When Only Diamonds Will Do (4 page)

‘S
LEEP
well?’

‘No,’ Kim said flatly.

‘Neither did
I
, if it’s any help,’ Reith Richardson offered.

Kim switched her attention from the painting she was studying and looked up at him. She wore a fitted leather miniskirt in peach with a loose scarlet top in a filmy material. Her shoes were high cork wedges, her hair was looped back in a roll, she had big diamond-studded gold hoops in her ears and there were the faintest blue shadows beneath her eyes.

She looked, he thought wryly, gorgeous, from her red-gold hair down to those sensational legs, but moody. And he was presented with a sudden mental picture of her waking up in his bed with that same moody expression. Could she maintain it, though, if he cupped her breasts, then drew his hands down her body and made love to her slowly, very slowly, until they were both on fire? Careful, he warned himself, remember who this is …

She said, ‘Why should it be any help?’ then gestured
as if to erase the words. ‘It doesn’t matter. Look, it’s very difficult to choose art when you have no idea where it’s going to end up.’

‘I’ve got some sketches.’

‘You’ve also got to be in the mood,’ she added.

He paused and narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m getting some pretty distressed vibes here so, starting at the top, is it that time of the month?’

‘No,’ she snapped.

‘Is it the lack of really good sex then?’ He shrugged. ‘Can give you the blues.’

Kim beamed a glance of the opposite—pure blue fire—his way but at the same time a mental image of her lying naked in his arms and as aroused as he was streaked through her mind. And she couldn’t for the life of her decide what annoyed her more—the tingle that went through her, lovely though it was, or the fact that he could do this to her after shipping her home last night.

‘No,’ she said through her teeth and was about to add a pithy comment, although she hadn’t actually thought of one, but he interrupted.

‘Have you had breakfast?’

She closed her mouth, then opened it again. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’ she answered.

‘Did you?’

She looked mutinous. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘I went for a ride, then I was running late.’

‘Another wacky day in the making,’ he commented, and put his arm through hers. ‘Come.’

‘Where? We haven’t picked a thing yet.’

‘You’ll see.’

She shrugged again, as if to say she didn’t give a damn one way or the other, and walked out with him.

An hour and a delicious mushroom omelette later, Kim looked around at the rustic restaurant he’d brought her to and said ruefully, ‘You were right. Sorry. I feel much better.’

‘Good. Is that all it was? A lack of food.’

‘Don’t start that again,’ she warned, then grimaced as she recalled her turmoil of the night before. ‘Not entirely, but I do find it hard to be miserable for long.’

‘Miserable?’ He frowned.

‘Confused. Not one hundred per cent sure what game you’re playing, Mr Richardson, put it that way.’

He raised an eyebrow and waited. When she offered no more, he said questioningly, ‘Game?’

‘I can’t work out whether you’re trying to seduce me or not.’

Their gazes clashed.

‘There’s a certain—’ she moved her hands around each other ‘—stop/start approach you employ that I find a bit strange.’

‘Are you suggesting we should jump into bed?’

Kim smiled but there was a touch of frost to it. ‘No. But perhaps I should let you know that the disapproval and reserve is not all on your side.’

‘That’s what you think it is—disapproval?’

‘Yes. Besides which, I have the feeling you’re a loner at heart!’ She said it almost jauntily.

‘Would you prefer it if you had to fight me off?’ he asked.

‘Naturally not. Look, I’ve had enough of this conversation—you’ll have me all gloom and doom again if we’re not careful. Show me your sketches,’ she commanded.

He pulled some papers out of his jacket pocket and handed them over to her.

She smoothed them out. ‘Hmm …’ she said eventually. ‘Not bad. Do you have any preferences?’ She opened her hands. ‘Do you like your art conventional, for example, or could you live with a bit of—’ she broke off and smiled suddenly ‘—wackiness?’

He stirred his coffee thoughtfully. ‘I don’t mind a bit of wackiness.’

‘Good,’ she approved briskly. ‘Do you have any pet hates? For example, I don’t like—sorry, I know you love it—but I don’t like seascapes. With a passion.’

He looked amused. ‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps you just can’t capture the movement of the sea in paint. Any of those dislikes—or anything you particularly
like
?’

He rubbed his jaw. ‘I’ve seen some Aboriginal art that has a sort of mysterious power that draws you in—it’s hard to describe but it makes you feel it’s alive.’

Kim put her cup down and sat up, her expression heavy with frustration. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me this sooner?’

‘You have access to it?’

She nodded. ‘I have friends who get right to the source, painters who still live in their traditional areas and are able to transfer the sheer magic—’ she clenched a hand and her face glowed ‘—of their culture onto canvas.’ She opened her purse and pulled out her phone. ‘Hold thumbs they’re not out in the desert.’

They weren’t out in the desert so Kim took Reith to their gallery and they spent nearly the whole of the rest of the day going through canvases, making choices and deciding on frames.

Finally, he suggested dinner.

Kim agreed but told him she’d like to shower and change. ‘And don’t worry about sending me around in great big black limousines,’ she told him. ‘It doesn’t do much for my mood. Anyway, I’m used to driving in and out of Bunbury.’

He looked at her, smiling. ‘OK. What do you suggest restaurant-wise?’

She thought for a moment, then she told him with a toss of her head that she had a craving for pasta and nothing else would do. She also named a restaurant.

‘So be it,’ he said gravely.

Kim suffered a moment’s disquiet. ‘Do you like pasta? If you don’t I suppose we could—’

‘It would not be game to dislike pasta,’ he broke in to say.

She looked disconcerted for a moment, then pulled a face at him and retreated to her car.

A couple of hours later, she parked her car in Bunbury and walked towards the restaurant.

She’d changed into a long, floaty flame-coloured dress streaked with white, and nude platform shoes. She’d left her hair loose and she carried a boxy little gold bag.

Reith was waiting for her and she walked towards him with her long free stride and her dress billowing around her, only to slow down then come to a stop a couple of feet away from him.

She shivered suddenly as his dark gaze roamed up and down her. Because there was something completely riveted about him and the way he was examining her body. In fact, she got the feeling she was naked beneath that compelling gaze, that he’d mentally undressed her, even dispensing with her underwear, and it was tense, yet, at the same time, incredibly erotic. It sent her pulses racing and tremors of desire running through her.

Then he moved and reached out to take her hand. ‘You look sensational, Kim. Shall we go in?’

But she hesitated. ‘You shouldn’t do that to me. Not in public, Reith.’

‘Sorry.’ He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’

She hesitated a moment longer.

He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘I’m probably better off if I can see your legs,’ he added.

Kim blinked, then said bewilderedly, ‘The first time you saw them you nearly crashed!’

‘Well, I could be over that now. But to be totally deprived makes me try to imagine them, you see.’

‘Reith Richardson,’ she said severely, ‘you’re talking utter claptrap. It’s something men do all the time. Mind you—’ she paused ‘—I have to confess you’re pretty good at it.’

‘Uh-huh?’ He frowned. ‘In what way?’

‘When you get your face slapped, you’ll know you’re doing it wrong,’ she advised. ‘And now—may I eat? I’m starving!’

He laughed down at her and she turned a little pink because she knew he knew how affected she’d been by his mental undressing.

‘I am starving,’ she said a little lamely.

‘All right. After you.’

‘That turned out to be a much better day than I expected,’ Kim said later. The Italian restaurant had candles in wine bottles and a folksy atmosphere and the pasta came highly recommended. ‘Artwork-wise,’ she added.

His lips twitched. ‘You wouldn’t be on commission, by any chance?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. But I wouldn’t be surprised to get a bottle of French champagne and some Belgian chocolates for Christmas.’ She smiled as a waiter poured her a glass of wine and she raised it in a toast to Reith. ‘I hope you get a lot of pleasure out of your paintings, Mr Richardson!’

‘Thank you, Miss Theron. Shall we order?’

She nodded, told him what she’d like and sat back. And they only spoke desultorily until their meals were served.

Then he said, ‘Can we go back to our earlier discussion?’

‘Which one was that?’

‘The one,’ he said, ‘where you accused me of disapproving of you and failing to make my intentions clear.’

‘Clear?’

He smiled dryly. ‘Was I out to seduce you or not.’

‘Oh, that one.’ Kim sampled some fettuccine marinara, then raised a napkin to her lips. ‘Mmm! OK. Are you?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Would it be a problem?’

‘Certainly,’ Kim replied promptly.

‘I might have thought otherwise last night on the dance floor.’

‘Well, I might have too.’ She gestured expansively. ‘But that was last night. Today is a different matter.’ Her eyes glinted very blue as she glanced at him then turned her attention back to her dinner.

‘What about tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘I’m having a day off tomorrow.’

‘I know, you told me. It’s your last day off so—’

‘What I mean is—’ she interrupted ‘—I’m having a day off from
you
.’

He didn’t miss a beat. He said, ‘That’s a pity, I was hoping you’d come to Clover Hill with me. I’m going over to look at some yearlings.’

Kim put her fork down. ‘Horses?’

His lips twitched. ‘So far as I know, that’s all they breed at Clover.’

She clicked her tongue with some exasperation. ‘I know that. Do you race horses?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this an open day?’

He shook his head. ‘A private viewing.’

Kim’s eyes widened. ‘You’re getting a
private
viewing?’

He shrugged.

Kim simply stared at him. Clover Hill Stud was renowned throughout Australia in horse-breeding circles. Renowned for the stallions they stood and the percentage of winners amongst their progeny. It was also a showplace with a beautiful old homestead, magnificent gardens and paddocks. And if Reith Richardson had gone out of his way to pick an outing Kim Theron would not be able to resist he couldn’t have chosen better. But, of course, he couldn’t have gone out of his way; this would probably have been arranged well beforehand …

‘Kim?’

She blinked, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know how you do it but you’re a master tactician. Thank you, I cannot tell a lie, I’ve never been to Clover Hill and I would love to see it.’

‘You obviously know a bit about horses.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘I know a bit,’ Kim agreed. ‘I’ve ridden since I was six and my parents raced them. But, hang on, Penny is going home tomorrow—not that she needs me, her mum and hubby are both here now—but I’d like to spend a couple of hours with her when she gets back. So I’ll probably be tied up until after lunch.’

He sat back and pushed his plate away. ‘You take good care of your friends, don’t you?’

She lifted her shoulders. ‘Who doesn’t? So—’

‘It’s not a problem if you could meet me there at two o’clock.’

Kim smiled with noticeable radiance. ‘Done!’

Her parents were home but in bed when she got back that night.

She took care not to wake them but was surprised when her father stayed in bed the next morning.

‘He’s not feeling well,’ her mother confided, closing his bedroom door—they had separate bedrooms.

‘Has he seen a doctor?’

‘No.’ Fiona Theron tightened the sash of her beautiful silk dressing gown. ‘But I’ll keep an eye on him. So, what have you been doing with yourself, darling?’ She led the way downstairs to the breakfast room.

‘This and that,’ Kim heard herself say and grimaced as she thought how evasive the phrase had sounded to her when uttered by Reith Richardson. So she made an effort to elaborate but something kept her from mentioning Reith and she waxed lyrical instead on the subject of Penny’s baby.

The housekeeper, Mary Hiddens, came in with a coffee pot.

‘Hi, Mary! How’s the family?’ Kim enquired as she helped herself to some bacon and French toast from a silver warmer, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

‘All well, thank you, Kim,’ Mary replied, then turned to Fiona, who had taken nothing from the warmer but reached now for the coffee pot.

‘Ma’am, please have some breakfast,’ Mary said.

‘Just now, Mary. You know how I always have to whet my whistle first!’

Mary hesitated, then withdrew and Kim looked at her mother curiously. ‘You’re not dieting, are you, Mum? You don’t need to; you look marvellous!’ She studied her mother’s slim waistline.

‘No, no,’ Fiona said hastily. ‘So you’re back to Esperance tomorrow?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Kim fed some bacon to Sunny Bob, who placed his head lovingly in her lap. ‘But it’s not that long to the school holidays, then I’ll be home for a month.’

‘Lovely,’ Fiona said, but with a curious lack of conviction.

Kim frowned and opened her mouth, but her father could be heard calling for her mother.

‘Do you want me to call the doctor, Mum?’ she asked.

‘No. No,’ her mother repeated with her hand on the door handle. ‘He’ll be fine. Have a nice day, sweetheart!’

Clover Hill exceeded Kim’s expectations.

The rose gardens alone were worth the visit but she loved the parade of yearlings, still flighty, still to partake in their first official yearling sale, still, some of them, with short bushy tails and frizzy manes.