The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)

“The art is lovely. Anything special to them?” she asked.

“They’re from the gallery around the corner. Isla’s gallery.”

“Ah, but of course.” Naturally, Eli would shower his fiancée’s business with greenbacks.

Steph peered at the name of the artist in the corner: Lynx. So Lynx liked to make shapes, and Eli liked to buy them. The question tugged at her—was the art connected at all to the missing funds? Jake had said they originally thought the fund’s missing money had been channeled into art, but now they were sure it had gone into gems. Even so, given Eli’s affection for art, she and Jake wanted to know if art played a part.

As a hiding spot.

As they walked down the hallway, the hair on her neck stood on end. She sensed Jake was nearby. That was the plan—as she received the tour, he’d follow behind, peeking into corners, checking out secret passageways, assessing locations for a safe. Steph swallowed nervously. She’d never tried to pull off this sort of cloak-and-dagger routine. But she reminded herself, as Clarissa gave her a tour of the VIP rooms with blue velvet couches and bottle service, that she wasn’t the one who had to slink around.

Jake needed to ghost through the club, and he seemed to be doing a damn fine job of it.




He slowed as they passed the three paintings that matched the style he’d seen in the gallery yesterday, though it was hard—no pun intended—to tear his gaze away from Steph’s ass. That dress was clinging to her body in all the right places, stirring up not-so-distant memories of how she’d felt in his hands this afternoon on the beach.

The way she’d rubbed against him. How her breath had caught when he’d squeezed those cheeks. Damn. He could use a little breathing room in his jeans right about now.

He zoned in on the art to get his mind away from the off-limits woman who rounded the bend in the hallway, out of sight.

What was the deal with these paintings? They didn’t seem very good, but then he knew little about art. He was more interested in what they might be hiding. Most people were creatures of habit. They had their routines, and they followed them, including criminals. Even the smartest of thieves. They might unearth more clever cover-ups and devise trickier schemes, but human nature was human nature, and that didn’t change even for the best con men.

That often meant a thief’s likes and dislikes were guideposts on the path to cracking a case. Passwords, combinations, and locations were rarely truly cryptic.

Eli liked art.

So Jake needed to study the art. Even if art was no longer the item in question, the art here at the club might tell him something.

As he strolled down the hall, he lightly ran his hand along the frame of the first one, looking for any clues. He didn’t expect Eli had hidden a safe right here in plain sight, but something caught his interest. The frame looked awfully heavy for such a light, airy, contemporary piece of art. Didn’t modern art have simpler frames? Or no frames at all? But this was a sturdy bastard, and he was damn curious why.

Before he could investigate further, a group of people walked by. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and struck his best just-a-guy-wandering-down-the-hall pose. Seconds later, Steph and Clarissa emerged from a VIP room, their backs to him.

“And here’s Eli’s office,” the woman said, pointing to a door at the end of the hall. “Now, let’s get you out to the dance floor. Jane is about to start.”

They left his line of sight.

He wandered past Eli’s office, contemplating nudging the door open and sniffing around. Then his shoulders tensed, and his spine straightened when someone opened the door.

He caught sight of artwork hanging on the office wall before the man crossed the threshold, his jaw moving back and forth as he crunched loudly. Jake adopted his best how-did-I-wind-up down-this-hallway look as he scratched his head.

The big man turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Just heading back to the dance floor. Looks like it’s that way.”

The man smiled. There were nuts in his teeth. Cashews, maybe. A snake tattoo curved down his arm. Raising his hand to his lips, he popped into his mouth a handful of more nuts, presumably, then emitted a low moan of culinary delight as he turned to the office door and locked it.

Tonight wasn’t the best time to scope out that room.




Jake could have left when the tour was over. He could have taken off after the first song. But the music was lively, the crowd was wild, and the woman was impossible to look away from.

That was the problem.