Diamonds Are For Lovers: Satin & a Scandalous Affair

“And my shop?”

Quinn had initiated a decent conversation with the young hippie called Steve in her little shop this morning. “Your assistant needs more hours. His partner is pregnant. They’re struggling financially.”

Dani frowned. “You found all that out in a couple of minutes?”

“I did not draw your name out of a hat, Ms. Hammond,” he said sharply. While he couldn’t blame her for being surprised, his reputation alone should have swayed her. Put that together with one of the most incredible stones the world had ever seen and it was unfathomable that he was still trying to persuade her.

“What sort of setting?”

Quinn shrugged. “You’re the designer.”

“I mean,” she sighed, “pendant? Brooch? What type of piece? I didn’t see any cutting gear.”

He drew himself up to full height. “You will not touch this stone with anything but your fingers, do you hear?”

Danielle Hammond rolled her eyes at him. “Of course not, but I may use other gems.” She eyed him speculatively. “You are supplying findings? Platinum, diamonds, the whole deal?”

“As long as you keep the stone whole, you have carte blanche to design whatever you like. I will need to approve a model and a list of your requirements.”

“This could take weeks….”

“You have three, less is preferable. The accommodation is acceptable?”

She nodded.

“I will feed you. Everything you need for the job is there. All you need to do is tap into your talent and work.”

“Who’s it for?”

Quinn opened his mouth, staring at her face. “A friend,” he said shortly. “A special friend.”

Dani nodded, and he could almost hear her mind ticking over. That was his brief; she was not to know who commissioned the piece. No harm letting her think there was a special lady friend. “Do we have a deal?”

She exhaled noisily and stared down at the diamond as if for reassurance.

Just to play with her longing, he closed the lid—slowly.

“I want half the money up front,” she said, “and throw in Steve’s wages.”

He scowled. “How very Blackstone of you.” Her family connections were his main objection to the deal. Quinn had no time for anyone bearing the Blackstone stamp and was sorely tempted to delegate this job to one of his staff. But it was a sensitive matter, one which he’d reluctantly agreed to handle personally.

He picked the box up off the desk, noting with pleasure the regret and loss in her eyes as she watched him put it away.

“This is going to be a barrel of laughs,” Dani muttered from behind his back.

“The sooner you get on with it, the quicker we can go our separate ways.” He banged the safe door closed. “I’ll take you home to pack and make arrangements.”

When he turned back to her, she was rubbing the side of her long pale neck, eyes closed, her head rolled back. Quinn teetered on the edge of a rogue wave of desire so intense that it stopped him dead in his tracks. Behind her, not two feet away, his king-size bed sprawled, inspiring all sorts of suggestive images.

Her eyes snapped open, finding his gaze immediately. “No need. My place is only a minute or two from here.”

He gestured to the door. “I’ll drive you,” he said firmly, intent on getting her out of his bedroom.

Quinn prowled her living room while she packed and made arrangements to cover her absence from her shop. He was fond of his comforts, and the climate up here in Northern Queensland was not to his liking. Luckily, unlike Dani’s tiny apartment in a dated resort complex, the beach house was equipped with an excellent air-conditioning system. He wiped the back of his neck while she scurried about packing with the phone plastered to her ear. The prospect of baby-sitting a spoiled girl with an artistic temperament and inflated opinion of her own talent, whilst sweltering in the suffocating humidity, was not a good one.

His internal temperature soared even higher when later that afternoon, after settling in at his rental, his house guest took a swim. Quinn’s office window offered an unobstructed view of the pool. His work forgotten, he stood at the window, watching the long-legged, flame-haired beauty. She wore long shorts and an oversize T-shirt; perfectly respectable attire—until it got wet. Quinn turned the air-conditioning dial down a couple of notches and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

For the first time in many years, he wanted, with a savage unrelenting intensity. He was certainly not celibate, but preferred older, cultured and financially independent women. Women with similar interests and social mores as he. Danielle Hammond looked to be mid-to-late twenties and certainly had the wealth of the Blackstones behind her, but they were light-years apart.

It was totally undignified to stand at a window, salivating over the sights of wet fabric clinging lovingly to a fine pair of breasts, and of water streaming down well-toned, lightly tanned legs. He was much too discriminating to crave the slide of her wet, spiralling curls on his burning skin. Wasn’t he?

He returned to his desk, pushing aside the unwelcome intrusion. This wasn’t supposed to be a holiday, he chided himself. The next Famous Paintings auction was only days away. It was frustrating to be stuck here for such an important date on his professional calendar, but at least he had a contact to inspect a very special lot number for one of his most important clients.

Clearing his head one final time, he refocussed his attention where it belonged. On his work. He remained at his desk until Danielle interrupted him, after the dinner hour. Apparently she was ready to work and wanted the diamond to be brought to the workroom.

Quinn set it up on the workbench and watched her circle the desk, her small digital camera clicking and whirring as she took snapshot after snapshot.

He was totally absorbed by her concentration, not to mention her lithe form bending and stretching, and the interesting strain of fabric across her rump and thighs as she crouched and circled. So when she suddenly straightened and looked at him, he was a few seconds behind the eight ball.

Her finely arched brows seemed to mock him. “What’s she like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your lady friend. The one you’re giving the diamond to.”

“Like?”

She looked at the ceiling briefly. “Her height and build. I don’t want to design something dainty for a big strapping girl. Or vice versa.”

Quinn hesitated. It wasn’t an unreasonable request.

Tonight she wore flowing baggy summer pants of an indeterminate colour that fell between pewter and light brown. A purple lacy top accentuated her shape, which was, he conceded, a work of art. A strip of matching fabric tied bandanna-style kept her forehead free of springy curls, and lime-green beads circled her throat. “Five nine, five ten.” He shrugged. “Slender but strong-looking.”

Dani held the camera up, checking the images. Quinn noted with surprise that her nails were short and some of them jagged, as if she chewed them.

“Pale or tan?” she asked distractedly.

“Lightly tanned,” he told her. “Freckles.”

Click, click. “Okay. Hair?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she lowered the camera and frowned at him. “What colour is her hair?”

Several superlative responses came to mind, but while he was deciding which best described her vibrant curls, her frown gave way to sarcasm. “You’re a little unobservant, Mr. Everard. Do you have a photo, perhaps?”

His mouth quirked. “Red. Dark red.” He pursed his lips, wondering when she would twig. “Curly.”

Her brows arched up to kiss the edge of the bandanna.

“Rather multifaceted in style,” Quinn went on, warming to his task. “Unconventional, definitely. Some would say bohemian, but that’s not it … She’s like no one else.” And that was the truth. Her use of colour, breaking all the fashion rules, should have offended a conservative like himself, yet somehow, it charmed the hell out of him. Living with Danielle Hammond, he knew, would never be boring.

Dani pursed her lips sternly. “You have good taste in women, Mr. Everard,” she told him smartly, and put the camera down with a sharp thud. “Contemporary bling, then, for the lady.”

“Knock yourself out.” Quinn pushed himself away from the doorjamb, trying not to be horrified about her terminology in reference to this diamond. He’d spent hours trying to talk his client out of this, citing Danielle’s age and inexperience.

Surprisingly though, he smiled all the way down the hall, pleased with himself, and with her. Maybe the next few weeks wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Dani Hammond had a bite to her. She seemed smart—almost street-smart—and Quinn knew all about that.

But how did she, with her luxurious upbringing?

Sightings of Dani were scarce the next couple of days as she immersed herself in her design. She worked late and rose late. Mid-morning she would request he bring the diamond to the workroom. He restored it to the safe on his way to bed. He kept the refrigerator stocked and was thankfully spared the ignominy of standing by the window like a Peeping Tom, because she didn’t use the pool again. Most of the food he prepared went to waste as she said she was too busy to be hungry. Despite himself, and without seeing any tangible results yet, he was impressed by her dedication.

The third night, she joined him for dinner, an impressive meal catered by one of Port Douglas’s surprisingly fine restaurants.

“Why me?” she asked over coffee. “You must know twenty world-class designers who would gnaw off their right hand to ingratiate themselves with you.”

He tapped his teaspoon lightly on the cup, giving a brief smile. “But not you.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll mess up your precious diamond out of spite since you’re blackmailing me?”

“Then I would have to mess up your reputation.”

“Haven’t you already?” She raised and crooked her two index fingers in a parody of speech marks. “‘Ms. Hammond has passable talent but chooses to use it working for chain stores….’”

Quinn rubbed his ear, amused. That was one of his missives in the DiamondWorld Monthly about a year ago. She’d had the cheek to respond in the next issue. He’d retaliated by saying she was “one step up from a Sunday-market vendor in a one-horse town, pandering to the tourist buses.”

“A mere dent, which doesn’t seem to have harmed you at all. Although, why you would shut yourself away up here in the middle of nowhere is anyone’s guess.”

“Another snobby Sydney-sider,” she sighed, giving him the impression this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation. “I like the tropics.”

“What’s to like? A beach you can’t swim in because of the stingers …”

“Only for a few months …”

“Insufferably hot and sticky weather …”

“I like it probably for all the reasons you don’t. Especially now in cyclone season.”

So the lady was into sultry, steamy nights. He sniffed and rubbed his jaw, clamping down on where that thought would take him. “Bugs and snakes …”

“You get those in Sydney,” she countered.

“Not in my neighbourhood, you don’t.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” she muttered under her breath.

He ignored that. “No shopping to speak of. Is there actually any nightlife in town or does it shut down at five-thirty?”

“Remind me to take you cane toad racing while you’re here,” she said, then smiled wryly and leaned her elbows on the table edge. “Laid-back it might be, but there’s an interesting dynamic of village charm and sophistication here. Port is famous for its restaurants and you never know which Hollywood stars or ex-American president you’ll bump into around town or checking out the reef in their big chartered yachts.”

His fingers tapped the tabletop, drawing her glance. “We know you like to play with the rich and famous, but you’re limiting your opportunities here, Danielle. Why is that?”

“I do all right, and don’t call me Danielle.”

He inclined his head. “And ‘all right’ is enough?”

“For now.” She sipped her coffee. “Tell me about you and Howard.”

“You don’t know?” he asked, surprised.

Dani shook her head. “I was at uni around that time. All I know is, he bristled every time your name came up.”

That didn’t surprise him. Back then, Howard Blackstone had thrown his whole vindictive weight against the young broker from the wrong side of the tracks. “I was just starting out,” he began. Laura, his wife, was sick. His whole world was going to hell.

“Howard wanted to be nominated as the Australian representative to the new World Association of Diamonds. Everyone had finally woken up to the fact that our industry, the diamond trade, was subsidising wars in Africa.”

“Conflict diamonds.” Dani nodded. “What good could some worldwide association do against the one or two massive conglomerates who control the mines?”

Sharp, he thought, but then she had grown up in Australia’s foremost mining family. “The association has definitely raised awareness. Even America, the largest bastion of consumerism, reports that a high percentage of people in the market ask for certification that their diamond is conflict-free.”

“A certificate’s only as good as the person who completes it,” she stated, again rousing grudging admiration for her appraisal of a very grey area.

“So, the feud?” Dani prompted.

Quinn pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back. “Blackstone wined and dined me. He wanted my vote. I suppose he could have got the impression I was a solid bet, but in the end, a fellow broker asked and my vote went his way. To be honest, I expected Howard to romp in, with or without me.”

“But he didn’t.” Dani nodded. “He likes—liked—getting his own way.”

Quinn wondered about the relationship between her and Australia’s King of Diamonds. “He lost the nomination by one vote, and took it a lot more personally than it warranted.”

“Let me guess. You were off the Christmas card list.”

Well and truly, Quinn thought grimly. Howard’s wrath nearly sent him to the wall with his financiers. “He banned me from accessing the Blackstone mines. I had to borrow heavily to source the stones I needed offshore.”

If it hadn’t been for one or two friends in high places—notably Sir John Knowles, owner of the diamond upstairs—Quinn’s fledgling business wouldn’t have survived.

Dani whistled. “That must have hurt. The broker with no diamonds.”

“It put me in a very bad situation,” he agreed.

She glanced around the room, her eyes resting on a magenta orchid in the corner. “It doesn’t seem to have had any long-term consequences.”

“No thanks to the Blackstones.”

“Have you approached Ric or Ryan? They may be willing to ease the ban now.”

Now that Howard was dead, Quinn thought scathingly. His dislike of the former head of Blackstone Diamonds wasn’t just business. Howard had made it personal. How ironic that he was sitting across an elegant table with his nemesis’s protégée. “I can manage without the precious Blackstone mines, thanks.”

Dani’s gaze sharpened a little. “Forgive and forget, hey? The man’s dead.”

He couldn’t forget. The slights in the papers. Door after door closing in his face. The old-boys banking networks, determined to pull him down. “It’s hard enough starting out without the most influential man in the business doing a number on you.”

And all while he was barely keeping his head above water to cope with his wife’s terminal illness.

And that’s where Howard’s vindictiveness really came into its own. Quinn could overlook the loss of business, the tearing down of his reputation, the condescending snubs by former backers. He would never forgive the look in Laura’s eyes when he couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted above all else.

It never failed to surprise him how much it grated after all these years. “Howard Blackstone was a manipulative, vindictive bastard.”

Dani blanched, and just for a moment, he felt a needle of sympathy. Was it possible that someone in this world mourned the man so many hated?

“You know all about being vindictive, don’t you?” she asked tightly. “Wasn’t that what marking me down at the awards was about? Or the slagging off you gave me in various industry papers?” She drained her cup and banged it down on the saucer. “Maybe you and Howard aren’t so different after all.”

“Maybe you just aren’t that good,” he suggested, eying her evenly.

“If that’s so,” she snapped, “why am I here?”

“I don’t know, Danielle.” He stressed the syllables of her name. “Haven’t you got work to do?”

She glared, and in the candlelight, her hair and eyes crackled like embers. “Luckily, it’s a big house, Mr. Everard. Why don’t we keep our distance?”

She shoved herself to her feet and stalked from the room.

Three

“Fine by me!”

Dani slammed the door on his retort and stomped up the stairs, muttering to herself.

Granted, Howard Blackstone had been no angel. His abrasive nature combined with immense wealth was the perfect enemy magnet, but that aside, he had provided a good life for her and her mother. Sonya and Dani Hammond were two of the very few people in this world who truly mourned him.

She opened the workroom door and banged that, too. Bloody man!

Sonya had moved in with Howard and her sister, Ursula, when she was twelve years old. After their firstborn was abducted, Ursula became depressed and took her own life. Howard was inconsolable so Sonya stayed on to look after her niece Kimberley and nephew Ryan. When she became pregnant, Howard persuaded her to remain and bring up her child with all the advantages his own children enjoyed. He paid for Dani’s education, and over the years, they’d forged quite an affectionate bond. Sometimes she thought he liked her better than he did his own children.

Her mother had refuted that. “He loves Kim and Ryan fiercely. He enjoys your company because he has hopes for you rather than expectations of you.”

People didn’t know the real Howard, Dani thought belligerently, tearing off her latest mishmash of a sketch. His faults were legion, but she and Sonya saw a side of him he didn’t show to many. They would always be grateful.

By unspoken mutual consent, Dani and Quinn avoided each other the next day. She needed to pinpoint a design, but every time she looked at the diamond, her ideas changed. She held it up to the light, admiring the purity, depth and distribution of colour throughout. There was a cynical old saying popular in her trade: a polished diamond is only rough ruined. How she wished to have seen this beauty before it was cut.

Dozens of pages littered the floor under the sketch pad as she pared back the initial outpouring of inspiration into a few shapes vaguely resembling a setting she might be able to work with. About the only thing she knew for sure was that the setting would be platinum because it complemented a diamond’s finest qualities so perfectly, especially fancy pinks and yellows. Dani intended the stone to be the star, not the setting.

As the hours passed, ideas rushed through her mind, most disappearing a few seconds after their arrival. She played around on the software Quinn had provided, but the solution eluded her and the beautiful diamond taunted her on its velvet pillow. Finally she took it from the display box and slid down to the floor with it in her hand, loving the milky coolness of it in her palm.

Quinn walked into the room with a plate in one hand and utensils and a wineglass in the other. He stared at her incredulously for a moment, then turned to set his load on the desk. Dani pressed back against the leg of the workbench, suddenly wondering what her hair looked like. Had she showered today or not …?

She gazed at him, thinking how seriously appealing he was. He wore pleated charcoal chinos and a light polo shirt that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and had her peeking at his strongly muscled arms. Boat shoes, no socks. His platinum Rolex flashed as he leaned forward to switch a lamp on.

“What are you doing?” he asked, staring down at her sternly.

“Thinking. What’s it look like?”

After a pause, he nodded at the food he’d brought. “Eat.”

“What time is it?” She raised her head to peer out the window. It was dark. Where had the day gone?

“Eight.” He frowned at the sight of the uneaten sub he had brought up at lunch, the cold cup of coffee beside it.

Still holding the diamond, she uncrossed her legs and rose, drawn by the smell of the food. A twinge in her stomach reminded her she’d had little to eat today, if anything. She replaced the diamond in its box and reached for the wineglass first.

“How’s it going?”

The wine was smooth. She swallowed and opened her mouth to answer but was hijacked by a huge yawn. “‘Kay.”

It wasn’t okay yet, it was driving her nuts. Inspiration never came easy. She could spend hours or even days on an idea and toss it because of a niggling suspicion she had seen it somewhere. Originality was paramount.

His large shoe ventured out to drag a ball of screwed-up paper toward him. “What time did you work till last night?”

She shrugged, still smouldering a little from their altercation the night before. It would be better if he’d just leave her alone with her thoughts and her food.

“Eating and sleeping will be tolerated on an occasional basis.”

Had he made a joke? Emboldened, she moved closer to the food he’d brought, suddenly ravenous. “Thanks.” The wine had cleansed her palate and spiced her appetite, and she sniffed appreciatively.

“Is there a problem with your setting?” He bent to pick up the ball of paper by his shoe.

“No.” Dani picked up the fork and stabbed at a floret of bright green broccoli. “I haven’t nailed it yet, but don’t worry. I will.”

Quinn tossed the ball of paper into the trash bin. Then he moved to the easel and tilted his head at the latest sketch, one she hadn’t torn off yet. “Have the graphics I supplied been any help?”

Dani shook her head and cut into tender lamb drizzled with a sauce that tasted of paprika. Software was great for learning on, but most designers she knew preferred to work freestyle.

He moved to the desk where she sat and laid his hand on her portfolio. “May I?”

Dani stilled mid-chew. His past comments about her work still rankled. Yet here she was, staying in luxury accommodations, being catered for to her heart’s desire. Awaiting the payment of a colossal sum of money, and all for the privilege of working on an incredible diamond.

She shrugged. Whatever he thought of her stuff, he’d paid her an enormous compliment by commissioning her. Quinn Everard, the great Australian gem expert, wanted her to design for him. Not Cartier. Not JAR. Dani Hammond.

Quinn flicked the desk lamp on and stood, one hand in his pocket, the other leisurely turning the pages of the big black binder. He studied each page intently, unmoving except for his lashes dipping and rising as his eyes moved over the page. She watched under the guise of chewing and swallowing.

His shirt clung to the contours of his chest and hinted at an impressive-looking abdominal ridge or two. Fine dark hair sprinkled his forearms. The harsh light of the lamp picked out definite traces of silver in his sideburns. Mid-thirties, she guessed, with plenty of exercise to keep him toned and strong.

She tore her eyes away before he caught her, suddenly feeling way too warm. Quinn was too big for this room, too enticing and wickedly attractive.

His deep brown eyes were suddenly on her face. “These are good.”

She hadn’t realised she was holding her breath, but now it suddenly left her in a rush. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You have improved, matured.”

Improved? Matured? Don’t go overboard with the compliments, mate. “Thanks,” she sniffed, and turned back to her nearly empty plate.

“Maybe,” he continued, “you chose the wrong piece for the awards.”