Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly. This
episode is titled Frost and Fire Episode one. Ice and Embers.
Speaker 2: Diamonds refract lighted exactly forty two point seven degrees, fire
flashes across polished facets. Each flare a signature as unique
as a fingerprint, like desire, like memory, like the way
recognition hits when you see a face you never thought
you'd meet again. My name is Lucia Frost, and I've
spent ten years building a life that's as flawless as
the gems I work with. Here at the Summit Ridge
Resort in Aspen, I'm known as the resident jeweler who
creates exquisite pieces for the obscenely wealthy. What they do
I don't know is that I can crack any security
system they installed to protect those same pieces, well, almost anyone.
There was that one FBI agent who almost caught me
in Paris. Luke Izzie's voice crackles through my workshop intercom.
The VIP guest list for December just updated. You need
to see this. I set down my loop, letting the
two carrot diamond I'm setting catch the morning light outside
my window, fresh snow blankets, the aspen peaks, perfect powder
for the opening of ski season, perfect cover for what's coming.
Send it through, I say, already pulling up my secure terminal.
The list populates Saudi princes, tech billionaires, old money, names
that date back to the Mayflower, and there, making my
blood freeze mid flow. Gabriel Chase. My fingers touched my lips,
involuntarily remembering another name. Those same lips had gasped in
a Monaco hotel room last summer, six months ago. Tell
me your name, he'd murmured against my throat, his hands
sliding under the silk of my gown. The Monte Carlo
Casino hummed beneath us, But up here in his suite
nothing existed except heat and want and delicious anonymity. No names,
I'd answered, arching into his touch. That was the deal,
he'd laughed, the sound dark and promising. The deal was
no real names. Give me something to call you while
I make you come apart. The thrill of danger my
favorite drug. I'd been in Monaco, casing a mark, not
looking for pleasure, but something about him at the baccarat
table had called to my lover's instinct the same way
a vault called to my thiefs. Call me Eve, I'd whispered,
as his mouth found that spot behind my ear, since
we're both about to sin. His teeth grazed my skin,
Eve Biblical. I like it, and you, I'd managed to ask,
as his hands worked magic against silk and flesh? What
should I call you? Adam? Another laugh, another kiss might
as well complete the set. What followed was paradise indeed
present day, Luke Is His voice pulls me back. Did
you see who's on the list? I see several interesting names.
I keep my voice casual, professional like I'm not remembering
how Adam had tasted, how he'd felt, how he'd made
me forget every rule in my carefully constructed new life.
Look at arrival dates. Gabriel Chase checks in today. He's
booked the Ambassador Suite for the entire Christmas season. Today.
My pulse kicks up. Not just because he's FBI, not
just because he's the agent who almost caught me in
Paris three years ago, but because if he's really who
I think he is, If Adam and Agent Chase are
the same man, what's his background? I ask, already knowing
private security consultant specializes in high end protection services. His
client list reads like a Forbes cover, a cover story,
A good one, almost as good as mine. Any special
requests just one. Izzy's voice carries a smile. He wants
to commission a custom piece asked for you specifically, of
course he did. I stand smoothing my cashmere sweater outside.
Fresh snow begins to fall December in Aspen, when the
temperature drops and desire rises, when the wealthy come to
play and predators come to hunt. Tell him I have
an opening at four, I say, turning back to my
work bench, to the diamond that holds secrets in its heart,
just like I do in my private workshop. Will do,
oh and luke. The Petrov exhibition pieces arrived. They're in
the main vult waiting for your inspection. My hands still
Viktor Petrov's Christmas Day Jewelry exhibition, ten million in rare gems.
The kind of target that would have made my former
self salivate, the kind of target that attracts hunters. Is
that why Gabriels really hear? At exactly four o'clock, my
workshop door opens. I don't turn around, letting him take
in the scene. Me at my bench, diamonds scattered like
stars across black velvet, the sunset, painting fire across fresh
snow outside Miss Frost. His voice hits me like aged whiskey,
like sin, like memory. I turn slowly, professional, mask, firmly
in place, Agent Chase or do you prefer Adam. He
doesn't flinch at the name, but something flares in those
steel gray eyes recognition, heat, danger, Interesting choice of words,
he says, closing the door behind him. The locking gages
with a soft click. I was about to say the
same thing, Eve. We study each other across the workshop.
He's exactly as I remember from Monaco, tall, with that
fighter's grace that speaks of hidden strength. His suit is
perfectly tailored, probably concealing a shoulder holster. Old habits make
me clock the exits, the weapons within reach, the distance
between us. I have to admit. He moves closer, each
step measured when I realized the legendary Lucia Frost was
the same woman who disappeared from my hotel room in Monaco.
His smile is wolf sharp. Well, let's just say some
things started making sense, like what. I turned back to
my work bench, trying to ignore how his proximity sets
my skin humming like a vault about to crack, like ice,
about to shatter, Like how the mysterious jewel thief I
chased through Paris three years ago seemed to know exactly
how to disappear. He's behind me now, close enough that
his breath stirs my hair, the one who left a
diamond in my pocket with a note that said better
luck next time, Agent Chase. I remember writing that note,
Remember the thrill of escaping him, Remember thinking I'd never
have to face those piercing eyes. Ancient history, I say,
picking up a loop. I'm reformed, now legitimate. His laugh
is low, dangerous, like that night in Monaco. Are you?
His hand settles on my hip, burning through silken memory,
because I remember how much you love the game, Eve,
how your pulse races when you're about to His lips
brush my ear, take something you shouldn't. I turn in
his grasp, letting him feel the diamond laser I've palmed,
press it gently against his ribs. Careful, Agent Chase. I'm
not the only one playing games, am I. His other
hand slides into my hair, gripping gently but firmly, testing
tasting power. No games, Lutia, not any more then, why
are you here? Instead of answering, he kisses me. Not
the Champagne's sweet kisses from Monaco. This is harder, darker,
full of six months of wondering and wanting, full of
years of chase and escape, full of danger and need.
And the diamond laser clatters to my work bench. As
his kiss deepens. My body remembers this, the way he
takes control, the way he makes me want to surrender it.
His hands slide down my sides, finding the curves they
mapped in Monaco. You never answered my question. I manage
between kisses. Why are you here? You know why? His
mouth traces the path down my throat that's been haunting
my dreams, the Petrov exhibition, ten million in Gems, a
Christmas Day unveiling, and I arch into his touch. Even
as my mind races you think I'm involved. He pulls
back just enough to meet my eyes. I think someone
is someone good enough to get past Summit Ridge's security,
someone who knows jewelry, someone like like the thief you
chased in Paris. I raise an eyebrow, the one who disappeared,
the one who left me more than just a diamond
and a note. His thumb traces my bottom lip, left
me obsessed hunting, following a trail that led here. The
heat between us shifts charges with new danger, And now
that you've found me, his smile is sin itself. Now
I need your help with what catching the real thieves.
His hand slides to my neck, feeling my pulse race.
Unless you're working with them already, I laugh, but it
catches in my throat as his other hand finds bare
skin under my sweater. You think i'd tell you if
I was. I think his fingers trace patterns on my
lower back, making me shiver That night in Monaco. Wasn't
just chance you were watching me as much as I
was watching you. He's right. I had spotted him tailing
me earlier that day, known exactly who he was. The
kiss had been impulse, danger, desire. The night that followed
had been Monico was a mistake. I lie even as
my hands pull him closer. Was it his mouth hovers
over mine? Then? Why are you trembling? Because you're dangerous?
So are you? This kiss is pure fire, like that
first one in the casino, like every kiss that followed
in his suite, like six months of wondering if i'd
ever taste him again. His hands grow bolder, reminding me
why I'd broken my own rules that night, why I'd
stayed until dawn, why I'd left before he woke. Terrified
of what he made me feel, Help me, he whispers
against my lips. Someone's targeting your clients, your resort, your
new life. And if I say no. His smile curves
against my throat, then I'll have to investigate you. His
teeth graze my pulse point very his hand slides lower thoroughly.
A knock at the door freezes us both Luke. Izzie's
voice carries through the wood emergency at the main vault.
We need you. Gabriel steps back, straightening his tie. I
smooth my sweater, trying to slow my breathing. Coming. I
call to Izzy, but my eyes stay locked on Gabriel's.
We're not finished, No, he agrees, heat and warning in
his voice, We're just getting started. I head for the door,
but his hand catches my wrist. Tonight, he says, softly,
dinner in my sweet We'll discuss the case, just the case.
His thumb strokes my pulse point. What else would we discuss?
Speaker 1: Eve?
Speaker 2: I pull away, grabbing my security back eight o'clock. Don't
be late, Adam. As I follow Izzy to the vault,
my skin still burns where he touched me. My lips
still taste like danger, and in my mind Monaco replays
like a promise or a threat. The main vault sits
three floors below the resort, a titanium fortress wrapped in
Swiss engineering. As we descend in the secure elevator, Izzy
briefs me the Petrov collection was scheduled for authentication at two.
When our team opened the cases, she hands me her tablet.
Security footage shows three velvet lined boxes empty. My stomach
drops not because of the missing pieces. I've seen better
thefts executed better thefts, but because of the signature left
behind a single crystal snowflake. The Winters, I breathe, you
know them, I know them intimately, the most notorious jewelry
theft ring in Europe, the family I used to run
with before I went straight before Paris, before Gabriel almost
caught me. By reputation, I say smoothly. They're legends in
security circles. The vault door reads my biometrics, swings open
on silent hinges inside Victor Petrov paces like a caged bear,
his Russian accent thick with rage, Miss Frost. He strides
toward me. They said, you're the best, that you can
protect my collection, and now this. I moved to the
empty cases, studying the snowflake through my loop, pure crystal
hand carved Alexey's work. He always did have a flare
for signatures. The pieces that were taken. I keep my
voice professional. The sapphire pendant, the ruby earrings, and the
emerald bracelet. Yes, Petrov's face reddens. Gifts for my wife
for Christmas morning, not his wife. I'd helped case those
same pieces two years. They were meant for his mistress,
the Prima Ballerina he's keeping in a penthouse in Prague.
The vault's temperature control hums keeping the remaining jewels at
optimal stability, like the chill that runs down my spine.
When I realize what this means, the winters are here
in my territory, and they want me to know it.
Mister Petrov, I straighten, already formulating plans. I'll need a
complete inventory. And my phone buzzes a text from an
unknown number, missing our little snowflake family dinner on Christmas day.
Don't be late. Bring your FBI boyfriend. I delete the message,
but my hands shake slightly. Across the vault. I catch
Gabriel watching me through the security glass. His eyes say
he saw everything. Izzy. I turned to my friend. Lock
down the remaining pieces, new protocols, new codes. I want
guards on rotation, no gaps already done. She eyes me carefully.
Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost,
several ghosts, all wearing crystal snowflakes. I'm fine. I check
my watch. Seven thirty. Back in my suite, I change
for my meeting with Gabriel. The black dress is simple,
but devastating, like the best cons, like the deadliest weapons.
At precisely eight o'clock, I knock on his door. He
opens it, wearing charcoal slacks and a white shirt, sleeves
rolled up to reveal strong forearms, the same arms that
had pinned me to silk sheets in Monaco. Right on time,
he says, eyes trailing fire down my dress. I ordered champagne,
celebrating something. His smile is knowing dangerous second chances. I
step past him into the suite, catching his familiar scent,
cedar leather sin. Is that what this is, that depends.
He closes the door, moves behind me. His breath stirs
the hair at my nape. On whether you tell me
the truth about the winters, I turned slowly, meeting his
heated gaze. The truth is complicated, then lets uncomplicate it.
His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer. Over dinner,
just dinner. His other hand cups my face, thumb tracing
my bottom lip. That depends too on what on whether
you're still running cons His mouth hovers over mine or
ready to run something else? Like what? His kiss is
the answer. And as I melt into it, I realize
I'm already running the most dangerous con of all. I'm
falling for the man who could destroy everything.
Speaker 1: Romance Weekly is a production of Calaroga Shark Media executive
producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast
may have been created with the assistance of AI
Speaker 2: Calaroga Shark Media