“I suppose.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she struggled to bring the text into focus. “The Star of Africa is the largest known cut diamond in existence at 530.2 carats.”
“Sounds like a whopper,” Cade commented as he chose the bottle of Sancerre he’d been saving for the right occasion.
“It’s set in the British royal scepter. It’s too big, and it’s not a blue diamond. So far I haven’t found anything that matches our stone. I wish I had a refractometer.”
“A what?”
“A refractometer,” she repeated, pushing at her hair. “It’s an instrument that measures the characteristic property of a stone. The refractive index.” Her hand froze as he watched her. “How do I know that?”
Carrying two glasses, he settled on the floor beside her again. “What’s the refractive index?”
“It’s the relative ability to refract light. Diamonds are singly refracting. Cade, I don’t understand how I know that.”
“How do you know it’s not a sapphire?” He picked up the stone from where it sat like a paperweight on his notes. “It sure looks like one to me.”
“Sapphires are doubly refracting.” She shuddered. “I’m a jewel thief. That must be how I know.”
“Or you’re a jeweler, a gem expert, or a really rich babe who likes to play with baubles.” He handed her a glass. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Bailey. That’s how you miss details.”
“Okay.” But she had an image of herself dressed all in black, climbing in second-story windows. She drank deeply. “I just wish I could understand why I remember certain things. Refractometers, The Maltese Falcon—”
“The Maltese Falcon?”
“The movie—Bogart, Mary Astor. You had the book in your room, and the movie jumped right into my head. And roses, I know what they smell like, but I don’t know my favorite perfume. I know what a unicorn is, but I don’t know why I’ve got a tattoo of one.”
“It’s a unicorn.” His lips curved up, dimples flashing. “Symbol of innocence.”
She shrugged that off and drank down the rest of her wine quickly. Cade merely passed her his own glass and got up to refill. “And there was this tune playing around in my head while I was in the shower. I don’t know what it is, but I couldn’t get rid of it.” She sipped again, frowned in concentration, then began to hum.
“Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy,”’ he told her. “Beethoven, Bogart and a mythical beast. You continue to fascinate me, Bailey.”
“And what kind of name is Bailey?” she demanded, gesturing expansively with her glass. “Is it my last name or my first? Who would stick a child with a first name like Bailey? I’d rather be Camilla.”
He grinned again, wondered if he should take the wine out of her reach. “No, you wouldn’t. Take my word for it.”
She blew the hair out of her eyes and pouted.
“Tell me about diamonds.”
“They’re a girl’s best friend.” She chuckled, then beamed at him. “Did I make that up?”
“No, honey, you didn’t.” Gently, he took the half-empty glass from her, set it aside. Mental note, he thought—Bailey’s a one-drink wonder. “Tell me what you know about diamonds.”
“They sparkle and shine. They look cold, even feel cold to the touch. That’s how you can easily identify glass trying to pass. Glass is warm, diamonds are cold. That’s because they’re excellent heat conductors. Cold fire.”
She lay on her back, stretching like a cat, and had saliva pooling in his mouth. She closed her eyes.
“It’s the hardest substance known, with a value of ten on Mohs’ hardness scale. All good gem diamonds are white diamonds. A yellowish or brown tinge is considered an imperfection.”
My, oh, my, she thought, and sighed, feeling her head spin. “Blue, green and red diamonds are very rare and highly prized. The color’s caused by the presence of minor elements other than pure carbon.”
“Good.” He studied her face, the curved lips, closed eyes. She might have been talking of a lover. “Keep going.”
“In specific gravity, diamonds range between 3.15 and 3.53, but the value for pure crystals is almost always 3.52. You need brilliancy and fire,” she murmured, stretching lazily again.
Despite his good intentions, his gaze shifted, and he watched her small, firm breasts press against the material of his shirt. “Yeah, I bet.”
“Uncut diamonds have a greasy luster, but when cut, oh, they shine.” She rolled over on her stomach, bent her legs into the air and crossed her ankles. “This is characterized technically as adamantine. The name diamond is derived from the Greek word adamas, meaning ‘invincible.’ There’s such beauty in strength.”
She opened her eyes again, and they were heavy and clouded. She shifted, swinging her legs around until she was sitting, all but in his lap. “You’re awfully strong, Cade. And so pretty. When you kissed me, it felt like you could gobble me right up, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.” She sighed, wiggled a bit to get comfortable, then confided, “I really liked it.”
“Oh, boy.” He felt the blood begin its slow, leisurely journey from head to loins and cautiously covered both the hands she had laid on his chest. “Better switch to coffee.”
“You want to kiss me again.”
“About as much as I’d like to take the next breath.” That mouth of hers was ripe and willing and close. Her eyes were dreamy and dark.
And she was plowed.
“Let’s just hold off on that.”
Gently he started to ease her back, but she was busily crawling the rest of the way into his lap. In a smooth, agile movement, she wriggled down and hooked her legs around his waist.
“I don’t think— Listen—” For a damsel in distress, she had some pretty clever moves. He managed to catch her industrious hands again before she pulled his shirt off. “Cut that out. I mean it.”
He did mean it, he realized, and accepted the new fact that he was insane.
“Do you think I’d be good in bed?” The question nearly had his eyes crossing and his tonguetied in knots. She, meanwhile, simply sighed, settled her head on his shoulder and murmured, “I hope I’m not frigid.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Cade’s blood pressure spiked while she nibbled delicately on his earlobe. Her hands snuck under his shirt and up his back with a light scraping of nails.
“You taste so good,” she noted approvingly, her lips moving down his throat. “I’m awfully hot. Are you hot?”
With an oath, he turned his head, captured her mouth and devoured.
She was ripe with flavors, pulsing with heat. He let himself sink into her, drown in that hot, delicious mouth, while the humming purrs that rippled from her throat pounded through his system like diamonds cased in velvet.
She was pliant, almost fluid, in surrender. When she dipped her head back, offering her throat, no saint in heaven could have resisted it. He scraped his teeth over that smooth white column, listened to her moan, felt her move sinuously against him in invitation.
He could have taken her, simply laid her back on the books and papers and buried himself in her. He could almost feel that glorious slippery friction, the rhythm that would be theirs and only theirs.
And as much as he knew it would be right, it would be perfect, he knew it couldn’t be either, not then, not there.
“I’ve never