A Highlander for Christmas (5 page)

“I hate it,” Maggie muttered. “They follow me, they phone me, they harass me.”

“Face it, love, you’re big news. You have to admit that the publicity has brought us a herd of new customers.”

“To gawk. To gossip. Not to buy.”

“They will. We’ve got exceptional merchandise, and they won’t find it anywhere else in New York. They’ll come back,” Chessa said confidently. “And then they’ll buy, trust me.”

“It might be too late. I won’t have any more designs, not with my inventory liquidated to pay bills.”

Chessa frowned. “There has to be a way.”

“You think I should sell my body on Ninth Avenue? I doubt I’d have any takers.”

“You’ve got those boxes in the safe deposit. You told me your father had been putting away special stones in his vault for future designs. They’ll help you pay his bills.”

“By selling his inventory?” Maggie pushed to her feet and paced the room with sudden, raw energy. “I
couldn’t
. They were his favorite gems, the most beautiful stones he’d saved from years of collecting. I can’t—”

“You can.” Chessa gripped her arm and pulled her to a halt. “You must. He’s gone, love. All he’s left you is a mountain of debts. Selling his private collection of stones is your only way out.”

Maggie opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Chessa was right, she realized numbly. At the moment, her father’s unsold inventory was her only marketable asset.

It would have to go. All of it.

She rubbed a hand along her neck, wincing as she brushed a hard knot of muscles. “I took a piece to Michaelson today. You know how he is, all oily politeness and eyes like a predator.”

“What did he say?”

“‘Lovely.’ ‘Flawless.’ Then the snake offered me a pittance. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so insulted. And so worried.”

Chessa’s eyes took on an edge of fierce determination. “He scented blood. It happens all the time. What you need is drama, excitement. Presentation is everything in business, as I’ve been forever trying to tell you.”

“I don’t do drama. That’s your department.”

“You do now. Mystery and elegance, too. You’ll soon have Michaelson and everyone else eating out of your hand.”

“How?”

“You’ve got the stones.” Chessa draped a cut velvet scarf over Maggie’s shoulders, nodding slowly. “And I’ve got the perfect plan.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning at eleven, three black limousines blocked the curb outside Chessa’s fashionable shop on Broome Street. Inside, sunlight filtered over antique carpets and polished shelves that resembled the private rooms of a very fine English country house.

But this country house had satin camisoles and lace peignoirs draped over the heirloom chairs. Potted dwarf palms cleverly focused the eye on a hanging display of handmade lace dressing gowns that would caress a woman’s skin and leave a man in a state of acute discomfort.

Nearby, a pair of Chessa’s sensuous camisoles framed a mahogany desk with the jewelry that had earned Maggie a fervent following.

But none of the three men pacing in the elegant room was looking for lingerie. They glanced up irritably as Chessa sailed in, elegant in a crimson velvet sheath and strappy high-heels.

Maggie blinked as she recognized three of New York’s most prominent jewelers in the same room. All wore Armani, and their watches alone could have paid the shop’s rent for about a decade.

The closest man raised a manicured hand. The Vacheron watch on his wrist flashed imperiously. “We’ve been waiting for a half hour. Why did you call us?”

“Because, gentlemen, you are about to receive the offer of this or any other lifetime.” Chessa moved past them with all the grace of the fashion runways she had dominated for ten years. She knew how to command attention and she did it now, pulling them after her into the curtained area reserved for important customers.

“What offer? My wife has all the lingerie she needs, Ms. Kincade. And
I’m not
in the market for jewelry,” he said flatly. “I buy in volume and all my sources are abroad.”

“You must be James Michaelson. I know your shop on Sixty-first Street.” Chessa eyed the two other men. “Mr. Antonio. Mr. Dussaint. You both design from scratch, I believe. But to do that you need quality materials. Unusual stones like tanzanite and Siberian diamonds and South Sea black pearls.”

The Belgian, Dussaint, frowned. “You have such sources?”

Maggie listened from behind the curtain, her hands clenched. They might not go for this. On the other hand, she knew exactly how persuasive Chessa could be. And if Chessa could convince the three men to stay long enough to see what Maggie had to show them…

Chessa turned in a blur of crimson. “By that you mean a set of matched rubies formerly the property of a European royal family. Or maybe even some chatoyant sapphires.”

The Belgian stroked his Hermés tie and leaned forward. “Show us.”

“Patience, gentlemen.” Chessa gestured them to the three chairs arranged at the far wall, then drew a bottle from a silver server. “Taittinger for each of you.” She filled three crystal goblets in turn, making the most of every second of expectation. “A little something to set the mood.”

Beyond the curtain Maggie stood in an agony of uncertainty, expecting the men to march out at any second.

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. Around 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.

“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 this necklace.” 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 three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” As she spoke she ran her fingers over the shining platinum-set diamonds, which glowed with cold white sparks against her skin.

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

“Four 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 four hundred and fifty.”

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

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

Maggie ran a hand lovingly over the white gems and smiled as the Belgian shifted forward in his chair, determination in his set features. “Damn it, make that five 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 approached him with a 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 there.

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 should have held on to the pieces for their sentimental value.

Jared inched closer to the 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 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 gold rectangles that 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 piece also.” Jared heard the excited voices in the neighboring room, where a new design 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, she was 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 by a private arrangement.”

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. But 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 any size?” he asked helplessly.

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

Jared inched closer, then frowned as Maggie Kincade backed out through the curtain hard. 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 hard. Without warning sensations twisted deep, slamming right into his heart.

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.
Nothing more
.

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