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resumed eating, forking a
dainty bite of peas into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Yummy. I went to
work for Sir James—why do I always want to say Saint James?” she wondered,
making Damian laugh. “Anyway, I started with him when I was seventeen. Odd jobs
at first, like filing and answering phones. William and I married when I turned
twenty. When I became a certified gemologist, Sir James began to allow me to
appraise jewelry. He also allowed William to train me on security systems.”
    “Including how to bypass them?”
    She glanced up sharply but said in a smooth voice, “Of course.
It sometimes helps in determining whether the items were really stolen or were
‘mislaid’ by someone who only wants the insurance money. What we Yanks call ‘an
inside job’.”
    “Are you a Yank?”
    She chewed for a moment and then said, “No, I’m an international
woman. I went to college in the States, but my father, stepmother and I lived
virtually everywhere—Paris, Rome, London and Bogotá.”
    “My godparents, the Santanas, live near Bogotá.”
    “That makes sense. After all, Colombia is rich in emeralds.”
She put aside her utensils, resting her chin on her hand.
    “I grew up in Madrid and Torquay.”
    “Torquay, well-known as the English Mediterranean. Do you
like it there? And is Madrid why you have an accent?”
    He chuckled. “And you do not? Have an accent, I mean.”
    “Of course I don’t have an accent. I speak French like a
Parisienne, Spanish like a Catalan, German like a Berliner and Italian like a
Roman guttersnipe. And you haven’t answered my question. Do you like Torquay?”
    “Yes, but I prefer Barcelona or Granada.” He forked smashed
peas into his mouth and prayed she would let the subject drop. Sooner of later,
she would ask where he worked and he did not want her to know. Not until he
could trust her.
    “Ah, Granada. I fell in love once in Granada. Cold as sin in
February, but beautiful.”
    “Sin is not cold, Tiffany.”
    She laughed, flashing a hint of her dimple.
    “I take it your Spanish lover was not William.”
    “No. Luis was a medical student at the University of
Granada. And he was never my lover.”
    “Saving yourself for William?”
    She flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment he could
not tell. “I am sorry,” he said and covered her hand with his.
    “A different time, a different girl.” She eased her hand
away to fidget with her spoon.
    “Have you a theory about the theft of Isabella’s Belt?”
    “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly?
    For a brief moment he thought to pursue the question, but
let the subject drop.
    “Do you want to make love with me?” she asked when the long
silence threatened to become uncomfortable.
    Feeling his face heat and his cock throb, he said, “Yes,
very much.”
    “But? What happened in St. Anton was a fluke? We’re on
opposite sides regarding this theft?”
    He seized the last subject like a drowning man would seize a
raft. He had no more desire to discuss St. Anton than she had to talk about her
husband. Any discussion about her marriage would lead him to the faithless
woman who had gotten his brother killed. Instead, he said, “How can we be on
opposite sides? You must want the thief brought to justice as quickly as I do. Bijoux
stands to lose a vast sum if the Belt is not recovered.”
    “Yes, a vast sum. All due and payable to your godfather,
Emilio Santana.”
    “That is an evil accusation!” he said, anger coloring his
voice and dousing desire. Dios, she had gotten under his skin quickly!
Wondering where the hell calm, detached Damian Hunter—temporarily assigned to
Interpol—had gone to, he took a deep breath. “You said you did not have a
theory about the theft.”
    “I don’t. It’s just common practice to look at the owners,
along with any other suspects.”
    “And if you have no other suspects?”
    She lifted her gaze to his face, her green eyes filled with
what appeared to be irony. “‘Aye,