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Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly. This
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episode is titled Frost and Fire Episode one. Ice and Embers.
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Diamonds refract lighted exactly forty two point seven degrees, fire
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flashes across polished facets. Each flare a signature as unique
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as a fingerprint, like desire, like memory, like the way
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recognition hits when you see a face you never thought
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you'd meet again. My name is Lucia Frost, and I've
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spent ten years building a life that's as flawless as
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the gems I work with. Here at the Summit Ridge
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Resort in Aspen, I'm known as the resident jeweler who
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creates exquisite pieces for the obscenely wealthy. What they do
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I don't know is that I can crack any security
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system they installed to protect those same pieces, well, almost anyone.
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There was that one FBI agent who almost caught me
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in Paris. Luke Izzie's voice crackles through my workshop intercom.
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The VIP guest list for December just updated. You need
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to see this. I set down my loop, letting the
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two carrot diamond I'm setting catch the morning light outside
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my window, fresh snow blankets, the aspen peaks, perfect powder
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for the opening of ski season, perfect cover for what's coming.
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Send it through, I say, already pulling up my secure terminal.
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The list populates Saudi princes, tech billionaires, old money, names
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that date back to the Mayflower, and there, making my
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blood freeze mid flow. Gabriel Chase. My fingers touched my lips,
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involuntarily remembering another name. Those same lips had gasped in
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a Monaco hotel room last summer, six months ago. Tell
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me your name, he'd murmured against my throat, his hands
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sliding under the silk of my gown. The Monte Carlo
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Casino hummed beneath us, But up here in his suite
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nothing existed except heat and want and delicious anonymity. No names,
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I'd answered, arching into his touch. That was the deal,
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he'd laughed, the sound dark and promising. The deal was
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no real names. Give me something to call you while
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I make you come apart. The thrill of danger my
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favorite drug. I'd been in Monaco, casing a mark, not
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looking for pleasure, but something about him at the baccarat
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table had called to my lover's instinct the same way
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a vault called to my thiefs. Call me Eve, I'd whispered,
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as his mouth found that spot behind my ear, since
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we're both about to sin. His teeth grazed my skin,
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Eve Biblical. I like it, and you, I'd managed to ask,
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as his hands worked magic against silk and flesh? What
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should I call you? Adam? Another laugh, another kiss might
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as well complete the set. What followed was paradise indeed
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present day, Luke Is His voice pulls me back. Did
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you see who's on the list? I see several interesting names.
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I keep my voice casual, professional like I'm not remembering
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how Adam had tasted, how he'd felt, how he'd made
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me forget every rule in my carefully constructed new life.
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Look at arrival dates. Gabriel Chase checks in today. He's
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booked the Ambassador Suite for the entire Christmas season. Today.
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My pulse kicks up. Not just because he's FBI, not
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just because he's the agent who almost caught me in
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Paris three years ago, but because if he's really who
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I think he is, If Adam and Agent Chase are
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the same man, what's his background? I ask, already knowing
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private security consultant specializes in high end protection services. His
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client list reads like a Forbes cover, a cover story,
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A good one, almost as good as mine. Any special
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requests just one. Izzy's voice carries a smile. He wants
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to commission a custom piece asked for you specifically, of
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course he did. I stand smoothing my cashmere sweater outside.
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Fresh snow begins to fall December in Aspen, when the
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temperature drops and desire rises, when the wealthy come to
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play and predators come to hunt. Tell him I have
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an opening at four, I say, turning back to my
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work bench, to the diamond that holds secrets in its heart,
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just like I do in my private workshop. Will do,
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oh and luke. The Petrov exhibition pieces arrived. They're in
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the main vult waiting for your inspection. My hands still
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Viktor Petrov's Christmas Day Jewelry exhibition, ten million in rare gems.
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The kind of target that would have made my former
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self salivate, the kind of target that attracts hunters. Is
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that why Gabriels really hear? At exactly four o'clock, my
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workshop door opens. I don't turn around, letting him take
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in the scene. Me at my bench, diamonds scattered like
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stars across black velvet, the sunset, painting fire across fresh
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snow outside Miss Frost. His voice hits me like aged whiskey,
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like sin, like memory. I turn slowly, professional, mask, firmly
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in place, Agent Chase or do you prefer Adam. He
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doesn't flinch at the name, but something flares in those
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steel gray eyes recognition, heat, danger, Interesting choice of words,
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he says, closing the door behind him. The locking gages
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with a soft click. I was about to say the
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same thing, Eve. We study each other across the workshop.
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He's exactly as I remember from Monaco, tall, with that
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fighter's grace that speaks of hidden strength. His suit is
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perfectly tailored, probably concealing a shoulder holster. Old habits make
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me clock the exits, the weapons within reach, the distance
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between us. I have to admit. He moves closer, each
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step measured when I realized the legendary Lucia Frost was
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the same woman who disappeared from my hotel room in Monaco.
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His smile is wolf sharp. Well, let's just say some
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things started making sense, like what. I turned back to
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my work bench, trying to ignore how his proximity sets
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my skin humming like a vault about to crack, like ice,
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about to shatter, Like how the mysterious jewel thief I
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chased through Paris three years ago seemed to know exactly
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how to disappear. He's behind me now, close enough that
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his breath stirs my hair, the one who left a
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diamond in my pocket with a note that said better
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luck next time, Agent Chase. I remember writing that note,
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Remember the thrill of escaping him, Remember thinking I'd never
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have to face those piercing eyes. Ancient history, I say,
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picking up a loop. I'm reformed, now legitimate. His laugh
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is low, dangerous, like that night in Monaco. Are you?
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His hand settles on my hip, burning through silken memory,
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because I remember how much you love the game, Eve,
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how your pulse races when you're about to His lips
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brush my ear, take something you shouldn't. I turn in
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his grasp, letting him feel the diamond laser I've palmed,
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press it gently against his ribs. Careful, Agent Chase. I'm
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not the only one playing games, am I. His other
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hand slides into my hair, gripping gently but firmly, testing
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tasting power. No games, Lutia, not any more then, why
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are you here? Instead of answering, he kisses me. Not
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the Champagne's sweet kisses from Monaco. This is harder, darker,
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full of six months of wondering and wanting, full of
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years of chase and escape, full of danger and need.
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And the diamond laser clatters to my work bench. As
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his kiss deepens. My body remembers this, the way he
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takes control, the way he makes me want to surrender it.
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His hands slide down my sides, finding the curves they
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mapped in Monaco. You never answered my question. I manage
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between kisses. Why are you here? You know why? His
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mouth traces the path down my throat that's been haunting
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my dreams, the Petrov exhibition, ten million in Gems, a
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Christmas Day unveiling, and I arch into his touch. Even
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as my mind races you think I'm involved. He pulls
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back just enough to meet my eyes. I think someone
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is someone good enough to get past Summit Ridge's security,
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someone who knows jewelry, someone like like the thief you
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chased in Paris. I raise an eyebrow, the one who disappeared,
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the one who left me more than just a diamond
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and a note. His thumb traces my bottom lip, left
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me obsessed hunting, following a trail that led here. The
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heat between us shifts charges with new danger, And now
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that you've found me, his smile is sin itself. Now
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I need your help with what catching the real thieves.
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His hand slides to my neck, feeling my pulse race.
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Unless you're working with them already, I laugh, but it
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catches in my throat as his other hand finds bare
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skin under my sweater. You think i'd tell you if
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I was. I think his fingers trace patterns on my
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lower back, making me shiver That night in Monaco. Wasn't
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just chance you were watching me as much as I
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was watching you. He's right. I had spotted him tailing
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me earlier that day, known exactly who he was. The
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kiss had been impulse, danger, desire. The night that followed
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had been Monico was a mistake. I lie even as
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my hands pull him closer. Was it his mouth hovers
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over mine? Then? Why are you trembling? Because you're dangerous?
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So are you? This kiss is pure fire, like that
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first one in the casino, like every kiss that followed
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in his suite, like six months of wondering if i'd
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ever taste him again. His hands grow bolder, reminding me
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why I'd broken my own rules that night, why I'd
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stayed until dawn, why I'd left before he woke. Terrified
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of what he made me feel, Help me, he whispers
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against my lips. Someone's targeting your clients, your resort, your
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new life. And if I say no. His smile curves
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against my throat, then I'll have to investigate you. His
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teeth graze my pulse point very his hand slides lower thoroughly.
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A knock at the door freezes us both Luke. Izzie's
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voice carries through the wood emergency at the main vault.
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We need you. Gabriel steps back, straightening his tie. I
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smooth my sweater, trying to slow my breathing. Coming. I
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call to Izzy, but my eyes stay locked on Gabriel's.
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We're not finished, No, he agrees, heat and warning in
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his voice, We're just getting started. I head for the door,
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but his hand catches my wrist. Tonight, he says, softly,
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dinner in my sweet We'll discuss the case, just the case.
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His thumb strokes my pulse point. What else would we discuss?
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Eve?
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I pull away, grabbing my security back eight o'clock. Don't
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be late, Adam. As I follow Izzy to the vault,
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my skin still burns where he touched me. My lips
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still taste like danger, and in my mind Monaco replays
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like a promise or a threat. The main vault sits
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three floors below the resort, a titanium fortress wrapped in
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Swiss engineering. As we descend in the secure elevator, Izzy
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briefs me the Petrov collection was scheduled for authentication at two.
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When our team opened the cases, she hands me her tablet.
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Security footage shows three velvet lined boxes empty. My stomach
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drops not because of the missing pieces. I've seen better
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thefts executed better thefts, but because of the signature left
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behind a single crystal snowflake. The Winters, I breathe, you
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know them, I know them intimately, the most notorious jewelry
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theft ring in Europe, the family I used to run
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with before I went straight before Paris, before Gabriel almost
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caught me. By reputation, I say smoothly. They're legends in
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security circles. The vault door reads my biometrics, swings open
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on silent hinges inside Victor Petrov paces like a caged bear,
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his Russian accent thick with rage, Miss Frost. He strides
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toward me. They said, you're the best, that you can
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protect my collection, and now this. I moved to the
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empty cases, studying the snowflake through my loop, pure crystal
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hand carved Alexey's work. He always did have a flare
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for signatures. The pieces that were taken. I keep my
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voice professional. The sapphire pendant, the ruby earrings, and the
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emerald bracelet. Yes, Petrov's face reddens. Gifts for my wife
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for Christmas morning, not his wife. I'd helped case those
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same pieces two years. They were meant for his mistress,
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the Prima Ballerina he's keeping in a penthouse in Prague.
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The vault's temperature control hums keeping the remaining jewels at
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optimal stability, like the chill that runs down my spine.
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When I realize what this means, the winters are here
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in my territory, and they want me to know it.
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Mister Petrov, I straighten, already formulating plans. I'll need a
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complete inventory. And my phone buzzes a text from an
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unknown number, missing our little snowflake family dinner on Christmas day.
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Don't be late. Bring your FBI boyfriend. I delete the message,
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but my hands shake slightly. Across the vault. I catch
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Gabriel watching me through the security glass. His eyes say
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he saw everything. Izzy. I turned to my friend. Lock
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down the remaining pieces, new protocols, new codes. I want
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guards on rotation, no gaps already done. She eyes me carefully.
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Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost,
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several ghosts, all wearing crystal snowflakes. I'm fine. I check
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my watch. Seven thirty. Back in my suite, I change
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for my meeting with Gabriel. The black dress is simple,
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but devastating, like the best cons, like the deadliest weapons.
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At precisely eight o'clock, I knock on his door. He
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opens it, wearing charcoal slacks and a white shirt, sleeves
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rolled up to reveal strong forearms, the same arms that
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had pinned me to silk sheets in Monaco. Right on time,
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he says, eyes trailing fire down my dress. I ordered champagne,
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celebrating something. His smile is knowing dangerous second chances. I
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step past him into the suite, catching his familiar scent,
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cedar leather sin. Is that what this is, that depends.
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He closes the door, moves behind me. His breath stirs
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the hair at my nape. On whether you tell me
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the truth about the winters, I turned slowly, meeting his
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heated gaze. The truth is complicated, then lets uncomplicate it.
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His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer. Over dinner,
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just dinner. His other hand cups my face, thumb tracing
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my bottom lip. That depends too on what on whether
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you're still running cons His mouth hovers over mine or
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ready to run something else? Like what? His kiss is
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the answer. And as I melt into it, I realize
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I'm already running the most dangerous con of all. I'm
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falling for the man who could destroy everything.
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