If the Ring Fits... Read online

  He needn’t have asked. The boxes bore labels such as Extra Linens, Holiday Decorations and Board Games.

  “Just some items I came across while clearing out my closets. I thought some of my employees might be able to use them.” She frowned as she studied the boxes. “It’s amazing the amount of stuff you accumulate over the years.”

  She continued to the safe then. After getting out the necklace, she took it to one of the display cases, where she draped it on a headless black-velvet-covered bust.

  Her expression was a mixture of pride and apprehension. Oh, she was a true artist, all right. And from his experience, artists were a passionate lot.

  “Well, what do you think?” she prodded, and it occurred to him that he’d been staring, not at the necklace but at Rachel.

  He redirected his gaze. The aquamarine was surrounded by smaller stones and set in platinum filigree. Under the overhead lights, it took on an almost ethereal quality.

  “It is exquisite,” Tony remarked. “You have outdone yourself, Rachel.”

  Her smile was genuine and he enjoyed seeing it.

  “Thank you.”

  “Astrid will love it.”

  “It is gorgeous enough to soothe a broken heart,” she mused. Then she blanched. “That was rude of me. Please accept my apology.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. As I told you, no hearts were broken.”

  “Shall I gift wrap this?” she asked as she placed the necklace in a box that bore the shop’s logo.

  Tony reached inside the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out his wallet. “No. I will handle that.”

  A moment later they were at the shop’s back door with Rachel once again setting the alarm, when he asked, “Have you eaten dinner? I was thinking of stopping at Carlo’s for a steak.”

  “Steak?” she repeated.

  “They serve other things, if you do not care for red meat.”

  “It’s not that. I like red meat.”

  “But you’ve eaten already.” Tony adjusted his cuff and glanced at the gold watch strapped to his wrist.

  “Actually, I haven’t.” She frowned. “I never even had lunch today.”

  “Then let me buy you dinner,” he offered as they crossed the parking lot. “To celebrate.”

  “What exactly are we celebrating?”

  Her expression turned leery when he replied, “I am sure we will think of something.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RACHEL wasn’t sure she trusted the gleam in Tony’s eyes, but she agreed to have dinner with him. She reminded herself that Tony was a valued client. She was sure that, as big a flirt as he was, he didn’t consider dinner with her to be an actual date.

  Still, Rachel had to admit it did wonders for her battered ego when they walked into the restaurant and every woman in the place, even a couple who were old enough to be his mother, gave him the once-over as the pair of them followed the maître d’ to their table.

  “You attract a lot of attention,” she remarked with a wry grin.

  He glanced about as they took their seats. Either he was oblivious or he had simply grown accustomed to the appreciative stares he instigated among members of the opposite sex.

  “It is the tuxedo. It makes me look important.” He picked up the wine list. As he scanned it, he continued, “People dress so casually these days. If not for weddings or occasions such as this evening’s fundraiser, most men would never bother with jackets and ties, much less something this formal.”

  “And women wouldn’t bother with skirts or high heels,” Rachel agreed, uncomfortably aware that she was wearing neither. But then how could she have known Tony would show up outfitted in Armani and invite her to dinner?

  “As a man who appreciates beautiful things, I find myself grateful that women appear to be far more willing to dress up than men are.”

  “I used to be,” she said slowly. But Mal hadn’t cared for her fashion choices. Too bold. Too flashy. Just as with their home decor, he preferred understated, demure. Rachel smoothed the linen napkin over her lap. Was she really wearing cotton khakis and a pair of penny loafers? She cleared her throat. “You don’t seem to mind dressing up.”

  “That is Luigi’s doing. My tailor,” he supplied before she could ask. “He has clothed me from the time I celebrated my First Holy Communion in the second grade to the tuxedo I am wearing tonight. His clothes fit well. As a result, they are comfortable.”

  “Does this Luigi live in Italy?”

  “He does. I am faithful to him.”

  An interesting word choice, Rachel thought.

  Tony was saying, “I appreciate anything that is made with care and craftsmanship, whether it comes from a tailor in Rome or from a very talented jewelry designer in Rochester, Michigan.”

  Their waiter arrived with a pair of menus. After introducing himself and explaining the evening’s specials, he took their beverage orders and retreated.

  Rachel reverted to small talk. “So, you’re leaving town again. Are you heading to New York or abroad?”

  “New York, for a couple of days at least. Then it will be on to Italy. There is a vineyard there that I’m profiling for one of the magazines.”

  No weary sighs sounded after he finished listing his itinerary. It was just another month in the life of a wealthy media mogul.

  “You enjoy traveling.”

  “What is not to enjoy, carina? The world is a big place. I prefer to see it, experience it, rather than merely read about it.”

  “Even in magazines such as the ones you own?” she asked.

  “The majority of the people who read our magazines are interested in seeing the places we feature.”

  She tucked away a wisp of hair that had come loose from her braid. “The minority then are more like me, living vicariously.”

  “Surely, as one who designs jewelry, you travel.”

  “Sometimes, yes. But such trips are mainly intended to exploit business opportunities and for networking purposes. It’s not the same as traveling for leisure.”

  “You must take time for yourself, time for pleasure.” His accent gave the last word a seductive edge that pulled her back to his earlier question. When was the last time she’d enjoyed herself? The double entendre in both cases was intentional, she was sure.

  For some reason, rather than feeling the need to retreat, this time it made her bold. “I plan to. In fact, I would like to visit your homeland.”

  “Have you ever been to Italy?”

  “To Rome for a couple of days with friends just after we graduated from college. We backpacked through five countries in two weeks.”

  Her father had tried to pay her airfare. A graduation gift, Griff had claimed in a letter, since he was unable to make it to the commencement ceremony. She’d torn up both the impersonal missive and the check. When it came time for Heidi to graduate, he’d made the same offer. Heidi accepted without hesitation and used the money she saved to spend a weekend in a swanky hotel on the French Riviera. The memory still irked. Rachel said now, “It was a long time ago.”

  “The next trip you will enjoy other cities,” he said. “When you are in Italy, in addition to another visit to Rome, you must experience Florence and Venice, of course. Milan, too. I would be happy to act as your tour guide.”

  He winked and selected a fat slice of bread, which he slathered with a decadent amount of creamy butter. Her mouth began to water, the result, she assured herself, of the combination of carbohydrates and fat, rather than other forbidden treats. After swallowing a bite, he said, “I will tell you all of the best places to eat and stay.”

  “That’s kind of you,” she replied politely. She doubted she could afford any of the places he would suggest. Still, the conversation had her thinking. She was due a vacation. “I’ve always wanted to see Venice,” she murmured.

  “Because of the glass artists,” he guessed.

  She nodded. She shouldn’t be surprised that he understood. “I’ve used Murano beads in my
work on occasion. The vibrant colors are always well received.”

  “Yet you’ve never been to Venice.” He shook his head. “You must make time for yourself. Time for yourself and for your craft. Creativity such as yours must be fed.”

  Whether he was being kind or not, she agreed. Reality, however, spoiled her mood. “I’m afraid a trip to Italy or anywhere else is a long way off. Most of my time and resources have been put into my business and that will continue to be the case.”

  He set the bread aside and blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Is this your dream, Rachel? Owning your shop and dabbling in design while you mainly sell the work of other people?”

  She hadn’t expected the question, so she wasn’t sure how to answer it. “I love my shop,” she began.

  “But is it your passion, Rachel? Is it your dream?” he asked a second time.

  Her dream? She shook her head. It was a bit of a shock to admit, “Owning the shop is what allows me to dream. But being a shopkeeper isn’t my dream.”

  “Designing jewelry, that is your passion.” His smile was self-satisfied. “You owe it to yourself to pursue that passion full force.”

  Spoken like a man with the resources to pursue any and all passions.

  “It’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid.”

  “It can be, carina.” It was a curious thing to say, but before she could ask Tony what he meant, he was saying, “Have you always wanted to be a jewelry designer?”

  “Yes and no. I was always sketching ideas in a notebook, but when I went to college, I decided it was smarter to major in finance.” That was how she’d met Mal. They’d worked at the same bank, which had been her first job post graduation. It was impossible not to think about how different her life might be right now had she followed her heart where her career was concerned.

  “An artist with a head for numbers,” Tony noted.

  “Yes. I was being practical.” Her lips puckered on the word. “I had student loans to repay, and I was determined to have my own place even though my mother said I could move back in.” She laughed humorlessly. “Gee, a decade later and I’m facing the same choice.”

  The waiter arrived with their drinks and another basket of warm bread. Tony had ordered a glass of pinot noir. She’d gone with unsweetened iced tea. Before taking a sip, she squeezed in the juice from a wedge of lemon.

  When she glanced up, Tony was frowning.

  “So, you have nowhere to go.”

  “That’s being a little dramatic. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Tony and Rachel chatted throughout their meal on a wide range of topics. All the while, an idea festered in much the same way the irritation of a grain of sand produced a pearl. Still, Tony pushed the idea to the back of his mind, as was his way. He preferred to stew over things, let them simmer. As a businessman, not rushing blindly forward had saved him millions of dollars and countless headaches. This idea could be strictly business, though it carried a tempting personal element, making it all the more vital that he proceed with caution.

  He liked Rachel. She struck him as smart and levelheaded. He respected her immensely, even if he’d never quite been able to figure her out. From what he knew of her, he decided she would be the last person to consider herself a mystery, yet she was to him. A very attractive mystery hidden beneath a tidy, unobtrusive exterior.

  Tony had always wondered if perhaps it was Rachel’s primness, coupled with her off-limits status as a married woman, that piqued his interest. Now, she was no longer wed, so part of the equation didn’t add up. Still, his curiosity was far from satisfied. If anything, it was amplified.

  She was an artist, ridiculously gifted and creative, with an eye for both beauty and detail. Her work proved as much. To his mind, her genius was wasted in her small shop. With the right backing and connections, she could make a name for herself in New York, London or Rome.

  In his travels, Tony had made the acquaintance of a lot of artists who dabbled in an array of mediums. He’d interviewed them. He’d dated them. He’d almost married one. They tended to be moody, eclectic, flamboyant and highly sexual. Outwardly, at least, Rachel was none of those things. She dressed like an accountant, simple and streamlined. No flounces or ruffles. No frills of any sort. She barely wore jewelry, other than a simple wedding band and even that was now absent. He’d seen her in a skirt exactly once. Its hem had hit midcalf and the flat shoes she’d paired with it had done nothing for the glimpse of legs he’d seen.

  The woman came across as repressed, sexually and otherwise. That made her a challenge as well as an enigma. He liked challenges, too.

  “Is something wrong with your steak, Tony?”

  It took him a moment to realize that during his musings he’d been staring at the perfectly cooked porterhouse while she’d been eating.

  “No. It is excellent.” He cut off a chunk as if to prove the point and popped it into his mouth. The prime cut of seasoned meat melted like butter on his tongue. He washed it down with some wine, a decent vintage, although he’d had better. He motioned with the tines of his fork. “And your fish? How is it?”

  “Delicious,” she said of the grilled sea bass.

  They couldn’t be more different. Even their entrees told him as much. He’d gone for red meat cooked rare and smothered in sautéed mushrooms and caramelized onions with a side of creamy mashed potatoes. It was decadence on a plate. Meanwhile, she’d selected fish, grilled rather than pan fried, and flaked with herbs in place of any sort of sauce. Steamed broccoli florets and a fluffy rice pilaf finished off the plate. Repressed, he thought again. Even her food choices showed restraint.

  But then she surprised him.

  “Would you mind if I tried a bite of your steak?”

  The request was as unexpected as the color that rose in her cheeks afterward.

  “Of course.”

  He started to slice off a generous piece with the intention of setting it on her plate, but then he downsized to a bite-size portion, which he offered to her on his fork. He smiled as he issued his dare. Adam was tempting Eve with the apple this time. Would she?

  Rachel’s acquiescence was all the more thrilling because of the hesitation that preceded it. She wasn’t one to be led blindly into temptation. But neither was she too straitlaced to accept a dare. He’d claimed a victory of sorts.

  “Ooh, that’s good.” Even though there was no need, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. He liked her lips, the top one in particular. “There’s nothing like a good steak.”

  “Then why didn’t you order one?”

  Her eyelids flickered in surprise. “I…I like fish.”

  “For its taste or for its Omega-3 fatty acids and all of the heart-healthy hype associated with it?” he challenged.

  “Both.” Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t need to be either-or.”

  “We agree there. I enjoy fish. But when I want a steak, I order a steak. I see no point in denying myself.” He cut off another piece and popped it in his mouth.

  “I guess that’s where we differ,” she replied. “I see no point in overindulging.”

  “Is it overindulgence, I wonder?” He sipped his wine, pleased when she shifted in her seat under his considering stare. He made her uncomfortable. He liked knowing that, since he was never quite sure of his footing around her. Mysteries made a man wary of where he stepped. “Everything in moderation, no?”

  “I suppose.”

  A little later, when they had finished their meals, the waiter came with the dessert cart. Tony fully expected Rachel to pass. Half of her meal remained on her plate. Not but a moment earlier, she’d claimed to be full. She darted a glance in his direction before telling the server, “I’d like a slice of the strawberry cheesecake, please, and a cup of coffee.”

  “The same,” Tony said.

  When they were alone, she said, “You’re wondering why I ordered dessert.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I wanted it.”

  “Y
ou’re a quick study, carina.” Tony laughed, but he couldn’t help feeling the joke was on him given the amount of interest her simple statement stirred.

  After their meal, they walked to their cars. They’d driven separately from her shop.

  “It’s been a long day,” she commented idly. On a sigh, she added, “A long week.”

  “Will you be working tomorrow?”

  “No.” She sighed again and the cold air that floated white around her face seemed to mock her. “Not the way you mean at least. I have to buy more boxes and make a serious dent in my packing. Monday will be here before I’m ready for it.” She didn’t seem to be talking to him as much as saying her to-do list aloud. “I probably should look into renting a storage unit, too, since I likely won’t have room for all of my belongings wherever I wind up.”

  She laughed; the sound leaned more toward hysteria than hilarity.

  Another idea nudged forward. Even as he considered it, she was saying, “Maybe I shouldn’t move everything. Maybe I should see if the new owner wants to buy some of the furnishings. They aren’t really my style, but I wound up with them in the settlement. Mal got the large-screen plasma television. I got the living-room sofa and chairs.”

  “It sounds to me like your ex-husband got the better end of the deal.”

  “What is it with men and huge TVs?”

  “Size matters,” he said drily.

  “Apparently.” She smiled up at him. “I don’t suppose you know anyone in the market for a really big, really boring beige couch? It’s well made. Hardly shows any wear. I’m willing to part with it cheap.”

  “Not off the top of my head, no. Perhaps you could sell it online,” he suggested.

  She nodded in consideration. “My mother thinks I should keep it. She says it’s better than having no couch at all.”

  “Perhaps you should listen to her.”

  “Do you listen to your mother?” she asked.

  “It depends on what she is telling me.”

  “In other words, no.”

  “If I listened to her, I would be married by now with half a dozen children scampering about my knee.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Sorry, but I can’t picture that.”