Chapter 19
Ruby set down her pliers, pushed her loupe up, and inspected the completed bracelet with a critical eye.
Twisted white gold with ruby and diamond inlays, the bracelet caught the light as she hooked it on her finger and turned it around slowly. Flawless. Classic. Elegant. Her signature, and she sighed with contentment, rolling her neck from side to side to unkink the knots.
"Want a massage?"
She jumped as Jax snuck up on her and placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading gently.
"No, thanks, I've got too much work." He pressed into her sore spots and she moaned, making a mockery of her refusal. "Yeah, right there."
Her head fell forward as he worked his thumbs into the tight pressure points, relieving her tension.
"I thought I was a workaholic."
"Why, what's the time?"
"Midnight."
She bit back the urge to beg as he stopped and swivelled to face him.
"When I'm in the zone I lose track of time."
He nodded at the bracelet. "That's what you were working on?"
"Yeah."
He picked it up gently, the bracelet delicate in the palm of his hand. "You're very talented."
"I know."
"Modest, too." He smiled, something he'd done a lot more of since they arrived back in Melbourne two days ago. The momentous day she'd given him a key on the proviso he only dropped by when invited.
So far, she'd resisted picking up the phone for a whole thirty-six hours, capitulating a few hours ago when she'd been pacing the showroom, unable to concentrate on work, unable to focus on anything but trying to forget the addictive sex with her new husband.
Their wedding night—technically morning after—had been stupendous, and she'd deliberately kept him at arm's length since. No point getting hooked on something when it wouldn’t be long term.
"What's next?"
"My favourite." She slid out a black velvet pouch and tipped the contents into her palm. "Pink diamonds."
“The rarest diamond in the world."
She nodded, her breath hitching as he reached out a fingertip to touch them, grazing her palm in the process. The little zap of electricity shouldn't surprise her, not after what they'd done in and out of the bedroom that morning at the B&B, but it did, the newness of their sexual compatibility a source of delight.
"I've got a series of rings planned. Engagement, and eternity."
His eyes clouded. "Speaking of which, you really need to wear one—"
"I don't." She curled her fingers over the diamonds and funnelled them back into the velvet pouch. "If people ask why I’m not wearing an engagement ring I'll say you're having one commissioned."
His lips thinned with disappointment she didn't understand. Why would he want to brand her his when this marriage wouldn't last?
Rings were for gooey-eyed, blushing brides, not realistic, practical ones. The last thing she wanted to do was wear a fancy engagement ring when she'd be taking it off soon. For her, it had been difficult enough wearing the plain gold band for appearances.
He frowned. “Why won't you wear an engagement ring?”
How could she explain without sounding like a romantic fool? She'd always envisaged designing her own engagement ring, something spectacular, an exquisitely cut pink diamond, flawless in its perfection. She'd wanted it to be incredibly romantic, wanted the man of her dreams to go to any lengths to make her happy.
