Page 4 of The Tycoon's Diamond Demand

Maja bit down on the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Panic, hot and uncontrollable, bubbled in her throat and made her skin prickle. This small room now felt smaller, darker.

Hello, anxiety, my old friend.

Coming back to Norway had been a bad idea.

After growing up with a father who hated her, who tried to control everything about her, she’d wanted to break free. Of his control, of his influence and the associations attached to the Hagen name. She’d vowed she’d make her way in the art world, away from the sphere of her father’s influence, and for the past twelve years she’d worked hard to achieve that goal.

She’d come back to Bergen only because this exhibition was an opportunity she couldn’t miss, a launching pad into the big leagues, a way to get her name out to collectors and connoisseurs. She’d kept up her strategy of lying low, partly because she didn’t want anyone digging into her past, partly because her elusiveness was her unique selling point. She avoided the media and refused all one-on-one interviews, wanting her photographs to speak for themselves.

As M J Slater she was shielded from the negative, and positive, connotations of being Håkon’s daughter. She was, finally, being recognised, and maintaining her anonymity was beyond important. She’d made so many sacrifices and if she was ‘outed’ now, everything she’d worked so hard for would be lost. She had to persuade Jens to keep her identity a secret. But how?

‘What do you want?’ she asked, wincing at the anxiety in her voice.

‘If it’s an explanation of why I left you hanging at the courthouse, and why I sent you that video, why I ghosted you, I can do that, I owe you that,’ she continued, hoping to move him off the subject of her art, the exhibition and her using a different name.

And after she apologised for leaving him and explained why, asked him to keep her secret, she could move on, and put him—and his breath-stealingly attractive face and body—in the past where he belonged.

Then she’d go back to her hotel room, call room service and order the biggest cocktail known to man.

Jens tipped his head to the side, narrowed his eyes and his smile held no warmth. Oh, God, she was in a world of trouble here.

‘I’m not interested in explanations or apologies, Maja.’

She frowned, puzzled. ‘Then what do you want?’

‘Quite a bit actually,’ he told her, his deep voice rumbling over her skin. ‘Especially from you.’

CHAPTER TWO

JACKPOT!

Judging by the panic and fury in Maja’s expressive eyes—a mixture of gold, green and smoky brown—Maja didn’t want him, or anyone, knowing she was M J Slater. And that gave him the leverage he needed. It was the opening he’d needed, his path to revenge.

Jens raked his hand through his hair. Maja was the last Hagen standing, the only person he could target, but, for the first time in years, he didn’t know exactly how he was going to get what he needed from her. Payback. Since discovering who she was just a few hours ago, and by sheer coincidence, he’d been on the back foot, not a position he felt comfortable with, not any more. He called the shots, laid out the terms, and operated from a position of strength. He’d forgotten how it felt to be indecisive, out of control.

Jens turned to look out of the small window, needing a moment to get his wayward thoughts, and jumping heart, under control. He’d told her the truth when he’d said that he’d come to this gallery as a distraction, but he’d immediately felt a connection to her work, and, even before he’d known who she was, had made an excellent offer for her four biggest, and best, images.

He’d done the deal and had been on his way out when he’d noticed her signature on the matte board of one of her few framed images. He’d stared at her signature for some time, unable to believe what his mind insisted was true, that M J Slater was Maja.

His expensive lawyers, and their investigative team, hadn’t been able to trace her, and he now knew why. Had she changed her name legally or was M J Slater just a pseudonym she used for her work?

He could ask, but Maja was no longer the sweet, biddable girl he remembered.

She still wore her blonde hair the same way, long and loosely curled, and had the same leggy, slim figure.

Back then, like tonight, she wore no make-up, but then she’d never needed any. Her skin was clear, her dark eyelashes and eyebrows highlighting her fantastic green and gold eyes. Years ago, she dressed in bold colours and wore her frequently unbrushed hair in messy buns. Her fingers and clothes were always splattered with oil paint. He remembered names like Indian Orange, Viridian and Prussian Blue, and he’d laughed when she couldn’t explain how it came to be on her butt cheek or on the side of her breast.

She was older now, and ten shades bolder than the girl with whom he’d spent that long-ago summer, a woman in every sense of the word. Powerful, compelling, and twice as dangerous.

Loving her had caused him untold grief and Jens knew, because he was a man who paid attention, she’d acquired polish and confidence, a smidgeon of power, in the years they’d spent apart. He was about to step into a field planted with landmines and he needed to watch his step.

Possibly every twitch, maybe even every breath he took.

After years of dealing with Håkon, he’d assumed Maja would be an easier proposition. How wrong he’d been.

Memories snapped at him, and images popped into his mind. Standing next to Aunt Jane as he watched his mum walk away with a wave and a smile, never to, in any way that mattered, return. Watching her, albeit from a distance, conquer the West End and then Broadway, hoping that after this play, that musical, another award, things would change. That in her next email—infrequent and sporadic—she’d tell him she was prepared to acknowledge him, the son she’d left behind and kept secret. He’d craved her acknowledgement and approval, and dreamed of a life where Flora would be a real mother.

Maja leaving him, wholly unexpected and completely devasting, had tossed him back into a place he’d never wanted to revisit. She’d caused long-buried emotions to slap and swipe him, scratch and claw. He’d hated her for sending him back there.

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