The Perfect Gift Page 4

  Then the Belgian chuckled with reluctant admiration. “A fine stock, Ms. Kincade. And now that we are properly interested, perhaps you will show us these items. You said they had something to do with Daniel Kincade?” There was an edge to his voice.

  Chessa merely smiled. “It happens that his personal collection of fine stones is available for sale. Since you three gentlemen have unquestionable taste, you have been chosen to receive the first opportunity to bid.”

  “Kincade had nothing. I’ve seen the papers. He took everything with him when he disappeared. I haven’t got time for this nonsense.” But Michaelson stopped cold as Maggie strode from behind the curtain. She wore a satin sheath of pure black, one of Chessa’s finest creations. At her shoulders was a black cashmere shawl, which she slowly pulled away to reveal a simple but blindingly sensuous choker studded with two hundred diamonds and a fine single teardrop pendant at the center.

  “My God, it’s the Solitaire,” Michaelson breathed. “Kincade said he’d never finish it. I asked him a dozen times and he always put me off.” He blinked at the necklace, then stared sternly at Maggie. “How did you get that?”

  “He gave it to me,” Maggie said calmly. “I designed it with him and I helped him set most of the stones. It was the last piece we worked on together.”

  The jeweler’s eyes widened. His gaze swept the elegant dress and returned to the amazing curve of flashing fire at her neck. He nodded slowly. “I know your work, Ms. Kincade. It’s quite impressive for someone so young. You have all your father’s technique, and the Solitaire is beyond description. I had no idea it was finished.”

  Maggie didn’t tell him that she had finished the necklace by herself in the months since her father’s disappearance. “One of you will leave here today with the Solitaire.” Her voice was full and confident now. She had no doubt that her father’s jewels would sell themselves to these men who recognized superior quality when they saw it. “We’ll open at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” As she spoke she ran her fingers over the shining platinum-set design, which glowed with cold white sparks against her skin.

  “It’s mine,” the Belgian muttered. “I’ll give you two hundred and eighty.”

  “Three hundred,” Michaelson snapped. “And a certified check on your desk before the close of the business day.”

  The other jeweler put down his champagne with a snap, not to be outdone. “I say three hundred and fifty.”

  Maggie turned, letting the recessed lights play over the exquisite white diamonds. “You’re looking at ninety-three point seven six carats, gentlemen. All highest grade matched fancies.”

  “Four hundred,” the Belgian muttered, determined not to be outbid.

  Maggie ran a hand lovingly over the white gems and smiled.

  The Belgian shifted forward in his chair, determination in his set features. “Damn it, make that four hundred and twenty.”

  Inside the quiet shop, Jared MacNeill moved from glass case to glass case, studying the silver and cut stones.

  A young woman in unadorned black merino wool offered him an appreciative smile. “May I help you?”

  Jared decided her spiky purple hair wasn’t as odd as he’d first thought. “I hope so. I’m looking for a gift.”

  “For a friend?” She gave a small, knowing smile.

  Jared hid a scowl. How in the hell had he gotten pulled into this? He was surrounded by night dresses and a lace camisole with satin flowers set in very suggestive locations, but he couldn’t leave yet. He had caught enough of the conversation in the next room to realize there was a private auction going on.

  Why would Maggie Kincade sell her father’s personal inventory? As a jeweler she could have used the stones for her own work. As a daughter she would have held on to the pieces for their sentimental value.

  Jared inched closer to the drawn curtain as the bidding continued in swift, heated waves. At this rate she’d be a very wealthy woman. She wouldn’t have the slightest interest in the hard work necessary to complete two dozen pieces for Nicholas’s first Abbey Jewels exhibition. She wouldn’t need the strain of traveling and giving dozens of interviews.

  And that would leave Nicholas and Kacey crushed, Jared knew.

  The saleswoman cleared her throat. “Would you call her a close friend?”

  What was that supposed to mean? Did they sleep together? “She’s the wife of a very old acquaintance.” He pointed to a pair of intricate plaited silver hoops, then decided Kacey could use something to go with the earrings. “Maybe the bracelet in the corner, too.”

  The woman with the purple hair made an approving sound as she lifted out a curve of sensuous silver inlaid with a dozen gold birds in flight. Kacey would love it, but she loved everything that bore M. E. Kincade’s hallmark. Kacey had been the first to spot the unique designs in twisted wire and layered metals, and then Nicholas had stumbled upon the architectural pieces, carefully cut to fit together like designs in a puzzle.

  Jared studied the small example before him. Gold rectangles captured every detail of a soaring cathedral, complete with cabochon gemstones for windows, doors that opened and closed, and a polished obsidian roof.

  “I’ll take that one also.” Jared heard the excited voices in the neighboring room, where a new piece was being shown. As the curtain shifted, he saw Maggie Kincade turn slowly, the Solitaire necklace now exchanged for a sleek platinum chain capped with two large black pearls.

  His eyes narrowed. She was unforgettable, just like her designs. Deceptively simple, and dangerously sensuous.

  He hadn’t expected to enjoy looking at jewelry. He certainly hadn’t expected to feel a vicious stab of desire at the sight of her tall body poured into that flowing column of black silk.

  Her voice drifted through the open curtain. “The black pearls come from a private source in Japan, part of the imperial collection since the Tokugawa period. They were sold to my father only five years ago.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed as new bids came in eager waves. The woman could have sold them sawdust at this point.

  “Will that be all for you, sir?”

  He blinked to see the young saleswoman holding out an elegant set of wrapped boxes. It was too soon for him to leave. He needed more answers. “Maybe something in lace,” he murmured.

  “What size is the lady?”

  “Size?”

  “Six? An eight perhaps?”

  Jared ran a hand through his dark hair. “She’s not very big. Normal size,” he said vaguely. “About this tall.” He raised a hand to his collarbone.

  The saleswoman was obviously used to male vagueness about lingerie sizes. “About my height, would you say?”

  “More or less.”

  “Her bust size?”

  How was he supposed to know a thing like that? “Don’t you have something that would fit anyone?” he asked helplessly.

  “I might have something in the back.” She tapped her cheek for a moment, then vanished through a door framed by topiary trees.

  Jared inched closer, only to frown as Maggie Kincade backed out through the curtain. Her head was bent, and the silk of her dress whispered. He stared at the line of her shoulders, feeling his body tighten as if in the presence of a sensitive explosive device.

  She was shoving at her neck, head down and muttering, and her next step brought her flat against Jared’s chest. The contact caught him without warning, twisting deep, slamming right into his heart.

  Nerves snapped.

  Muscles tightened all over his chest, in crushing awareness of the soft outlines of her body. She smelled like sunshine, and her thoughts were full of color. They flooded through him, rich and sensuous, a storm of silver, platinum, and polished rubies.

  It took him an infinity to remember where he was and how to breathe.

  Work, he told himself.

  A professional request from a friend.

  Somehow the explanation didn’t make her thoughts stop humming or her soft perfume any less elusive.


  With fierce effort, Jared dragged himself out of the quicksilver race of her mind. He was still struggling to regain his control when she spun around, flushing. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

  He couldn’t seem to speak. Time slowed down, captured in the sparkle of her eyes and the extraordinary necklace she wore.

  “It’s this necklace. Something’s wrong with the wretched clasp.”

  The necklace, remember? Answer her, fool.

  Jared drew a breath and pointed to the strand of hair twisted around her pave” diamond clasp. “You’re caught.”

  “Blast. No wonder it won’t budge.”

  “Perhaps I can help you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a jeweler?”

  “Hardly.” Jared gestured to her neck. “But I think I can manage to unfree a knot or two. May I?”

  He had the sense of sudden stillness, as if she had gathered herself tightly away from all intrusion or observation. And in that place of utter stillness, she watched him, asking silent questions and measuring whether he was friend or foe.

  He could feel her wariness as she bit her lip, staring at his face.

  And then she nodded.

  “I’ll try not to make this too painful,” He smiled, skimming her shoulder and easing one finger beneath the captive strand. Her perfumed hair shifted, then curled about his hand, binding his fingers with its warmth.

  Jared grimaced at the contact, unable to fight the immediate pull of her thoughts.

  Excitement. Sheer, heart-pounding anxiety.

  The silence seemed to tighten, separating them from the muttered bids and the noisy world outside. Jared didn’t move, didn’t speak, painfully aware of the brush of her hair, the sunlight on her shoulder, the curve of her cheek.

  Then her wariness slammed through the link. She was measuring him, assessing him as an enemy. Or as a hostile reporter, he realized.

  It took but a few instants of contact for him to register a dozen things about Maggie Kincade, including her pride and her temper. Beneath them lay a relentless curiosity.

  That curiosity was turned on him now.

  “I think you’ve done it.” She made a breathless sound and started to pull away, her thigh brushing his hip. Jared frowned as desire jolted viciously through him.

  But the knotted hair held firm.

  “Not quite,” he muttered. His fingers met her skin, and the link flared anew.

  The air seemed to thicken. He tried to breathe, overwhelmed by a wrenching impression of skin and clamoring nerves as she broadcast her sudden awareness of his own body.

  Curious. Surprised by the keen sensual pleasure of his fingers.

  The force of her thoughts made Jared’s fingers lock up. Before he knew it, the clasp had slipped free. He bent closer, only to be distracted by the tiny silver mark at the top of her shoulder. “You’ve got a scar.” He knew enough not to touch it. Contact now would be death to his control.

  “A pair of metal shears fell on me the first day in design school.” She gave a low laugh. “It wasn’t exactly an auspicious start.”

  And then in spite of his caution, Jared traced the silver mark with his fingers—and grimaced as desire jolted through him again.

  Down boy, he thought grimly. She was just a client. There was no excuse for what he was feeling. He stepped away. “There. I think that should take care of the problem.”

  She turned and gave him a quizzical smile. “Thank you, Mr….”

  “MacNeill. Jared MacNeill.”

  “I’m going to have to change this clasp.” Her voice was muffled as she straightened the sleek chain at her neck link by link. “I want the things I sell to be perfect.”

  “Nothing’s perfect.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended. Maybe because it was suddenly difficult to stand close and not touch her. Or maybe it was because he was fighting an urge to slide his lips over that silver mark at her shoulder, then work his way slowly upward.

  Insane. Absolutely insane.

  But Jared could sense the imagination and the passion she held for her work. They fascinated him. She fascinated him.

  And the way she filled out that silk dress should have been illegal.

  Her eyes narrowed. “If you actually believe that, you must be very bored.”

  “I’m not bored now.”

  She tilted her head. “No?”

  The stillness was there again, but now Jared sensed it came only through great force of will. She was measuring him again, making checks on an invisible list.

  She gave a little shrug and turned away. “I thought Karen was out here.”

  “She went looking for something in the back.” Jared studied the platinum hoops at her neck and the black pearls nestled between her breasts. She looked very cool in all that jewelry. He hardly qualified as an expert, but he was certain the pearls alone were worth a small fortune. “Your necklace is lovely.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t smile as her hand slid restlessly along the chain, and Jared saw that her fingers weren’t entirely steady.

  So his first assessment had been off. Maggie Kincade only appeared cool, he realized. At close quarters he couldn’t miss the wistfulness that had crept into her eyes when she’d touched the necklace. He had the sudden impression of a restless flame trapped beneath glass, and he wondered what it would take for a man to slip beneath that careful, guarded surface of hers.

  She would be as complex as her designs, he suspected. Sharp edges and hidden warmth, with nothing quite what it appeared. Revealed slowly, piece by piece and layer by layer, she would be a puzzle a man could spend years trying to solve.

  And touching that wonderful mouth of hers would be like lingering over sweet, ripe fruit.

  “Here you are, sir. This should fit any size.”

  Jared blinked at the saleswoman holding out a silk shawl filled with delicate floral designs.

  “That one’s Chinese. The embroidery squares date back to the mid-nineteenth century.”

  It took Jared several ragged heartbeats to assimilate what Maggie was saying. “Silk.” He tried to nod astutely. “Chinese, you say.”

  He didn’t take his gaze from her face. There was a deep watchfulness about her now as she stared back at him.

  “Did you want to look at something else?”

  At you. For about twenty years. Preferably without silk or anything else on that amazing body. He cleared his throat. “No, this will be fine. Could I have it wrapped?”

  “Certainly. Karen will help you.” She smoothed back her hair and took a deep breath, as if preparing for a difficult encounter. “I’d better go. I hope you find something perfect after all.” Her lips curved. “It would serve you right.”

  “Maybe I have.”

  Turning in a swirl of black satin as a voice called loudly from the next room, she didn’t hear his soft words. “Is the necklace for sale?” Jared blurted, driven to speak to her again so he could watch emotions spin and dance over that vibrant face.

  Her hand brushed her neck. “I’m sorry, but it’s just been sold.”

  “A pity. It’s simple, but very powerful. I suppose the greatest beauty usually is,” he said.

  His gaze shifted, brushing her shoulders. He saw a faint wave of color fill her cheeks. He was glad for that. It meant he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable in the encounter.

  She raised her chin. “You’re staring.”

  “Most men would.”

  More color washed her face. She wasn’t accustomed to male attention, Jared realized. For some obscure reason the thought pleased him deeply.

  “Do you make a practice of buying gifts for one woman while you stare at another one?”

  “The gifts are for a friend. Just a friend.”

  Her beautiful mouth thinned. “Of course she is.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” She shrugged. “But most men do.”

  Time stood still. As her perfume dri
fted, Jared felt heat claw up through his chest. When had he last felt this jolting, almost painful awareness? Why now, for a woman he barely knew?

  Jared was still searching for an answer when he felt a draft at his back. The bell above the door tinkled sharply as a man in a rumpled raincoat pushed inside.

  Then Maggie Kincade gave a gasp of surprise as a camera whirred off half a dozen shots, capturing her gown, her necklace, and her momentary expression of panic.

  WITHOUT THINKING, JARED MOVED IN FRONT OF MAGGIE, blocking her with his body. “I suggest you stop.”

  “Out of the way, pal. She’s the one want. Ms. Kincade, what about that necklace you’re wearing? Did your father leave it for you? If so, how do you know those aren’t some of the gems that were—”

  Stolen.

  Even before the word was finished, Jared’s hand was curled around the man’s neck. “You’re not listening. Ms. Kincade is busy.”

  The reporter squared his shoulders. “Who says?”

  “Irrelevant. Because you’re just about to leave.”

  “Like hell.” The camera fell and the man’s fists leveled. “What makes you think I give a rat’s ass what you have to say, pal?”

  Jared dodged the first swing easily, then sidestepped and caught the reporter in a chest lock. Without a word, he shoved the sputtering man outside, then closed the etched glass door in his face. The man glared through the glass, raised his camera, then muttered a crude phrase, which he emphasized with a noisy ball of spit at the door frame.

  Fury burned a red swath through Jared’s mind as he went in pursuit. Maggie’s hand touched his shoulder, stopping him.

  “Don’t.”

  Blocked by layers of fabric, he felt only the indirect contact of her fingers. For a blinding instant he had an urgent need to touch her, to cradle her cheek and trace the curve of her neck so he could read her with all the fierce intimacy of his gift.

  It seemed to take forever before he mastered the urge, and the struggle left his voice harder than he intended. “Why not? The bloody fool ought to clean your doorway on his hands and knees.”

  “I like the image.” She gave a crooked smile. “But he’s not worth your time. None of them are.”