Played (27 page)

He pulled her shirt over her head and undid the front clasp of her bra, slowly pulling it apart, taking a moment to savor the sight of her beautiful breasts. He skimmed the tips with his palms, feeling her shudder with pleasure. Then he ran his hands down her stomach. He unsnapped her jeans, slid down the zipper, and slipped his hands inside, his fingers tracing the shape of her buttocks as he helped her off with her pants. He loved the feel of her ass, so soft, so round, so perfect for his hands, for his body. He grabbed the strap of her thong underwear and sent the tiny scrap of material to the floor. Sliding his fingers into the nest of curls at her thighs, he explored the tender folds, loving the way she whispered his name and moved into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, her hips into his rapidly hardening groin.

He kissed her on the mouth as he explored her with his fingers. Her tongue danced with his, demanding that he go deeper in every way. He could feel the tension growing in her body. He wanted to draw it out, to torture her—to make each moment count, each kiss, each caress. He increased the pressure with his fingers, at the same time dropping his mouth to her breast, encircling the nipple with his tongue, teasing and tugging until she came apart in his arms, crying out his name.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, ruthlessly tugging it over his head, her hands once again urgent, needy. This time he didn’t try to stop her, didn’t try to slow her down or prevent her from touching him, cupping him, stroking him.

He didn’t know how they made it to the bed, how he had enough of a brain left to reach for a condom, or enough patience to let Christina roll it on to him as she pressed him back against the bed and straddled his legs, sinking down on him with a sigh of pure pleasure.

If he’d known a dance could lead to this, he would have started dancing a long time ago.

17

Christina was sitting on the bed, wearing only a robe, when J.T. came out of the bathroom the next morning with a short towel wrapped around his hips. The smattering of fine, dark hair on his chest was still damp from his shower. Beads of water clung to his face. He was a handsome man, and incredibly sexy. Christina couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she thought about the night they’d shared. Her body felt deliciously tired, sore, satisfied.

“What’s that grin for?” he asked, using another bath towel to dry his hair.

“Nothing.” She got up and walked over to him, flicking a speck of shaving cream off his jaw. “You missed a spot.”

His hand came around her neck, drawing her in for a lingering kiss. She wished she could take him back to bed, spend another few hours in his arms, forget about reality and the rest of the world. She gazed into his eyes and felt her breath catch at the intimate look he gave her. He knew exactly what she was thinking. He knew how much she wanted him. It was scary to think how much of her heart she’d already put on the line. What would be left of her when this was over?

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, his eyes filling with concern. “Let’s go back to the smile.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I was just thinking about…what we have to do today.”

“It’s going to be rough on you,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“I don’t think I could ever be ready, but there’s no way around it. Now you’d better get dressed before I decide to make love to you again.”

His eyes glittered. “You are an insatiable woman. I like it.”

“It’s all your fault.” She gave the towel around his hips an impulsive tug, and couldn’t resist taking a good look at him. The longer she looked the more aroused he got. “Oh, my,” she said with a wistful sigh. “I wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“Do you seriously think I’m getting dressed now?” he challenged.

“We don’t have time, J.T. We have things to do, places to be, people to see…” she said. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

The rough, needy edge to his voice made her melt inside. He might not want her for the long run, but for now he was all hers.

“Christina,” he prodded. “Unless what?”

“We skip the warm-up,” she said huskily. “Go right to the main event.”

“I can live with that.” He hauled her up roughly against him, planting a fevered kiss on her lips before pushing her back onto the bed. His body immediately covered hers, his hands and his mouth eager, demanding. He tasted like mint. He smelled like musk. And when he slid into her body, Christina knew that everything else could wait.

All good things had to come to an end, Christina thought as J.T. paid off the taxi driver who had just dropped them off at the Benedettis’ house. They were back to business now, dressed and ready to go. J.T. had on his game face. She was beginning to recognize the look of cold, hard purpose in his eyes that always appeared when his focus returned to Evan. For her, this journey to Italy had become all about her mother and her father, but J.T. was still on the lookout for his own personal nemesis, a man who was probably enjoying the fact that she and J.T. had gotten completely distracted by old family history. She frowned, realizing the truth of that. “We’re playing into his hands, aren’t we?” she asked.

J.T. gave her a curious look. “Whose hands?”

“Evan’s. It just occurred to me that I haven’t given him much thought in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Don’t worry; he’s never far from my mind.”

“Do you think he’s here in Florence?” She couldn’t help taking a quick look over her shoulder.

“I’m betting on it,” J.T. said grimly. “He’s biding his time, waiting for us to lead him to your father.”

“I wish there were a way for us to avoid that.”

“Let’s take it step by step. We find your father; then we figure out a way to throw Evan off the scent.”

“I’m a little surprised he hasn’t contacted us.”

“He doesn’t want to show his cards yet, but he will. When he does, I’ll be ready.” He paused. “The question is, are you ready to face Maria again? Or is all this concern about Evan a stalling technique?”

She made a face at him, knowing he was right. “I am concerned about Evan, but I might have been stalling a little,” she admitted.

J.T. smiled and rang the bell.

She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders. When Maria opened the door, Christina had to fight a split second’s urge to run. If J.T. hadn’t been standing behind her, his body a solid wall between her and the street, she might have taken off, but Maria was waving her inside, and J.T. had his hand on her back. She was going in, all the way in. There was no avoiding it now. She had to hear the truth, the whole truth, whatever it was.

“I thought you would return,” Maria said, her expression wary.

“I need more information,” Christina said. “Now that I’ve had time to think about everything, I have more questions, and you seem to be the one with all the answers.”

“Come into the garden. I can’t talk to you in the house. Signor Benedetti does not know that I told you about your mother.” Her old eyes softened as she gazed at Christina. “You look so much like her, I still can’t believe it.”

Christina’s lips tightened. She wasn’t sure yet how she felt about the resemblance. It was too soon.

“I’d like to see the photograph,” J.T. cut in. “I didn’t get a chance yesterday.”

They followed Maria into the living room. Christina was almost afraid to look at the picture again, fearful that it would make her mother feel more real, but she couldn’t stop herself. Now when she gazed at Isabella she didn’t just see the similarities between them; she also saw the differences—the stress in Isabella’s eyes, as if she were pretending to smile, to convey the happy family feeling in the portrait. Christina glanced at the boys—her half brothers, she realized. They looked solemn, not one smile among them. And finally she turned to Vittorio. He was tall, proud, arrogant, with a mean glint in his eyes.

It was a family picture, but the people in the photograph almost appeared strangers to one another. Their pose was formal, forced.

Where would she have fit? Christina wondered. If Isabella had kept her, where would her daughter have been in the family picture?

“Well,” J.T. said, interrupting her thoughts, “I can see why you flipped out yesterday. You look exactly like Isabella. The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve seen enough,” Christina said shortly, turning to Maria. “We need to talk now.”

Maria nodded and led them back out to the courtyard where she and Christina had sat the day before. The sun was shining, and the patio was bathed in a warm light. They sat down at the table, and for a moment there was nothing but quiet. J.T. was obviously leaving it to her to speak first, but now that she was here Christina wasn’t sure where to start.

Maria finally broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said, clasping her hands on top of the table, guilt evident in her black eyes. “Signor Benedetti will fire me when he finds out. I gave my sacred promise to him that I would never say a word. It was easier to keep the promise when you were in America, when I wasn’t sitting across from you as I was yesterday, as I am now. I wish you had not come here.”

“Part of me wishes that, too, but we can’t go back; we can only go forward.” Christina drew in a breath and continued. “I told you that the diamond Signor Benedetti sent to my auction house was stolen. I believe my father took it. He told me that the diamond didn’t belong to Vittorio, and that it needs to be returned it to its rightful owner. My father is in a great deal of trouble. The police in San Francisco are looking for him, and for me, too, in fact. Can you help me find my father?”

Maria’s eyes filled with confusion. “Perhaps my English is not so good. I don’t understand what you mean when you say your father wants to put the diamond back.”

“He believes the diamond belongs to someone other than Vittorio,” Christina explained.

“If it belongs to anyone else, it belongs to you,” Maria said.

Christina sat up straight, then exchanged a quick look with J.T., who appeared as surprised as she was by Maria’s words. “What do you mean?”

“Your father didn’t tell you the story of the diamond?”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Christina said. “Can you fill in the blanks?”

Maria hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s my place.”

“Please, this is so important to me. You have to tell me what you know, especially if the diamond is supposed to belong to me. Don’t I have a right to know its history?”

Maria let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, you have that right. And I will tell you, because I think it’s what your mother would want me to do. Let me think for a moment. It has been many, many years since I heard the story.” She fell silent, taking her time. The words came slowly. “The diamond has been passed down from mother to daughter for hundreds of years. Just before your grandmother died—her name was Angela—she told Isabella the story of the diamond.”

“Go on,” Christina encouraged, excited to hear the rest.

Maria gave her a sad smile. “Isabella had the same look on her face as you do now, as if something magical was about to enter her life. And that’s exactly what would happen. She had never seen the yellow diamond before that night. It was tradition that the diamond be hidden away lest someone outside of the bloodline should try to take it, to steal its power. The stone would bring good luck and passionate love to those mothers and daughters who carried the blood of Catherine de Médici, but to anyone else it would bring tragedy and suffering.”

“So the stone originally belonged to Catherine de Médici?” Christina asked.

“Yes. It is said that Catherine inherited the diamond from her mother, who died before Catherine was a year old. The nurse who took care of Catherine after her mother died told her that the diamond was her legacy from her mother and she must protect it always. No one else in the family could know she had it.” Maria took a breath, then continued.

“When Catherine was eight years old, rebels attacked the Médici palace. Catherine was taken hostage and hidden away in various convents in and around the city, where she lived until she was fourteen years old. At one of these convents Catherine fell in love with a handsome young man. He was a painter, commissioned to paint a fresco on the wall of a chapel. He was so taken by Catherine that he painted her picture into the fresco. Sadly, they could not be together. A few weeks later Catherine was sent to Rome and married off to the future king of France.”

Christina nodded, remembering the story of the Italian princess who grew up to be the queen of France. “What happened to the diamond?”

“Let me back up for a moment,” Maria said. “Catherine had asked her friend Pietro, the painter, to help her find a place to hide the diamond, which he agreed to do. She was afraid that the diamond would be taken from her as part of her marriage dowry. She wanted to leave the diamond somewhere safe until she was older, until she had more control over her life. Unfortunately, before that could happen, Catherine left Florence. Her worst fears came true. Henry discovered the diamond, and to Catherine’s shock and horror he gave it to his mistress. Catherine swore a curse on the stone and on Henry—that any man who took the stone from the woman to whom it belonged would suffer his worst fear and heartache until the diamond was returned to her. She said the diamond was her heart, because inside the stone—”

“There was a mineral inclusion of a heart,” Christina finished. “That’s what the report said. That’s what I didn’t see.” She glanced over at J.T. and saw skepticism in his eyes. “You don’t believe in the curse?”

“It’s quite a tale,” J.T. said. “What happened to Henry after he took Catherine’s diamond? How was he cursed?”

“I know he couldn’t get Catherine pregnant for ten years,” Christina replied. She turned to Maria. “Was that part of the curse?”

“Some thought so, including Henry. He returned the diamond to Catherine and then she had ten children,” Maria said. “Since then, over many years and many generations, other men have attempted to take the diamond from their loves, their wives, and they all suffered—including Vittorio.”

“Good, let’s bring it back to the present day,” J.T. said approvingly. “What happened after Isabella got the diamond from her mother?”

“Isabella felt as if the diamond brought magic into her life,” Maria continued. “She had been so unhappy with Vittorio. He cared more about his business, his money, and his reputation than about Isabella. Her life was cold and empty. Her only joy came from her children, but that wasn’t enough to sustain her. When she received the diamond, she became obsessed with learning more about it. The diamond sent her to your father, Christina. That’s how she met him, you know. She went to the library to find out more about the stone, and he offered to help her with the research.”

That sounded just like her father. He wouldn’t have been able to resist learning about a legendary diamond.

“Isabella fell in love with Marcus,” Maria said. “I believe he was truly the one great passion of her life, and it was the diamond that brought them together, the magic of the stone.”

Christina’s stomach clenched at Maria’s words. She wanted to believe her parents had shared something more real, more honest than a tawdry affair.

“So what happened?” J.T. asked. “Did Vittorio inherit the diamond after Isabella died?”

“He took it from her when he found out she was pregnant,” Maria said. “He was furious. He was looking through her room for proof of her affair—letters, that kind of thing. That’s when he found the stone, when he took it for his own. Vittorio told Isabella that she owed him for betraying him.” Maria drew in a deep breath. “It was a horrible night. They fought so terribly. In my head I can still hear him yelling at her, and my sweet Isabella sobbing as if her heart had been ripped in two. In the end Vittorio sent her away to live in the country until she had the baby. Then he had a nurse take the child to America, to your father.”

Christina felt a rush of emotion, knowing now that she was that baby. “Isabella didn’t choose to send me away?”