Ruth Wind - The Diamond Secret

He grinned. “The car is here.” He pointed toward a car park near the train station. Behind us the photographers strolled along, shooting photos lazily, their cigarette smoke carried invisibly toward us on the night.

He led the way toward a tiny Ford Mini. White. I raised an eyebrow. “Could you possibly have chosen anything less cool?”

He made a face, brushed the question from the air with a wave of his hand, and opened the passenger door for me. There was that one moment of disorientation when I looked down and there was no steering wheel on the left. I started to duck into the car, but Luca captured my arm. Stopped me.

And before I knew what was happening, he slid his hand into my hair, tilted his head toward mine and kissed me.

Even as I was falling into it, I knew exactly what he was doing—for some reason he wanted our photos in the tabloids. He wanted something passionate and sexy. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d never be famous enough to make the covers, but with the news of the drug dealer’s stash, and the sexy possibility of a lost gem, and the excitement over my father’s current wins on the circuit, chances were excellent—especially with Luca’s good looks—that we’d be plastered over them all tomorrow. For a split second, I wondered who he wanted to see us.

I started to pull back, half offended, but who was I kidding? I was using him, too. It wouldn’t exactly kill me to have my ex-husband see photos of me kissing some dashing foreigner. For a single long moment, I felt a ripple of satisfaction at the idea of Timothy standing in line in some grocery store, and the tabloids emblazoned with me and Luca kissing.

That was where I was in one minute.

The very next second, he lifted his head slightly, his hands cupped around my face, and he looked faintly puzzled. “Well,” he whispered, and before I could gather my senses enough to move away, he’d bent his head again, claimed my mouth, and something shifted with both of us.

Just that simple. He tasted exactly right. There are people you know are bad for you and you let them get away with murder for all kinds of physical reasons. That’s all I can tell you about Luca. His mouth was as luscious as it looked, the lips full and delicious and somehow elegant. That scent of oranges, sharp as freshly grated peel, swept through me, made my hips soft, and I lost my head for three seconds.

Or maybe it was thirty.

I know my head fell back into his palm, that his thumb was on my cheek, that he might have been mugging for the cameras at first, but it shifted for him at the same instant it did for me, and there was nothing pretend in the sudden thrust of his tongue, the sparking electricity that ran in blue rivulets between us. That tendril of unfurling awareness on my spine moved trough my body, twining around those places our bodies touched—chest, knees, lips.

I very nearly let go. His fingers slid down my neck, traced my collarbone—

Some internal alarm screamed my name. I shoved him away. “Stop!”

For one long second, he didn’t release me, only hovered there a moment, eyes sharp and hot, one hand still tangled in my hair. His lips were slightly parted. I forgot there were photographers hovering. Forgot that I had a giant diamond stashed in my bra. Forgot I was in Scotland for a good reason and I needed to protect my integrity.

Then his nostrils flared and he abruptly dropped his hands, moved away from me.

“Get in,” he said.

Diamonds were worn by aristocratic families to ward off the plague during the Middle Ages. The poorest people always died first, since they lived closer to the docks, where the ships often brought the plague from other countries. The rich had an idea that since the poor went first, that displaying their wealth (diamonds) would keep them from infection.

—Margaret Odrowaz-Sypniewski, B.F.A.

When I climbed into the car, he slammed the door and came around to get behind the wheel. He did not look at me as he turned the key in the ignition. I noticed that his hands were shaking slightly.

“Where is your room?” he asked gruffly.

I gave him directions. He nearly turned the wrong way out of the parking lot, and cursed left-hand drive before he corrected his turn. “When will Britain catch up with the rest of the world on traffic?”

“Never.”

“It’s idiotic.”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

It took longer to get out of the parking lot than it did to get to the hotel, and we pulled up into the lot there. Lamplight glowed at the windows stacked up into the darkness.

Would I invite him in? Under other circumstances, I might have. But I would not do it tonight. There were too many volatilities built into it. Too much at stake.

I got out. He followed me, keys in hand, to the back of the car. Without speaking, he opened the trunk, let me grab my bag, and slammed the top down again.

“Thanks,” I said, and headed toward the door of the hotel, rolling the case behind me. He followed.

I stopped. “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Why?”

“What are you going to do, Sylvie?” He scowled. “Turn it in to the authorities?”

That was exactly what I should do. My career depended on my doing exactly that. Why was I hesitating? “I don’t know yet.”

“Before you act, Sylvie, will you think on it? It belongs to Romania. If you take it to Maigny, it will never be there again.”

“He has no part in this. I told you, we haven’t spoken in years.”

“So you say.” He paused. “If you will help me return it to Romania, I will make it worth your while.”

“If I do that, my career is over, Luca.”

“Not if it appears that I kidnapped you.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He lowered his eyes, then looked at me. “And what if I kidnap you now?”

“You would have done it already if that was what you intended.” I paused with my hand on the door to the hotel. “Would have been much easier for you all around, wouldn’t it? Grab me in San Francisco, make sure Paul knew so he didn’t kill you and then get the jewel back to Romania.”

“Yes.”

I met his eyes. “But you didn’t. You’re a thief, but not violent.”

A slight shrug. He started to speak, then paused. Looked toward the parking lot. “If—”

I waited, but he didn’t finish. “‘If…?’” I prompted.

“If I return the jewel to Romania, I can perhaps regain the good opinion of my family. It would mean a great deal to me.”

Something about his plea moved me. The diamond felt almost as if it started to hum against my flesh. “I’m so tired,” I said. Touched cold fingers to the middle of my eyebrows. “Do you suppose we could talk about all of this in the morning?”

“Very well,” he said. “Let’s get my bag.”

We went into the hotel, and the girl nodded to me. I went up the stairs, not wishing to wait for the tiny, narrow elevator. My room was on the third floor. Luca didn’t say a word. His keys jingled in his hand as he followed behind me. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of him—but I wasn’t. My instincts, honed in dozens of cities throughout my childhood spent following my father around the circuit, told me that Luca meant me no harm.

I thought of his mouth, that luscious kiss, and considered the possibility of letting him sleep in my bed tonight. And what kind of an idiot I’d be if I let him.

But you know, it had been a long bad year. My divorce anniversary was in two days. Sometimes what you want is a little affirmation that you’re attractive, that you’ve still got it. Or maybe I just wanted the warmth of another person’s skin next to mine.

On the landing, I paused. “I’m really not going to give you the jewel.”