Title: Diamonds are Forever
Series: Diamonds are Forever
(Book Three)
Author: Charmaine Pauls
Release
Date:
September 15, 2020
Review
Source:
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~ A DARK MAFIA
ROMANCE ~
My love is
wasted like gemstones in the dust, walked over by an oblivious shoe. It takes
many suffering years and layers of mountains to squeeze carbon into a precious
stone. Now that I’m polished and hard like a diamond, he doesn’t get to kick me
back into the dirt.
Men like him
don’t love women like me.
They don’t love.
Period.
But he made me.
He’ll live with
me.
Because diamonds
are forever.
(Diamonds are
Forever concludes this trilogy. Book 1, Diamonds in the Dust, and Book 2,
Diamonds in the Rough, must be read to follow the story.)
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The walk and
fresh air do me good. I feel invigorated when I get to an open-air textile
market I remember from driving past here once. The smell of grilled chestnuts
from the vendor stand mixes with the odor of chemical dye from the fabric.
Weaving through the aisles, I drag the familiar perfume into my lungs. Despite
my situation, my spirits lift. It’s like the smell of roasted beans when
entering a coffee shop on a cold morning or the welcoming scent of ink and
paper in a bookstore on a lazy afternoon. Only, it’s the cocktail of threads
and colors that makes my heart beat faster. With it comes the rush of memories
from the fashion academy and, like an answering echo, a wave of nostalgia. I
miss this. I miss the slide of fabric through my fingers and the soothing hum
of a sewing machine.
A piece of
organza hanging from a wooden rail lifts in the breeze. The floral print
catches my eye. It’s pink and lilac, soft and lovely. I said I was done with
sewing, but maybe it’s because I’ve been stuck on my old designs. Romantic
designs. Walking to a stand with a much statelier roll of navy linen, I rub the
coarse fabric between my fingers. Maybe I was looking at the wrong dreams.
“Would you like
this fabric, ma’am?” the vendor asks.
I look up. The
woman has a friendly smile. A red scarf tied around her hair brings out the
warm tone of her skin and eyes.
I don’t have any
money on me. I didn’t even know this was my destination when I started walking.
“Oh, I’m just browsing.”
“Please cut the
lady however much she wants,” a deep voice says.
I spin on my
heel. The sight of him takes my breath away even after all this time. With his
hands shoved into his pockets, Maxime’s stance is relaxed, but I recognize the
power running underneath. As always, he’s dressed immaculately. Even his casual
street clothes scream of sophistication and a keen sense of fashion. A
roll-neck black T-shirt and fitted pants are rounded off with a brown coat,
matching scarf, and short boots, but it’s not the clothes that define the man.
It’s his presence. It’s how he dominates the space and demands attention. It’s
what that look on his face promises.
Women stop
talking to stare. I stare, too. I take in the familiar sharp chin and deep
lines, the crooked nose and bump on the bridge, the gray eyes that cut through
defenses and intentions, and the strong mouth that makes knees weak. His hair
is ruffled, curlier from the humid air, and the longer sideburns give him an
artistic look. He could be an eccentric painter or a brilliant rocket
scientist, a mafia boss or a man bathing a woman on his knees. He could be a
jet fighter pilot or a diamond tycoon. A woman’s imagination could run wild.
What every female here knows with instinctive knowledge is that those hands,
those hidden hands, can stroke a cheek as gently as they can squeeze around a
throat. This is a man who can make a woman’s fantasies come true, and his gaze
is trained on me with possessiveness. Adoration. Lust.
Our gazes
remained locked as he takes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a few
bills.
The vendor
clears her throat. Her voice is husky when she asks, “How many meters would you
like, ma’am?”
“Three, please,”
I say, ripping a number from the sky.
Maxime’s lips
lift in one corner. The smile makes his unconventionally beautiful-unattractive
face seem more predatory than friendly.
Leaning closer,
he presses his lips against my ear and says in English, “Let me buy this for
you.”
The foreign
accent hits me between the knees. We’ve been speaking French since my return.
I’ve forgotten what his deep timbre sounds like when he whispers in my mother
tongue. He smells like the king of winter, of cold weather and citrusy days.
The perfume of chemical dye retreats as that winter heat rushes over me. The
man and everything he stand for overwhelm my senses.
That my mind can
focus on his words is a miracle. I think back to his story, to the man who had
two choices, the kidnapper who could take his target kindly or with force. I
don’t want force. I don’t want kindness. I want honesty.
“Why?” I ask
with a dry throat.
His breath
strokes over my ear. His words are self-assured and seductive. “Because I can.”
Pulling away, he
creates an avalanche of cold when he takes his heat with him. I look down to
where he’s rubbing the fabric between his fingers in a gesture that seems oddly
like a caress. I shiver as if feeling that caress on my skin.
Because he can.
In the trilogy:
Diamonds in the Dust
Diamonds in the Rough
Charmaine
Pauls was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa. She obtained a degree in
Communication at the University of Potchefstroom and followed a diverse career
path in journalism, public relations, advertising, communication, and brand
marketing. Her writing has always been an integral part of her professions.
When
she moved to Chile with her French husband, she started writing full-time. She
has been publishing novels and short stories since 2011.
Charmaine
currently lives in Montpellier, France with her family. Their household is a
lively mix of Afrikaans, English, French, and Spanish.
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