Diamonds are for Surrender: Vows & a Vengeful Groom

Stung by the frosty slap of those words, Kimberley lifted her chin. “If you can’t understand my position, then you’re not the man I thought you were, either.”

“I understand,” Matt said curtly. “You’re a Blackstone. That’s all that needs to be said. I shall take this as your resignation from Hammonds, as of last week.”

Patrice Moore alerted Ric to Kim’s presence in the building. “Any truth in the rumour she’s coming back?” the accountant asked in her usual forthright manner.

“News travels fast,” Ric said noncommittally.

“You’re not kidding. It’ll be in the gossip columns tomorrow.”

Ric didn’t doubt it. At least that would be a positive piece of press, unlike the rest of the current rumour-mongering about Blackstone’s. For a good ten minutes after Patrice left his office, he fought the urge to hunt Kimberley down to find out if the rumour bore any truth, or if her tour of the offices meant she was closing in on a decision.

During the drive back to Vaucluse last night she’d asked for time and space to reach that decision, and he had no idea what she’d been thinking or if he’d miscalculated and gone too far in revealing his intentions toward her, the woman.

He’d wanted her to know where he stood, and where she stood, so there would be no misunderstandings when he made his move. When he brought her back from Auckland, he’d thought he could be patient. That he could wait until after her father had been laid to rest and the ensuing commotion had settled down.

That was before he’d taken her to his house … and let her leave without touching her.

He’d spent a restless night rueing the outcome of his self-control, and the restless heat in his blood had not been cooled any by his predawn plunge in the ocean. That heat surged again now, knowing she was here, on this floor, and not knocking on his office door.

With a low growl of impatience he shoved to his feet.

Ten minutes he’d given her, and that was all the patience he had.

He found her in the boardroom, and the first sight of her stopped Ric dead in his tracks. Dead but for the rush of arousal that quickened his pulse.

Beyond the long stretch of the table, she stood at the bank of windows looking out at the city. Sunlight slanted through the glass and burned ruby sparks in the loose fall of her hair. The same God-given rays sliced through her dress, silhouetting every curve of her body in mouthwatering detail.

That image, and his body’s response, riveted him for several long greedy seconds before he took in the bigger picture. The tense set of her shoulders. Her absolute stillness. The fact that she was so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed his arrival.

It struck him then how small and isolated she looked against the expansive view of Sydney city that stretched beyond the boardroom windows, and his initial surge of lust thickened to a deeper, richer need. Gently he closed the door, but the quiet sound was enough to bring her swirling around, both hair and dress alive with that momentum. Their eyes met down the polished length of cherrywood, and he caught a glimpse of that same vulnerability he’d detected in her stance.

Then she lifted her chin. “Did Ryan tell you I was here?”

“I heard via the office grapevine.”

“Word travels fast.”

“All the way to the top floor.” He paused halfway down the room, pacing his approach, checking the urge to charge forward and claim the softened curve of her mouth. “Is this the dress you didn’t wear last night?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding surprised. “How did you know?”

“You gave away the vital clue last night.” He debated whether to continue, but what the hell. He felt prickly enough to tease her. Hang the consequences. “You said it was revealing.”

She blinked once, slowly, realisation dawning in her eyes as she quickly looked down and then around at the light at her back. A hint of colour traced her cheekbones but she didn’t rush away. She just raised her eyebrows a little and said, “In future I will be more careful about what I wear into this room.”

“You see yourself in this room in the future?”

Her shoulders straightened with what looked like resolve and she nodded once, the gesture as tense as her posture. “Yes. I’ve decided.”

“Good,” he said simply. Get the business done. Then celebrate. “The job and the position on the board?”

“Both … if the other directors agree.”

“They will.” He halted his progress through the long room beside one of the credenzas parked along the wall. Close enough, for now. “What made up your mind?”

“A combination of factors,” she said carefully. “I do regret cutting myself off from my family, and you were right about my dreams and my future and the difference I can make. I want to be part of shaping the future of Blackstone’s.”

“Your tour through the building helped?”

“Yes, and visiting the Blackstone Jewellery store. I felt at home there, seeing the heart of the business.”

Ric shook his head. “Those polished gems aren’t the heart, Kim—they’re just the pretty face. The heart and soul of Blackstone Diamonds is way up north, in the red Kimberley earth.”

“The Janderra mine,” she conceded softly. “Of course.” Then she blew out a rueful breath. “Would you believe after all these years in the diamond business, I’ve never visited a mine?”

“Easily fixed.”

She straightened slightly. “Oh, I wasn’t fishing for an invitation.”

“I didn’t think you were. But as a director you need to visit Janderra to get the full scope of this business, to meet the key personnel, to be able to do your job.”

“Then, thank you. I would like to do that.”

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

“For when?”

“I was planning to fly out there early next week, to address concerns about new workplace agreements and about the future management. That’ll be the ideal opportunity for you to look around.” Ric’s gaze fastened on hers, straightforward and challenging. “If you don’t mind an overnight stay.”

Something flared in her eyes, a sign that she felt the low simmer of awareness between them. But she didn’t acknowledge it. She moistened her lips and fixed her gaze resolutely on his. “Why would I mind?”

“With the ongoing wait for news on your father, I thought you might prefer to stay close to Sydney.”

“If we’re using the company jet, we can turn around and come back if necessary. We’ll only be three hours away at most.”

“Four.”

She nodded. “So, what’s next? What do I need to do to get started?”

“I’ll organise an office for you.”

“Which department?”

“You’ll be working from this floor.”

“No,” she said, shoulders straightening. “This is the territory of senior executives. Hardly appropriate for the position you offered me.”

“Suit yourself.” Ric spread his hands expansively. “But you’ll be in close consultation with those executives. Having you nearby would be convenient.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll also be working closely with the other departments—PR, marketing, the jewellery division. To be honest, I would rather if my office weren’t up here on this floor.”

Ric considered her answer. Cool, logical, matter-of-fact. But there was something else, something that tinged her high cheekbones with warm colour and deepened the green of her eyes. “Too close to me?” he asked.

“That shouldn’t be a factor.”

“But it is, isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips together, a hint of annoyance flitting across her expression before she replied. “You’re right. That shouldn’t be a factor. I will consider whichever location you deem appropriate, as long as it suits my workspace requirements.”

Her tone was formal and stuffy and so unlike Kim, Ric had to suppress a smile. The prospect of an office too close to his unsettled her. Good. “When do you want to start?”

“Yesterday.”

Ric unleashed a smile as he straightened and pushed away from the credenza. “Monday might be more convenient, but we can get started on the formalities now.” In half a dozen businesslike strides, he closed the space between them. “Welcome back to Blackstone, Kim.”

He took her hand in what started as a formal handshake, but when he felt the faint tremor in her fingers and saw the stirring of emotion in her eyes, his grip on her hand tightened. “You’ve made the right choice,” he said softly. “You belong here. You—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head abruptly. “Please, don’t go all understanding on me now. That is not what I need.”

“Perhaps you do.”

“Oh, no. I definitely don’t.” She expelled a little burst of air.

“It’s been quite a day. Seeing Blackstone Jewellery for the first time and talking to Ryan. Then making my decision. I spoke to Matt just before you came in, and Blake was there—”

Her voice cracked on the boy’s name and so did her composure. He saw something like desperation in her eyes as she tugged her hand free and swung away. Nothing could have hit Ric as hard as that wounded fracture in her voice or the sign of tears looming in her eyes.

He put his hand on her shoulder. A gesture of comfort, he told himself, but it wasn’t enough. He shifted closer, his simple touch expanding until his palm cupped her shoulder and his fingers encountered the smooth warmth of her skin. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to her sunwarmed hair. Perhaps that would have been enough if she hadn’t made a choked sound of distress.

It sounded like, “Don’t,” but he paid no heed. With a hand on each shoulder, he turned her into his chest and tucked her close. The tickle of her hair against his chin, the scent of orchids and spice in each breath, twined around his senses and thumped in his pulse.

This was where she belonged. Right here. In his arms.

He would hold her, just hold her, while his hands soothed the bare skin of her arms and the delicate fabric that cloaked her shoulders and her back. Leopard print. With lace peeping from the shoulder straps and the hemline. Underwear aside, it was one the sexiest things he had ever seen her wearing and with each stroke of his hand his control slipped another tenuous notch.

“This dress,” he muttered thickly, his fingers giving up the fight and tracing the delicate line of lace down one shoulder blade, “is not coming on the Janderra trip.”

He felt the flutter of her breath against his throat, the tension in her shoulders, the live-wire jolt of his fingertips on her skin.

“Of course not.” Her voice sounded low, breathy. Turned on. Or at least that’s how Ric’s body interpreted the husky edge. “It’s completely not appropriate for work.”

“Then it’s lucky you’re not yet on the payroll.”

She went perfectly still, and he knew exactly what was ticking through her agile brain. Inappropriate. Work. My boss’s hands on my skin.

Beneath those hands he felt her gathering control. Every cell in his body growled a fierce objection. No way in this life or the next was he letting her go.

When she started to pull away, his hands slid to her upper arms and held her in place; his eyes on her face did the same.

“And since you’re not,” he said, low and dangerous, “I’m not bound to let you go.”

Her nostrils flared as she drew a quick breath, and a new awareness shivered in the air between them. “Even if I ask?”

“Are you asking?”

A beat of pause, the green-diamond flash in her eyes, the quick lick of her tongue to moisten her lips, was all the time Ric allowed for her answer. Then he lifted a hand and touched his thumb to her mouth. He felt the warmth, the moisture, the shudder of her exhalation, and was lost.

He lowered his head and took her mouth with the hunger of years of wanting and the ache of the past week’s emotion. It was no gentle exploration, no tender assault, not once she responded with her own longing, with her hands at last on his arms, his shoulders, twining around his neck to draw him more fiercely into the kiss.

With a low growl, he changed the angle of contact so he could have more of her, more of the sweet heat he craved. When she welcomed him into her mouth, he tasted the impact all the way to his groin. It was sharp, intense, an exquisite surge of lust that he wanted to assuage, here and now.

Hands on her back, he pulled her closer until their bodies were flush and the kiss exploded with a silken savagery. Thigh to thigh, hip to pelvis, breasts to chest, she was everything he remembered of raw heat and unrestrained passion … and still it was not enough. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her against him, all the while turning and backing her toward the credenza.

Breaking the kiss, he lifted her onto the sleek cherrywood surface and her hands slid forward to cradle his face. Her thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth, the effect a gentle contrast to the rough rasp of their breaths. Their gazes locked for a long moment as he palmed the smooth warmth of her thighs, his thumbs circling inward with the same erotic motion as hers.

At first he thought the vibrating hum was her response to his touch. Then she touched a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, her mouth turning down in a frown. “That’s your phone. Don’t you think you should answer it?”

“No,” he growled against her throat. “I don’t.”

But she slipped her hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved the phone. “Ryan,” she mouthed, hitting the answer button and holding the receiver to her ear.

Ric’s growl turned into an internal groan … until she sat up straight, her eyes big and stark in her suddenly pale face.

“What is it?” he asked.

With a trembling hand she passed over the phone. “He’s just taken a call from the search area. They’ve located the wreckage.”

Nine

Closure, finally, Kimberley rationalised once the initial spear of shock had dulled. The interminable waiting was over. They could mourn Howard’s passing, make arrangements for his funeral service and burial, satisfy the press with final statements, move on at a personal and business level.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple.

An initial inspection located only three bodies in the wreckage, meaning one of the men—and the marine police couldn’t even speculate on whether this was passenger or crew member—remained missing. Due to the depth of the water and adverse weather conditions brewing off the coast, the recovery operation could take several days. The process of formal identification would require the use of dental records and DNA matching, which, their police contact warned them, could take weeks rather than days.

Looming over it all was the real and sobering possibility that the lost body might never be found … and that it could be Howard.

The waiting continued. Kimberley appreciated being included in the inner information circle this time, and for that she thanked Perrini. Or she would once they got through the weekend and the incessant phone calls. As the Blackstone PR mouthpiece she’d decided to be more open with the press, in the hope that regular statements and updates would result in more factual stories and less speculation.

So far it seemed to be working. Several business and social commentators had already reported on the prodigal daughter’s return to Blackstone Diamonds, and she’d taken a deep breath and agreed to an interview for a magazine piece at a date to be fixed. Positive press, she reminded herself, when her heart palpitated at the thought of such public exposure of her private self.

“Good start,” Perrini said, in one of their few moments alone. It was late Saturday afternoon and the official gatherings and press updates had given way to the personal. Garth, her uncle Vincent and two of Howard’s yacht club cronies had called at various intervals during the afternoon to offer sympathy and support. None had left. Sonya’s tea had given way to Howard’s best whisky, and Kimberley had retreated to the terrace for a brush with solitude.

That’s where Perrini found her and those small words of praise resulted in an inordinate rush of satisfaction. Perhaps because his expression conveyed more than words, perhaps because she was enjoying their stolen seconds of privacy a little too much. Perhaps because, for a whisper of time, their incendiary boardroom kiss sizzled the air between them.

She liked that it wiped her mind of the deathly images imprinted in the past forty-eight hours, that it melted the icy weight of angst in her stomach, that it focussed everything on this moment, this connection, this enlivening flame in her senses.

“I hope it’s the right start,” she said in response to his comment … and because she couldn’t resist the thinly veiled allusion to what lay unfinished between them.

“It is.” Arrogant, supremely certain, his gaze lingered on her mouth for a telling second before drifting back to her eyes. “I like that you seized the opportunity and ran with it.”

“I gather you’re talking about the magazine article?”

“Of course … unless you prefer to talk about us.”

Did she? Her heart skipped an erratic beat as she met the still intensity of his gaze. Asking too much, too fast, too soon, that look sizzled through her, charging her senses with renewed memories of their white-hot kiss and the press of his body hard against hers. A loud burst of laughter from inside the house broke the connection, reminding her they weren’t alone. Reminding her that she’d given no thought to discretion in those crazy lost-to-the-world moments when he’d lifted her onto a cherrywood sideboard.

And that she’d given no thought to what was next.

“No.” She lifted her chin and shook her head resolutely. “Not yet.”

“When you are ready—” for a scant second his fingertips skimmed the back of her hand, a touch as dark and hot and double-edged as his words “—you know where to find me.”

He left soon after, but those final words and his dark, velvet touch kept Kimberley intimate company throughout a night of little sleep. She woke early, out of sorts with herself for chickening out of that talk, not just the previous evening but ever since she learned of his intentions. He wanted her. Five minutes of hot magic in the boardroom had demonstrated that desire. But on what terms?

And what of tomorrow?

Did she even want to know, when the answer might reveal future needs she could not deliver?

Her heart constricted with an aching trepidation that sent her rocketing out of bed, too antsy to lie still any longer. She pulled on three-quarter yoga pants and a sports singlet, comfort clothes that made her feel no less comfortable in her own antsy skin. She needed to get out, to escape the claustrophobic press of this house and her restless mind.

What she needed was a long, energetic walk. Her mind conjured her favourite jaunt of old, the path that dipped and rose from beach to clifftop between Bondi and Bronte. Open air, the sea breeze on her skin, the challenge of attacking steep rock stairs and on a leisurely return trip, sinking her toes into the silky Glamarama sand …

Yes. That’s exactly what she needed.

It was early, so early that she beat the notoriously early-rising Sonya downstairs. If she left now she might also beat the Sunday crowds who flocked to the popular coastal walk. Although she’d been given carte blanche access to the extensive Miramare garage, she dithered several minutes before jotting a note and grabbing the keys to Sonya’s compact Mercedes.

Fifteen minutes later she parked at the northern end of Bondi Beach and attacked the mile-long stretch of sand at a testing pace. Despite the early hour she wasn’t lonely, passing steady walkers and being overtaken by the serious exercise nuts. At the top of the first steep rise she paused to catch her breath and to absorb the stunning moment of daybreak over the Pacific horizon. Far below, waves crashed and foamed against the dark shelves of rock; far above, real estate battled for a share of the compelling view.

One of those houses was Perrini’s.

Would he be up, enjoying his first coffee on the deck outside his bedroom? Or was he still asleep, long limbs spread-eagled across the king-size bed, covers kicked free by a restless, overheated body?

The image took root in her brain, and she couldn’t pry it loose. Nor could she prevent herself turning back and then taking the detour up the steep hill to the headland. When she turned into his street her heart was pounding, not from exertion but with nervous tension.

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