Diamonds are Forever (Diamonds Are Forever Trilogy 3)

“Oh, I will, my little flower.” Dipping his head, he drags his nose over my temple and whispers against my ear, “And you’re coming with me.”

“You’re married,” I say with disdain, spitting the next words at him. “Go back to your wife.”

He slams a fist against the door next to my face. “You wanted me all to yourself. You’ve got it, ma belle.”

I jump. The violence makes me shake. “You have what you wanted. Damian is honoring your deal. He’s still selling you your damn diamonds. Now leave me the hell alone.”

“Yes.” Nostrils flaring, he sneers. “Like hell. Like hell I’ll leave you alone.”

“What more do you want?” I exclaim, tears burning behind my eyes as fear for Damian and his family rips through my chest.

He regards me with a solemn gaze. “You.”

The declaration hangs between us for a moment. I battle to grab it from the air and own it, but then it sinks in, the knowledge like a ball of lead in my stomach.

“I’ve given you everything,” I say on a broken whisper, “and it wasn’t enough.”

I gave him my love and my heart. He took both and married another woman. He only upgraded me from being his whore to making me his mistress.

He stills. “I gave you everything too. Everything I fucking have.” He unclenches his fingers where they rest on the door and curl them back into a fist. “But it wasn’t enough for you either.”

“Don’t you see? We’re no good for each other. Please, Maxime. Go back to your wife. Leave me in peace. Please. You can do it. You can let go.”

“Is that what you did?” He hits the door again. “You let go?”

“I tried to,” I say through my tears. “I am trying to.”

“By seeing other men? Tell me. Is that how it works for you? Is that why you saw that putain de connard de merde tonight?”

My words tumble from my lips with a tremulous breath. “You followed me?”

“Did he touch you?” He leans closer, trapping me with his weight. “Did he kiss you?” His tone is both cold and furious, detached and possessive. “Tell me, Zoe. Did he put his hands on you?” Slipping a hand between our bodies, he cups my sex and rests his thumb on my clit. “Maybe here?” He drags his palm under the hem of my blouse to the exposed skin of my stomach. “Here?”

I suck in a breath as the heat of his hand burns my skin. It’s like branding me with a hot iron, but it’s not repulsion I feel. It’s not a random touch that stirs my phobia. He’s not just any other man.

He lowers his head to mine, brushing words over my lips—angry, seductive words—as his palm moves higher and flattens between my breasts. “Or here?”

“No!” I swat his hand away. “He didn’t touch me.”

“I’ll kill him. I swear I will.” His lips curve, but the gesture doesn’t resemble a smile. “Maybe for this lesson, I’ll make you watch.”

“Maxime!” My breath catches on a hitch, my pulse spiking not only from the threat but also from his insistent touch. Even if it wasn’t familiar and my conditioned body didn’t react in reflex, it still would’ve turned me on. It also scares me with its power and underlying anger. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He traces my cheek with a finger. “Then tell me. What was it like?”

“It was just a drink, okay? I told him I was on the rebound and he left. That’s it.”

“How many?” he asks with a tight jaw.

“Just this once.”

Spearing his fingers through my hair, he considers my answer for a moment. We’re standing too close. His erection is pressing against my stomach and the pull of his fingers is getting tighter in my hair. I’m not sure if he’s going to kiss me or snap my neck. There’s nothing I can do about it. Whatever Maxime decides will be my fate.

“I have to say,” he says, slipping his hand from my hair to curl his fingers around my neck. “I’m impressed. How did you do it?”

Unwilling to implicate Damian, I shake my head.

He squeezes, leaving me little air to breathe. “How did you do it, ma petite fleur? I know your brother helped you, but how did you manage to contact him?”

My lungs burn. I suck in what little air I can. On second thought, it’s probably better he kills me. That way, I can’t betray the only person who’s ever cared enough to help me.

“Do it,” I croak. “You want to kill me? Go ahead.”

He laughs. It’s a deep and husky sound. “You think I’ll kill you? No, my pretty flower. It’s not you who’ll pay the price.”

The threat makes my throat close up. Stars dance in front of my eyes. I cough when he lets me go, my body spasming as survival instinct takes over and my lungs battle to draw in oxygen.