“Then how do you get them?” I ask, leaning on the counter.
“Some of the guards are friendly.” She takes a drag and blows out a thin line of smoke. “I know which ones won’t talk. See? You just have to be clever.”
I both admire and pity Sylvie. I pity her lack of freedom and admire her survival skills. I admire her outlook on all of this. I wish I could cope so easily. I study her from under my lashes. Can I trust her? She did open up to me about forcing her father’s hand to let her study and smoking behind his back, and she was kind enough to make time and meet me.
“Can I ask you something, Sylvie?”
She blows smoke from the corner of her mouth. “Shoot.”
“What’s the difference between a mistress and property?”
“Where did you hear about that?” She offers me the cigarette.
I shake my head. “Just something the guys talked about.”
“A mistress is a lover. It means an open-ended relationship that continues for however long the guy wants.”
“What about what the woman wants?”
“In our world, honey, it’s always the guy who decides when to call it quits. Property, on the other hand, is a dead end. It means a man has claimed a woman for life. It’s like being a mistress, only forever.”
The revelation shouldn’t shock me. Maxime said as much when he told me he’d never let me go. Still, her explanation settles like an iron ball in my stomach.
She scrutinizes me with shrewd eyes. “Did Max tell you you’re property?”
I can’t even answer that.
Her smile is sympathetic. “Give him a chance, Zoe. Max isn’t that bad. You do feel for him, don’t you?”
Placing a hand on my forehead, I say, “I don’t even know what I feel anymore.”
“It’s obvious you care. What are you so worried about?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Tell him how you feel.”
Chewing my lip, I consider that. “I don’t know.”
“Look, you’re stuck, anyway. What can it hurt?”
I inhale deeply. “That’s the problem. It can hurt.”
“Max really is crazy about you. He’s different with you. Just give it a shot. If you don’t try, you’ll never know.” Waving a hand to disperse the smoke, she puts the cigarette out in the sink and drops the butt in the trashcan. “We better get back before they wonder what’s taking us so long.”
“They? You have men following you, too?”
“Protecting me.” She winks. Going through her bag, she takes out an anti-tobacco spray and applies it liberally to her clothes and hair before popping a chewing gum into her mouth. “There. Ready to go?”
I nod.
“You’ll be okay. Trust me.” She takes my hand. “Promise we’ll do this again.”
I can’t help but smile. “I promise.”
“Good.” She kisses my cheek. “You can do with a friend.”
A man in a suit I don’t recognize stands next to Benoit when we exit.
He addresses Sylvie when we reach them. “What took so long?”
She bats her eyelashes. “Period. Changing tampons and all that. Want more details?”
The man coughs. Benoit looks away. She gives me a smile that says, see?
She’s as trapped as I am. It’s an eye opener. I feel sorry for her, but I also feel a little lighter when Benoit drives me home. Sylvie has helped me face a truth, something I’ve known in my heart for a while but couldn’t admit. My love for Maxime isn’t conventional. Our relationship isn’t healthy or smooth sailing. He’s a hardened criminal with a dark heart, and I’m a naïve romantic with an abandoned princess fantasy. Somehow, we work together. Somehow, we’ve rubbed off on each other. We’re diamonds in the rough, cutting our edges together. I no longer want to leave. This is crazy, the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m going to tell Maxime how I feel. I want to try, because maybe, just maybe, there are ways to survive Maxime, and maybe I don’t have to do it alone.
Chapter 14
Maxime
* * *
When Benoit calls me while Zoe is having coffee with Sylvie and tells me what has happened at school, I’m fucking fuming. I leave my father’s office earlier than usual and drive to the campus, bargaining on the fact that Madame Page always works late.
She’s alone in her office when I enter just before seven.
“Can I help you?” she asks with her head bent over some sketches and a cigarette dangling from her mouth.
“You most definitely can,” I say, striding to her desk.
Her paper-thin skin turns white when she looks up. “Mr. Belshaw.”
Yeah. She should be scared.
Her hand shakes as she tips the ash. “I’m busy.”
I turn a chair around and straddle it. “Let’s get something straight. Zoe deserves to be here the same as everyone else. She has more passion in her style than that shift dress with the fancy label you’re wearing. If she’s not in class, it’s because I need her to be elsewhere. Do you understand?”
Her lip curls. “You’re being very clear.”
“Good.”
“However, this is a serious establishment. I won’t let you intimidate me.”
I grin. “Let me remind you that the women who earn enough money to afford your label move in the same circles. It’ll be a pity if their eyes are opened as to just how undeserving your style is of praise.”
Her right eye twitches.
“Is that enough intimidation for you?” I ask. “I can get as persuasive as you’d like me to be.”
“Quite enough,” she says with a tight jaw.
“Great.” I rap my knuckles on her desk. “I’d hate to destroy your career when you’re so close to retiring.” I get up. “Nice talking to you.”
I leave with a smile.
* * *
At home, I find Zoe sitting on her favorite bench in the garden, sipping a glass of wine and staring at the sea. I study her profile to make out her mood, but for once her expression doesn’t give much away. Her gaze is trained on the distance, her thoughts seeming far-off.
“How was school?” I ask when I stop next to her, observing her closely.
She looks up at me with a start. “Good.”
I know why she asked Benoit to keep his mouth shut. After all, it’s my fault they all hate her. Perhaps I should’ve been upfront about how she’d gotten into the school, but she was just so damn excited about it. Her joy made me feel things I’ve never felt before. It made me happy. I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.
Tracing the curve of her shoulder with a finger, I ask, “How was your coffee date with Sylvie?”
Her face brightens a little. “We had a good time.”
“I’m glad.”
I mean it. Despite what she thinks, her unhappiness affects me. I don’t like it when she’s lonely or sad. The attempt on her life still hangs over us. So does everything else that has happened—the icepick incident, coming inside her, tying her up, punishing her…and telling her the truth. The air hasn’t been cleared, and all this pollution makes it hard to go back to how we used to be. Then again, do I want to go back? Perhaps this is a step forward.
Tentatively, she lifts a hand. Ever so slowly, she cups my fingers where they rest on her shoulder. I don’t breathe. I don’t even blink for the fear that she’ll move her hand away. Joy surges through my chest. Such a small gesture, yet such a big step in bridging this gap that has fallen between us since the attempt on her life. We stay like this for the longest time as I try to understand this olive branch she’s offering. Did Sylvie manage to talk some sense into her?
Fran breaks the spell, calling, “Dinner is ready.”
Bloody hell. I turn on her. “You hardly have to announce it.”
She pales and wilts. “The food will get cold.”
My voice rises with impatience. “Leave it where you always do. In the warm drawer.”
“It’s all rig
ht.” Zoe gets to her feet. “We’re coming.” When my fingers tighten on her shoulder, she adds quickly, “I’m hungry.”
I know what Zoe is doing. She’s trying to prevent a fight. It’s working. My body goes slack, and the earlier tranquility we’ve somehow found flows back through my veins.
Fran turns away with a wounded expression.
“I think she has feelings for you,” Zoe says when Fran is out of earshot.
“Our relationship is strictly professional.” Gripping her chin, I note the dark rings under her eyes. “Maybe we should have an early night.”
“I can’t. I missed a lot in class yesterday. I have to catch up.”
I trace her bottom lip with my thumb. “Not at the expense of your health. You need your rest.”
“Maxime, stop babying me.” She swallows, then glances away. When she looks back at me, she says in a composed tone, “I need this.”
“I know you do, cherie.” Ah, hell. My resolve crumbles. “I’ll sit up with you. I won’t be able to sleep, anyway.” Not if she’s not in my bed.
“Honestly, you don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t.” In a rare instant, I give her the truth. “I want to.”
Chapter 15
Maxime
* * *
For the next few days, clearing the city of infiltrators dominates my time. I flush out the disloyal men and dole out deaths as examples and punishment where due. It’s not only about survival. It’s also about keeping the streets safe for the people we protect and the businesses that rely on us.
The attack on Zoe’s life left me edgy. Volatile. Even Leonardo stays out of my way. My instincts scream at me to lock her up again, but I understand enough of human nature to know it’ll be a mistake. Zoe needs the illusion of freedom. She needs her friendship with Sylvie. She needs to go to classes and chase her dream. I want to own her, not crush her. I want her to flourish, because I need her for who she is. Because of this, when she comes to me one night in the library after I returned home late and another dinner we didn’t eat together, I’m attentive to her needs.
“How was your day?” she asks, handing me a whiskey.
She’s been nothing but exemplary, a good little girl, and it earns her my kindness. Zoe isn’t my enemy. I have no desire to harm or hurt her. I neither take pleasure from teaching her lessons, nor from inflicting pain on myself when I’m hurting her. I much prefer our harmony, to fuck her in earnest and without the tension that comes with complicated games. I know adapting hasn’t been easy for her, but I’m trying to make up for it by giving her everything I can. The more effort she makes for me, the more I give back in return. Of all the lessons I’ve taught her, this is maybe the most important one. It’s the answer to both of our peace and happiness, for as long as I can taste her pussy and drink in her existence, I’m as happy as I’ll ever be.
“The usual,” I say, accepting the drink.
She reaches up to undo my tie. I enjoy the pressure of her slight weight where her body rests against mine. I love the sight of her beautiful face. I fucking revel in knowing she’s mine. I get hard knowing I’m going to bend her over the sofa and fuck her before letting her work on her sewing machine in the spare room I’ve converted into a working space. I don’t like the long hours she puts in, but she doesn’t sleep more than a few hours anyway, hasn’t since the night of the shooting. Working is better than staring at the ceiling with an idle mind. Idle minds are unhealthy. They reflect too much.
I trace the V-neck of her blouse. It’s a frilly affair with soft layers. “Did you make this?”
“Yes.”
She makes a lot of her clothes,
now. I like how she dresses. Her garments are feminine and soft, reminding me of sweet smelling roses and gentle daisies.
“It’s nice,” I say.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Taking a sip of the drink, I bend down and press our mouths together. When she parts her lips, I feed her the alcohol. I let her swallow before using my tongue to taste the whiskey on hers. I lap at her mouth like I’m planning on eating her out later, giving her a preview of what I have in mind for her pussy.
She moans. Fuck. It’s all it takes. I catch fire. Putting the drink aside, I reach for the buttons of her blouse. The silk is smooth under my fingers, but it’s nothing compared to her skin.
“Maxime.” She pushes with her palms on my chest and bend backwards to escape my kiss. “I want to ask you something.”
I chase after her mouth, catching her around the waist as I lower her onto the couch. “I know.”
“Wait.” She bites her lip, staring up at me with her big, irresistible eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m fucking you so you’d say yes.”
I push my hand under her skirt and trail my fingers up the inside of her leg. So warm. So soft. I barely contain my excitement as I move higher. I’m like an eager teenager on his first date. My hand trembles when I finally cup the juncture of her legs. Double fuck.
“How can I deny you anything when you’re wet like this?” I groan against her lips, grinding my erection against her sex.
“Maxime.” She gives me a little frown. Adorable. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Catching the elastic of her panties, I work them down her thighs. I leave them on her knees and bunch her skirt up to her waist. I use one hand to unzip my fly and take out my cock while keeping my weight on the other that rests next to her face. Her long, silky hair brushes against my fingers.
“I don’t want Benoit to drive me,” she says. “He hates babysitting me.”
I shudder as the head of my cock pushes against her slick pussy lips. “He does what I tell him to do.” Pleasure rips from my balls up my spine as I sink deep.
She gasps, threading her fingers through my hair. “I want to drive myself.”
Goddamn. Fuck. She feels good. “Why?”
“I haven’t driven a car since I got my driver’s license in South Africa.” She whimpers when I start moving. “I want to be independent.”
“Fine.” I’m not going to last.
“Really?” She pulls on my hair, bringing our mouths close. “You mean it?”
“After you’ve practiced driving on the right-hand side.”
Her expression softens with pleasure and gratitude.
“Benoit and my men follow wherever you go.”
She locks her legs around my waist, lifting her pelvis to take more. “Okay.”
“Fuck, Zoe.”
That obedience. The easy agreement. Letting me have my way. I break. I fuck her like a madman and come even before I’ve tasted her or bent her over the armrest like I’ve fantasized, before I’ve taken care of her pleasure.
Resting my forehead against hers, I try to get my erratic heartbeat under control. “Now look what you’ve done.”
She smiles. It’s not just another smile, but one she smiles for me. It’s a selfless one that takes my breath away.
“I didn’t make you come, you naughty girl.”
“I don’t mind,” she whispers, stretching lazily. “It was good, anyway.”
“It wasn’t good. It was fucking great, and it’s far from over.”
She stares at me with sated eyes—trusting eyes—as I push a hand between our bodies and find her clit. She lets me take care of her with her body stuffed full of my cock and cum. It doesn’t take long before I recognize the signs. Her pupils dilate and her gaze turns hazy. Rosy pink colors her cheeks. Her inner muscles clench, and her head falls back as she says my name.
The top button of her blouse is undone, a job I abandoned in my haste to get into her panties. I try to finish that intention now, fumbling with the second button. Fuck it. I tear the blouse open in another fit of haste. Her chest heaves with labored breaths as I roll a thumb over her clit, working her fast to bring her up to speed with me. I brush the fabric of her blouse aside and leave her breasts covered in lace. Like this, she looks ravished. Devoured. Undone. Just looking at her mak
es my cock grow hard again. I swell inside her, stretching her inner muscles.
“Maxime,” she moans, every kind of emotion coloring her voice.
“Say it again,” I demand with a growl against her ear. I want to hear more of that rainbow, of that complex spectrum of feelings. It fuels me to move harder, to make her shout it.
“I love you,” she cries out.
Everything inside me simultaneously combusts and freezes. I fill her up with release even as my body goes as rigid as a rod. I’m ecstatic and devastated. I’m roaring in victory and hurting with something I can’t name. For the first time in my life, Delphine’s diagnosis is a heavy burden on my shoulders. Pretty little innocent flowers turn their faces to the sun, not to monsters like me. The only reward I can offer is sinking as deep as her body can take me and pounding my ownership into her with a too-harsh rhythm.
Struggling for breath, I push up on my elbows to frame her face between my palms. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. I kiss them away, offering my lips in exchange for my lack of words.
My thrusts turn even more grueling. I can come ten times more like this. Pleasure already builds again at the base of my spine, but I slow my pace to time our releases. When we finally come, it’s a powerful eruption of intertwined relief.
I fucking fly.
She falls.
All I can give is catching her.
Chapter 16
Zoe
* * *
I wake up to the first glorious day after another freezing winter and realize this ocean has been my view for the past eighteen months. Eighteen months of giving myself to Maxime. The realization jars me. I stare at my face in the mirror, the make-up brush frozen in my hand. I’m trying. I really am. I can’t say he’s not treating me well. After I dropped the bomb about loving him, nothing has changed for the better, but at least nothing has changed for the worst, either. We’re maintaining our status quo.
Diamonds in the Rough Page 11
