Page 36 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
Now I see that he’s commanding and strong. That much I expected from the way he spoke.
The part where he’s handsome, I didn’t see that coming. He could be on the set of some superhero movie, his face smudged with dirt, several days’ growth darkening his jaw, walking away from an explosion. His eyes are striking green and gold, his hair a dark brown.
The boy was cute. This man is the grown up version, rugged and dark.
A man this dangerous shouldn’t also be beautiful.
“I want some answers before I go anywhere with you.”
“You were happy enough to leave the goddamn church without answers.”
“Tell me about the guns.”
He freezes for only half a second. It’s a small thing, that reaction, but I’m watching for it, and I saw it. “You let me think you were stealing something, like jewels.”
“You made the assumption. I didn’t correct you.”
“So it’s true. You stopped stealing diamonds and started stealing guns. God.”
“What does it matter? I’m not stealing anything right now.”
“Of course it matters! I write children’s books, for God’s sake. And you’re saying that you—what? That you’re some kind of entrepreneurial warlord? That you buy and sell weapons?”
“Entrepreneurial warlord has a nice ring to it.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing. But we need to move before they follow our trail.”
I stand and face him, knowing I’m dirty, a complete mess. Hungry. Thirsty. I’m weak in every way but one—stubbornness. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You are if I have to carry you, Holland Frank.”
That’s the only warning he gives me before bending down. His shoulder jams my stomach, and I cough at the sudden pressure. Then I’m hoisted over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Let me down.” I beat at his shoulders with my fists. It’s like boxing a mountain. He doesn’t even register the blows. He just keeps walking. “Asshole. Bastard. Thief.”
He stops suddenly, and the momentum rolls me off his body. He pushes me against a tree, and I realize it was a careful maneuver. Everything he does is a careful maneuver. God, even ending up in the goddamn prison cell was probably done with grace. His face is inches from mine, and finally, finally I can see the beautiful gold lines in his green eyes. “I am an asshole. I am a bastard, and I’ll own up to that. But I’m not a thief. I never was.”
“The diamond.”
“It was returned.” He studies my eyes. “But then, you already knew that.”
I look away, slightly to the right—the same way the Mona Lisa does, not really meeting his eyes. “So what? It made the news. And why shouldn’t I know what happened? You made me an accomplice when you put that diamond in my backpack.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “An accomplice? Is that what you think?”
“Of course it’s what I think. God.”
“And did you see that the men responsible were caught?”
“They were tried and convicted. They served jail time. Unlike you.”
“You were glad I wasn’t caught, weren’t you?”
“Of course not. I should have called the FBI. Or Interpol. Or whoever.”
He nuzzles my cheek. “You were glad. Admit it.”
God. I was relieved. And frustrated with myself. And I still had that itchy, achy feeling that I didn’t fully understand until years later. Sometimes I’m still not sure I fully understand. No one has affected me like him. “I’m not admitting anything.”
He breathes in deep against my neck, and I’m transported back eight years. I can smell the yellow honeysuckle in the fence, hear the bells tolling in the cathedral. “I missed you, Holly.”
“You didn’t even know me.”
“With your vicious fucking mermaids.”
There’s no reason to laugh—none. No reason that I should find that hilarious. It must be the total lack of food and water. It must be light deprivation making me insane. I push at his shoulder, but it’s completely ineffectual. “They’re only vicious because the dragons are so… they’re so…”
“Terrible,” he says, his voice severe. “I know.”
My smile fades. “Go to hell, Elijah, or whoever you are.”
“Elijah Michael North. Sergeant First Class. 452-48-9472.”
“That sounds like name, rank, and serial number.”
“Because that’s what it is.”
“You share that if you’ve been captured.”
He leans down to bite the place where my shoulder meets my neck. I can’t help but arch into him, and the zing of pain makes me moan. What a messed-up situation. What a terrible time to find someone hot. “Consider me captured,” he murmurs.
“You’re telling me that you joined the army?”
“I’m telling you that I joined the army, yes. Before we met.”
I push him away, for real this time, and he finally moves. The clearing doesn’t give me nearly enough room to pace. I rub my hands on my arms, but the dawn is still too cold. Or maybe the cold is coming from inside. “And the diamond?”
“My mission. I was pulled into a special counterterrorism task force. The person who wanted the diamond, the person who financed the theft, had ties to a cell in Paris. I had to steal the diamond and make it believable in order to gain access to him.”
