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She wasn’t giving in, wasn’t yielding to the sexual magnetism he wielded like a sorcerer.
Shoving at his chest, she squeezed out from between his body and the wall. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who begged,” she called over her shoulder as she walked down the hall to her kitchen, away from him.
She figured her comment would anger him—she had counted on it, as a matter of fact. But after a second of disgruntled silence, Marc tossed his head back and laughed. His reaction was a million times more disconcerting than what she’d expected. Partly because it was the first time she’d heard him laugh since he’d walked into her classroom the afternoon before and partly because it was a good laugh. A really good laugh, low and smoky and filled with a joy that told her it was genuine, despite the circumstances.
“Touché,” he said as she got herself a glass of ice water and then drained it in two long gulps.
When the water was done—when she felt as if she had herself under control, at last—Isa turned back to him and demanded, “Why are you here, Marc? I’m pretty sure we said everything we needed to say to each other this morning before you left.”
He winced slightly. “I know I was a little harsh—”
“Don’t pull that smarmy rich boy routine on me!” she snapped. “You weren’t harsh. You were definite. Sleeping with me was closure and once you’d done it you were finished, ready to move on.” She tore her eyes away from his too-beautiful face to glance at the clock on the wall behind his head. “So try again. What do you really want?”
He stared at her for long seconds, until the heat between them grew intolerable. “You,” he finally said. “I want you.”
“Try again,” she replied with a snort that in no way betrayed the riot of emotions exploding inside. “You’ve had me, twice. And both times it’s ended with you kicking me to the curb.”
“I didn’t kick you to the curb this morning—”
“Maybe not literally, since this is my house,” she told him with a shrug she hoped looked negligent. “But you definitely did it metaphorically. Which is fine, I get it. Closure, revenge, whatever. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here now. What do you want from me?”
He paused, seeming to weigh his words as carefully as she’d been weighing hers.
Finally, just when she’d given up hope on him telling her anything, he ground out, “I need your help.”
Nine
“My help?” She stared at him incredulously.
“Yes.” He pulled back, putting some distance between them for the first time since he’d walked back into her house. Damn it. There was no way she would help him, not after what he’d just pulled.
He hadn’t meant to go all possessive on her, hadn’t meant to give in to the sensual need that throbbed between them with each breath they took. He was there because he needed her help professionally, not because he wanted to get her into bed again. Or at least, that was the lie he was telling himself.
Now that he’d given her some breathing room, she spun around. Pulled another glass out of the cabinet behind her. She filled it with ice and water before handing it to him and demanding, “Explain.”
So he did, telling her about the article, about the damage it could do to Bijoux if it ran. About how they needed a conflict diamond expert to sign off on the fact that their stock was completely conflict free.
When he was done, she looked at him over the rim of her cup. “There are other experts out there. You could have gone to any of a dozen people and asked them to work for you.”
“I could have, yes.”
“But you came to me instead. Because you figured you could use our past to sway my results?”
Fury shot through him. “I don’t need to sway your results. When you investigate Bijoux, you’ll find that we use only responsibly sourced diamonds. I can assure you, there is not one blood diamond among our stock.”
“That’s a pretty big assurance,” she told him. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I look at each and every diamond that comes through our p
lace. I make sure that, geologically, they come from where we say they do.”
“Every diamond?” she asked, skeptical. “You must clear ten thousand of them a month.”
“More. And yes,” he said before she could ask again, “I look at every single one.”
“How do you have that kind of time? Don’t you have a company to run?”
“I make time. I know that makes me a control freak, but I don’t give a damn. My business almost died once because I took my eye off the ball. I can guarantee you that won’t happen again.”
