Diamonds in the Dust Page 11

  “I’d never play a joke like that.”

  My father leans forward, his gaze harsh. “Then what are you playing at, son?”

  “Damian Hart may be behind bars, but he’s powerful and becoming more so by the day. He’s snide, clever, merciless, and resourceful. He’s wasted no time in making the right kind of connections on the inside. He’s got people looking out for him on the outside, managing the money he earns by getting information and doing dirty jobs. He can’t put his hands on that money now, but he will be able to when they let him out in two years.” My father knows money and connections mean power, enough to start a war. “We don’t want him for an enemy.”

  “Wasn’t that the point of taking his sister? Tell me how that doesn’t make him our enemy.”

  “The point was having something to hold over his head.” To blackmail him into honoring our deal with Dalton when the ownership of the mine transfers to Hart. “This way will be even better.”

  My father grumbles. “Better how?”

  “He’ll honor the deal if his sister is happy. If he thinks she’s here because she wants to be, he’ll want to make sure she continues to be happy, and we won’t have to fight a war.” One we may very well lose.

  He gives me a skeptical look. “How do you expect to pull that one off?”

  It’s simple, really. “By making her happy.”

  His belly shakes with a laugh. “We kidnapped her. How is that going to make her happy?”

  “I have my ways. The idea will grow on her.”

  “The chances of you two meeting accidentally are too big a coincidence.” My father interlaces his fingers on the tabletop. “Hart won’t fall for it.”

  “I already thought about it.” On the drive over, in fact. “I went to South Africa to meet Dalton about business. We talked about the mine, and I asked how the diamond deposit was discovered. We’ve had a couple of bottles of wine, so he told me about Damian Hart, the discoverer, who ended up in jail for stealing a diamond from Dalton’s house during a dinner party. I was curious. Something about the story didn’t add up. Why would Hart steal a diamond if he’s discovered a whole riverbed full of them? So, I visited Hart’s only remaining family, Zoe Hart, to hear her opinion of the story. We went out for dinner. There was an instant attraction, and I decided to save her from her miserable life and give her a better one.”

  He sneers. “You’re a fucking Hallmark movie director now? You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

  I cross my legs. “I do.”

  His nostrils flare. His fingers curl around the Montblanc pen on his desk, squeezing so hard that thick, blue veins pop out on his hand. I bet he’d love to stab me with that pen. I’ve often wondered if there’d come a day I’d shove him over that edge. I’ve always pushed his buttons by being the defiant son, the one who doesn’t follow orders. I guess that’s why he prefers Alexis. Alexis doesn’t pose questions. As long as it’s for the business, and therefore for himself, Alexis does what he’s told. He’s easier to handle, not unimpressionable like me, and a lot more like my father. Which makes me my mother’s favorite. She doesn’t hate my father, but she doesn’t exactly love him, either. Alexis reminds her too much of Raphael Belshaw, the man she wedded as a business arrangement. I wouldn’t say Maman loves Alexis less, but she’s always treated me differently, favoring me.

  The skin on my father’s brow plows into grooves as his mind works at full speed, but there’s no way out of this. A lover is a lover, entitled to protection and a certain amount of respect. You can’t mess with the unspoken rules of les beaux voyous without upturning the apple cart.

  He slams a fist on the desk. “Why couldn’t Alexis make her happy?”

  He says happy like it’s a curse, and my whole body snaps tight at the mere thought of that. I’m unable to filter all the anger from my voice. “We both know Alexis isn’t capable of making anyone happy, let alone an unwilling woman. We both know, too, how it would’ve turned out for Zoe if Alexis took her. That would’ve definitely made Hart our enemy. He would’ve sent an army to save her. He wouldn’t have stopped until he destroyed us.”

  “What about the Italians? We can’t afford any complications now.”

  “We’ll be discreet.” I add a jibe. “Just like you are.”

  His droopy eye twitches. “What prevents her from running or telling her brother?”

  “She doesn’t know why we took her. I told her if she runs or tries anything Hart will pay.” Of course, we have no intention of harming Hart. We need him to revive the mine or our business will sink, anyway.

  “In other words, you’re blackmailing her instead of us blackmailing Hart.”

  “Genius, no?”

  He leans back, his words sounding bitter with unwilling acceptance. “I suppose it’s easier to manipulate the girl.”

  “She’s young. Hart is worldly and hardy.”

  He drums his fingers on the desk, considering my words. He’s unwilling to admit it, but he doesn’t have a choice. If we take a family vote on the decision, he’ll lose. Half of the power of running the business has already transferred to me at my thirtieth birthday, like it had to my father, and his father, and every other Belshaw before him. The other half I’ll get when I marry. My father is a loose cannon. He’s made too many bad decisions. His love for overindulgence and unnecessary violence has stained our reputation and name. The family likes the stability I bring to the business. They’ll vote for me.

  After a while, he says, “Fine. You have two years to tame her before Hart gets out.”

  I stand. “That’s doable.”

  “You better hope so. If this backfires—”

  “It won’t backfire.”

  He grimaces. “We’ll see. Now get out of here. I have work to do.”

  “Where’s Alexis?”

  “Overseeing the docks.”

  I straighten my tie. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  * * *

  I get my car and drive to the end of the docking area where the debt collectors hang around, playing cards. Alexis is having a conversation with one of the men.

  Walking up to my brother with brisk strides, I say, “A word with you.”

  He saunters around the corner, his hands in his pockets. The minute he turns back to me, I slam my fist into his face. His head bounces back, hitting the wall. Blood pours from his nose.

  Grabbing his nose between his hands, he gives me an incredulous look. “What the fuck, Max?”

  “That,” I point a finger at him, “is for mentioning Zoe’s cunt.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” He fumbles for the decorative handkerchief in his top jacket pocket and presses it against his nose. “You just said it yourself.”

  “Only me.” I stab his chest with the finger I was waving in his face. “I’m the only one who mentions, breathes, fucks, and eats out Zoe’s cunt. I’m the only one who thinks about her cunt. Get it?”

  He raises his palms. “Calm the fuck down, man.”

  Now that I’ve put him back in his place, I am calm. The problem with being part of the family is that if you don’t enforce the rules, every dick like my brother will try to break them. If I can’t stand up for what’s mine, no one will respect my property. It’s an important lesson. No one will fuck with Zoe after this.

  I turn and walk back down the road that stinks of diesel and fish.

  “You’re fucking nuts,” Alexis calls after me.

  I don’t look back. Doing so would mean I care about the insult. Alexis’s laughter follows me into the car. I start the engine and clench the wheel. I should be going to the office in the city. I should catch up with the Italian deal. Instead, I turn the car in the opposite direction.

  I need a vent for my anger, and my vent is at home.

  Chapter 13

  Zoe

  * * *

  The moment I hear the front door shut, I go to the writing desk standing in the far corner of Maxime’s room and go through it. I find what I’m
looking for in the second drawer. Pulling out the writing pad and pen, I sit down in the chair and write a letter to Damian.

  I tell him I’ve arrived safely in France after a short holiday in Italy. I tell him Venice was magical. I tell him I’m settling in nicely in my new home, baking apple pie. I tell him I can’t wait for the day he gets out, that I’ll bake apple pie to welcome him, and I hope he’ll bring his cell mate for me to meet. I’m sure his friend will love apple pie. I make sure to mention the address and give a detailed description of the property. I paid attention to the road signs on the way and the address on the letterbox by the gate. I mention how wealthy and important my white knight is, so much so that his property is guarded. Then I sign off as always, my name with two x’s and o’s.

  To anyone reading it, it’s just a letter from a happy girl who got lucky by landing a rich guy, but Damian will understand the code. He’ll get the message. He’ll know Zane and Maxime are his enemies, and that I’m being held against my will.

  Folding the letter neatly, I seal it in an envelope I find in the same drawer and write the address on it. Then I go through the room, looking for a phone. I doubt Maxime would’ve left one, which is why my priority was writing the letter, but I still try.

  There are no landline plugs in the room, so I take the letter and exit onto the landing. The house is quiet. No sounds come from the kitchen. The hallway is dark and spooky. Faded tapestries and portraits of men and women dressed in clothes from centuries ago hang on the walls. The space smells of wood polish and cedar. I shudder but force myself to walk out onto the creaking wooden floor, opening doors as far as I go.

  The one next to Max’s room gives access to a bedroom the same size as his but decorated with feminine pinks and lilacs. The two rooms share the same bathroom and balcony. The other rooms on the floor are all bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms. A heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway gives access to a spiral staircase. Unable to squash my curiosity, I climb the stone steps to the top. The staircase exits into a circular tower room. A narrow bay window with a built-in bench overlooks the sea. I can’t make out much of the view through the stained-glass window. The only furniture is a small desk. Other than that, the floor and walls are bare. It’s cold and noisy with the wind cutting around the tower.

  Shivering, I go back to the first-floor landing and descend the steps to the foyer. I pass the guest bathroom and dining room, a big and smaller lounge, and am about to reach for the door at the end when it opens in my face.

  Gasping, I clutch the letter to my chest. A woman dressed in dark slacks and a button-down blouse stops dead when she sees me. Her green eyes widen. She sweeps her gaze over me, taking in my face, clothes, and boots. Slender and willowy, she’s a head taller than me. Her blond hair is twisted into a bun, and her smooth skin is pale like porcelain, but unlike mine, hers is blemish free. She’s wearing mascara and a glossy pink lipstick. Her perfume is faint but smells expensive.

  “Oh,” she says, “you must be Zoe.” Her accent is less pronounced than Maxime’s.

  “You must be Francine.”

  “I just got back from my lunch break and found Max’s note.” She gives me another quick once-over. “Is there something you wanted?”

  I hand her the letter. “I was hoping someone could mail this for me. I don’t have a stamp.”

  She reaches for it hesitantly. “I’ll leave it with Max’s mail. He usually drops it in the mailbox on his way to work.”

  My spirits sink. He’ll read it, no doubt. He won’t understand the hidden messages, but he may not like the details I conveyed about his house, such as how well protected it is and where it’s situated. I can only hope he won’t burn it.

  For a moment, I hold onto the envelope, reluctant to hand it over, but when Francine pulls a little, I have no choice. I have to let go if I don’t want to give her a reason to be suspicious.

  “If there’s nothing else?” She folds her arms, the envelope clutched in one hand. She’s posed like a ballerina, one knee bent with her foot turned out and her long fingers resting elegantly on the sleeve on her blouse. Her nails are painted with a French manicure.

  “No, thanks.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to start dinner.”

  “Of course.”

  Going back inside the kitchen, she closes the door. She might’ve well put a sign on it that reads stay out.

  Not knowing what else to do with myself, I go through the rest of the house. Every room is decorated with antique furniture. There’s even a knight’s armor and medieval weapons. The place is like a museum. I don’t find a phone anywhere, and the empty wall plug in the entrance indicates the phone has been unplugged. I would’ve given anything to call Damian now, to tell him what my letter may not convey if Maxime decides not to send it.

  One of the doors is locked, presumably a room Maxime doesn’t want me to have access to, and next to it I find a library with a fireplace. The house is cold. My wool dress barely keeps me warm. I use the chopped wood stacked in the basket to build a fire and stoke it until the flames leap high. To my dismay, all the books are in French. I settle on one about the region with photographs and drag the armchair closer to the fire.

  In no time, my cold muscles thaw. My face warms, and my fingers prick with pins and needles as the frozen stiffness melts away. A gust of wind enters as the front door opens across the foyer. Maxime stands on the step, looking windblown and angry.

  The physical heat remains, but a blast of coldness settles over me when he closes the door. My stomach tightens with apprehension as he removes his coat, scarf, and gloves, and hangs everything neatly on the coat stand before making his way to the library. I’m in full sight of the open door, and he watches me darkly as he advances.

  I shut the book when he enters. My mouth goes dry when he closes the door and turns the key. I’m uncertain of him. I can’t place him. I don’t know who he is right now, the man of the cold cell or the man of the luxurious hotel suite.

  Chapter 14

  Maxime

  * * *

  Working my tie loose, I walk to the chair where Zoe is draped so prettily and stop in front of her. I’m hard. I want her. I’ve never wanted with such abandon. Certainly not a woman. My dirty pleasures are money and power. Sex is a recreational activity, a form of release. I enjoy it, but I enjoy work more. Not today, it seems. Today I chose her over the office, and I do need release.

  As I take the book from her hand and leave it on the coffee table, I blame Alexis. I blame my anger as I pull her to her feet and take her place on the chair. It’s warm, her body heat lingering in the flowery upholstery.

  I unbutton my jacket and cross my legs. I rest my hands on the armrests, a casual pose that belies how badly I want to lay them on her. I trail my gaze over her, taking in her luscious curves before pausing on the pussy at my eye level, the cunt I’ve assaulted my brother over.

  “Sore?” I ask, lifting my eyes back to hers.

  She stares down at me with her beautiful face, the pink flush on her cheeks from the fire deepening to a red. “Yes.”

  I can’t take her again so soon, but there are other ways. “Undress.”

  Her blue eyes go wide. “What?”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  She inhales audibly. “Why?”

  I raise a brow.

  Her curls tumble over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to have sex.”

  “I won’t fuck you with my cock, but I did say often and convincingly.”

  Her hands fist into the skirt of her dress. “It hurts.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I didn’t enjoy it.”

  My little liar. “You came, didn’t you?”

  “That doesn’t mean I liked it.”

  I cock a shoulder. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “That’s what lovers do.”

  “Get naked in the study?”


  My lips twitch. “Anywhere I want. You better get used to it, Zoe. These are the games grownups play.”

  Her dainty nostrils flare. “Fuck you. I’m inexperienced. That doesn’t make me a child.”

  “We’re going to punish that mouth of yours, but first things first. Are you going to undress, or do you find it more romantic if I undress you?”

  She glares at me with her dress bunched in her tiny fists.

  “It’s my job to teach you how to please me, and apparently also yourself, but I’m not going to force you.”

  “But we are going to sleep together,” she says, a glint of rebellion in her eyes.

  “Naturally. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

  “No,” she says, unclenching her fingers. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “Trust you?” She laughs.

  “Trust me with your body. I know what I’m doing.”

  “You certainly have the experience,” she throws back at me. “Don’t you?”

  Bringing up my experience isn’t going to help win her over. “You’re the most important person in this room. Only your needs matter.”

  “I don’t have needs.”

  Such a wordy little girl. “Are you going to trust me? You’re only wasting your own time. Whether today, tomorrow, or next week, you will take off your clothes for me and ask me to make you come.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I won’t ask to come.”

  My smile holds a challenge. “Prove it.”

  She glares at me some more but does reach for the zipper of her dress at her back. I don’t offer to help. I sit and watch. That’s my job. It’s showing her how lovely she is.

  She pulls the zipper down and pushes the dress from her shoulders and over her hips. Her underwear is chocolate-brown, the same color as the dress. It’s lacy and pretty, but I prefer her naked. She removes the boots and stockings, and then the underwear.