Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I’ll ask you one last time,” he says. “How did you contact Damian?”
A dull ache starts throbbing in my heel where the piece of glass is still lodged. Rubbing at my neck where he gripped me, I sag against the door. “I slipped a sleeping pill into your champagne and used your thumbprint to unlock your phone.”
Admiration lights up his features. “Do go on.”
“I called Damian. He sent someone to the airport with a false passport.”
“Very innovative.” Tracing my bottom lip with a finger, he asks, “How did you know your brother was out of jail?”
“I called the prison first. They told me. I did a search on Dalton’s mine and saw it had become Hart Diamonds. There was a contact number on the website.” Hurt filters into my voice. “Why didn’t you mail the letters? Why did you deceive me?”
A beat passes as he stares into my eyes. “I never said I was going to mail them.”
“You know what?” Tears blur my vision. “I knew you were going to say that.”
He gives a frustrated sigh. “I thought writing would be good for you. Therapeutic. You thought I didn’t know you were warning Damian with your hidden messages?”
“You read them,” I say with disgust even if I’ve always suspected as much.
“You went through my desk. When? The door was always locked.”
“I was looking for my passport. When you kicked me out of your house, I told Benoit I’d left my phone there. He took me back for it. The study was open then.”
He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t kick you out of my house. I gave you one of your own.”
Turning my face away as if I can escape the painful memory, I ask, “What does is matter how I did it? It changes nothing.”
“It matters because I can’t let it happen again. How did you get away from the guard?” When I don’t answer, he gives me a little shake. “Tell me!”
I look back at his rugged, angry features. “I changed into a different jacket and beanie I carried in my bag. I stuffed the bag under the jacket to look pregnant.”
“Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.” His gaze roams over my face. “You’re even better than what I gave you credit for.” Cupping my chin, he splays his fingers over my cheek. “Hotter when you behave like a little spy.”
“Stop it, Maxime.” I push his hand away. “Please.”
“This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell your brother we’ve had a fight, but we’ve worked things out, and you’re going home with me.”
I give a start. “How do you know I haven’t told him the truth?”
“If you had, the deal would’ve been off. He would’ve come after me, and we’d be fighting a war right now.”
“You have to realize you don’t have a hold over him any longer. If you take me, he’ll come after you. If you hurt me, he’ll kill you. He’ll cancel the deal.”
“I guess you’ll have to be convincing.”
“I’m not lying to my brother any more than I already have.”
His smile grows broader as he narrows his eyes. “What lie did you tell him not to cut us out of his business and come after me with every weapon at his disposal?”
I swallow. “That wasn’t a lie.”
“Tell me. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
Averting my eyes, I admit the truth. “I told him I loved you.”
Gripping my chin, he turns my face back to him. Possession swims in the gray depths of his eyes. “You’re coming back with me, Zoe. I don’t care about the deal or the diamonds. I’ll fight your brother if I have to. I’ll wage any war. I won’t hesitate to kill any man I must.”
No, he won’t hesitate. Between Damian and Maxime, I’m not sure who would win. They’re both ruthless. Powerful. Determined. I think about Lina, Josh, and the baby. I can’t risk Damian’s life. Maxime knows. That is his trump card.
My voice is shaky with the tears I refuse to shed. “You’re a bastard.”
“That, we’ve already established.”
I ball my hands into fists. “I hate you.”
“I know, cherie, but you also love me.”
Scooping one arm behind my knees and the other around my shoulders, he lifts me like I weigh nothing and carries me back to the lounge where he lowers me onto the sofa before kneeling in front of me. A tremor runs over my body when he grips my ankle. I stare down at his dark head as he inspects my injury as if he cares, as if there isn’t a possibility that I can sustain others by his hands. The gray that brushes his sideburns has crept a little farther, like years and not months have passed. He smells of cloves and citrus, a faint mix of a familiar winter that matches the equally familiar frosted landscape of his eyes.