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in her walnut-sized brain of the kind of suffering those sparkly little stones represented.
    He saved the photo of Alyssa’s ad to his desktop and reopened it in a graphic design program. In a different window, he opened another photo, a still from the video footage Marie Laure had captured just a week ago, after one of the miners had tried to smuggle a stone out of the camp. First Mekembe had hacked off the man’s hands with a machete. Then Mekembe had gone to the man’s tent and dragged his wife and ten-year-old daughter out into the road.
    As the man watched, his wife and daughter were gang-raped by Mekembe’s men before having their hands hacked off with a machete blade. In this frame the man sat dazed in shock next to the crumpled forms of his wife and daughter. Blood pooled around them, darkening the already red earth to a near black crimson.
    Marie Laure told him the daughter had died several hours later.
    Lips curling, Martin clicked on the sea of thick red, transferring the color to the photo of Alyssa. As he clicked his way down her back, the diamonds became drops of blood, oozing down her skin like scarlet tears.

C HAPTER 2
    H E WAS BATSHIT. That was the only word that explained Derek’s behavior.
    Why else would he be unlocking his door to usher in a woman he’d just met—some random society brat, no less—into his house?
    Okay, not merely batshit. Completely nuts. He had been from the moment he’d taken her hand, felt the sensual warmth of her skin. And when she’d leaned over in the car, laid that hot hand on his thigh, burning him through the fabric of his pants, his cock had gone titanium hard.
    Every drop of blood had rushed down to pulse and throb between his legs, causing temporary insanity. Because there was no way in hell Derek would be doing this otherwise.
    That said, he was mesmerized by the swing of her ass, the subtle flex of muscle under the smooth skin of her thighs as she preceded him up the stairs leading from the garage to the kitchen. He wanted to lean forward, bury his face against the curve of her butt, take a nip out of a firm cheek. Push her forward, lift her skirt, and shove his cock into her from behind.
    He reached past her to flick on the light, catching the scent of her as he did so. Fresh, citrusy, with a warm, muskytone underneath. The aroma went straight to his balls, curling around and squeezing like a woman’s soft hand.
    Like Alyssa’s hot hand, circling and stroking his cock, burning him alive.
    “Nice place,” she said, surveying the recently remodeled kitchen.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I just finished renovating the kitchen and bathrooms.” This was weird, standing here, his dick hard enough to cut glass, talking about his kitchen remodel.
    She walked slowly forward, her skinny heels tap-tapping on the tile before she leaned one hip against a bar stool next to the counter. She looked up at him with wide, grass-green eyes and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
    Was she really nervous? Or was it an act?
    Derek didn’t kid himself. She probably did this all the time. He was merely her chosen nightcap at the end of the evening.
    Still, she looked uncertain, waiting for him to make a move. The silence thickened, verging on awkward.
    This was such a fucking bad idea. If he were Ethan—his twin who would have done this gig under normal circumstances—Derek would have a steady stream of flirty banter at the ready, a smile designed to make a woman feel at ease as he was herding her to the bedroom.
    But he wasn’t the player Ethan had been before he’d met Toni Crawford, world’s sexiest computer nerd. Derek didn’t take random women home, didn’t have the time or desire to make meaningless chitchat and talk them into bed for equally meaningless sex.
    So what the fuck was he doing?
    Alyssa gave him a tentative smile and absently twisted a strand of golden-brown hair. The smile shot heat to his groin, and he had his answer.
    “How about a drink?” Alyssa