Marrying the Enemy. Nicola Marsh

      CHAPTER TWO

      JAX had lucked out.

      His reasons for attending tonight had been twofold: show the Melbourne snobs he’d returned, ready to infiltrate their closed ranks, and plant the takeover seed in Sapphire Seaborn’s mind.

      Sadly, the Seaborn spokeswoman hadn’t been in attendance but he had the next best thing: her sister.

      Glancing at Ruby, matching him stride for stride as they headed towards the rear of the showroom, he amended his earlier assessment.

      Maybe he hadn’t lucked out after all.

      The younger Seaborn was a firecracker. All mouth and defiance.

      Not his type at all but for a few decadent hours he’d like her to be.

      He didn’t intend on getting physical, not with so much at stake. He had big plans for a proposed takeover but for a moment, with the down-lights making her hair shimmer like spun gold and her breasts straining against satin with every step she took, he wished he didn’t have so much to lose.

      ‘You’ve never been to Seaborn’s before.’

      It was a statement, not a question and he admired her bluntness.

      ‘No. Why? Because you would’ve remembered me?’

      Her lips quirked at his teasing. ‘I remember all our customers.’

      ‘All?’

      ‘Each and every one.’

      ‘I find that hard to believe.’

      She chuckled and held up her hands in surrender. ‘Okay, I lied. I remember each and every piece I’ve ever created and, in turn, the people who acquire them.’

      ‘Impressive.’

      As impressive as the showroom she led him through. The long, cavernous room gleamed, from its honey polished boards to soft ivory walls to spot lights strategically placed to highlight the merchandise.

      From what he could see of the one-of-a-kind pieces in gems of all shapes and sizes behind alarmed glass cases, the merchandise took centre stage.

      While he’d worked in the mining side of the gem trade for a few years now, he’d never been interested in the gems themselves. The bottom dollar floated his boat. The end-product sparkly stuff? Not so much.

      ‘What do you think of my work?’

      She’d caught him checking out the jewellery. Observant and astute, as well as refreshingly blunt and gorgeous.

      ‘Not bad if you like that sort of thing.’

      She stopped and pretended to clutch her heart. ‘Not bad?’

      She jabbed a finger in his direction and he resisted the urge to grab her hand, lift it to his mouth and kiss each and every one of her knuckles.

      Before belatedly realising what the hell was he thinking?

      ‘Do you know how long it takes to create each of these pieces?’

      ‘No, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.’ His laconic grin earned him another you philistine glare.

      She pointed to the nearest display, a simple gold necklace elevated to sublime by the exquisitely cut emeralds shimmering against the black velvet backdrop.

      ‘See that? I’m a lapidary as well as a designer, so it took me a month to cut and polish the emeralds, another two to get the bail and bar and ring clasp right.’

      Clueless, he raised an eyebrow and she elaborated. ‘The bail is that triangular bit that attaches the pendant to the necklace. The bar and ring, or toggle clasp, is the fastener where the bar is inserted into the ring to attach the two ends of the necklace.’

      ‘Sounds fascinating.’

      Her dubious glare insinuated he was mocking her. He wasn’t. Hearing her speak so passionately only piqued his interest more.

      And made him wonder how passionate she’d be in other areas.

      She crooked her finger and he gladly pressed his nose to the glass to be closer to her. ‘See the intricate bezel setting around each emerald? My signature.’

      ‘Beautiful.’

      He wasn’t looking at the necklace and they both knew it by the delicate pink staining her cheeks before she straightened and edged away.

      Before he could second-guess his actions, something he never did in the business arena, he snagged her arm. ‘Didn’t think you’d be the shy, retiring type, so why can’t you take a compliment?’

      Something furtive bordering on hurt flickered in her eyes before she deliberately blinked. When she opened them, their unusual green sparked better than the emeralds locked behind the case.

      ‘Honestly? It’s been a long evening—’ he only just caught her a long year ‘—and I’m dead on my feet.’

      Sympathy jagged his conscience. The polite thing to do would be to leave. Retreat and come back another time when Sapphire Seaborn was here and he could launch his subtle attack.

      But he hadn’t come this far without being ruthless and no way would he back down now. He needed to deliver a message and the beautiful blonde could relay it to her sister much better than he could.

      ‘You want me to leave?’

      An empty question observing niceties when he had no intention of playing nice.

      She fiddled with the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist, twisting it round and round. ‘Yes and no.’

      Confused, he folded his arms and waited. ‘Enlighten me.’

      With a drawn-out sigh, she eyeballed him. ‘Yeah, I’d love you to leave so I can head up to my apartment, get out of this fancy outfit and kick back with my fluffy slippers, a tub of caramelised popcorn and Jake Gyllenhaal.’

      A chick-flick fan, he should’ve known. Was there no woman on the planet who didn’t go for slick movie stars?

      Her fingers flitted from the bracelet to sliding a dress ring around her third finger. ‘No, because you’re a mystery, and I want to know what you were really doing here tonight apart from skulking in corners ignoring my exquisite creations.’

      Yeah, she was a firecracker all right, and a lick of excitement jabbed his jaded soul.

      ‘No mystery. Jax Maroney.’

      He held out his hand but his attempt at a handshake fell flat when he had to grab her to prevent her collapsing at his feet.

      She swayed, her skin pale, her eyes wide and startled as she stared at him as if he’d popped up from Hades to steal her soul.

      ‘You’re Jax Maroney?’ Her incredulity implied she’d find believing he was Elvis in disguise easier.

      ‘Last time I checked.’

      Her pallor vanished as colour surged to her cheeks and her neck muscles snapped rigid.

      ‘Get out.’

      He’d heard that phrase used a fair bit as a kid, when he’d hung out with mates who’d idolised their dads.

      ‘Get out, kids, the pub’s no place for you. This is men’s business.’

      The thing was, whenever he’d followed his dad, Denver didn’t mind. He’d been proud of his son, would clap him on the back and ruffle his hair and cuff him playfully.

      Most of his mates had envied him, having a dad so cool. And he’d idolised Denver, loved everything about him from his raucous belly laughs to