Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel

by Charmaine Pauls

  I don’t stop to deny or acknowledge the words. He’s right. If Damian knows I’m looking for the evidence, he’ll be furious. The day I find it, he may just chop off more than my fingers.

  After taking two painkillers, I shower to wash away the chlorine and blood, and pull on one of the new nightdresses Damian bought. The silk is tight around my breasts and hips, making me feel exposed, but at least it reaches all the way to my toes. Covering myself with a robe, I venture downstairs when I’m certain there’s no one in the kitchen to prepare a tray I take back to Damian’s room. I’m not hiding from Zane or Anne, but the splitting headache and ache in my hip demand I lie down.

  I must’ve dozed off. When I wake, it’s dark. The space next to me in bed is empty. I flick on the bed lamp and check the time on my phone. It’s after midnight. For an insane moment, my reflex reaction is to worry. I chuck the sentiment as quickly as it forms. Damian doesn’t deserve my concern. Concern would mean I care. A noise coming from downstairs jolts me from my thoughts. The old pipes creak as the water in the guest bathroom turns on.

  Getting to my feet, I pad to the top of the stairs. Light from the bathroom in the hall falls across the floor. The grandfather clock in the dining room strikes an hour at which gilded couches would’ve already turned into pumpkins. The stairs don’t creak under my feet. The bristle hairs of the carpet runner in the hallway tickle the underside of my toes. The water turns off. I stop at the open door.

  Damian stands over the basin, his hands gripping the edges and his head hanging between his shoulders. His back is turned to me, but I have a good view of him in the waist-high mirror. He’s shirtless, only wearing the dress pants and shoes from earlier. A deep line defines his triceps. His big arms bulge. His abdomen is a hard slab of six-pack muscle. Even his sides are perfectly cut, like an athlete’s. The line of his spine is an indent that runs between broad shoulders and toughened flesh. A lock of dark hair falls over his face, obscuring his expression, but his jaw is clenched, and his grip on the porcelain hard. Whatever he’s battling is weighing heavily on him.

  Unaware of my presence, he stands perfectly still in this bowed position, giving me time to study him. Is this what Anne sees when she looks at him? Hard, male perfection. Strength and domination. Hands with bruised knuckles that know how to cradle a body gently and pin hips down hard. Lips that know when to ambush and when to whisper kisses over forbidden places. My breathing picks up and that forbidden place Damian has so skillfully mastered starts to tingle. For the first time, I see him like other women see him. I imagine those hands and lips on them, loving their bodies for the joy of pleasure instead of the satisfaction of revenge, and a hurtful flutter tightens my ribs. It’s the first time I feel jealousy. The sensation catches me so off-guard I impulsively place a hand on my diaphragm where it aches.

  The action draws Damian’s attention. He turns his head a fraction. His face is mostly basked in shadows, but I can make out the intensity in his eyes. He seems both savage and gentle as he regards me in silence. A strange, new awareness passes between us. It feels like a jumbled mixture of physical attraction and emotions. The pieces are broken and scattered. For the life of me, I can’t fit them together to form a clear picture. What’s happening to us?

  He’s the one who breaks the silence. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”

  “I can ask you the same thing.”

  He watches me with unsettling attention, looking right into the confusion of my heart.

  Eager for a distraction, I turn my attention back to his state. “What happened?”

  I really want to know. Whatever it was, wherever he’s been, it was dangerous. I sense it. Something other than jealousy gnaws at the back of my mind. Fear. I jerk inwardly at the recognition. No. I don’t care. I don’t want to care. I want to hate him. I need to hate him. Caring for a man who’ll never love me will be the worst betrayal my heart can muster. I’m going to find my freedom, and I’m not leaving my heart behind.

  “Go back to bed,” he says softly.

  I don’t let him invite me twice. Hurrying up the stairs, I run from the reactions he stirs in me. I run from the boy who’d turned into too much of a man, a man who is harder than what he should be because of one fatal night. We destroyed him. We turned a perfectly normal, young man who would’ve grown into a good husband and father into a criminal monster who feeds on pain. I might have played my part unknowingly, but I played it. Harold might have pulled the strings, but I danced to that tune.

  The knowledge breaks me with heart-wrenching regret. When I looked into Damian’s eyes tonight, I saw what could have been. Inside the hardened shell, I saw a man who could’ve been capable of tenderness and devotion. The bad things that happened to me were out of my control. I hated that they happened, but I wasn’t responsible. For how Damian had turned out, I am, and this kind of regret is the worst.

  Stopping in front of the cold fireplace, as far as possible from the bed, I wait for the inevitable. A moment later, Damian enters, still shirtless. Evenings in the Highveld are cool. He didn’t take off his shirt because he was hot.

  Unfiltered, the question tumbles from my lips. “What happened to your shirt?”

  He walks to the bed and sits down on the edge, legs spread. “Come here.”

  His voice is soft and beckoning. It makes me want to obey, but I cling to my better judgment and shake my head.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The vulnerability in the slump of his shoulders calls to my compassion. A sudden urge to soothe him makes me take one step. Then another, and another. He watches me as I walk to the cradle of his legs as if I’m being pulled by a delicate string that may snap at any moment. He looks at me with hope and tension, as if he’s worried I’d change my mind, even if the freedom of changing my mind is a false notion. He can make me do whatever he wishes with a small amount of force. We’ve already established that. But with the emotions wrestling in my chest, I’m weaker, unable to resist.

  When I stop between his legs, he looks up at me, drinking me in with such concentration I feel like a fly trapped in a web. I can’t move or look away. Wanton need reflects in his bitter-brown eyes as he bunches my nightdress in his fists and moves it slowly up over my hips. His broad hand dips underneath, finding the elastic of my thong. One rip, and my underwear falls between my feet. It’s not a violent action, but I jump a little, nonetheless.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly, reassuring me of his earlier promise.

  Lifting my nightdress higher, he drops his gaze to my exposed sex. He moves his hands to my ass and fills each palm with a cheek. With a soft yank, he pulls me closer, putting my pussy in his face. I have to brace myself with my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance. Touching his warm, hard body doesn’t work in my favor. The contact ignites awareness of his maleness, and a feminine part answers from deep inside. Moisture gathers between my legs and arousal throbs in my clit. My whole body tenses when he runs his nose up the length of my slit.

  His tone is commanding, but when he lifts his eyes back to mine, they hold a plea. “Let me taste you.”

  If I allow his tongue, where will this end? I’m tumbling down the hole of seduction he’s digging way too fast. If I’m not careful, I’ll soon be buried, left to suffocate. Is that what he wants? The ultimate submission? My final downfall? Is this his revenge?

  Chewing my lip, I consider him. “If I give you what you want, will you let me go?”

  He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re my wife.”

  “You married me for money and sex. If you have both, why not let me go? What more could you possibly want?”

  “For you to need me like food and water.”

  Something inside my chest twists. He won’t settle for anything less than ruining me completely.

  His breath feathers over my folds. “Let me taste you.”

  The whisper is a devil’s temptation. I
t turns me inside out. My flesh arches toward him even as my heart screams in protest.

  “Lina.” He closes his eyes and sighs like a tormented man. “Let me put my tongue on you.”

  His fingers are digging into my ass, holding me where he wants me—ready for his mouth. I should fight, but I’m just a woman. My knees buckle a little. I’m not going to lose this round with nothing to show for it.

  “What happened to your shirt?” I ask.

  “Destroyed.”

  “How?”

  He hesitates for a moment, and so do I. If he tells me, I have to allow him oral. That’s how our unspoken exchange works. A part of me prays he’ll reject the deal, but it’s as if melting hot wax fills my stomach when he says, “I got into a fight.”

  I take a small, steadying breath. “What kind of fight?”

  His lips lift in one corner. “You’re a nosy little thing.”

  “What kind of fight, Damian?”

  “Fists.”

  “Who did you beat?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Who did you beat?”

  “Sarel Visage.”

  One of the men who dined with Harold the night Damian and I met. “Is he dead?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you beat him?”

  “He deserved it.”

  “What did he do?”

  “You know what he did.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was there.”

  “That’s it?” That’s his sin? He was present the night Harold destroyed Damian’s dreams?

  “He knew what Dalton was planning,” he says. “They all did.”

  I let my mind wander back to that night. “Harold gave you a jacket when he saw you out.”

  “I was naïve enough to mistake the gesture for kindness.” His laugh is bitter. “I didn’t discover the diamond until I got home. It dropped from the inside pocket when I threw the jacket over a chair.”

  “Why didn’t you return it?”

  “There was no point. I knew I was screwed. Who was going to believe me over Dalton? Anyway, the cops he sent after me were bought.”

  “Why didn’t you run?”

  “I had no money. I hid out for a while, but it didn’t take them long to smoke me out by threatening my family.”

  Oh, Damian. How much Harold made him suffer. “You’re going for all of them.”

  “Yes,” he replies without blinking. “Does it bother you?”

  “No.” None of them are good men.

  “What about your father?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you upset about what I did to him?”

  “About which part? Taking away his money or his dignity?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “Why not? He’s your father.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “What about you, Lina?” His gaze pierces me, drilling through the bricks of the wall I’ve built around myself. “What shall I do with you?”

  “You’re about to do it,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the last word, because my destruction is imminent. He’s going to chew me up and spit me out. When I escape, there’ll be nothing left of me.

  “I’ll make it sweet.” As if to emphasize the promise, he places a soft kiss on my clit, and he does.

  He makes it sweeter than anything I’ve experienced. He gazes up at me with ravenous hunger but traces the seam of my slit ever so lightly with his tongue. It’s hot. It’s wet. Too soft and too much. The sensation is so good, I go up on tiptoes, lifting slightly out of his reach, but he grips my ass harder and pulls me right back into his mouth. He starts eating me out with the gentlest of strokes. I can’t stop the whimpers falling from my lips. His tongue is wicked, stroking inside and igniting new, foreign fires. His lips are all over me, sucking softly. He grazes and nips my folds gently with his teeth.

  “Damian.” I suck in a breath when he licks me again from top to bottom. “Please.”

  I’m a puddle of desire, leaning into his face as he finally clamps down on my clit and grants me mercy. The climb to the top isn’t explosive. It’s a torturously slow crawl to the summit, wrenching every ounce of pleasure from me in a buildup that can only blow me to pieces.

  I come so hard my vision blurs. The light from the bed lamp splinters into golden shards. On and on it goes, higher still. I dig my nails into his shoulders and grit my teeth to bear the torture as he continues eating me, savagely sweet. Spreading my globes, he holds me in place like a possessive lover while biting down softly. He delivers on his promise until I can’t take more. My clit is too sensitive. My folds burn from the abrasion of his stubble. Pushing on his shoulders, I fight to get away from the overwhelming sensations, but he’s too strong. I try to twist out of his hold, earning a slap on my ass and his bruising fingers on my injured hip. I choke on a cry. He freezes. The hurt makes my eyes tear up. The unexpected ache cuts the aftershocks from the orgasm short and kills the buzz of insupportable pleasure.

  Lifting my nightdress higher, he tilts his head to examine my side. His expression turns from lustful to thunderous in less than a heartbeat.

  “Who did this to you?” he asks in a voice so cold it sends a chill down my spine.

  If I tell him what Zane did, Zane will tell him I’m looking for the documents, and there can be no mistaking why I’m hunting for those pieces of paper. Damian will know I’m planning to escape. I can’t let him have the upper hand of that knowledge. Not until I’m long gone.

  “I asked you a question, Lina.”

  “I bumped into the basin.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Don’t you ever, fucking dare.”

  It takes everything I’ve got not to falter under his stare. “It’s the truth.” I did bump into the basin. After Zane slammed me against it.

  His eyes scrunch in the corners as he runs an examining gaze over me. Gripping my chin, he tilts my head. I’ve applied concealer to my nose. It’s only slightly swollen, but he misses nothing.

  “Did you bump your nose, too?”

  “I was barefoot and wet from the pool. The tiles were slippery.”

  His nostrils flare. His chest rises with rapid breaths as violence builds in him like a storm. He’s going to question every person in this house until he has a confession. Zane won’t keep my secret when Damian’s ire rains down on him in brutal blows.

  I do the only thing I can to stop him. Gripping his hard thighs, I sink down to my knees. “Please, Damian. Let me taste you, too.”

  Chapter 11

  Damian

  I only realize I’m gripping Lina’s hands too hard when she utters a small cry. I’m cupping them over my thighs, both stilling and willing her exploration. My intention is to push her away, but fuck it to hell and back, she’s on her knees between my legs. What I should be doing—finding out why she has bruises—flies out the window. I go dumb as the little blood I have left in my brain joins the rest of my body’s supply in my cock. Instead of chasing answers, I lock my fingers in an involuntary action around her wrists, preventing her from escaping.

  Damn, her body is small. My fingers largely overwrap her wrists. She pulls on my hold, not hard enough to fight me, but enough to drive me back to my senses. One by one, I lift my fingers. When her hands are free, she doesn’t run as she should. She reaches for the buckle of my belt. Her fingers tremble trying to undo it. She struggles for a while before I push her hands away and make quick work of unfastening the buckle and my pants. I watch her as I pull down the zipper and let my fly fall open over my erection.

  She stares at the bulge under my briefs as if it’s a frightening object. Surely, she’s given head? The flash of uncertainty I see in her eyes makes me doubt.

  “Done this before?”

  She gives a small shake of her head. Holy hell. How in fuck’s name can any man live with Lina, sleep with Lina, fuck Lina, and not
sink his cock between those luscious lips? Unless oral wasn’t Clarke’s thing, which would make him the biggest dead fool ever to be buried.

  “Has anyone gone down on you before?” I ask as the suspicion grows in my mind.

  “You were the first,” she answers softly.

  Well, fuck me. I’m too far gone to contemplate the reasons, and way too satisfied in a primitive way that I got to be her first to regret not initiating her more slowly. The only thing holding me back from shoving my cock up to the hilt into her pretty mouth is the significance of the moment.

  I force the words from my mouth before I lose whatever reason I have left. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” Maybe Clarke wasn’t the problem. Maybe giving blowjobs isn’t her thing.

  Again, a small shake of her head. Bracing herself with her hands on my thighs, she waits, and I’m too eager to oblige. I’ve given her a chance to back out. She didn’t run. Her mouth is mine.

  I free my cock from the last layer of constraint, literally waving my hardness in her face. I want her to take it all in, to remember every single detail of what’s about to happen. She stares at the first drop of pre-cum as if hypnotized, but she doesn’t reach out to touch me. That’s all right. I can touch for the both of us. Cupping her neck, I bring her face closer. I grip my shaft with the other hand to drag the head over her lips, coating them with that drop of arousal. She doesn’t flick out her tongue to taste it, but that’s all right, too. I’m going to teach her how to please me.

  My voice is raw, the instruction crude. “Lick it.”

  Her tongue darts out, tracing her lower lip. Seeing her lapping up my seed nearly makes me combust.

  Gently massaging her scalp, I reward her for her good behavior. “Now lick my cock.”

  The heat of her tongue is like a branding iron. She licks the head like an obedient girl before tentatively dragging her tongue down the underside of my shaft. Fuck. I nearly explode. I have to grit my teeth hard not to prematurely ejaculate. After years and nights of lusting after her, another gentle suck and it’ll be over, but I want to make this last.