The Shadows

SIXTY-THREE

Trez pulled Manny’s Porsche up in front of Marcus Reinhardt’s jewelry store. The oldest jeweler in town, the place had been featured in things like the New York Times, and even the Robb Report, for its extensive inventory.

And by extensive, that was carat weight.

Glancing over at Selena, he said, “You ready?”

“I have never had a ring of my own.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “There were jewels in the Treasury—” She stopped. “Are jewels in the Treasury, but as Chosen, we were unadorned except for our pearl—and that was not really ours.”

Unlatching his door, he said over his shoulder, “Yet another pity as far as I’m concerned.”

But he was going to rectify of that tonight. Walking in front, he opened her door, and as her beautiful hand extended, he caught hold and gave in to the urge to bend down and kiss the back of it. Then he pulled her carefully to her feet and offered her his elbow.

As she took it, he had a feeling that both of them were ignoring how the gesture was not just that of a polite gentlemale, but something that was needed.

She wasn’t walking as well as she had been.

Before they got to the door, the iron-barred thing opened wide. “Mr. Latimer, greetings.”

The man was dressed in a formal suit and had a neat head of hair and a precisely cropped beard. Along with his patrician accent, and the fact that he had a three-point pocket square, he was pretty much central casting for what you’d blue-sky as a guy who specializes in six- to seven-figure engagement rings.

“Thanks for opening things up for us,” Trez said as they shook hands. “This is my fiancée, Selena.”

“My pleasure. Madam.”

Okay, you had to approve of that bow.

Inside, everything was set up for a private showing, and Trez suddenly felt really fucking good about all this. The cases with their fillings of precious gems twinkled under the special lights, as if they were applauding Selena’s and his arrival. Champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes had been set out.

“May I offer you some Veuve Clicquot?” they were asked.

“I think I’m good,” he said. “Selena?”

She tilted up her chin as if she were determined to enjoy herself. “I would like some, please.”

“Make that two,” Trez amended.

Pop! Fizz! Pour and hand over.

He clinked their glasses. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Reinhardt took them into a private room that had a video camera mounted in the corner on the ceiling. “Mr. Perlmutter gave me your specifications, and I took the liberty of preparing you a tray for consideration.”

Annnnnnnd out came the ice.

In black velvet slots, diamond rings sat up like good little children panting to get picked to answer a question.

Selena’s inhale was like a pat on the back for him.

“See anything you like?” Trez asked.

She tried on every single one, putting the rings on any finger that fit and turning her wrist this way and that under the light. The coup de grâce was her sliding on alllll of them, her ten fingers stacked with about twenty spectacular baubles.

“How much money is all that?” he asked idly as he sipped his champagne.

“Several million,” Mr. Reinhardt said.

At that, Selena blanched and put her hands down. “What?”

“Several million,” the jeweler repeated.

“How much are these things?” she demanded. And then, when informed what the square on her pinkie was worth, she exclaimed, “Dearest Virgin Scribe!”

There was an awkward moment as Trez wished he’d STFU’d. “Selena, I’m not thinking about the price—”

“You should be!” She started taking the rings off at a furious pace. “I haven’t spent a lot of time on this side, but I’ve learned a thing or two about human money—”

“Will you give us a moment?” Trez said smoothly. “And you can take these away if you’re worried about the security.”

“Your credentials have been well verified, Mr. Latimer.” The man got to his polished shoes. “Take your time.”

The second the door closed behind the man, Selena turned to him. “Trez, I don’t want you spending this kind of money on me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a waste. I’m not going to wear the thing for centuries.”

He exhaled like someone had kicked him in the chest. “Yeah, wow. You’re really missing the point here if you think I’m looking for some kind of time value on the cash.” He gathered her hands. “I want to do you right. I want . . . I just want this experience with you, okay? This time, right here”—he motioned around the desk—“this is our infinity. It’s happening right here, right now. So let’s get you the biggest fucking ring in this place and a pair of earrings to match. Let’s just say fuck-you to dying, all right?”

She blinked fast. “Oh, Trez . . .”

He picked up one of the rings she had thrown back on the velvet tray and put it over the nail of her ring finger. “Come on, say it with me.”

“Say what?”

“‘Fuck you, death.’”

“Trez. Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Hey, on the outside chance the Grim Reaper is listening, I think he needs to know how much we hate his ass. Come on, my queen, say it with me. ‘Fuck you, death.’”

She put her free hand up to hide an off-kilter smile. “You’re crazy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know—and stop ducking this. ‘Fuck you, death!’” When she just mumbled the words, he shook his head. “Nope. Louder. ‘Fuck you, death!’”

Selena started to laugh. “This isn’t funny.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” He smiled and nodded at her, still poised with the ring at the top of her finger. “All together—like he can hear you.”

“Fuck you, death!” she hollered. Then she smiled broadly. “Fuck you, death!”

He slid the ring home and sat back, staring at the sparkler. “You know, I really like that one, actually.”

Selena peered over her hand and regarded the grape-size, pear-shaped rock. “Oh . . . boy. It’s so big.”

“That’s what she said.”

As they both started to laugh, he pulled her in by the back of the neck and kissed her. “You want to keep trying on some more?”

She shook her head. “No, this is perfect. I want this one.”

Putting her beautiful hand out, she did that thing females did with rings, pursing her lips and smiling to herself.

God, I love you, he thought, you perfect, perfect female of worth.

“Are you sure it’s not too expensive?” she said.

“No matter the cost”—he kissed her again—“it’s yours.”

iAm got naked really damn fast. As soon as he was birthday-suit ready, he wanted to go down on maichen—even though he had no idea what to do to a female below the waist, he was three hundred ready to find the hell out.

Didn’t happen.

The wrench in the works was when he got within range of her, his sex brushing up against hers as he positioned himself on top—

That was pretty much it.

“I need you,” he groaned as she ran her hands up his back and down his sides.

“Then take me.”

iAm forced himself to stop. “Are you okay, though? After last night?”

God, he couldn’t get enough of her almond-shaped eyes, and that black curling hair of hers all over the white pillowcase, and her resplendent skin. She was a constant revelation, one that shocked in a good way every time he looked at her.

“I am well,” she said. “And I am of strength, thanks to your generous vein.”

He really loved her accent, the dialect that was spoken in the Territory tinting her English with the sounds of home—

No, not home, he reminded himself. Caldwell was home.

Reaching between them, he angled his cock and drove in slowly with his hips, wanting to make sure he didn’t force anything.

In response, her nails bit into his skin, and she arched up, her breasts all tight tips. “iAm . . .”

His hips took over, driving in and out, the friction going to his head like he’d been drinking all night. Harder, faster—until she came, jerking up against him, straining under him, one of her hands slapping down on the bed and twisting the duvet up hard.

He just kept going, coming over and over again. And then he pulled out of her and stroked himself, orgasming over her sex, her belly, her breasts.

Even as he was all in with what he was doing, a part of him refused to recognize the significance.

He wasn’t marking this female.

He just . . . nope, he wasn’t.

Because if he was marking her, if this was anything more than just an intense session with a female he happened to be really fucking attracted to?

Then it could put him in a very difficult situation. Especially as his brother was going to refuse to return and do his duty at the Territory, and iAm was then going to have to go on the lam to avoid an ax falling on the head of the only blood relation who mattered to him.

But again, he told himself as he collapsed against her naked body, he wasn’t marking anything like that.

Nope.

Not at all.