The Calypso Ring Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Calypso Ring

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  He jiggled the flowers. “Can you take these? Anybody sees me waving a bunch of flowers about, I’ll lose what little street cred I have left.”

  Mia took the bundle like someone might take a hand grenade. “You’re only visiting. Nobody here knows you.”

  “Honey. Somebody always knows you. Especially when you least expect it.”

  She looked down at the flowers, sank her nose into them, then looked back at him. “I’m not sure what to make of you.”

  “I’m not that complicated.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Cab fare.” He pushed a note to her palm, curling his fingers around hers. “After we’ve had dinner you can ditch me and get a cab home.”

  He saw the battle in her eyes. Saw the moment she wavered. He made sure to keep his fingers curled tight around hers.

  “I don’t…it’s very kind of you, but I don’t think…”

  “Women who’ve had a blow to the shoulder shouldn’t think too much, it’s bad for the recuperative process.” When she laughed, he went in for the kill. “I’d just like to have dinner with you and, seeing as I’m a lonely stranger in your city, you should do your civic duty and help me out. No strings.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”

  The Calypso Ring

  by

  Tricia Jones

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Calypso Ring

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Tricia Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-731-3

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-732-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To Michelle, for her support

  of the Chernobyl Childrens’ Lifeline Charity

  ~*~

  For Cindy, my lovely editor. With thanks.

  Chapter One

  Mia Freeman couldn’t settle. Folding her hands in her lap, she made herself keep still. Nervous excitement had built slowly during the latter part of the afternoon, so that by the time she entered the auction room her mouth was dry and her heart racing, affecting her ability to concentrate. She always enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with the prospect of bidding, but today she could barely contain herself. She forced her hands to still, even as her fingers itched to flick through her hair again—a most inappropriate nervous habit while seated at an auction. She was here to bid on just one thing, but if she wasn’t careful she’d be the proud owner of a stuffed animal head or two, or that old Victorian tea service with a reserve the size of her annual salary.

  Glancing at her program, Mia mentally prepared to do business. She kept her itinerant fingers busy by gripping the auction bidding card. The white letters stood out against the red card displaying the number thirty, her age next birthday. Perhaps that was a good omen.

  The auctioneer took up residence at the podium, silencing the packed room with the precision of a magician waving his wand. Mia’s stomach performed little twists and leaps as precious items disappeared under his hammer. Her heart thumped as her prize slipped closer.

  “Lot twenty three,” the auctioneer finally announced. “From the Odyssey Collection comes a pendant from the Calypso Range, modeled on artifacts discovered on Gozo, rumored to be the island home of Homer’s fabled nymph.” A young man in a crisp business suit held a small red cushion. “The pendant comprises two intertwining white gold bands,” the auctioneer continued, with just the slightest sneer in his voice. “Mother of pearl clasp and central inlay. May I have a starting bid?”

  Through the buzzing in her ears Mia heard the auctioneer confirm a figure that made the other previously acquired items in her collection seem like chicken feed. Lord, oh lord, what was she doing? About to blow a sizeable chunk of her savings on a tiny piece of art deco jewelry. And for what?

  The sensible part of her knew it was ridiculous. The romantic part of her just had to have it anyway. Another precious, albeit tenuous, link with her late mother. Her father didn’t understand her need to collect the jewelry. He called it an obsession. Mia supposed it served to continually remind him of her mother’s death, which was one of the reasons Mia rarely wore any of the items when her father was around.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mia’s heart jumped. Sir? Someone was bidding?

  Hell.

  The last couple of items in her collection had been acquired without any opposition. She had purchased a bangle and ear drops for a virtual song compared to the pendant. The Odyssey Collection wasn’t especially trendy, perhaps a little gaudy if she was honest, and usually failed to attract much in the way of attention outside the specialist auctions.

  Determined, and ridiculously affronted that someone had dared bid for her piece, Mia’s hand shot up.

  And so it went for a couple more minutes. Somehow she resisted the urge to spin around and glare at her opposition. Instead, she kept her eyes steady on the auctioneer, waving her bidding card up and down and sending a cooling stream of air over her heated cheeks. She felt sick. Which was stupid. There were greater things to worry about than the possibility of losing out on a collectable.

  Such as the anonymous notes she’d been receiving. At first she’d shrugged the whole thing off as one of her students playing tricks. It wouldn’t be the first time. Psychology undergraduates often considered it a rite of passage to challenge their tutor to the odd mind game or two She’d done it herself. But the note she’d received this morning felt different than the previous two. They had contained the single words Mine and Beloved, but this last note quoted Mark Twain: Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

  Her attention jerked back as the auctioneer’s voice reverberated in her ear, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “Going once…twice…”

  The hammer came down and, realizing he was looking in her direction, the knot in her stomach unwound. The pendant was hers. Holding her card aloft for the auctioneer to mark down the number, she enjoyed the pleasure that rippled through her. The urge to jump up right then and claim her new acquisition was strong, but instead she basked in her good fortune and waited out the re
st of the auction.

  ****

  Saul O’Donnell noticed the woman the moment she walked through the doors of Pearce, Weston & Filigree, Auctioneers. Well, to be brutally honest, he noticed the legs. And what he imagined would be some curves beneath a conservative navy suit. She had taken a seat a couple rows in front and to the right of him, and kept flicking her fingers through pretty blonde bangs. When she folded one of those spectacular limbs over the other, he almost groaned. He was a leg-man. And right then it felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. Enjoying a flight of fancy, he wondered if she chose those ugly pantyhose contraptions, or fulfilled every one of his wet dreams by favoring stockings.

  Silk and slink.

  Saliva pooled in his mouth. Jeez. Maybe London had something to offer after all.

  Normally he hated the place. Hated transatlantic flights even more. No aircraft seat invented could accommodate guys like him. Why the hell didn’t someone realize that six-two was pretty average these days? Couldn’t some smart ass come up with a design that wouldn’t have his knees up around his goddamn neck for over six hours?

  As a result, his hip was acting up.

  At least this visit he’d had the foresight to bring a few home comforts. His MP3 player, a couple of Yankees’ games, and back issues of Life magazine he’d yet to read. That should see him through the six long weeks before he could get his feet back on hallowed ground. Thirty-five years ago he’d come kicking and screaming into the world, dragging the scent of New York City into his lungs. Nectar of the gods.

  Jesus. He was homesick already.

  Saul shifted slightly, easing the ache in his hip. Shit. Listen to himself. He was cranky and pissed. The former thanks to aircraft seats and unwelcome sojourns in London, the latter courtesy of an aborted weekend spent shacked up with a certain Tina Samantha of the boa-constrictor legs and breathy voice.

  Instead, the only screwing he’d be doing was of the home improvement kind, seeing he’d promised his friend Tom he’d do some repair jobs around his apartment in exchange for Tom letting him live there for the duration of his trip. Saul pushed away the flash of envy that came with knowing Tom was currently in Peru covering a story far juicier than some rising politician’s alleged extracurricular activities.

  What in hell did a guy have to do to prove he was ready to get back into the action? Covering some dumb-ass story about the Brit political system wouldn’t do it. And now his sister wanted him to sit in on some damn auction and bid on a piece of historic junk that anyone in their right mind would throw in the trash. Still, if he did his brotherly duty, maybe it would go toward repairing the damage between them.

  The blonde slid her left hand over cropped hair that made him think of pixies, and he focused his attention back on happier things. He checked her third finger as she waved the bidding card up and down. No ring.

  Allowing himself a small smile, he watched her sit there patiently having acquired the piece on which they had both bid. What were the chances of that? Both bidding on the same item. Saul chose to see it as an omen, a sign that he should work on some extracurricular activities of his own.

  Oh, yeah, he thought as the auction came to an end and he followed her toward the exit. London was suddenly looking freaking good.

  ****

  Mia made her way to a pay booth and took her place at the end of a line of successful bidders. She itched to get home and admire her new acquisition. Maybe she’d show it to her aunt and they would admire it together. That was if her father wasn’t around. It seemed a shame she couldn’t share it with him, especially since they shared pretty much everything else. He had always been there for her, always her rock, her ledge of safety in a capricious world.

  He could chase away the monsters, slay the dragons of her childhood. And when childhood slipped away he still made her feel safe. Coming home at night, no matter how demanding the day, she could walk into the house off Hyde Park, slip the bolt in place and feel sheltered in a place the unpredictable couldn’t touch.

  Where her world felt secure and solid. Where the man who could chase away monsters and dragons would continue to keep her safe.

  “It seems you win.”

  The deep voice with its American accent dragged Mia out of her thoughts and she turned to look up at the owner. For a moment she wondered if he was actually addressing her, but the dark grey eyes zeroing in on hers shook away any doubt. He was dressed all in black, radiating power like an insurmountable wall of steel.

  Not that she was about to be intimidated. “And you lose?”

  “Afraid so. But managed to bag some doll deal even older than your piece.”

  Mia felt her lips twitch. “Some doll deal?”

  He shrugged wide shoulders. “Yeah. I was on a mission.”

  Unable to resist, Mia let her eyes skim over the equally wide chest before returning to meet his undoubtedly interested gaze. “Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished.”

  Offering a polite smile, Mia turned back to the counter.

  Although she was no longer looking at him, her awareness of him didn’t diminish. She sensed him behind her, moving when she moved as the queue in front of them trickled down. His energy seemed to wrap itself around her, making the back of her neck tingle and her face heat.

  Okay, he might be attractive, but he’d been instrumental in pushing up the price of the pendant and she wasn’t especially happy about that.

  “So, you collect that stuff?”

  She thought about ignoring him. Overly friendly men who presumed to strike up conversations with complete strangers didn’t appeal to Mia’s solitary nature—added to which, this man had caused her to bid way beyond her self-imposed budget. He also did ridiculous things to her otherwise-sturdy knees.

  But since he’d asked a perfectly normal question, her innate politeness won out. “It’s an interest of mine.”

  “You have any others?”

  Mia raised her chin. “Earrings and a couple of bracelets.”

  His grin was slow and sexy. “I meant interests. But you knew that.”

  Heck. Why wouldn’t he just shut up? She didn’t have time for a man with the kind of smile that took forever to get where it was going. Even if it was one of the sexiest things she had seen in a long time.

  “Work,” she said. “That’s my only other interest.” With that she turned forward again, relieved to find the man in front was finishing his transaction.

  She stepped up to the desk, handed over her number and credit card, hoping to goodness the man in black didn’t pester her again. It had been a while since a man had come on to her. According to Lily, her admin assistant, it was Mia’s reserved attitude that scared them off. Not for nothing did her students nickname her Frosty Freeman.

  Mia keyed in her PIN and could almost hear Lily pressing her to turn around, keep the conversation flowing. But she’d never done anything remotely off-the-cuff in her entire life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Even if the man had strip-you-naked eyes and shoulders almost as wide as his presumption.

  Transaction complete, Mia secured the blue velvet box in her bag and hitched the strap securely over her shoulder. Maybe she should say goodbye at least. It was only polite. But the clerk was already processing his details, and she heard his easy response in that deep transatlantic accent. Something dangerously like female awareness trickled through her, but Mia strode off without turning back.

  The light was disappearing beneath a thick grey mist as she stepped out onto the pavement. Soon a light drizzle began to fall. Inwardly Mia shuddered and opened her umbrella, drawing it down around her hunched shoulders until only the pavement was visible.

  “Does work leave time for the occasional post auction drink?”

  Mia tilted the umbrella and glanced at the man who had moved up beside her. Of course she didn’t need to look into those charcoal eyes to know it was him. The sheer power of the man seemed to envelop her, making her legs do something weird. His voice sounded deeper out here in t
he open, even though he had to raise it to be heard over rush hour traffic.

  She peered at him from beneath the umbrella. Did he honestly think she was the type of woman who would accept an invitation from a stranger at an auction? Someone who could be picked up on the street?

  “I’m in a hurry as it happens. I need to get home.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure why her hands suddenly trembled, but when someone bumped into her, she dropped the umbrella and it fell to the ground. He caught it with the ease of someone whose hands had probably never ever trembled. “Maybe I should introduce myself.” One of those steady hands reached out. “Saul O’Donnell.”

  Bloody hell. Now she knew his name, and wouldn’t it be rude not to shake his hand?

  Mia took it, not wanting to prolong the sizzle of energy than zipped through her at the contact. Like a cloak of armor, she pulled the umbrella around her shoulders again.

  “O’Donnell. It sounds Irish. Are you Irish? I mean, your accent is American, but Irish-American perhaps?”

  For God’s sake, Mia, stop babbling like an idiot. Do you have to live up to the color of your hair?

  His smile spread. “Does that make me off limits?”

  “Does what make you off limits?”

  “Being Irish-American, will that strike me from your list?”

  She tilted her umbrella back. “I don’t have a list.”

  “Sure you do. All women have a list.” He gave an easy shrug, the action pushing the upturned collar of his black leather jacket into equally dark hair. “I’m thinking yours reads something like, ‘he’s a man, strike one against him. He’s a pushy yank, strike two. Add a bit of Irish into the bargain? Well, strike him out.’”

  He grinned. A ridiculously charming grin as he stood there all masculine and appealingly rain-soaked on a West End pavement.

  Although she fought against it, Mia grinned back. “Well, like I said, I don’t have a list.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  “And I should be insulted that you think I’m a bigot.”

  “And maybe I should shut the hell up and thank my lucky stars I’m still in the game.” He tilted his head in the direction of a bar across the busy street. “How does that suit?”