Chapter 7
SEBASTIAN
Itwisted his wrist until something gave with a deep, grinding pop—loud enough to make him cry out, sharp enough to feel it echo through my palm.
I stopped just before the break. Barely.
The primping peacock fell to his knees with an agonizing wail.
“Apologize.”
édouard’s eyes widened as his lips opened and closed several times before he screeched, “I’m sorry, Monsieur Diamanti. Please don’t kill me!”
The last goddamn thing I should be doing was drawing attention to my presence in Paris, especially with the judge watching me. And now I had this piece of shit begging for his life while he screamed my name.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
When I saw him raise his hand to Sabrina, I snapped.
Control. I needed to get back under control.
“Not to me. To her.”
Sabrina stepped forward. “It’s fine! It was my fault. I knew better than to mess with his design.”
Ignoring the whimpers from édouard as I tightened my grip on his injured wrist, I ran my gaze over her altered attire.
Gone was the lace shirt, leaving her in only skintight leather pants and that flimsy silk vest that left nothing to the imagination.
My grasp didn’t slip, but my focus did—dragged straight to the silk clinging to her chest and every set of eyes tracking it. I saw red. Not rage. Something uglier.
Not appreciating the audience we were attracting, I crooked my finger to draw her closer.
Her eyes widened. For a moment, she looked around her as if some savior would appear out of the crowd, and she took a step backward.
A low rumble echoed from deep inside my chest.
A growl.
She finally obeyed and shifted to within arm’s reach of me.
A mistake.
With my free arm, I slipped my hand around her neck and pulled her close. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re wearing.”
Her hands smoothed over her embroidered vest, which only pressed the fabric tighter over her exposed breasts. “Same thing as before.”
I wouldn't have let her out of my sight if she'd been wearing that.
“Be a good girl and go cover yourself. Now.”
“You can’t just barge in here and—”
“The hell I can’t.” There was no point in letting her finish.
Before we could continue our argument, the man I still held by the wrist twisted and writhed.
“Please! My wrist!”
By now, all activity behind the stage had ceased while the bystanders watched our exchange with rapt attention.
Not wishing to be overheard, I unbuttoned my suit jacket and leaned down on my haunches until my face hovered only inches from édouard’s. “You know who I am.”
Foamy spittle formed in the corners of his mouth as he nodded.
I released his wrist and stood. “Good. Then you know what I’m capable of.”
The fashion industry might have a reputation for cold-blooded ruthlessness, but it paled compared to the diamond industry’s reputation.
And I was the shark at the top of the food chain.
édouard hugged his arm to his middle and turned his attention to Sabrina. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
He then looked at me for confirmation.
I raised an eyebrow.
édouard looked back at Sabrina and continued. “You were right. The design was missing something, and I overlooked it.”
At his questioning glance, I gave him an imperceptible nod.
Sabrina’s cheeks flamed as she bent to help him up. “Please don’t apologize to me. I overstepped. I never should have presumed.”
As I straightened my cuffs, I didn't bother looking at édouard.
He got the hint.
“No, mademoiselle. It was all me. You are a gifted stylist. The stress of the show had me…”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, remembering why I despised coming to the Parisian fashion shows.
I hated this dramatic shit.
It took me half an hour to reach Sabrina, battling through the throng of sycophants.
And when I did, I found her in another dangerous situation.
First, running around Paris without a phone or a coat, and now dealing with this.
Clearly, she would require more of a firm hand than I'd anticipated.
My cock twitched at the thought of having to discipline my wayward future bride.
Perhaps there were more benefits to my plan than I realized.
Out of patience, I shouted, “Basta! Enough. Leave us.”
Sabrina turned her attention to me. “You—”
“Not one word.” I placed a hand between her shoulder blades as I edged her forward.
While I didn’t give a damn about people overhearing my altercation with édouard, the same did not apply to Sabrina.
This wasn’t just about control. This was about ownership and letting her know I was in charge now.
The crowd parted as I searched for a room away from prying eyes.
Spotting an open doorway, I pushed her over the threshold into some makeshift photography suite. I recognized the setup from the Instagram photos.
This was Sabrina’s workspace.
Pressing her back against the wall, I placed my forearm over her head. “You want to explain to me what the fuck happened to the rest of your clothes? Did that prick out there—”
“No.” She splayed her hand over her chest to cover her exposed cleavage. “No one made me change. The rain completely ruined the lace on my shirt. And frankly, I don't understand why this is any of your business."
I was both the answer she didn’t know she needed and the danger she wasn’t aware awaited her.
I grasped one long silky curl, resisting the urge to wrap it around my fist.
I stroked the full length before giving it a quick tug. “You will. In time.”
If I didn’t have a long game, I’d be spinning her around, ripping down those tight leather leggings, and pounding my cock into her from behind so fiercely she’d cry for mercy as she clawed at the wall.
But there was more on the line than my own sexual satisfaction.
Although, if I didn’t get her tits covered soon, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.
I cupped her jaw and tilted her head back, rubbing my thumb over her lower lip.
Keeping my tone deceptively quiet, I said, “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to find you something more appropriate to wear, and then you are going to join me in the audience for the show.”
Her mouth opened on a gasp.
It was all I could do not to push my thumb inside and demand she suck it.
The need to feel her cute tongue swiping against my skin almost rose to the level of pain.
She grasped my wrist and tried to remove my hold on her face.
I didn’t let her.
With a furrowed brow, she gave up and let out a frustrated sigh. “I couldn’t possibly do that. I have a job to do during the show. At least I used to, until you came barging in. Do you have any idea how important this gig is to my career?”
I chuckled. She was adorable. “You don’t honestly think I would let you continue working for that piece of shit, do you?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Let me?”
Fuck. I was getting ahead of myself. She didn’t realize she was mine now.
I shifted my hand to hold the back of her neck as I pulled her body flush against mine. “Yes. Let you.”
I crashed my mouth down on hers.
A groan clawed its way up my throat as I swept my tongue past her lips, claiming more than just the kiss.
She shoved against my chest, her nails biting through fabric, her resistance sharp, but not sharp enough to stop me.
I drove her back until her spine met the wall with a thud, my body crowding hers, my cock grinding against her belly with ruthless intent.
She twisted beneath me, writhing against the pressure, her hands caught between her competing desires to push me away and pull me closer.
I caught her lower lip between my teeth and tugged, almost savagely, just shy of drawing blood.
Then I took her mouth again, daring her to fight me off.
Madonna mia, revenge never tasted so sweet.
By the time I broke the kiss, her cheeks had flushed and her beautiful, deep sapphire-blue eyes had unfocused.
Knowing my restraint was dangerously close to slipping its leash, I pivoted on my heel.
Fuck. I couldn’t remember a time a woman had gotten me this hard and worked up over just a kiss.
Not wanting her to have the slightest notion of her effect on me, I moved to a rack of clothes I’d spotted when we entered the room and flicked through the hangers, dismissing dress after dress.
One was too short.
Another too garish.
I would secretly leak our involvement to the Italian press.
So she needed to look the part.
She needed to look like she belonged to me.
I settled on a curve-hugging, cobalt-blue velvet dress with a high collar and a flounce of black ostrich feathers at the hem. “Put this on.”
Her head pivoted to check the doorway before turning back to me. “I can’t put that on. It’s part of the collection.”
I walked past her to slam the door shut, then I locked it.
After taking several steps back to her, I ripped the dress off its hanger and handed it to her. “It wasn’t a request, Sabrina.”
She hugged the dress to her chest. “Look, I realize that you’re Sebastian Diamanti and that you’re a really big deal to the fashion industry, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t rules.”
Reaching into my inner suit pocket for my phone, I curled one corner of my mouth. “I’m glad you finally realize who I am. You bruised my ego earlier when you didn’t recognize me.”
She blinked several times. “I’m sorry.”
After a brief search of my contacts, I pressed a mobile number. “Don’t be sorry. Just do as you’re told.”
“Mr. Diamanti.”
“Sebastian.”
Her gaze shifted back and forth between me and the locked door, her lip caught between her teeth.
The gesture made me want to swipe my tongue over the soft fullness of her lower lip.
The person I’d called answered. “Bonsoir, monsieur. Comment puis-je vous être utile?”
“Un instant, s'il vous plait,” I responded before lowering the phone and glowering at Sabrina. “You have until I finish this phone call to obey me, and then I’m tearing that fucking vest off you.”
I waited until she ran behind the mirror to continue my call to the primary House of Diamanti store in Paris. "Oui, j’ai besoin que vous m’envoyiez le Persan Jaune. Je suis au Louvre."
As expected, the head manager objected to my taking out the Yellow Persian, a one-hundred carat yellow diamond solitaire necklace, without advance warning or a security detail.
“Cela prendra du temps pour organiser un garde. Comme vous le savez, ce diamant fait plus de cinquante carats, nous ne pouvons pas simplement—"
I didn’t care.
I wanted it.
Now.
And what I wanted, I got. “Maintenant. Vous avez quinze minutes pour l’amener ici.”
The manager gave in, as if he had a choice. “Tout de suite, Monsieur Diamanti."
I ended the call and turned my attention to Sabrina.
The odd position of the mirrors throughout the room gave me a tantalizing glimpse of skin despite her trying to conceal herself.
A gentleman would let her know.
I wasn’t a gentleman, certainly not where she was concerned.
“Sabrina, I’m running out of patience.”
One of her hands held the unzipped dress at her throat while the other hiked up a fist of fabric to prevent it from dragging on the floor as she came out from behind the mirrors. “How do you know my name?”
Fuck.
A part of me yearned to abandon secrecy and confess everything I knew about her, from her middle name to her breakfast preferences to where I would find a faint scar from her teenage appendectomy.
Things would be a lot simpler if I could just deal with this like a business negotiation.
I would just pay her to help me fuck over the father whom she had never met and therefore couldn’t possibly love or feel any loyalty to.
Done.
Except it would be too easy for her father’s people to learn that it was fake, ruining all my plans.
For this to be successful, her feelings needed to be genuine.
I stepped closer, noticing her soft inhale and the way her body tensed at my nearness.
I cupped her shoulders as I spun her around.
Her silky black hair hung in long waves halfway down her back.
I tightened my hand, fighting the urge to wrap her hair around my fist, a feeling I'd harbored since those initial photographs.
She’d been walking through Central Park in New York on a blustery autumn day. Her hair whipped around her throat and lashed her cheeks as she laughed.
Had I not known she was going to Paris soon, I would have flown to New York to claim her that very day.
My hand shook slightly when I pushed her hair to the side, exposing the gentle curve of her back.
As I zipped up the dress, I leaned over to rasp in her ear, “You Americans and your suspicious natures and wild imaginations, always seeing zebras instead of horses.”
I spun her back to face me.
Since I towered over her slight frame, I grasped her chin to force her to look up at me. “édouard shouted your name as I approached.”
He hadn’t, but hopefully, given her agitation in the moment, she wouldn’t remember.
She stepped back, breaking my grasp. “Why are you here?” She gestured to the gown she wore. “What is all this about?”
I stepped forward.
She stumbled back.
I kept advancing until her back hit one of the unbroken mirrors, trapping her against the glass.
“Today wasn’t a chance meeting,” I murmured, dragging my fingers along her cheek in a slow, possessive stroke.
That was the first honest thing I’d said to her.
My hand lingered, holding her still. “It was fate. You crossed into my world. That means you don’t walk away. Not unless I decide to let you go.”
Her body trembled, but she held her ground.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered. “You can’t snap your fingers and decide I’m yours.”
“Watch me.”
She wrenched her face to the side, breaking contact with my touch. “That is the most arrogant—”
A soft knock interrupted us.
“Monsieur Diamanti? I have the necklace,” someone called through the door.
I shot Sabrina a look. Then turned, unlocked the door, and snatched the black velvet case without a word. The courier didn’t exist.
Returning to Sabrina, I held the jewelry box before her and slowly opened it.
The massive pear-cut yellow diamond sparkled in the light.
She reached out to touch it but pulled her hand back. “You can’t mean…”
I pulled the necklace from its velvet bed and tossed the box aside. “But I do.”
“I couldn’t possibly wear that.”
Pinching the clasp, I stepped close and leaned to latch it behind her neck.
My fingers grazed her neck as I flipped her hair forward over the chain so it hung in loose waves over her bare shoulders. “Sei bellissima. Questo diamante è stato fatto per essere indossato da te.”
She stared down at the massive diamond in awe. “I don’t speak Italian.”
I ran my finger down the necklace chain, skimming along the curve of her breast. “I said, you look beautiful. You were meant to wear this diamond.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”
I offered her my arm. “You say thank you and agree to join me at the pre-party for the show.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her fingers over my arm. “Okay, but only for the pre-party. Then I have to get back to reality and my job. Assuming I’m not fired, édouard will expect me to set up more photos of the models as they come off the catwalk.”
“Considering that's your only offer, I'll accept it.”
But just before we crossed the threshold, I leaned in. "Tell me who the hell that man was—the one with his hand on you earlier.”