Yvonne Lindsay - Diamonds Are For Lovers

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JAN COLLEYlives in Christchurch, new Zealand, with Les and a couple of cats. She has travelled extensively, is jack of all trades and master of none and still doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up—as long as it’s a writer. She loves rugby, family and friends, writing, sunshine, talking about writing, and cats, although not necessarily in that order. E-mail her at vagabond232@yahoo.com or check out her website at www.jancolley.com.

Thanks to Richard Baird of Rohan Jewellery in Christchurch, new Zealand, who spent hours sharing his knowledge and passion for diamonds and let me peek over his craftsmen’s shoulders, and to Max Rooney of Argosy Jewellery for the introduction.

To our intrepid editor, Melissa Jeglinski, who must have experienced a few conniptions with this project. And special thanks to a great bunch of girls: Bronwyn Jameson, Tessa Radley, Maxine Sullivan, Paula Roe and Yvonne Lindsay.

Long live Desire Downunder!

“Danielle Hammond? I have a proposition for you.”

Dani blinked, jolted out of a pleasant daydream, the Northern Queensland sun that had been warming her face at the outdoor café now hidden behind a wall of a man.

“May I join you?” The softly spoken deep brogue sounded more continental than Australian. She blinked again. It took a few seconds for her to understand that the subject of her daydream, the man she’d seen walk into her shop just minutes ago, had now crossed the road to the café and stood towering above her.

It took another few seconds to realise that she’d seen him before, and to swallow her jolt of dismay. It was him—what’s his name—Quinn Everard!

The name exploded in her head as he tossed a business card on the table and pulled out the flimsy white chair opposite her.

Dani eased her sunglasses down her nose and needlessly read the card. “Quinn Everard. Broker.” Simple, classy, on a satiny-silver card. They’d never met personally, but she’d seen his face in many jewellery publications over the years.

His head turned toward the café door and immediately a waitress materialised. He ordered coffee while Dani’s curiosity ran riot. What could the great Australian gem expert want with her? He’d made it very plain, very publicly, that she wasn’t good enough to wipe his shoes on.

“Did you see anything you liked?” she asked, sipping on the straw of her thick shake.

Chocolate brown eyes under thick brows scanned her face.

“In the shop,” she qualified, easing one hot foot out of her shoe under the table.

“I was looking for you. Your assistant pointed you out.”

“You were checking out my window. I saw you.”

He rested his elbow on the table and subjected her to a leisurely inspection. Just another nail in his coffin, as far as she was concerned. Dani stared boldly back, seeing in her mind’s eye his tall broad form as he’d scrutinised her display window. How she’d admired what looked like an Armani suit—a rarity in the tropics—and his smooth, rolling gait as he’d straightened and disappeared inside. He moved like a fighter, and who’s to say he wasn’t? There was a definite break in his nose, the telltale bump high on the bridge, and a scar, smooth and pale, traced the corner of his mouth.

His inspection completed, he sat back in his seat. “I’ve been hearing your name around lately.”

Thanks to Howard Blackstone, Dani’s benefactor, who’d nominated her as his featured designer for the annual launch last February. “The Blackstone Jewellery launch, probably.” Blackstone Jewellery was one retail division of Blackstone Diamonds, Howard’s mining and manufacturing company. Dani pursed her lips sardonically. “Oh, I forgot. You weren’t invited.”

A flicker of amusement deepened the creases on both sides of his mouth, showing up an unexpected dimple. “I’ve never said I don’t find your work interesting, Ms. Hammond. Which is why I’m here. As I said, I have a proposition for you.”

She relished the sharp stab of triumph. This man had never made a pretence of liking her stuff, yet here he was. What on earth could he want to proposition her about?

Dani could think of some things … and they were all tied up with sizing him up as a hunk a few moments ago, before she’d realised who he was.

Hopeful that the lick of attraction she felt wasn’t written all over her face, she cleared her throat. “A proposition for me? April Fools was a couple of days ago.”

“I want you to design a setting for a large and very special diamond.”

This was very satisfying. The great Quinn Everard wanted her, Dani Hammond, to make him a diamond necklace.

Oh, but there was that one small problem. They hated each other.

She raised her head. “No.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Diamonds aren’t really my specialty.” His words, aimed at her four years ago at the prestigious Young Designer of the Year Award competition, the one everyone tipped her to win, came back to her. He’d said something along the lines of “A jewellery designer should stick to what she knows and is comfortable with. Ms. Hammond may have cut her teeth on diamonds, but she has little flair and understanding of the essence of the stones.”

That wasn’t the only public dressing-down Dani had received from Quinn Everard. She’d assumed it was because of the spat between he and Howard years ago.

“Remember?” she asked sweetly, and received a coolly assessing gaze in response. How could he sit there in his gazillion-thread suit and not melt?

“I am offering a generous commission.”

Now, that was interesting … “How generous?” A little extra cash and she could make the final payment on her loan from Howard. Of course, she’d repay his estate, since he’d died earlier in the year. Generous enough to include some new display cabinets, maybe? A face-lift for the tired signage?

Quinn took out what looked to be a solid-gold pen, wrote something on the business card and turned it around so she could see.

A surprised cough escaped and she jerked her head up at the numbers on the business card. “You want to pay me that to make you a piece of jewellery?”

He nodded.

The amount was obscene. Damn the spruce-up. This could be the deposit for the bigger, more modern and vacant premises two doors down.

“That’s way over the odds. You know that.”

“Yes or no?”

She shook her head, positive she was the butt of someone’s joke. “The answer’s no.”