Free Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) by Arlene Kay

I played along.
    “How many guesses do I get?” I edged closer, making a mad grab for the package. Deming’s reflexes are far faster than mine. He pivoted, executing a deft paso doble just in time.
    “Hey! You cheater!” He held the parcel high above him, well beyond my wingspan. That didn’t deter me. I do plucky better than anyone. I leapt at that treat like a SeaWorld porpoise angling for fish.
    “Okay, you win.” Deming thrust the package at me. “I saw this in a shop window yesterday, and it reminded me of you.” His slow, easy smile showcased a fetching chin cleft. “I figured you’d need something special for dinner tonight.”
    Gifts are magical but embarrassing too. Some women instinctively manufacture the squeals and groans of pleasure that gift givers expect. I fail miserably at it even when the magnificence of the offering takes my breath away.
    “May I open it?”
    Deming sighed and ruffled my curls. “Go ahead. I hope it’s the right size.”
    He was joking. I found that out after tearing headlong into the beautifully wrapped parcel. When I spied the contents, I had no problem reacting.
    “It’s gorgeous! Exquisite! Oh my goodness, where did you find this?” The delicate multi-hued necklace was crafted to resemble the petals of a flower. I recognized strands of platinum and gold dusted with diamonds and precious stones. The effect was at once elegant and incredibly subtle.
    He shrugged. “There’s a goldsmith on 6A whose work I like. He does custom pieces.”
    “But it’s too much,” I protested, praying that he’d ignore me.
    Deming scooped the necklace into a velvet pouch and kissed my cheek. “Get used to it, kiddo. I can afford it. Now let’s get ready for Aunty’s party.”
    THAT EVENING, Persus Cantor showed that she too knew a few tricks about jewelry. The neckline of her simple blue gown was festooned with a sparking garland of diamonds and pearls that brightened her skin and enlivened her pale blue eyes. As for the diamonds—they really were a girl’s best friend.
    “You look beautiful, Eja,” Pert said. “Red is absolutely your color. And that necklace! Isn’t it some of Ross’s work?”
    “Yes, ma’am. You always could spot the good stuff.” Deming bent down and whispered in my ear. “She’s right, of course. You’re quite a knockout, Ms. Kane.”
    A grown woman has no right to blush when she gets a compliment. Nevertheless, that’s what I did. Would my febrile quest for approval ever end? Probably not. I resolved to give myself a stern lecture at the earliest opportunity. Some day soon.
    I wasn’t the only one who looked spiffy. Tuxedos burnish the image of every male, but Deming Swann, gorgeous since birth, was off the charts. He had that long, lean, and lethal look all sewed up, and he quaked my soul to its core. I suppressed the urge to lose control and strip him naked. It would be unseemly, a vulgar display from a gently raised female and alumna of Brown University. It was also impracticable in a room soon to be filled with guests.
    Deming scooped up Pert and twirled her around. “What’s the matter? I’m all dressed up too. Don’t I look beautiful, Aunty? You’ll hurt my feelings if you’re not careful.”
    “You are a rogue, Deming Swann,” Pert said. “As if you need an old woman’s compliments to boost your ego. Put me down. Our company’s almost here.” She turned to me. “He’s imitating Lars. These big men always let you know how strong they are, don’t they, Eja?”
    I have nothing against big, strong men. In fact, the sight of sculpted muscles turns me to mush. Pert was probably right. I knew for a fact that Deming hadn’t learned that move from his own father. Elegant Bolin Swann playing caveman—no way!
    “Boys,” Pert gushed. “So silly. Demmy and Dario started this nonsense when they were teenagers.” She bit her lip as if those sweet memories now tasted of wormwood and gall. Her voice dropped, becoming more dirge than