A Highlander for Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

years of collecting. I can’t—”
    “You can.” Chessa gripped her arm and pulled her to a halt. “You must. He’s gone, love. All he’s left you is a mountain of debts. Selling his private collection of stones is your only way out.”
    Maggie opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Chessa was right, she realized numbly. At the moment, her father’s unsold inventory was her only marketable asset.
    It would have to go. All of it.
    She rubbed a hand along her neck, wincing as she brushed a hard knot of muscles. “I took a piece to Michaelson today. You know how he is, all oily politeness and eyes like a predator.”
    “What did he say?”
    “‘Lovely.’ ‘Flawless.’ Then the snake offered me a pittance. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so insulted. And so worried.”
    Chessa’s eyes took on an edge of fierce determination. “He scented blood. It happens all the time. What you need is drama, excitement. Presentation is everything in business, as I’ve been forever trying to tell you.”
    “I don’t do drama. That’s your department.”
    “You do now. Mystery and elegance, too. You’ll soon have Michaelson and everyone else eating out of your hand.”
    “How?”
    “You’ve got the stones.” Chessa draped a cut velvet scarf over Maggie’s shoulders, nodding slowly. “And I’ve got the perfect plan.”
    ~ ~ ~
    The next morning at eleven, three black limousines blocked the curb outside Chessa’s fashionable shop on Broome Street. Inside, sunlight filtered over antique carpets and polished shelves that resembled the private rooms of a very fine English country house.
    But this country house had satin camisoles and lace peignoirs draped over the heirloom chairs. Potted dwarf palms cleverly focused the eye on a hanging display of handmade lace dressing gowns that would caress a woman’s skin and leave a man in a state of acute discomfort.
    Nearby, a pair of Chessa’s sensuous camisoles framed a mahogany desk with the jewelry that had earned Maggie a fervent following.
    But none of the three men pacing in the elegant room was looking for lingerie. They glanced up irritably as Chessa sailed in, elegant in a crimson velvet sheath and strappy high-heels.
    Maggie blinked as she recognized three of New York’s most prominent jewelers in the same room. All wore Armani, and their watches alone could have paid the shop’s rent for about a decade.
    The closest man raised a manicured hand. The Vacheron watch on his wrist flashed imperiously. “We’ve been waiting for a half hour. Why did you call us?”
    “Because, gentlemen, you are about to receive the offer of this or any other lifetime.” Chessa moved past them with all the grace of the fashion runways she had dominated for ten years. She knew how to command attention and she did it now, pulling them after her into the curtained area reserved for important customers.
    “What offer? My wife has all the lingerie she needs, Ms. Kincade. And I’m not in the market for jewelry,” he said flatly. “I buy in volume and all my sources are abroad.”
    “You must be James Michaelson. I know your shop on Sixty-first Street.” Chessa eyed the two other men. “Mr. Antonio. Mr. Dussaint. You both design from scratch, I believe. But to do that you need quality materials. Unusual stones like tanzanite and Siberian diamonds and South Sea black pearls.”
    The Belgian, Dussaint, frowned. “You have such sources?”
    Maggie listened from behind the curtain, her hands clenched. They might not go for this. On the other hand, she knew exactly how persuasive Chessa could be. And if Chessa could convince the three men to stay long enough to see what Maggie had to show them…
    Chessa turned in a blur of crimson. “By that you mean a set of matched rubies formerly the property of a European royal family. Or maybe even some chatoyant sapphires.”
    The Belgian stroked his Hermés tie and leaned forward. “Show us.”
    “Patience, gentlemen.” Chessa