her father who had introduced her to the magical world of gems and nurtured her dreams of designing. Maybe he had been overprotective at times, but only because he had loved her. And he had been there when she needed him, had helped her pick up the pieces of her life when she’d lost both her baby and Cole. She owed it to her father to make the store solvent again, to pass on the legacy to her own child someday. And she would, Regan vowed. “I won’t let you down, Daddy,” she promised.
Swiping at the tears that seemed to surface so easily these days, Regan picked up the ring she’d been working on before her dash to the bathroom. “What do you say, Slugger? No more shenanigans until I finish this piece. All right?”
When her stomach had remained calm for a full five minutes, Regan grinned. Evidently, she and Slugger had worked out a deal. She glanced at the sketch and then at the ring and frowned. Running a fingertip along the gold band, an anniversary gift for one of the store’s best clients, she studied the piece with a critical eye. The four-carat Burmese ruby at the center of the ring was exquisite, she conceded, admiring the brilliant luster of the stone, the way it caught and reflected the light. Despite its size and origin, the silk effect, or straw inclusions, so common in rubies were so faint they were invisible to the naked eye. The diamond baguettes flanking either side of the blood-red gem set off the ruby perfectly. The ring was beautiful, and the customer would be very happy with it. Yet, Regan itched to replace the ruby with the fiery green emerald locked in the safe.
“Your mommy’s crazy, Slugger,” she muttered. Selling the ruby would be the smart thing to do, not to mention far more lucrative since it was a more expensive stone. But the part of her that had always been drawn to the magic of the stones rather than to their monetary value kept seeing the emerald nestled between the diamonds. The fact that the heart stone, as the emerald was known, would be all the more fitting for the occasion only compounded her desire to use it. Regan sighed again. Not only was she crazy, she decided, pushing back from her worktable, but she was a lousy businesswoman to boot. Walking across the room, she unlocked the vault and retrieved a black velvet tray of gems. She’d just placed the tray on her worktable when the intercom on the desk behind her buzzed.
“Ms. St. Claire?”
Turning, Regan hit the speaker button on the phone. “Yes, Amy,” she replied, wishing the new receptionist would call her Regan as she had asked her to do.
“There’s a Mr. Cole Thornton here to see you.”
Regan froze. Suddenly the air backed up in her lungs. Her stomach did a nosedive, and the room began to spin. Her knees wobbly, she sank down onto the chair beside the desk and tried to suck in a breath.
Cole Thornton. Here in New Orleans. To see her? After all this time?
Twelve years had passed since that horrible day when he’d looked at her with ice in his gray eyes as he’d lashed out at her before leaving town. He’d never spoken to her again. Not once. But she had never forgotten him. How could she when the city that had once shunned the dirt-poor young Cole was so eager to claim the successful real-estate mogul as one of its native sons? She’d lost count of the photos she’d seen of him at various business and charity functions over the years—the snippets of gossip about his latest acquisitions, the lavish parties he attended, the glamorous women he dated. As far as she knew, until now, he’d only returned to New Orleans once. Recalling her brief encounter with him on that one occasion still stung. Just remembering his cool indifference, the way he’d looked right through her sent a stab of pain through her. No way did she intend to put herself through that kind of anguish again. Especially not now.
“Ms. St. Claire? Should I send Mr. Thornton in?”
“No,” Regan shot back. Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she assured herself that this rush of emotion she was experiencing was due to her pregnancy and had nothing to do with any lingering feelings she had for Cole. “Please give Mr. Thornton my apologies, Amy, and tell him I’m unavailable. Oh and, Amy, I’d appreciate it if you’d hold my calls,” she said before severing the connection.
Feeling a bit unsteady, Regan returned to her worktable and sank down to her stool. Think of work, she commanded herself. Work had been her refuge twelve years ago. It would be her refuge now. Besides, she reminded herself, she had a baby on the way and a staff who needed her to make sure Exclusives stayed afloat. Intent on removing the ruby from its setting, Regan didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open a few minutes later. “Whatever it is, Amy, I’ll deal with it later. I don’t have time right now.”
“Then I suggest you make time.”
The tool fell from Regan’s fingers and clattered noisily on the marble tabletop, at the sound of the voice that had once sent shivers of longing up her spine.
“Ms. St. Claire, I’m sorry,” a nervous Amy said as she rushed in behind Cole. Her eyes shifted anxiously from Regan to Cole and back again. “I tried to explain to Mr. Thornton that you couldn’t see him—”
“And I assured Amy that you would see me,” Cole replied.
“It’s all right, Amy,” Regan told the young woman in a voice that belied the fact that her heart was slamming against her ribs. “I’ll handle it.”
Amy didn’t need to be told twice. She scurried out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. And as she watched the other woman escape, Regan fervently wished she could do the same. Bracing herself, she met Cole’s gaze.
“And just how do you plan to handle me, princess?”
Regan gritted her teeth at his use of the pet name he’d saddled her with years ago. Trying to instill ice in her voice she asked, “What do you want, Cole?”
His eyes darkened, gleamed a liquid silver, sparking memories of the nights she’d lain naked in his arms. He arched a brow. “Should I consider that an invitation?”
Color flashed up Regan’s cheeks, and she cursed her fair skin when she saw his lips twist into a smile. “Hardly,” she replied. Oh God, it simply wasn’t fair. At thirty-three, Cole was even more handsome now than he’d been at twenty-one. His hair was shorter, but just as thick and still as dark as midnight. There were faint lines etched at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there twelve years ago, lines that made him look harder, colder, she thought. But his eyes were still that same incredible shade of gray capable of going from frost to molten silver in an instant. His long lean body didn’t sport any extra pounds that she could detect, and she’d lay odds that the muscles beneath his designer shirt and suit were still as hard as steel. Unable to stop herself, she stared at his mouth—the mouth that had kissed her with such hunger, had tasted every inch of her body, had whispered promises of love.
“You still blush like a schoolgirl, princess,” he told her. “How is that possible?”
Flustered, Regan stood. “I don’t have time for games, Cole. I have a business to run. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
His mouth hardened a moment, but instead of answering, he perched himself on the edge of her table and picked up the ring she’d been working on. “Far be it from me to waste your valuable time. After all,” he said, looking from the ring to her, “I know firsthand what a high priority you place on business. That’s why I’m here. To discuss business.”
The word business hit Regan like a slap. Immediately she recalled the gorgeous redhead who had accompanied him to the fundraiser at the city’s aquarium last year. Regan’s business, her primary business, was designing one-of-a-kind rings for Exclusives. Her throat grew tight. He couldn’t
