Sapphire Read online

  Sapphire

  The Romantic Heist of the Century

  Sophie Lark

  Contents

  1. Byron Black

  2. Alex Moore

  3. Luca Diotallevi

  4. Byron Black

  5. Alex Moore

  6. Luca Diotallevi

  7. Byron Black

  8. Alex Moore

  9. Luca Diotallevi

  10. Byron Black

  11. Alex Moore

  12. Luca Diotallevi

  13. Byron Black

  14. Alex Moore

  15. Luca Diotallevi

  16. Byron Black

  17. Alex Moore

  18. Luca Diotallevi

  19. Byron Black

  20. Alex Moore

  21. Luca Diotallevi

  22. Byron Black

  23. Alex Moore

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  About the Author

  1

  Byron Black

  London

  I knew I was in love with you. Was I an idiot for thinking you were in love with me too?

  Jesu Nadal

  Chief Superintendent Black drove his hired car up the long, private drive to the Home Secretary’s house. He glanced with pleasure at the beautiful woman occupying the seat next to his. He knew he would be one of the least-important people at the party that night, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone would have a more stunning date on their arm.

  Though they had been together almost a year, she was still a mystery to him, this dazzling American girl who had dropped into his life. What was she thinking now, at this moment?

  Lex didn’t seem nervous in the slightest, though she was about to walk into a mansion full of strangers, in a setting where she couldn’t possibly know all the social norms. She seemed perfectly at her ease, leaning her elbow across the frame of the open window, enjoying the evening breeze streaming inside, heedless of how it might disarrange the elegant ballerina bun atop her head.

  He loved when she wore her hair up like that, showing her long, slender neck.

  And where had she found that gown? Emerald green silk, one-shouldered, perfectly fit and cascading down her body, save for a slit up one thigh. She looked as regal as an empress.

  He would usually have felt uncomfortable with something so attention-grabbing. After all, the higher echelons of London society were still conservative compared to what she was probably used to back home. But he had seen her at enough parties to know that she charmed everyone she met. He didn’t have to worry about her.

  This evening would be a little different than usual. Black had been invited—by the commissioner himself—to a private party thrown by the Home Secretary in honor of his wife’s fiftieth birthday.

  Black rarely hobnobbed with the British political elite. The commissioner had invited him because Black was considered a rising star in the London police. In line for promotion to commander within a few months, and maybe eventually to the commissioner position itself.

  They liked using him as a poster-boy: the chav who had risen through the ranks with such speed and perfection, and such excellent absorption of the rules of the game, spoken and unspoken.

  Because that, of course, was the part that was actually difficult. Not solving cases—he was very good at that. The hard part was learning the right vocabulary and the right methods of pronunciation, the right way to dress and to behave, the right people to trade favors with. That was how you got ahead.

  Black hated the games he had to play. Though he never let it show, he resented them. The wealthy that had been born that way. The people who didn’t have to work to get to the same place to which he had to kick and claw and struggle for years.

  Had Lex grown up rich or poor? It was so hard to tell. She didn’t like to talk about her family or her childhood. He hoped she would be more open with him once they were married.

  Assuming she said yes.

  He had the ring, already bought. He’d been carrying it around in his breast pocket for a month, looking for the right moment to bring it out.

  Of course, there had been plenty of moments—after a particularly enthusiastic session in bed, during a walk through the falling leaves in Hyde Park, when he’d taken her to dinner at Le Pont de la Tour.

  The real reason he hadn’t yet proposed was because he wasn’t sure of her answer. He thought that she loved him. But he could never be certain.

  Black knew that most women would consider him a catch. He was 190 cm tall, broad shouldered, blond, handsome. A decorated police officer, who had solved several prestigious cases, including saving the hostages from the bombing of the NSC building, a feat that had made him the hero of the city for a time.

  Yet, Lex wasn’t like most women. He’d never seen her equal for intelligence or beauty. And she had that wildness to her.

  So, he kept the ring with him at all times, looking for the right opportunity, the moment when he felt sure she’d say yes.

  It was a perfect ring, just what he knew she would like. White gold and diamond, antique, probably made in 1890, or close thereto, in jolly old England. She had told him that Art Nouveau was her favorite style. He made sure the slender little band would be small enough to fit her hand.

  She worked in art appraisal, so he knew it had to be something special. Something she’d be proud to wear, that fit her tastes.

  Of course, he couldn’t afford the size of stone she really deserved, but maybe eventually. After a few more promotions.

  He liked the finer things in life. He could tell she did too, from the few items she kept in her sparse apartment. Her place was near empty and always scrupulously clean, but what she had looked expensive and tasteful.

  For his part, Black was enjoying driving this hired car. It was heavy and substantial. It handled smoothly. It smelled like new leather. Maybe they’d have a car like this someday, and a little house.

  He kept no vehicle of his own, usually. He lived in the heart of London and drove a patrol car when required. But you couldn’t pull up to the Home Secretary’s house in a cab, so he’d rented something fancy for the night.

  They were coming up to the place now. He’d never been in Hamstead Garden before, though of course he knew of it. It was one of the most prestigious suburbs in London. The poshest street of all was The Bishop’s Avenue, where the Home Secretary’s mansion took pride of place.

  The house itself was a massive red brick monstrosity, rather squarish, with lots of chimneys and brightly-lit rectangular windows. It had a pretty, private drive up to the front, lined with trees, but the actual house seemed to have been built in stages, with a large four-story addition tacked on to the right side like some sort of growth.

  “Not very aesthetic, is it?” Black said to Lex.

  “Mmm,” she said, in mild agreement.

  Black saw that she wasn’t looking at the house at all. She seemed to be scanning the grounds, glancing around at the gates, the guardhouse, and the valets parking the many cars for the partygoers.

  It was so funny how she never seemed to be looking at quite the same things as him. There was something different in the way their minds worked.

  “I heard they rushed through the purchase a few years ago to avoid the higher Stamp Duty costs,” Black told her. “Probably saved them almost two million pounds. You’d think if you could afford this place, you wouldn’t care about taxes, but the rich always seem to want to get a deal, don’t they?”

  “I guess that’s why they’re rich,” Lex said.

  She was ignoring the resentment in his voice. She didn’t seem to have any resentment herself, or any political leanings.

  They pulled up in front, letting the valet take the keys. Lex stepped carefully out of the car,
mindful of the delicate fabric of her skirt, and the revealing slit.

  Black took her arm. He loved how petite she was next to him, a full foot shorter. She was the smallest woman he’d ever dated—she probably weighed less than a hundred pounds. But she still had elegance and presence, from how she carried herself.

  They strode up the broad front steps and into the grand house.

  It was much lovelier inside than out. They found themselves in a lavish entryway, all glimmering marble and polished mirrors.

  A receptionist checked their tickets and took their coats, before they were offered a glass of champagne and ushered into the main room of the party.

  It was, for lack of a better word, a ballroom, though the Home Secretary’s wife probably called it a salon or something equally pretentious. Black recognized a few of the other guests (the mayor of London and his wife, and the author that won the Booker prize the previous year, with a woman who was most definitely not his wife). They would never have recognized Black. He only knew them from television or news articles.

  Because the party was already in full swing, most of the guests looked a little buzzed, if not already drunk. Black had no intention of imbibing anything other than his glass of champagne. He never allowed himself to drop his guard in situations like this. An earl might be forgiven for getting sloshed at a party, but a common cop never would be.

  Commissioner Coldwell waved at Black from across the room. He strode over to greet them. He was an older man, on the far side of sixty, but still with an imposing build, only a little gone to seed. He had a big, hawkish nose and thinning black hair.

  “You found the place,” he said.

  “Easy enough,” Black said. “It’s lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Coldwell chuckled. “They don’t like to be subtle, do they,” he said.

  He liked to be conspiratorial when talking to Black, as if they grew up in the same neighborhood. But Black knew he was from old money himself.

  “And this must be the lovely lady we’ve heard so much about,” Coldwell said, taking Lex’s hand. “Black wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “He never does,” Lex said, smiling at the commissioner in her charming way. She allowed him to kiss her hand.

  “Is that an American accent I hear?”

  “It is,” she said patiently, as if she didn’t have to answer that question every single day.

  “What brings you to our little island?” Coldwell asked.

  “The weather, of course,” Lex replied.

  Coldwell laughed. “Well, it can’t be the food,” he said. “Unless you like curry.”

  “I do,” Lex said.

  “She likes curry and rain! Won’t take much to keep this one happy, Black.”

  “If only that were true,” Black said.

  Coldwell slapped him on the back and continued on through the crowd.

  Black turned to Lex and made a face.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “What’s to be sorry about?” Lex said. “Look at this place.”

  She gazed around appreciatively at the many fine paintings hung on the walls and the glamorous guests in their dress clothes. A string quartet played from the far corner of the room. Black could see an elaborate banquet table against the opposite wall, piled high with fresh fruit, confections, and exotic-looking finger foods.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked Lex.

  “Not yet,” she said. “Let’s dance first.”

  He would have preferred not to, in front of all these people, but she pulled him to the center of the room without waiting for an answer.

  He had to admit, it was easy to dance with her. She spun around so gracefully, as light on her feet as if she really were a ballerina.

  He could see the men in the vicinity turning to look at her, and more than a few of the women. The rest of the guests might all be millionaires, but right now he felt like the luckiest man in the room.

  The music stopped when the Home Secretary held up his glass to make a toast. Presumably, he was about to extoll the virtues of his wife, whose birthday it was. She stood next to him in a gray gown and heavy string of pearls that probably cost more than Black’s flat, looking pleased at the turnout.

  Black never got to hear the speech. The moment the Secretary pinged his glass, while everyone was turning to look at him, Lex seized Black’s hand and pulled him through a side door, out of the ballroom.

  “Where are we going?” Black whispered to her.

  She was pulling him rapidly down a dark hallway, through an area of the house they were clearly not supposed to be exploring.

  “Come on,” she urged him, laughing softly.

  “We’ve got to go back,” Black said. “They’ve got tons of security around, they’re not going to want us poking around—”

  But he broke off, because Lex had pulled him into another room, some kind of study. It was still too dark to see. She pounced on him, kissing him wildly, pulling at his dress clothes.

  All his resistance melted away. He scooped her up in his arms, sitting her on top of the desk so he could reach her mouth more easily. Her lips tasted sweet from the champagne she’d been drinking.

  She was kissing him ravenously, as if she wanted to eat him alive. Of all the things he loved about her, this might be the best thing of all—the way she fucked like an animal, completely uninhibited.

  She was already unbuckling his pants, reaching her hand inside to grip his cock. He was fully hard already—it only took seconds whenever she was in the room.

  Her long, dark hair had come loose from its bun, all around her shoulders. He wanted to rip her dress down too, to get at her breasts, but he knew he couldn’t tear the gown. They’d have to go back out to the party in a minute.

  That was the last sane thought he had. She’d succeeded in getting his pants down, and she pulled him into her, wrapping her legs tight around his waist.

  Sliding inside of her was like slipping into a vise greased with warm oil. It made him go out of his mind with how ridiculously, phenomenally good it felt.

  He lifted her up and fucked her like that, holding her up in the air as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. She was so light, and he was so much stronger than her. It always made him feel like such a man, the way he could lift her, and carry her, and put her in any position.

  He pressed her up against the nearest wall and kept thrusting madly into her. He knew she liked it like that, rough and fast.

  She came hard, biting into the shoulder of his jacket to stifle the sound. He could feel the waves of her orgasm pulsing through her body, making her tremble in his arms.

  He exploded only a minute after her, insanely aroused by the naughtiness of their tryst, and the danger of it. His climax was so intense that it drained the strength out of him, and he could barely keep standing, holding her up against the wall. He had to put her down carefully and lean against the desk to catch his breath.

  They were both laughing and sweating slightly. They were trying to be quiet, but they had such a rush of euphoria that it was hard to be quiet, and hard to focus on tidying themselves up once more.

  Black had lost his belt somewhere. He got down on his hands and knees to hunt for it under the leather armchairs. At last he found it, halfway across the room beneath a paisley settee.

  He threaded it back through the loops of his trousers while Lex pinned up her hair once more. She reapplied her lipstick, using a small mirror from her clutch.

  Soon they had made themselves decent to be seen, or at least they hoped so. It was too dark in the room to be certain.

  “I can’t believe you,” Black said, as he took her hand to lead her back down the hallway to the party. “You’re just incredible.”

  “You seemed stressed,” Lex said carelessly. “I just wanted to help you relax.”

  When they got back to the first door they’d come through, Lex said, “Wait.”

  She cracked the door just a little, peeking out. Judging the coast to be clea
r, she pulled Black back into the ballroom.

  They joined the crowd once more, Lex plucking a glass of champagne off the nearest tray as if she’d been there all along.

  She was right, Black did feel surprisingly calm the rest of the evening. They talked to all kinds of boring and important people, Lex laughing and joking as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Their naughty little liaison seemed to have invigorated her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. She looked happier and more excited than he’d ever seen before.

  When the night was over, Black couldn’t consider it anything but a success.

  They retrieved the rented car from the valet, Lex tipping him far too generously. They headed back into the thick of the city, driving down mostly empty roads.

  It was well past midnight. Black was hoping he could coax Lex to stay the night at his flat. He wanted to make love to her properly, over an hour or two, when he could touch and taste every part of her to his heart’s content. Then he wanted to hold her in his arms all night long and wake up to her beautiful face in the morning.

  He was just about to ask her if she’d like to come over, when their sedan was hit from the side by a delivery truck.

  Black’s window exploded inward, showering the interior of the car with broken glass. His face was cut in a dozen places along the right side. Their smaller vehicle spun around once, twice, before coming to a rest up against a cement divider.

  “Lex!” Black cried. “Are you alright?”

  She had been flung against the passenger-side door. Her window had cracked, probably from her head striking against it, but it hadn’t broken. Her hair had been knocked loose from its bun once more, coming half undone. He could see blood running down the side of her face, staining the bodice of her gown. Her blue eyes looked dazed.