The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)

Madeline gestured excitedly as they returned to the toy fest. “Did you get it? The piece de resistance?”


“I did,” Monica said in a sex-kitten voice. She set down the big box, dipped her hand inside, and took out a small black box that looked distinctly like the one Eli had given Steph with the diamond in it. Her spine straightened and adrenaline tripped through her blood. Monica popped open the top, and the women gasped.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous.”

It was gorgeous. Blinding was another word that worked. Brilliant, too. Inside the box was a jewel, but it was bigger than the one her stepfather had given her. Brighter, even.

But something about it looked decidedly fake.




Leave no trace.

That was his mantra, and he had successfully lived up to it tonight, closing and locking the safe, rearranging the books in front of it, and shutting the office door behind him. He exited the house through the bathroom window, crouched along the roof, and climbed into the tree. Mere seconds later, he walked across the spongy grass, having covered his tracks.

OK, he didn’t entirely leave no trace. He’d taken something from the safe. He had to show Steph.




Isla made grabby hands, and Monica gave her the small box. “Look. It’s rhinestone-studded. Eli’s going to be so surprised. He’s going to love it so much.”

Isla pulled the jewel out of the box.

No. Please no. Oh God. Say it isn’t so.

“I can’t wait to give this to him, Monica. He loves this kind of play. He’s going to be so excited. We’re going to use it tonight.”

Steph smacked her forehead. “Oh, excuse me. I forgot I have a late-night dive. Must go.”

Intel was one thing. TMI was entirely another.





CHAPTER TWENTY


She marched down the stone path, around the front of the house, and walked smack into the hardest, firmest chest she’d ever felt.

“Did you find the jelly beans?”

“No. I stumbled into a gaggle of middle-age women in bandage dresses with huge egg-shaped rings ogling dolphins, rabbits, and butt plugs. Then, I got stymied by a sex-toy mistress, who followed me to the ladies’ room—”

“She didn’t join you in there, did she?”

Steph swatted his arm. Jake’s very strong, very muscular, very toned arm. “No! She didn’t join me in the bathroom. But she waited for me. To give me a goddamn sex toy,” she said, thrusting the velvet pouch at him.

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Tell me more.”

She shot him a stare that could crumble steel. “Go ahead. Look inside. Feel free.”

He shrugged happily and opened the drawstring. “That’s what we call sneaking in through the back door.”

Despite her irritation, she managed a small laugh. “For a minute there, I almost thought we had the answer to where the diamonds are. But this gem is fake.”

“Somewhere out there, though, someone is making gold-plated dildos. Diamond-encrusted vibrators. Rabbits filled with real pearls,” he said, shaking his head in mock wistfulness as they headed to her car. “Speaking of diamonds in the house, did you have any success?”

She cut him off, slicing her hand through the air. “No. No. No. And more no. Did you not hear me? The sex-toy mistress practically clung to me, and then I was very nearly subjected to a discussion of Eli’s predilections.” She dragged a hand through her hair in frustration. “I did not find the bowlful of diamonds, so we’ll have to go back again, and my champagne buzz is nearly gone, so I could really use a Cherry Popsicle.”

“Is that code for a ruby-encrusted—”

“No. There’s a bar along the beach that serves frozen cherry margaritas and they’re called Cherry Popsicles because they’re made around a frozen block of cherry ice, and when you get to the end you can suck on the Popsicle in the middle of it, and if I do not get one stat, my brain will be permanently branded with images of my stepfather’s fiancée holding that thing,” she said, gesturing wildly at the black pouch.

“Fair enough. To the Cherry Popsicle purveyor we go. Do they have ice cream? I do love a good ice-cream cone.”

“I’ll find you ice cream, Jake.”

“By the way, what’s a bandage dress? Is that like a dress made out of Band Aids?”

She heaved a sigh. “No. It’s a style. It’s very clingy and tight, but the fabric is sturdy,” she said, stopping to point to her breasts as if to show how a bandage dress would hug her curves.

He cleared his throat, and when she looked up, she saw him looking down.

At her boobs.

“I forgot. You’re a boob starer. Didn’t mean to tempt you, since you’re trying to stay on the wagon.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “One, you say that like it’s a bad thing. Two, you have fantastic breasts. And three, do you blame me? You were waving your hands in front of them. I had no choice but to stare at them.”

She tugged his arm and resumed her walk, wishing she didn’t like it so much that he enjoyed the view.