Edge Of Deception. Daphne Clair
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fingers gripped her fork hard. For a moment she kept her eyes fixed on the remains of her dinner, not sure why she had thrown that jibe at him. Sholto had never been one to ignore a challenge. Fatally, she could feel a stirring of excitement deep down. Did she want to cross swords with him? Was that what this edgy, half-pleasurable, half-painful tension that she’d felt ever since seeing him yesterday was all about?
Living with Sholto was a knife-edge experience, and one she’d vowed never to repeat. But in spite of the anger and hurt, and the bitterness that had accompanied the break-up of their relationship, she’d not felt wholly alive since—not until she’d kissed him last night in an act of reckless bravado, and been shaken to the core when he kissed her back.
‘What can you offer me?’ she asked obliquely.
She dared to look at him, and saw the narrowing of his eyes as he debated his answer. ‘What do you want from me?’ Before she had a chance to reply, he drew back in his chair, his expression changing to a smooth, urbane mask. ‘I have silks from Japan, carved goods from Indonesia, woven hats and black pearls from the Cook Islands—’
‘Pearls?’
‘Pearls.’
‘Aren’t they very expensive?’
‘Some are. The perfect specimens go to jewellers, mostly. But the odd-shaped ones that are not so valuable can make charming pendants, and some are still attached to the shell. A lot of people like those as ornaments.’ He paused, regarding her thoughtful expression. ‘Interested?’
‘I’m always interested in unusual ornaments or jewellery. I don’t go in for perfect strings of pearls or mass-produced stuff. But your odd-shaped black pearls—each one would be different, wouldn’t it? That’s what my customers like, something unique and quirky. I’d like to see some.’
‘No problem. Tonight, if you like?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Why not? The warehouse is five minutes from here. I carry a key.’
They skipped dessert and had coffee and liqueurs. Both of them had drunk sparingly of the wine Sholto had ordered, and Tara had no worries about letting him drive her.
He turned towards the city, and eventually drew up in a car park outside a bulky, darkened building with a single light glowing outside. ‘We’ll go in the side door,’ he said.
When they’d stepped inside he touched her arm in the darkness and said, ‘Hold on, I’ll deactivate the security alarm and get the lights on.’
He moved a few yards away, and then she blinked as fluorescent bulbs flickered and steadied and shed their pale light on tiers of shelving filled with boxes, piles of larger containers, and two forklift trucks parked neatly in a corner. ‘There’s a showroom upstairs,’ Sholto said, and led her to an uncarpeted wooden stairway against one wall.
They climbed up into the shadows, and at the top Sholto paused to switch on more lights. A hand on her waist urged her forward, and she stepped onto a gleaming dark red rug with black and gold patterns.
It was like Aladdin’s cave. There were more luxurious oriental rugs overlapping one another on the floor, shimmering silk wall hangings, a huge gold paper fan painted with peacocks and a black one with cherry blossoms. Appliquéd quilts in stunning colour combinations were heaped on a long trestle table, and carved coffee tables and sandalwood chests stood against the walls. Bamboo furniture held samples of teak carvings, and long strings of tiny stuffed animals with jewelled eyes and brocaded bodies hung from the rafters.
‘The pearls are over here,’ Sholto said, taking her arm in a light hold.
They were in a large display case. Sholto opened up the glass front and took out an oyster shell that fitted his palm. The moon glow of the mother-of-pearl gleamed in the fluorescent light, and embedded under its filmy surface were two luminescent black pearls, nestled side by side.
Tara touched them with a gentle finger, and Sholto said, ‘Take it.’
She held the shell, warm from his hand, and said, ‘This is lovely.’
Some of the shells in the case held one pearl, others two or even three. ‘And here—’ Sholto lifted out a tray covered in white satin ‘—are the pearls alone. These are all odd shapes.’
Several were quite large. She picked up one about the size of the bowl of a teaspoon that had formed into an almost perfect heart. ‘This would sell.’ It had the soft lustre typical of pearl, made mysterious by its black colour. ‘How much?’
‘Wholesale? We sell them in lots.’ He turned aside and found a list taped to the side of the case, pulled it off and handed it to her. ‘Here you are.’
She glanced down the price list. ‘I’d like to order some.’
‘Phone first thing on Monday and ask for Noel, the warehouse manager. I’ll tell to him expect your call.’
‘Thank you.’ She relinquished the heart and said, ‘I want that one in my selection.’ She picked up another pearl, vaguely resembling a flower. ‘And this.’
‘Fine, just tell Noel.’
‘One of my suppliers does jewellery at home. Maybe I could get her to set some of these to order for my customers.’
Tara replaced the flower and ran a fingertip over a cluster of fused pearls. ‘They’re nice to touch—that satiny patina over such hardness.’
He didn’t answer, and she looked up enquiringly, to find him regarding her with an oddly brooding look in his eyes, his mouth curled faintly at one corner as if he’d remembered something unpalatable.
Tara dropped her hand and stepped back.
‘Seen enough?’ Sholto asked curtly.
‘Yes. Of the pearls. Do you mind if I look around a bit?’
‘Feel free.’ He turned to replace the tray and close the cupboard.
She had caught sight of a number of huge floor cushions and beanbags crowded into a corner. She bent to pick up a cushion, and several more tumbled to the floor and lay on the rug around her feet. The cushion she held was covered in a patterned fabric of large birds and flowers, the design outlined with stitching and stuffed to give a raised effect.
‘Like it?’ Sholto had strolled silently over the rugs and was standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets.
‘Very much. Are there many in this style?’
He came over and helped her find some, each a different colour, a different pattern. ‘Put the ones you want aside,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll tell Noel to keep them for you.’
He helped her to pile them separately, and said, ‘Is that the lot?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She found herself too close to him as she straightened up, and stepped back hastily, catching her heel in the edge of one of the overlapping rugs and sprawling backwards as her shoe came off.
The rugs cushioned the fall, but surprise kept her from trying to rise for a moment or two.
When her eyes met Sholto’s—a long way up—she blinked with shock. His mouth was clamped tight and his eyes were smouldering. ‘Get up!’ he said harshly. And then, as though belatedly recalling his manners, he extended a hand to her.
Ignoring it, Tara struggled to her feet, only to falter on her unshod foot.
Sholto grabbed her arm. ‘For God’s sake!’ he muttered. She felt the brush of his breath against her cheek, smelled the scent of him—soap and wool suiting and an underlying masculine scent that evoked a rush of confused memories.
He swooped without releasing her and picked up her shoe, holding it ready for her. ‘Here,’ he said impatiently.
She looked down at his dark head and lifted her foot,