Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel

by Charmaine Pauls

  “You know I care. Get down.”

  She extends a hand. “Pass me the towel.”

  What happened to obeying, and please? I look around. There’s a towel neatly draped over the tap. “Why?”

  Pulling her head out of the box, she sighs. “Never mind. I’ll get it myself.”

  She stiffens when I wrap my hands around her waist to aid her as she climbs down. Mindful of her back, I keep my touch light. She doesn’t say thank you or push me away. When her feet hit the ground, she turns in my grip and stares at me warily. Her cheeks are flushed with heat and sweat beads on her forehead. Tendrils of golden hair stick to her temples. A sudden bout of tenderness overcomes me. I want to wrap her up in more of my clothes and carry her off to a happier ending, to a place where she doesn’t look at me like I’m the enemy. She’s so small, so goddamn, innocently beautiful it hurts to look at her.

  I raise a hand to wipe one of those tendrils from her face, but she flinches and cowers. Goddamn, I’ll never hit her, not like this.

  Moving slowly, I reach for her. She tenses, but she lets me frame her face between my palms. I use my thumbs to wipe the strands of hair away.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Lina.”

  “I’m not.” She says it too quickly, too defensively.

  I feel pain, real pain. It bleeds into my heart and spills out into my veins with the steady pump of regret. Things between us could’ve been so different. We could’ve been normal. A part of me can’t forgive her for not waiting. As irrational as it is, I can’t forgive her for not believing in me when Dalton accused me of stealing that diamond. I needed her to have faith in me. I needed her to want me, but she married Clarke and tried to find the evidence. She still wants to be free of me. She still chooses her father. Not going to happen.

  She stands perfectly still. She waits. Frightened. Her heart gallops under the shirt. I can see it in the way the collar trembles.

  “I won’t hurt you if you don’t deserve it.”

  She swallows.

  I take her in. Everything. “I like you in my clothes.”

  She looks down. “I’m sorry. It’s the only loose thing I could find to wear. The other stuff hurts.” She swallows the last word, almost doesn’t pronounce it.

  I drop my hands, and she takes a step back, colliding with the ladder.

  I look up at the box. “What are you doing?”

  “One of the bats is injured. A broken wing, maybe. I saw him gimping up the vine to get inside.”

  “You can’t put your hand in there. They’ll bite. They may carry rabies.”

  “That’s what the towel is for. The vet said I should throw it over him.”

  I regard her with my hands on my hips. “The vet.”

  “Yes. There’s one near Monte Casino who treats bats.”

  The colony of bats has grown since Lina had the boxes installed. There’s even an owl that moved in. The ecosystem specialist said it keeps the mice at bay. Nature is playing out as it should, as Lina intended. Some mice make it. Some become owl dinner. Some bats break their wings.

  “Is it wise to interfere?” What’s the point of cultivating a natural system if we keep on punching our human stamp onto it?

  “We can’t just leave it like that,” she says, looking at me like I’m one of those bat haters who believes bats get entangled in your hair. “It’s suffering. I’ve got to fix it.”

  Suddenly, I get it. Lina identifies with the bats. Her bat obsession is born from her need to be homed, to be cared for, to be fixed. She’s a woman with a broken wing, and there’s no one to throw the towel over her head and make it better.

  Snatching the towel, I climb up the ladder.

  “Careful, Damian. It’s fragile.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s in the left-hand corner. The wing hangs limp. Do you see it?”

  There it is, the little creature with its turned-up nose and tipped ears that huddles on the floor while his buddies hang upside down from the pole at the top.

  A warm hand touches my leg. “Do you see it?”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  The box is too small to throw a towel inside. I climb back down and look for a stick.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaims when I break a dry branch from the Acacia tree.

  “Stand aside. We’ve got to get them out.”

  She grabs my arm. “No. You’ll hurt them.”

  “Trust me.”

  The miracle is, she does. After a heartbeat, she lets go, biting her lip. “The vet doesn’t do house calls, dammit. This could’ve been so much easier.”

  “Stand over there.” I point at the shady veranda.

  She backs off reluctantly.

  Pushing the stick through the hole in the box, I move it around. There’s a whole lot of protesting, chirping, and scurrying, and finally, they fly off, all except for the one with the broken wing. When he hops out and finds purchase in the vine, I gently drop the towel and grab the edges together.

  “You have him,” Lina says, sounding breathless. “Here.” She opens a travel cage that stands on the ground. “Don’t open the towel. It may injure itself trying to escape.”

  I deposit our patient inside, and she secures the trapdoor.

  “Right. What now, bat nurse?”

  “I need Russell to drive me to the vet.”

  I don’t miss a beat. “Russell resigned.”

  “What?”

  Reading her carefully, I say, “Conflict of interests.”

  She pales a little. She knew. She’s scared. She knows the depth of my possessiveness. “Are you going to punish me?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She didn’t flirt or lead him on.

  “I thought you’d be angry.”

  I’m a fucking beast, but I’m not unfair. “I’m not angry.”

  A long breath leaves her chest.

  “Brink is looking out for you now. You don’t leave this property without him or me.” I pick up the cage. “I’ll get one of the guards to drop this off at the vet.”

  She catches my arm. “I’m going with.”

  “You’re going back inside the house to rest.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “You passed out under a whip this morning. You need more ointment, painkillers, and rest.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she says under her breath.

  “Don’t push me, Lina.”

  She sobers at my tone.

  “Go inside. If I don’t find you in the bedroom when I get there, you’re booked for another lashing when this one has healed.”

  Her nostrils flare, and her eyes shimmer with angry tears, but she obeys.

  After handing the injured bat over to one of the guards, I go upstairs and find Lina waiting in the room. She’s staring at the cold fireplace, hugging her stomach. Gently, I unfold her arms and arrange them at her sides. Bringing my arms around her from behind, I unbutton the shirt and push it over her shoulders and down her arms to fall around her heels. Kneeling, I pick the shirt up and press it to my nose. It smells like her. Sweet poison. The good kind of toxic. She makes me crazy. She makes me drag the little cotton shorts down her legs and leave them like a constraint around her ankles.

  She trembles. I want her. She knows.

  I want her for two reasons. One, she gave me a shawl when no one else gave a fuck, and, two, because her father said I couldn’t have her. All the wrong reasons, yes. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to take care of her. On the contrary, I take excellent care of what’s mine, and she’s mine as sure as her forever with me is carved in diamonds. She’s worth more than stone.

  Trailing my hands up the insides of her legs as I straighten, I test her pussy. Wet. My finger slips right in. She goes on tiptoes. I pull out, leaving a wet trail of arousal as I trace her spine. She shivers. I curl my fingers around her nape and push her upper body down gently. She catches the ornamental ledge under the mantelpiece to keep herself steady. She’s wet and ope
n, flowering, inviting. I free my cock through my fly. Holding the base in one hand, I position my erection at her entrance. I only touch her hip as I drag the head up and down her slit, mixing my pre-cum with her arousal. I itch to stroke my palms over her back, but it’ll hurt. That artwork I only caress with my eyes. This is why I have to take her like this. Today, I won’t be watching her face when I come. I’ll be watching the marks I left on her body, and it makes my cock twitch. I get harder. It’s depraved, but I don’t need excuses for what I am. We are what we are. The map on her back makes me forget about who we could’ve been. It’s heaven to be in the moment, in the pleasure. Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists.

  When I’m well lubricated, I push inside her body, stretching her slowly. I watch her cunt swallow my cock, her lips stretching to take me while her breathing quickens and her nails scrape over the marble flowers on the wall. I keep on going until I’m buried to the hilt. Keeping still inside her so she can adjust, I reach around for her clit. Her skin is slippery. She pushes back against me when I start to rub. She moans when my other hand finds her breast, stroking and teasing her nipple until it’s taut.

  When she starts moving, I grab her thighs and keep her still. This is my scene. My pace. I pull out almost all the way and thrust again. She tries to widen her stance but the shorts around her ankles prevent her. It feels tighter. There’s more friction. She moans. I tell her to keep perfectly still while I slide out of her tight pussy and stab the length of my erection back in with one shove. Her knees buckle. She almost collapses. I go softer because I can’t keep her up and enjoy the sight of her pussy stretching around me. She ripples and clenches inside. It’s too much, even at this slow pace. I’m going to blow.

  “Touch yourself, Lina. Come.”

  Her hand moves between her legs. Her fingers curl around my dick when I pull out, squeezing, and I almost shoot. I grind my teeth and stop moving while she rubs her clit until I hear that little sound that tells me she’s there.

  We go over together. I grind my groin against her ass as she pushes back against me. I wish this would never end, this feeling of euphoria and connection I’ve only ever had with her. She’s not my first, but she’s my only.

  I pet her while she comes down from her high, and only pull out when there are no more aftershocks running through her abdomen. Lifting her into my arms, I carry her to the shower. I adjust the water to a lukewarm setting. Even so, it’s going to sting. She hisses as the spray rains down on her back. I wash her quickly, touching her welts as little as possible. I’m careful with the towel, patting her dry gently. I give her another two painkillers and rub lotion on her back. Then I tell her to lie down on the bed and rest.

  Lying on her stomach, she watches me dress with her cheek on the pillow.

  “Damian?”

  I can’t get enough of looking at her. “I’ll bring you some tea. You need to keep hydrated.”

  “Who was your first?”

  My fingers still on the buttons on my shirt. “I didn’t know her name.”

  “Why not?”

  “We met at the waterpark. Did it behind the trees. I didn’t ask. She didn’t offer.”

  “Was it good?”

  I push my shirt into my pants and zip up. “It was awkward. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering.” Her voice is soft, far-off, or sleepy, maybe. “How many after her?”

  “I didn’t count.”

  From the soft nest of her pillow, she gives a faint smile. “That many, huh?”

  Walking to the bed, I look down at her, the only woman I ever really wanted. Want. Will want forever. I drag my finger down her arm, over the bumps of her scars. “Didn’t you sleep with anyone before Clarke?”

  She inhales and holds it, then blows the breath out slowly. “No.”

  “You make me wish I hadn’t.”

  She lifts her head. “Hadn’t what?”

  “Slept with anyone before you.”

  Something in her eyes shifts. Our gazes are locked, our breaths quiet. We’re both uncomfortable in the enormity of my confession.

  Preventing her from having to reply, I kiss her shoulder and leave. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

  Alone in the kitchen, as I prepare Lina a cup of tea, I let the hurt of her silence sink in. Monsters have hearts, too.

  I choose to work from home for the rest of the afternoon, in case Lina needs me, and check in on her every hour. She naps a little and spends the rest of the time freaking out about the bat until the guard returns and tells us the little guy will stay at the vet until his wing has mended.

  When we sit down for dinner, Lina comes downstairs wearing another one of my shirts to say she doesn’t feel well and will eat in the room. She’s already asked Jana for a tray.

  Every protective instinct I have goes into overdrive. I’m on my feet in a flash. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just, um, a little headache.”

  I press my hand against the nape of her neck. “Do you have a fever?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time you urinated?”

  She makes big eyes and says in a reprimanding way, “Damian.”

  “Upstairs.”

  “You’re overreacting. It’s just a little—”

  “Now.” I take her arm and lead her to the door.

  She doesn’t look at Zane or Anne as she excuses herself but keeps her head high and her back straight all the way to the bedroom, even when I’m her only audience.

  I point at the bed. “Lie down.”

  “Damian.”

  Retrieving the medicine kit from the bathroom, I carry it back to the bed. She’s still standing on her feet, looking uncomfortable and angry.

  “On your stomach,” I say.

  She huffs but climbs onto the bed.

  I remove the thermometer and pop it into the corner of her mouth. Crossing my arms, I count the seconds. She rolls her eyes when I pull it free.

  “No fever,” I say.

  “I told you.”

  “Tell me where it aches.”

  “Just my head.”

  “Are you drinking enough?”

  “Yes, and I urinated fifteen minutes ago.”

  I lift the shirt and check her back. The welts are red, some already fading. There are no new bruises indicated shallow bleeding. I inspect her soles and toenails. I feel her pulse. Everything seems normal, but my heartbeat won’t calm.

  “I just need to rest,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

  Something is off. “Does anything hurt inside?”

  “Not more than usual.”

  “More than usual?”

  “Earlier.” She blushes. “You were rough in the end.”

  “Was there bleeding?”

  “No.”

  Shaking two painkillers from the bottle, I hand them to her with a glass of water. I wait until she’s drank everything.

  “I’ll eat in the room with you.”

  “No,” she says too quickly. Seeming to catch herself, she bites her lip. “I need time alone.”

  I don’t like it, but I can understand. “Where’s your phone?”

  “In my bag.” She points at the sofa by the fireplace.

  I retrieve it and leave it on the bedside table. “Call me if anything changes or if you need something.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Not up for discussion. You call me. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, looking guilty.

  “It’s my job to take care of you.” Especially when I’m the reason for her pain.

  “Fine.”

  I take her hand, enjoying the feel of her much smaller palm in mine, and kiss her fingers. “Later.”

  I don’t like the distance I’m putting between us when I go downstairs. The only reason I trudge forward is to honor her request, but I feel uneasy. She’s not going to puke or cut herself, or she’d have done so a long time ago. I’m uneasy because I have a weird notion of somehow failing her.<
br />
  Back in the dining room, Anne’s sultry smile greets me. For the first time, I notice the red dress that hugs her figure. Her make-up and hair are done. She’s flirting throughout dinner. Not in the mood for conversation, I ignore her unless she asks me a direct question.

  When Zane announces he’s going out after dessert, I see the setup for what it is. How did Anne convince Lina to play along? Is my wife so eager to be rid of me, she’ll sell me out to the very guest she invited? Or is this why she invited Anne to stay? Was she hoping I’d fall for Anne and forget about her? The possibility of that happening is so ridiculous, I almost laugh out loud.

  I’m excusing myself when Anne grabs my arm. “Damian, we need to talk.”

  I look at where her red fingernails dig into the fabric of my jacket. “I disagree.”

  Slowly, she removes her grip. “You’ve been avoiding me since the last dinner when I wanted to talk to you, the night you cut off that guy’s fingers.”

  I don’t want to be reminded of that night. It was a huge mistake to bring the asshole here, and I still regret that Lina had to see that. I get up.

  “It’s about Lina.”

  I still. Anne smiles, already victorious.

  “What about Lina?”

  She pushes up from the table. “You need to see this.”

  Walking around me, she goes to the kitchen. I follow, because she’s right. Anything that concerns Lina is my business.

  Tugging a laundry basket from behind the door, she plops it down on the counter. It’s filled to the brim with bread rolls. I pick one up and squeeze. Brittle and dry, it crumbles, flaking into pieces.

  “What’s this?”

  Anne’s look turns sympathetic. “Damian, I’m sorry, but I thought you needed to know. I found this on the bottom of Lina’s closet. She really is crazy. I mean, who collects bread rolls? I’m worried about her state of mind. This isn’t right.”

  I dust my hands. “What were you doing in Lina’s closet?”

  “She said I could borrow a dress.”

  On purpose, I let my gaze drop to her hips. She turns a little red. She’ll never fit those hips in Lina’s dresses.

  Rubbing a finger over my mouth, I watch her intently, until she starts to squirm. “Do you know how I feel about tattletales?”