Diamonds in the Rough Page 3

  “Zoe.”

  I lift my gaze to his. For the first time since I’ve known him, he’s at a loss for words. Whatever is going through his mind, I don’t want to hear it.

  “Please,” I say, “don’t say anything.”

  Indecision plays over his features as he scans my face. Then he leans in and kisses me. The kiss is violent. I make a protesting sound, trying to turn my head away, but he catches my face in his hand. His fingers hurt my jaw. His teeth cut my tongue. I relent, going slack in his hold. At least like this, we don’t have to talk.

  He only lets me breathe when stars explode behind my eyes. I can’t meet his gaze any longer. I’m looking at the sun from over his shoulder, letting the bright rays blind me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, sitting up with his knees straddling my hips.

  I laugh. “For what?”

  “For spoiling your moment. I shouldn’t have taken over.”

  I shrug, sinking a little deeper into the sand. “It wasn’t my moment.”

  Tilting his head toward the sky, he scrubs a hand over his face. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and finally says, “If it’s any consolation, I’ve never said sorry to anyone before.”

  “Okay.” I close my eyes, seeing red spots from the sun.

  I could be on an island, a castaway, trying to survive alone. It’ll be an exciting game, a loveless dream in which to escape, but dreaming is no longer my escape. I think I’ve lost the ability altogether.

  His sigh caresses my ears. I open my eyes when he buttons his jacket up over my torn dress and adjust his clothes. Getting to his feet, he offers me a hand.

  I don’t accept it. I stand on my own.

  I did something despicable. I fell for my kidnapper in a yearning need for affection. I opened my heart, and I did it willingly. I exposed myself to his rejection and took it like a punch in the chest.

  I may have lost this bet, but I’m still standing.

  From now on, it’s me on my own.

  Chapter 3

  Maxime

  * * *

  Zoe wants love. I’ll give her anything in my power, except for letting her go, but love is the one thing I can’t give. I’m not capable of loving. I care for her more than anyone. She makes me terrified that anything should happen to her, for fuck’s sake. I’ve long since dissected my fear and categorized it. I fear because I care. I’ve accepted it. But love? That’s a step I don’t know how to take.

  I stole her because I wanted her hope. I wanted her secrets. I thought if I could figure out how she could survive her dysfunctional family in her disadvantaged neighborhood and still shine like a light in the dark, maybe so could I. I took her for purely selfish reasons, because I saw her as my ticket to happiness. My little experiment, but then, she became my own little wildflower in a vase, and I no longer wanted to let her go.

  Of course, keeping her here is detrimental to our plan to guarantee her brother supplies us with diamonds when he takes back his mine. To my family, she’s our pawn. To me, that’s just a bonus. I promised my father I’d make sure she’d want to stay. I’ve planned everything so carefully, how I was going to make her happy. I gave her every clue she scattered around in her apartment that pointed to a dream—the trip to Venice, more pretty clothes than she can ever need, and a place in an elitist fashion design school. Yet I’ve forgotten about this crucial little detail. Love. Love features so lowly in my spectrum of feelings, I sometimes forget it exists. What did I expect? Of course, Zoe wants love. She’s a romantic. A dreamer. Above all, she deserves love. Maybe if she learns to love me she can love enough for the both of us.

  My thoughts are dark as I head to my father’s office in the morning. I’m berating myself for my slipup, for overlooking such an important factor in my shrewd plan to keep her. One thing is for sure. I’m not planning on sending her back to her brother. Ever.

  She’s mine.

  Mulling over this new development, I walk into the office. My father is already behind his desk, even if it’s earlier than his usual arrival time. Alexis stands by the coffee machine. He doesn’t look at me as I enter, but the paper cup dents in his hand. We don’t speak about what happened in the warehouse. I practically left him and his buddy for dead. It took him more than a couple of weeks to recover. I have no idea if his buddy survived. All I know is he’s no longer around. He’s either six feet under or he bailed. My father knows about the lashing, but not about the rest. I left the details up to Alexis to share, and it seems he’s too proud to let anyone else know his fat friend came twice in his ass. He hasn’t touched a prostitute since. Point taken. Lesson learned. I’d say the unfortunate event was successful. I grin as I pour my coffee, taking pleasure from how Alexis’s jaw snaps tighter.

  The toilet in the adjoining bathroom flushes. The door opens, and Leonardo steps out. I tense. What the fuck is the Italian doing here? Since my father is watching me closely, I don my poker face.

  “Max.” Leonardo walks over, his eyes scanning my face like a shark. “How are you? We don’t see much of you in the club.”

  I raise a brow. “I didn’t know you were frequenting the club.”

  “I’ve been over on a few weekends.” He rolls his shoulders. “You know, to get a feel for the territory.”

  “So you’ve said.” Sitting down, I leave my coffee on the desk and steep my fingers together.

  “We have a situation.” My father indicates the free chairs facing his desk.

  Leonardo and Alexis each takes a seat.

  “The Brise de Mer is sending more men to Marseille,” my father continues. “Their number has doubled in one week.”

  I tap my fingers on the desk. “Under what guise?”

  My father’s voice is gravelly, a sign of his irritation. “An annual gathering.”

  Alexis moves to the edge of his seat. “Let me take out a few of those Corsican fuckers. That should send a message.”

  “No,” I say. My brother has always been too bloodthirsty, just like my father. “That’ll start a war.”

  “Maybe that’s what they want,” Leonardo says.

  My reply is sharp. “Then they can start it. We’ll fight, and we’ll win, but we sure as hell won’t take responsibility for a bloodbath.” That’ll put us in the bad books of our government supporters. As long as we play by the rules, no one will blame us for defending ourselves.

  “What do you suggest?” Alexis asks. “That we sit on our asses and do fucking nothing while they invade our territory?”

  I give him an easy smile that only infuriates him more. “That we give them the benefit of the doubt.”

  My father’s chair protests with a squeak as he leans back. “It’s too soon to make a move, but I want our men to keep tight tabs on these motherfuckers. There’s no way they’re taking back Marseille.”

  “We’ve kicked them out once,” Leonardo says. “We’ll kick them out again.”

  The we grates on my nerves. The young fuck is already taking credit for a history that has nothing to do with him, for blood that never soiled his hands. I, however, know why my father wants him here. We’re using the legal money from our diamond business to sponsor the illegal activities, and we’re constantly looking for new ways of laundering that money.

  The second reason why my father wants him here is the real thorn in my side. It’s not a done deal yet, but soon I’ll have to take Leonardo under my wing and treat him like a protégé. One, I work alone, even if I still answer partially to my father, and two, Leonardo is clever. He’s already seen what’s important to me. He’s ambitious. He’s not going to be content with tagging along in my shadow forever. At some stage, he’s going to want to climb the ladder, and he’ll use any weakness he can exploit against me. Meaning Zoe, the beautiful woman I can’t let go.

  “Agreed.” My father slams a hand on the desk to indicate the meeting is over.

  When Alexis and Leonardo get to their feet, he motions for me to stay. Alexis shoots me a hateful glare on the way to the
door. I catch the way he locks eyes with my father before he leaves. I often think Raphael is disappointed that I’m the first-born who inherited the power instead of his favorite son.

  My father waits until the door closes before speaking. “You haven’t been home for months.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  His fixes me with his droopy-eye stare. “Your mother misses you.”

  “She could come over.”

  His hand curls into a fist on the table. “She won’t as long as you’re keeping that woman in your house.”

  “Her name is Zoe.”

  He clenches his jaw. “I know what her name is.”

  I lean forward. “Then use it.”

  His smile is slow to come, his patience forced. “Family comes first.”

  “Yes, a point you’re proving well.”

  He narrows his eyes. “You better watch your tone with me, son.”

  My smile matches his. “No disrespect intended. Just stating the facts.”

  “You’ve taken this game far enough.”

  One by one, my muscles lock. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She compromises everything—the Italian connection, our family. It will be in everyone’s best interest to hand her over to Alexis as agreed. He’s learned his lesson. He won’t make such a mistake again.”

  The last part makes my body coil like a predator preparing for an attack. My voice is even, betraying nothing of the fury running under the surface. “I won’t let her come between business or the family. It’s working fine as it is.” This discussion is over. To prove it, I get up. “Anything else?”

  “No.” My father’s tone is cold. “Not for now.” As I turn, he says, “Go visit your mother.” I’m already across the floor when he calls after me, “You’re breaking her heart.”

  I slam the door on my way out. It’s true that I’ve been avoiding my parents’ home after the way the women treated Zoe, but I’m not insensitive to their point of view. I know it’s hard for Maman. I’m not behaving like the good, Catholic son she raised. In her eyes, I’m acting more like my father.

  When I’ve done the round at the docks and poured over the books, I head out to the house of my childhood. It’s been more or less a happy childhood, with Maman always fussing over me and Father being absent for most of my younger years. It’s only when I entered high school that he started involving me in the business, trying to forge a bond that was never there to start from the beginning. In a way, he resented me for how Maman babied me, and Maman lavished me with attention because she had no one else.

  I park out front and go through the house. The housekeeper—a new girl whose name I can never remember—tells me Maman is out back. I find her in a deckchair on the terrace with a book.

  She puts the book aside when she sees me. “Max.”

  I bend down to kiss her cheeks. “How are you?”

  She waves a hand. “As you can see.”

  I sit down in the chair. It’s not her fault that she’s lonely. She has always looked out for me. I shouldn’t forget that. “I’ve been busy.”

  Her mouth puckers. “Too busy for your family?”

  “You know why I didn’t come.”

  “Because you can’t bring her?”

  I sigh. “She was a guest, Maman. I expected better from you.”

  “You thought it was all right to flaunt your lover around for all your family to see, to gloat over, gossip about, and point fingers at me?”

  “Why would anyone point fingers at you?”

  She sits up straighter. “For failing in my job to raise you well.”

  “This has nothing to do with raising me well.”

  Her voice takes on a pleading tone. “Max, what you’re doing isn’t right.”

  “Maman, stop it. We’ve been through this.”

  She falls back against the cushions. “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re your father’s son, after all.”

  I smile. “Emotional blackmail won’t work with me. You can drop the act.”

  She takes my hand. “If you must, then do it, but get her out of your system and fast. This can’t end well for either of you.”

  Squeezing her fingers, I stand. I owe my mother much, but Zoe isn’t negotiable. “I’m sure you’ll like her if you give her a chance.”

  Her expression is pained. “How can you even expect such a thing from me? My loyalty is with the family. Our family.”

  She’s right, of course. What I’ve been asking is impossible. “I’m sorry for putting you in a difficult position. It was selfish of me.”

  Her face softens. “Get this girl out of your system and send her home.”

  My smile is grim. If only it was that simple.

  “Come over for lunch on Sunday. I’ll invite your cousins.”

  I hesitate. A few months ago, I never would’ve declined a family lunch. Now I can’t make peace with leaving Zoe on her own. It wouldn’t be fair to her, either. “We’ll see.”

  My mother’s face falls.

  Kissing her forehead, I say goodbye and break every speed limit to get home to my mistress as my mother’s words repeat in my head. I can no longer deny that I’m gambling with both of our futures—Zoe’s and mine. But where there’s a will there’s a way, and if anyone has a will where she’s concerned, it’s me.

  Chapter 4

  Zoe

  * * *

  After Maxime’s rejection that day on the beach, he becomes even more invested in me. He’s making up for the affection he can’t give with lavish attention. We visit the theatre and swim in the cove when spring turns to summer. Sometimes, he reads to me in the garden on a picnic blanket with his head resting in my lap. He rubs my body with suntan lotion, worried my pale skin will burn, and helps me with my French exercises. I still do them, even if I’ve passed my exam. I like keeping my mind busy.

  My body is constantly sore from being used, the ache between my legs never preventing me from wanting him. He’s all I have. Sometimes I think this can be enough, but sometimes, when I sit alone with a book in the tower, I long for someone to love me, someone to need me for more than my body. The more attention Maxime lavishes on me, the more my insecurity grows. Beauty is a feeble currency. It doesn’t last forever. Bodies grow old. How long before he goes hunting for the next woman, someone younger and fresher, someone less used than me?

  The day will come when he’ll discard me—four years, give or take, from now—and by then there will be nothing left of my soul. He would’ve devoured it all. Everyday, I’m losing a little more of myself to him. The hole in my heart, the one I’ve cut myself with my stupid yearning for love, is tearing wider with each passing day. I can’t stop it. I can’t help the feelings filtering in, the treacherous loving Maxime only feeds with his twisted kindness and devotion.

  The summers here are as unforgiving as the wet winters with its icy winds. It gets so hot most days I feel wilted, but the old house is fresh inside and sometimes there’s a breeze from the sea that cools the air down. On those days, we have dinner prepared by a grumpy Francine on the terrace.

  I work hard on my designs during summer and have a collection ready when the school submissions open in July. I’m nervous until August, much to Maxime’s amusement, who says he finds my enthusiasm endearing. When the results finally come, Maxime calls me downstairs for dinner. The table in the garden under the old pine tree is set with a white tablecloth and a silver candelabra. It’s a windless evening with no breeze to blow out the candles.

  I eye the crystal flutes and the champagne in the ice bucket. “What’s going on?”

  “We have something to celebrate.”

  My chest expands. My cheeks heat in a rush of excitement. “We do?”

  He pours two glasses and offers me one. “Congratulations.”

  I clutch the stem so hard I fear it may snap. “Really? I’m in?”

  “I told you.” He kisses my lips. “I never had a doubt.”

  “Oh, my God.” I
slam a hand over my mouth. “I can’t believe it.”

  “To you,” he says, raising his glass.

  I watch him from under my lashes. “Thank you.”

  His voice turns husky. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like how?” I bite my lip.

  The cold color of his eyes darkens to a stormy gray. “Like you want it rough.”

  He knows I do. I’ve never asked again, nor taken, not after the beach, but he’s good at reading my body language. He’s a master at predicting my needs.

  Taking the glass from my hand, he places it with his on the table. Drops of condensation run in rivulets over the two glasses that stand side by side in the setting sun.

  “Everyone out,” he barks out in French.

  The guards scatter, disappearing to wherever. For a rare moment we’re alone in the garden and our exchange unobserved.

  “Francine can—” I was going to say come out any minute, but Maxime has already fastened his hands around my waist and lifted me onto the table.

  Impatiently, he pushes the candelabra away. His rugged features are heated and his concentration one-track minded as he sweeps his palms under my dress and up my inner thighs. I shiver when he reaches my sex. My underwear is already wet. Holding my eyes, he pushes the elastic aside and shoves three fingers inside. I like it when he’s tender and gentle, but this is what I love. I love it when he doesn’t prepare me, when the friction is unbearable and the stretch too much, when I can lose myself in the sensations and fall into the oblivion of ecstasy.

  He rests his thumb on my clit and curls his fingers inside. He doesn’t play with my clit. He just keeps his touch there. It drives me insane. I need more. He knows. Bracing my body with a palm on my lower back, he brings his lips to my nipple. When he sucks it through the fabric of my bra and dress, I arch against him, shamelessly surrendering to the pleasure he offers. I moan as he grazes the hard tip with his teeth. My nipples are sensitive. Just sucking on them is enough to bring me close to orgasm. He knows my body inside out. He knows what makes me beg and scream.