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‘Inspector Clouseau, more like,’ she muttered, half expecting him to break out in an excruciating French accent like the fictional detective.
Fortunately his directions proved to be straightforward rather than the convoluted tour of the island she had half expected from his costume, and the security code exactly correct.
The house was enfolded in a beautiful hush as she stepped inside, almost as if it had been waiting for her to arrive, and she left her sandals by the door as she prowled on her mission, eventually settling on the white stone mantelpiece under a painting of a stark blue sea.
‘What are you doing?’
Emily jumped and uttered a shriek of alarm, only just managing to catch the small lidded jar as it slipped from her fingers and almost crashed onto the hardwood floor.
‘Oh, God, you’re not supposed to be here—you scared me to death!’ she told Ethan, feverishly inspecting the jar and lid for chips. ‘I can’t believe I almost let it fall!’
Ethan’s eyebrows rose at her accusing tone. ‘What is it?’
‘A melon jar,’ she said, shaken by the near miss, setting it carefully on the mantelpiece and positioning it to the best advantage.
‘It’s pretty small to hold a melon.’
She bristled at his mockery. ‘It’s called that because of the melon-vine pattern. It happens to be very valuable.’
‘Really? That little thing? How much is it worth?’
She told him, the adrenalin of fear still racing around her body, making her feel punchy and light-headed.
He blinked and took another, much more respectful look at the jar. ‘That much?’
She tried to calm her galloping heart, feeling a kick of satisfaction at his incredulous shock.
‘Yes. It’s a very rare piece—fifteenth-century Chinese, with a fascinating imperial history. It was owned by a Dowager Empress who awarded it to a very influential British dignitary who was serving in China at the beginning of the twentieth century. My grandfather bought it over thirty years ago at a private auction. It was his most precious possession,’ she said proudly.
An arrested expression crossed his face. ‘Wait a minute! You mean to tell me you had this thing all along? I thought you were going to be broke until the insurance money came through?’
Emily looked puzzled, then appalled when she realised what he was suggesting. ‘But I couldn’t have sold it!’ she cried in horror at the thought. ‘It was Grandpa’s pride and joy. He called it his “one true thing”. It’s literally priceless. I could never sell it. It’s not a commodity, it’s my history, my heritage…’
There was a stunned silence after her dramatic pronouncement, and Ethan’s brief flare of outrage melted into a silky-smooth curiosity.
‘So what’s it doing here on my mantelpiece?’
Now that she had got over her initial fright, Emily suddenly realised that her careful plans had been thrown into total disarray. Her eyes widened as she also took in the full impact of Ethan’s bare chest and unsnapped, low-slung jeans.
‘I—I—what are you doing home, anyway?’
‘I discovered I had some urgent personal business in town,’ he said softly. ‘So—up to some of your old tricks again, are you, Emily? Sneaking into people’s houses and shifting around their possessions? Although I see you’ve skipped the fishnet stockings this time around…’
She flushed, becoming more unnerved by the minute. She ran her hand through her hair and his eyes registered the lift of her br
easts against the thin bodice of her sundress.
‘N-no—I didn’t—I wanted to give you the melon jar,’ she murmured. ‘So I persuaded Dylan to lend me your key. I was going to leave it here as a surprise. I knew you’d know who it was from. Look at it, it’s absolutely perfect for this room—simple and elegant—and the blue and white pattern stands out against your white wall and picks up the colours of the painting above it. And the vine pattern is a floral one,’ she said, pointing out the delicate tracery, ‘very appropriate for a man who grows roses—’
‘You want to give me your heritage?’ he said quietly, interrupting her nervous commentary.
‘You seem to be giving me some of yours.’ They might as well get it all out in the open. ‘Your construction crew—the insurance money—I know all about it,’ she said wildly.
‘Do you? I doubt it.’ He put his hand on the mantel. ‘So this is just a kind of repayment, then—a quid pro quo because you can’t bear the idea of being in debt to me?’
If she agreed, that would be defeating the whole purpose of her generosity. ‘No! I told you, its intrinsic value has nothing to do with money. It’s a gift,’ she declared, ‘from me to you.’
He smiled, the tight angles of his face softening, his ice-blue eyes acquiring a warm patina. ‘Another one? Don’t you remember? You’ve already given me a rare gift.’
