Harlequin Desire September 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Claimed\Maid for a Magnate\Only on His Terms (2 page)

“Yes, well, I go where the jewels are.”

“Don't I know it?” Deliberately he glanced at the wall across from them, where one of the most expensive opal necklaces ever created was displayed behind glass. “The president tells me you've been teaching here three years. Yet there've been no heists. You must be slipping.”

Her eyes flashed furiously, but her voice was controlled when she answered, “I'm a member of the GIA faculty. Helping to ensure the safety of every gem on this campus falls in my job description.”

“And we all know how seriously you take your job...and your loyalties.”

The mask cracked and he got a glimpse of her fury before she shored her defenses back up. “Is there something you need, Marc?” She glanced pointedly at his hand, which was still wrapped tightly around her elbow.

“I thought we could catch up. For old times' sake.”

“Yes, well, it turns out the old times weren't all that good. So, if you'll excuse me—” She started to wrest her elbow from his grasp, but he tightened his fingers. Despite the anger that ran through him like molten lava at her words, he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

“I don't excuse you.” He put a wealth of meaning behind those four words, and saw with satisfaction that she hadn't missed his point.

“I'm sorry to hear that. But I've got an appointment in half an hour. I don't want to be late.”

“Yeah, I hear fences take exception to lateness.”

This time the cool facade did more than crack. She shoved against his chest with one hand at the same time she wrenched her elbow from his grasp. “Six years ago I put up with all your vile insinuations and accusations because I felt like I deserved them. But that was a long time ago and I'm done now. I have a new life—”

“And a new name.”

“Yes.” She eyed him warily. “I needed distance.”

“That's not the way I remember it.” She'd chosen her father over him, even after the old man had stolen from him. It wasn't a slight Marc had any intention of forgetting.

“No surprise there.”

The insult—in her words and her tone—had him narrowing his eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounded like. I'm not big on subterfuge.”

Though it made him sound like an arrogant ass, he couldn't help throwing her words back at her. “Again, that's not the way I remember it.”

“Of course not.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Then again, you've always been more about perception than truth. Right, Marc?”

He hadn't thought it was possible for him to get any angrier. Not when his stomach already churned with it, his jaw aching from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. Then again, she'd always brought out strong emotions in him. At one time, they'd even been good emotions.

Those days were long gone, though, and he wouldn't let her drag him back there. The Marc who had loved Isa Varin had been a weak fool—something he'd sworn he'd never be again as he'd watched security escort her from his building.

“That seems an awful lot like the pot calling the kettle black, Isabella.” He put added emphasis on her new name, could see by the darkening of her eyes that the irony wasn't lost on her.

“On that note, I think it's time for me to leave.” She started to step around him, but he blocked her path. He didn't know what was driving him, only that he wasn't ready to watch her walk away from him again. Not when she looked so cool and collected and he felt...anything but. And not now that he'd finally found her.

“Running away?” he taunted. “Why am I not surprised? It does run in the family, after all.”

For a second, hurt flashed in her eyes. But it was gone so fast he couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it. And still, a little seed of guilt lingered. At least until she said, “Whatever you're doing here, whatever you think you're going to get, isn't going to happen. You need to get out of my way, Marc.”

It was an ultimatum, for all that it was said in a polite tone. He'd never been one to respond well to such things. Still, her fire excited him, turned him on, as nothing had in six long years. His reaction pissed him off, but he'd be damned before he let her see that. Not when she was there, in front of him, when he'd been so certain he would never see her again. He wasn't ready to let her walk out of his life for another six years, not when he still had so many unanswered questions. And not when he still wanted her so badly that every muscle in his body ached with it.

So instead of doing what she asked, he lifted a brow and leaned casually against the cool, tile wall behind him. Then asked the question he knew would change everything. “Or what?”

Two

I
sa stared at Marc in disbelief. Had he seriously just asked her that? As if they were kids playing a game of double dog dare and it was now her turn to up the ante? Too bad for him that she'd given up childish games the same night she'd walked forty city blocks through sleet and freezing rain without so much as a coat to shield her from the weather. She'd moved past that night, had made a new, better life for herself here under a name no one in the industry could trace to her father. There was no way she would let him mess all that up.

“I don't have time for this,” she told him with an annoyed snarl. “And while I'd like to say it was nice seeing you again, we both know that I'd be lying. So—” she gave him a mock salute “—have a nice life.”

Turning on her heel, she once again started down the empty hallway. This time she only made it a couple of steps before he wrapped one large, calloused hand around her wrist and tugged her to a stop.

“You don't actually think it's going to be that easy, do you?”

His rough fingers stroked the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist. It was a familiar caress, one he'd done so often in their months together that she'd felt his phantom stroking in that exact spot for months—years—after they'd broken up. Even now, with everything that had passed between them, with the power he held to ruin her life all over again, her traitorous heart beat uncontrollably fast at the light touch.

Furious with herself for being so easy—and at him for being so damn appealing—she yanked her arm from his grasp with more force than his gentle hold demanded. She ended up stumbling back a couple steps before she could catch herself, a reaction that just annoyed her more. Why was she constantly making a fool of herself in front of this man?

Infusing her voice with as much frigidness as she could muster, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Those glorious eyes of his mocked her. “Still a good liar, I see.” He reached out and ran a hand over her braid. “Nice to see some things haven't changed.”

“I never lied to you.”

“But you didn't tell me the truth, either. Even when doing so would have saved my company and me one hell of a lot of time, money and embarrassment.”

Old guilt swamped her at his words. She tried to push it away, but it was too constant a companion for her to do anything more than invite it in like she always did. Still, she refused to take all the blame in this situation. Not when the tender man she used to know had vanished like so much smoke. “Yes, well, you seemed to have landed on your feet.”

“As have you.” He very deliberately glanced into the classroom she had just vacated. “A professor at the GIA, one of the world's leading experts on conflict-free diamonds. I have to admit, when you disappeared so completely, I thought you'd decided to follow in your father's footsteps.”

Isa drew in a sharp breath, horrified that his words still had the ability to hurt her, even after all this time. “I'm not a thief.” She'd meant the words to sound scornful, but her voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

His look darkened and for a second, just a second, she thought he would reach out to her. To touch her like he used to—with so much tenderness that she couldn't feel anything but cherished. Every nerve ending in her body tingled at the thought and despite his hurtful words—despite everything that had passed between them—she almost melted into him. She had to lock her knees, in fact, to keep from leaning on him as she had so many times before.

But then he cleared his throat and the spell was broken. All the bad memories poured into her, overwhelming the good from one breath to the next. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Refused to be so weak in front of him. Besides, she'd already cried all the tears over him she ever would. Their relationship was in the past and she was going to keep it there.

She stepped back and this time he didn't pursue her. He just watched her with a smirk on his face. She supposed that meant the next move was hers. So be it.

Taking a deep breath, she looked him square in the eyes and did the only thing she knew how to do at this point. She opened herself up and told him the truth. “Look, I know you want your pound of flesh, and God knows, you deserve it. I'm sorry, so, so sorry, for everything my father put you through. But he's gone now and there's nothing else I can do to make things right. Can you accept my heartfelt apology and then we can both move on? You teach your class, I'll teach mine. And the past can stay dead.”

He didn't move, didn't so much as blink, but Isa swore she felt him recoil at her words. She waited nervously for him to say something, anything, but as the seconds ticked by and nothing was forthcoming, she grew more and more nervous. To be watched by Marc Durand was to be watched by a hungry predator, one whose teeth and claws, speed and intellect, gave him an advantage over every other species on the savannah. Or the beach, she admitted ruefully, looking out at the ocean through the windows at the end of the hall.

She shifted under his scrutiny, uncomfortably aware that the last time he'd spent this much time looking at her she'd been naked and begging for him to make love to her. And while sleeping with him was the farthest thing from her mind right now, her traitorous body still remembered all the pleasure he'd brought her. Pleasure she had never seen the likes of before or since.

Her nipples hardened at the thought and her cheeks burned in humiliation. He hated her, was disgusted by her very presence. She'd spent six years in a new life, trying to forget him. And still she couldn't help fantasizing about what it felt like to be in his arms. Marc was an incredible lover—passionate, unselfish, fun—and the months she'd spent with him had been the best of her life.

But they'd been followed by the worst, lowest months, she reminded herself bitterly. She needed to remember that. Just because her body was still attuned to him, still wanted him, didn't mean the rest of her did. Sexual chemistry had only gotten them so far, after all.

He still hadn't said anything and the sensually charged silence between them grew more and more uncomfortable—at least on her part.

Isa squared her shoulders, cleared her throat and said, “I really am late. I need to go.”

She hated that it sounded like she was asking his permission, but the connection that had sprung up between them was such that she wasn't sure she'd be able to walk away if he didn't do something to help her sever it.

“There's a cocktail party tonight,” he said abruptly. “In the gem gallery.”

Surprised by the bizarre change in subject, she nonetheless nodded. “Yes. It's the spring faculty mixer.”

“Go with me.”

Isa shook her head, certain she must have heard him wrong. Marc couldn't possibly have asked her to attend the faculty cocktail party as his date? Why would he? Unless he planned to humiliate her there in front of all her colleagues.

The Marc she used to know, the one she'd been hopelessly in love with, would never do anything like that. But she hadn't seen that man in six long years and this one—hard, angry, uncompromising—looked like he was capable of anything. She wanted no part of him, no matter what her pleasure-starved body said.

“I can't.”

“Why not?” It was obvious he didn't like her answer.

“I already have a date.” The words poured from her lips before she had a clue she was going to say them. And while they weren't a lie, they weren't strictly the truth, either. She and Gideon, another professor, had made plans to go together weeks ago. They were just friends, though, and she knew Gideon wouldn't mind if she canceled on him.

But she would mind. She could barely stand the fifteen-minute conversation she and Marc were having in the hall. She couldn't even imagine what would happen to her—or the new identity she'd worked so hard for—if she spent an entire evening in his company. If she gave in to the attraction that still flared between them. Besides, she might be insane enough to still be attracted to him, but her days of being his whipping girl were long over. She was nobody's masochist.

“Who is he?” The words grated out from between his clenched teeth.

“Gideon. No one you know. But maybe I'll see you there.”

She forced a smile she was far from feeling. She even gave a little wave before she started down the corridor for the third time in the past twenty minutes. This time he let her go.

By the time she opened the side door and stepped into the early spring sunlight, she'd almost convinced herself she was happy about that fact.

* * *

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Nic demanded.

Marc looked up from his computer with a scowl. Per his usual modus operandi at Bijoux's new California headquarters, his little brother had barged unannounced into Marc's office. Normally Marc didn't mind, but right now, just hours after that conversation with Isa, dealing with Nic was the last thing he wanted to do. Not when his brother was unusually perceptive—not to mention his wicked and slightly strange sense of humor. It was a dangerous combination, one that usually required Marc to be on his toes if he had any hope of staying one step ahead. And today, he didn't have it in him to even try.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you do. Look at your face.”

“That's pretty much impossible considering there's no mirror in here.”

“Why, oh why, did I get stuck with a brother with absolutely no imagination?” Nic demanded, looking upward as he did—as if he expected the universe to answer his question. Frankly, Marc thought Nic had a better chance of finding the answer written on the ceiling than waiting for divine intervention, but he didn't mention that. It would only give Nic more ammunition.

Instead, Marc answered the question. “So that you'd look like the fun brother.”

“It was a rhetorical question. Besides, I don't have to look like the fun brother. I
am
the fun brother,” Nic told him with a roll of his eyes. “But, fine. You can't see your face. I can. And let me tell you, you look like someone...” He paused as if searching for the perfect descriptor.

“Pissed in my cornflakes?”

“Exactly. So what's up? More trouble with De Beers?”

“No more than usual.”

“The new mine?”

“Nope. I just heard back from Heath and things are going well. Despite it being brand-new, we should be turning a very tidy profit by the fall.”

“See? Who says you can't make money
and
responsibly source diamonds?”

“Greedy bastards with no heart or social conscience?”

Nic snorted. “Again, it was a rhetorical question. But good answer, anyway.”

“That's why I get paid the big bucks.”

Marc turned back to his computer, tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet that was open on the screen. Normally, this stuff was like catnip to him, but today looking at the production values of the various mines was nothing but an annoyance. Especially when he couldn't stop thinking about Isa—and the mystery man who was escorting her to the cocktail party. Was he a friend? A boyfriend? A lover? The last thought had his hands curling into fists and his teeth clenching so tightly that he could almost feel the enamel being ground away.

“See, there!” Nic said. “That's the look I'm talking about.”

“Again, can't see it.”

“Again, I can, so tell me what's causing it. If we're not losing money and we're not yet in our annual power struggle with De Beers, then what the hell has you so freaked out?”

Marc glared at him, offended. “I don't get freaked out.”

“Well, you sure aren't freaked in.” Nic crossed to the bar in the corner, pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge and tossed one Marc's way.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I'm going to keep bugging you until you tell me what's wrong, so you might as well spit it out. Otherwise, you'll never get back to that spreadsheet of yours.”

“What makes you think I'm looking at a spreadsheet?”

“Face it. You're always looking at a spreadsheet.” Nic settled back into one of the visitors' chairs and kicked his feet up onto Marc's desk. “Spill.”

Marc pretended to focus on his computer screen, but Nic didn't get the hint. Or if he did, he totally ignored it. Silence stretched between them, broken only by Nic's occasional swallow and the low, clicking sounds that came from Marc's gritted teeth. Finally, in the hopes of saving himself a hefty dental bill, Marc did what his brother asked and spilled.

“I ran into Isa today.”

Nic's feet hit the ground with a thud as he sat straight up. “Isa Varin?”

“Isabella Moreno now.”

“She's married?” He whistled low and long. “No wonder you're in a foul mood.”

“She's not married!” Marc snapped out. “But even if she was, it's no business of mine.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Nic mocked. “You've just spent the last six years dating every redhead you could find in a ridiculous attempt to replace her. But her marital status is none of your business.”

“I've never—” He broke off midrant. He wanted to tell his brother that he was dead wrong, that Marc hadn't done anything of the sort. But as he thought back over the last few women he'd dated, Marc realized that Nic might have a point.

He'd never noticed before but all the women in his life
were
redheads. Tall, slender redheads with delicate bones and great smiles. Hell. Had he subconsciously been trying to find a replacement for Isa all these years? He'd never thought so, but the evidence was hard to ignore. Damn it.

“So, why the name change if she isn't married?”

He didn't know, but he was going to damn sure find out. Still, he told his brother what she'd told him. “She said she wanted to start over.”