view “—would always be the focus.”

He opened the doors and Kimberley wandered out to stand at the wrought-iron railing. Low down to her left Sydney’s most famous beach was littered with people despite the late hour. Some swam, some strolled, others sat on the golden slice of sand and scanned the horizon, as Kimberley did now, for a sailboat or a cruiser or a cargo ship chugging out to sea.

It wasn’t quiet, thanks to the traffic on Campbell Parade and the summer tourists cruising the beach promenade—but Kimberley welcomed the sounds and sensations that regaled her body, even the sensual buzz when Perrini came to stand close by her side. The past week sequestered at Miramare and focussed so completely on the plane crash and its deadly consequences had numbed her to the wider world. She’d needed to get out, somewhere like this, a place that breathed life into her senses.

“I love this aspect,” she said with soft reverence. “Not to mention the view.”

“Is that why you bought your town house in One Tree Hill?” he asked after a moment.

Unable to make the connection, Kimberley shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“Its similarity to this place. The high aspect, the view, the architecture.”

“I don’t think they’re even close to alike. My total floor space would fit on one of your levels with room to spare. And as for the view—” she expelled a breath that was part wry laughter, part disbelief “—how can you compare? You have a version of this postcard panorama from every window. I have to stand on tiptoes in my highest heels to get the tiniest glimpse of Manukau Harbour, and that’s only from my deck.”

Perrini didn’t respond although she felt the long, warm drift of his gaze all the way down her body until it reached her leopard-print heels. And for that length of time she wished she had worn the new dress with its matching print and silk-cloud fabric. She wished the evening could continue in this easy harmony, that she could kick off these heels and indulge her sensual self with the wine and the food and the company and yes, even the dangerous tug to desire.

She wished she could forget her past hurts and everything that had happened this week and just live in the moment.

“I don’t come out here enough.” Perrini’s voice, low and reflective, interrupted her reverie. “The view is a waste when I don’t take time to enjoy it.”

“Do you still work those punishing hours then?”

“When I have to.”

“No one ever has to,” she countered with subtle emphasis. “They choose that course, for whatever motivation drives them. Ambition, money, ego, security, insecurity.”

With Perrini she wasn’t certain which applied. For all his charm and extravagant good looks, he possessed an inner toughness and a determination to succeed. She knew he’d been raised by a single mother, that he’d worked his way through school and a business degree, but he’d never really opened up about his childhood. That was just one more regret she’d taken away from their relationship. He’d only ever shared what he’d chosen to, withholding so much of the important stuff.

“Which is it with you, Kim? What motivates you?”

“The work,” she said simply.

“Still?”

“Yes, still.”

He studied her a moment, his blue gaze shadowed in the gathering dusk. “What about that ambition you used to talk about, that craving for a top-floor office at Blackstone Diamonds? You used to see yourself as your father’s successor. What happened to that dream?”

“A dream is all that was ever going to be, Perrini. You know that.”

“No,” he contradicted, “I don’t know that and neither do you. Everything is about to change at Blackstone’s. If you haven’t revisited that dream lately, then it’s about time you did.”

Kimberley’s heart was beating hard. She hadn’t revisited those old dreams, old ambitions, the stuff of her childhood, in more than a decade. Since her return she hadn’t looked beyond the directorship proposition and the chance to end the old feud that had rent the two branches of her family apart.

Did she want to be part of the family company?

Did she harbour that leadership ambition anymore?

The chime of the doorbell broke the intense moment. Perrini straightened, lifting his head. “That will be dinner. Roberto’s food is too good to keep waiting. Let’s continue this discussion after we eat.”

Ric kicked himself savagely for bringing up business prematurely and destroying the relaxed ambience established on the balcony. Dinner provided a temporary distraction. While they enjoyed the simply prepared but stunningly flavoured food, they talked about Roberto’s restaurant, her recent holiday, the frustrating lack of progress with the search, Danielle’s departure—everything but the unfinished business that hovered between them.

Now he watched her put down her spoon and push away the glass dessert bowl. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked, eyebrows raised at her unfinished gelato.

“As hard as it is to believe, yes. Everything was divine but those scallops were my undoing.”

“Would you like coffee?”

She shook her head.

“A liqueur? I have cognac or tokay—”

“Nothing, thank you. Let’s just get on with why I’m here.”

Ric inclined his head at her blunt request. It was time to get down to business, but not here at the dinner table. “Let’s go through to the lounge. You can put your feet up and relax while we talk.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” she said softly, bringing a smile to his lips. But she set her serviette aside and pushed back her chair. “Still, let’s do this away from the crockery. Just in case the discussion gets heated.”

With that in mind, Ric suggested she sit at the far end of the sofa. “That lamp is damn ugly but it cost a fortune. Best keep it out of your reach.”

Amusement softened the curve of her mouth as she took the proffered seat. “Wise decision. The base looks solid enough to make quite a dint.”

“This doesn’t have to be a confrontation,” Ric said evenly.

“No, although our history suggests there is that possibility. Especially when the subject of Blackstone Diamonds enters the discussion.”

Ric couldn’t argue with that claim; he couldn’t even say it was all bad. When they’d worked together on the business plan for Blackstone Jewellery, their heated debates had been more than intellectual foreplay, they’d sparked new angles and creative solutions. They’d complemented each other in the office, as well as the bedroom, and that’s what he wanted again. That heat, that spark, that connection.

That’s what he wanted and that’s what he would have, but that didn’t stop him wanting to prolong their current harmony.

He didn’t want to wipe that glint of humour from her expressive eyes. But he did, as soon as he settled opposite her on the second of the suede sofas. The smile faded from her face even before he spoke. “Let me at least get my proposal on the table before you arm yourself,” he suggested.

“Would that proposal be the board position or the dream job you dangled in front of me earlier?”

“Let’s start with the directorship.”

She nodded briefly. “I have given that some thought.”

“And?”

“Matt suggests it would be a conflict of interest with my present position at House of Hammond.”

No surprise that she’d discussed his preliminary approach with her boss. Ric had expected as much, but that didn’t stop his jaw tightening in annoyance. “Your boss is right,” he said shortly. “You couldn’t continue to work for him if you took on this directorship.”

“Why would I choose a board position over the job I have—a good job that I love?”

“Because that’s all Hammond will ever offer you. A job. Second in charge,” he stressed, when he saw an objection fire green sparks in her eyes. “But where is the future beyond that? Matt Hammond will never cede power to anyone but another Hammond.”

“Not everyone craves power, Perrini.”

He met the condemnation in her eyes head-on. “You used to. You came back from Europe, your head crammed with ideas and your heart fired with passion. You couldn’t wait to make changes, to put it all into practice, and you couldn’t do that from the sidelines. I recall you saying as much the day you stormed out of your father’s office.”

“I left Blackstone’s for many reasons,” she said tightly. “That was only one of them.”

“You made those reasons crystal clear when you left, but things have changed. You have a personal stake in the company now.”

Her forehead creased with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“When your father’s will is read, you’ll become one of three major stakeholders in Blackstone Diamonds.”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Howard wrote me out of his will. He said—”

“Whatever your father intended when you had that row, a new will was never filed. I checked with Garth, who is executor of his estate. You will inherit a third share of Howard’s stake in the company, and that is significant equity. With it comes the power to implement change. From the forty-third floor you can see dreams through to reality. You can heal rifts. You can right wrongs.”

Ric watched the storm of possibilities flare in her eyes for several long, weighty seconds.

“That’s powerful rhetoric,” she said.

“It’s not just rhetoric,” he responded without hesitation. “This next few months will be a tough time for the company. The share price is already taking a beating on the back of this week’s negative publicity. We can’t sit tight and ride this out. We need to play the game smarter. We want you working with us to generate positive press, Kim. We want you back at Blackstone’s.”

“We?”

“Senior management. Ryan, Garth, myself.”

“‘Generating positive publicity’ sounds more like a PR specialist’s dream job than mine,” she countered after a moment’s consideration. “Why don’t you hire a consultant?”

“We don’t want a slick consultant. We want you and your sharp brain and your industry knowledge and credentials.” He leaned forward, hands linked loosely between his knees, but there was nothing casual about the insistent strength of his gaze. “We want to present a united front, Kim, to show we’re not dwelling on the past but moving forward with the next generation. And we want your name quoted in the papers, your face in front of the cameras.”

Her brows arched with a hint of derision. “I thought you were using Marise’s supermodel sister as the ‘Face of Blackstone’s’.”

“Briana Davenport is the ‘face.’ We’re proposing you as the ‘mouth’, a role for which you’re eminently qualified.”

Unexpected amusement sparkled at the back of her eyes. “Aren’t you concerned that my mouth will create more trouble?”

“Only for me,” he acknowledged dryly, “and I’m big enough to take it.”

It was an innocent remark, designed to show he appreciated that her mouthiest moments had always been reserved for him. But when she didn’t fire back an instant retort, and when the glow in her eyes warmed with a different fire, the harmless jest grew teeth that gnawed through the thickened silence. There were all manner of things he ached to tell her about her mouth, how he’d missed the bite in these exchanges, how he lived for the moment it opened beneath his, how he dreamed of its sweet-spice taste.

This wasn’t the moment. The only task that mattered right now was luring her back to Blackstone’s, and he couldn’t risk ruining his chances.

He shoved to his feet and strolled toward the open doors to breathe the familiar, salty air, to clear the buzz of another seduction from his brain.

“If I took this position—” her gaze, direct and unwavering, met Ric’s as he swung around “—who would I be working under?”

“That would depend on the project,” he replied carefully, ignoring his libido’s grunt of response to her wording.

“The projects being …?”

“The big one is the launch of the latest jewellery collections. I’m guessing Danielle would have told you about the gala show?”

“A little.” She tried for cool, but failed to hide the sparkle of interest that lit her expression. “It’s next month, right?”

“February twenty-ninth. Even without recent events, this year’s show has special significance.”

“The ten-year anniversary of Blackstone Jewellery,” she guessed without hesitation. “So, the usual birthday celebrations, continuing promotions, ad campaigns?”

“All that.”

“I’m guessing this would be well covered by the marketing department. What, exactly, would I be doing?”

Looking into her eyes, Ric felt an adrenaline punch of response. This is what he’d missed—her quick pickups, her sharp comebacks, the verbal duels that were never predictable but always stirred something vital inside him. “If I knew, then I wouldn’t need you.”

“I?” she countered. “Not the royal we?”

“Interchangeable.” He figured she knew that anyway. It’s why she’d asked who she’d be working under. “In this case, you’ll be working with Ryan and his staff, supplementing the marketing plan to generate positive press for the Blackstone brand in general and the launch show in particular. As for how you do that—” he spread his hands expansively “—that’s your job. To explore the possibilities.”

“And answerable to Ryan?” she murmured after a moment’s consideration. “He would be my boss?”

“On this project.”

“And overall?”

“The new CEO, as appointed by the board.”

“Meaning there’s a fair chance it will be you.”

“An even chance. Ryan is a Blackstone, a significant point in his favour. But if I am appointed—” Ric narrowed his gaze on hers as he closed the space between them “—is the prospect of working beneath me a deal breaker?”

She came to her feet and faced him with cool pride in her stance and etched in her expression. “I wouldn’t return to work for my father, why on earth would I consider working for you?”

“Because we need you, Kim. Blackstone’s, your brother, the company, each and every member of our workforce—we need you working with us. I sincerely hope you understand what I’m offering is on behalf of the management team, and that you won’t let our past stand in the way of the Blackstone future.”

Seven

Kimberley’s heart drummed like a jackhammer against her rib cage. Poor, foolish, easily swayed thing wanted to believe in his sincerity even while her brain chirped a warning to beware his motives.

“I’m not a naive twenty-one-year-old now,” she began, her voice surprisingly even given the rough cadence of her pulse. “I won’t be taken in by your sweet rhetoric and I won’t be used just because I’m Kimberley Blackstone.”

“Used?” Perrini’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ve never used you, Kim. Not in any sense.”

“You still don’t see that pursuing and marrying your boss’s daughter in order to secure a plum promotion—”

“Let’s get one thing straight. I always wanted you, the woman, enough that it didn’t matter that you were Kimberley Blackstone. From where I stood that was a big, fat strike against you, not just because you were the boss’s daughter but because you inherited so many of Howard’s pain-in-the-ass qualities.”

She must have looked as outraged as she felt, because he expelled a harsh-sounding laugh and shook his head.

“You said you didn’t want any of my rhetoric, so let’s try some home truths. You’re stubborn, cynical, opinionated, but on the flip side there’s your quick brain and your passion for this business, your honesty and humour and the way you lift your chin whenever you take a stance on something you believe in. Yeah, just like that,” he said in a low, rough-edged voice that resonated through her blood. “Whether it’s right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. You stand by your word and that’s one of the many reasons I pursued you. Not with any ambition other than to have you. In any and every way that I could.”