Diamond in the Rough

by Skye Warren

  He gives a short nod, as if the unspoken answer is the right one.

  Then he turns, an about-face appropriate to any military ceremony.

  Alone in the room I have no choice but to face the mechanics of untangling myself. Unclenching my fists from the pillow. Pulling apart my legs. Acknowledging the dampness between my thighs.

  “Please be a dream,” I whisper, but my face is too hot. Burning up. This is real.

  On shaky legs I stand up from the bed and cross to the bathroom, where I wash my hands. Then my face. Then brush my teeth. I’m going into battle downstairs, and apparently good hygiene is my armor.

  Or maybe I’m just delaying the inevitable.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Harvard University found that early training in the violin improves memory.

  LIAM

  FUBAR. That’s military speak for fucked up beyond all recognition. I’ve seen a lot of situations where the term applies, but none as fucked up as this one. As seeing a sexy woman hump a goddamn pillow while moaning my name, her soulful brown eyes locked on mine. Jesus.

  And the worst part, the truly terrible fucking part, is how my cock is iron hard.

  It’s like walking around with a goddamn club between my legs. It would be way too big and angry to put inside a woman right now, especially one as delicate, as innocent as Samantha Brooks. So it’s a real good thing that it’s never going to happen. We’re not a regular man and woman. This isn’t a casual fuck. This is a person I’m responsible for raising. My ward.

  I press the heel of my hand against my cock, willing it to go down. For someone with a ridiculous amount of control over his body, I’m acting like a horny teenager who’s just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

  Samantha appears at the door of my office, her cheeks an adorable shade of pink.

  “Have a seat,” I tell her, wondering if I should have had this conversation in the living room or maybe the conservatory. Where do normal families talk about the birds and the bees? Then again, we’re about the furthest fucking thing from a normal family.

  She crosses her ankles and folds her hands together, the picture of a good little student. Even though her little cunt must still be soft from orgasm, the folds still damp with arousal. It would be so easy to make her climax again, already warm and set and ready for me.

  I lean back against the desk, trying not to think about how those hands looked clutching the pillow. “First of all, I’m sorry for walking in on you. I was worried and didn’t think… well, you have a right to privacy, and I want you to know that.”

  Her flush deepens to red. “Please, sir—”

  “Liam. We’ve talked about this.” At the beginning I didn’t want her to call me sir because she shouldn’t have to do that. Lately there’s a different reason. Because of the way my cock jerks every time she says the word. God, she’s almost begging. Please, sir. That’s how she would sound if I spread her wide on her bed, tasting her little pussy.

  She coughs. “Can we just… is there any way we can pretend that never happened?”

  Christ. The memory of her sweet little body writhing on the bed is forever burned into my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes. I can’t imagine that changing any time soon. “Look, I should have talked to you about sex a long time ago.”

  “What?” The word comes out as a squeak.

  “It’s part of my responsibility as your guardian.” And it’s not my responsibility to demonstrate any of this personally—not, not, not. I can’t touch her, but I can make sure she’s educated about it.

  “I’m almost eighteen years old.”

  “Which is why I should have done this a long time ago. It isn’t right that I let my own… discomfort get in the way of your sexual education. I hired tutors for math and science and history, but I neglected this subject entirely.”

  She looks dubious. “You’re going to hire a sex tutor?”

  The thought of teaching her what she needs to know makes my blood run fast and hot. I swallow around the knot in my throat. I would show her where to put her hands, her tongue; I would give her so much pleasure, until tears leaked down her cheeks. “I don’t think that will be necessary, but you still should know some elementary facts before you—”

  Before she does what? Has sex? Who the hell is she going to have sex with when the only people she comes into contact with are military bastards employed by North Security?

  As soon as the thought comes into my head, it’s all I can think about. What if she wants to have sex with someone who works for me? How will I keep from killing him? Where will I bury the body?

  Then an even worse thought occurs to me. “You haven’t already had sex, have you?”

  She looks stricken. “No, sir.”

  I’m screwing this up. I don’t know what normal families do, what a healthy, supportive conversation about sex would look like, but it probably isn’t this. “I wouldn’t be angry if the answer were yes, Samantha. It’s your body. You get to make the decisions.”

  Of course I don’t mention that if a man under my command took advantage of her, I would have some very inventive ways to teach him a lesson. Never mind that I’ve recently become obsessed with taking advantage of her myself. I haven’t touched her—and that can’t change. I can’t kiss her or lick her or… bite her. God, I want to bite her.

  Her uncertain expression makes her look so young. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. Doing that in the middle of the day… saying your name… thinking about you when I do that.”

  Hell. I have to stand and turn away from her to hide the massive, throbbing boner in my slacks. “You can do all those things. I just need to make sure you understand safe sex.”

  She makes a face. “Why?”

  Because there will be plenty of boys who want to fuck her on her goddamn global tour, where she’ll be both a celebrity and completely inexperienced. “Because you’re going to walk out of this house in three months, and you need to know what’s out there.”

  Something passes through her eyes—maybe grief. “I see.”

  “So,” I say, my voice businesslike. “Sex.”

  “I know about condoms.”

  She knows about condoms. “You do?”

  “The oldest known use of condoms dates back fifteen thousand years ago, on a cave painting in France.”

  Surprise comes out as a racking cough. “Where did you learn that?”

  “A history book.”

  I stare at her, shocked that someone so incredibly intelligent, an actual genius by multiple measures, is this clueless about sex. It’s my fault, of course. I’m the leader in this house. It was my job to make sure she knew about her body. About protection. “Here’s what you need to know about condoms. They’re absolutely mandatory. If you decide to have sex with someone—and it is your decision—you have to use a condom. Say it back to me, Samantha. I need to know you understand.”

  “Condoms are mandatory,” she says obediently.

  That’s good, but it’s not enough. How could it possibly be enough? How could it convey to her how many assholes were out there, waiting for the chance to take advantage of her?

  Is this how fathers feel when they send their daughters into the world?

  I’m not her father. Not even close. I can’t imagine Ambassador Brooks having this conversation with his daughter, even if he had lived to have the chance. He wasn’t exactly a concerned father. His daughter had been a little secretary in his house, given orders and expected to follow them.

  Are you treating her any better, North?

  “Samantha.”

  She blinks up at me, so damn trusting. I want her to look at me that way with my cock in her mouth, with her eyes watering. “Yes, sir?”

  “Call me Liam.”

  A little cough that’s the closest she comes to telling me no. “Is there anything else?”

  Damned if this little violin prodigy doesn’t know how to dismiss a hardened, experienced soldier. She sits there so fuckin
g prim and so heartbreakingly pretty I don’t know how to handle it. Maybe she is ready to go out into the world, to experience sex, to discover how much better a climax can be when given by someone else’s hand, but I’m not ready for it. Not even close.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Japanese word “karaoke” comes from a phrase meaning “empty orchestra.”

  SAMANTHA

  Four years old. Saint Petersburg. The teacher suggested that I be placed in the music program so that it would be easier for me to acclimate to the school. Daddy signed the paper because it wouldn’t cost anything. The school provided an ancient basswood violin with a hard plastic case. A wrinkled instruction booklet showed how to place your fingers and introductory sheet music. I stayed up night after night working my fingers until they were raw.

  That began my love affair with the violin.

  Even when I’m not playing, the music lives inside me.

  I’m still warm between my legs, my body ready for something that’s never happened except in my imagination. I’ve made love with music a thousand times, but never with a man. Especially not the man who invades my thoughts every time I touch myself. He’s invading my thoughts right now, those green eyes and stern mouth a hazy picture in my mind. Muscles bunching in his jaw as he thinks about what to say next.

  Things like, It isn’t right that I let my own… discomfort get in the way of your sex education. That’s what he thinks of when it comes to me and sex—discomfort.

  I run up the stairs, still feeling the strings against my finger pads, the powder in the air. The hard gaze of Liam North. The sensations should be different, the structure of a violin wholly apart from the tangle of feelings I have around the man. They blur together anyway, a physical symphony I play and play.

  When I get to my room, Laney is there. She’s been my best friend ever since I moved here. She holds a black long-sleeve sweater in one hand and a black floor-length skirt in the other. “Oh my God,” she says on a moan. “You could work in a funeral home.”

  “Concert dress,” I say, rueful. There are black skirts in velvet and cotton and silk. Mandatory for playing in an orchestra, and even once I started playing solo, I still follow the rules.

  “What about if you have to go to a party?”

  “After a concert?”

  “Is music all you think about? Don’t answer that.”

  Actually my mind is flush with other thoughts, far more illicit, after the most uncomfortable sex talk in the history of sex talks. “It doesn’t matter what I wear. We’re not going to meet guys.”

  “Aha!” She holds up a blouse with silk ruffles and no sleeves. I usually pair it with a black camisole underneath and a thin suit jacket over the top, the fabric stretchy enough so I can raise my arms and play violin. “This will be sexy in a prim librarian kind of way.”

  “Why am I trying to look sexy?”

  “Because we’re going to sneak out and go to a club tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “This is for Cody. You can’t say no.”

  A few weeks ago Cody confided that the new coach at Kingston High made him nervous. That’s how he said it—made him nervous. We thought maybe he was one of those macho bastards who would hit someone if they didn’t run laps fast enough. It took some coaxing on Laney’s part to get Cody to reveal what he really meant.

  That he got a little too close to the boys he was supposed to be coaching.

  “How is going to a club going to help Cody?”

  “Ohhh, and these will be great underneath.”

  I stare at the tiny scrap of black fabric she’s wearing. Spandex. “Those are booty shorts. They go under my skirt so I don’t accidentally flash five hundred people after Brahms’s ‘Sonata No. 3.’”

  “We can pair them with some stockings I saw in your drawer. That flash of thigh is going to be the sexiest thing these boys have ever seen.”

  “They’re basically underwear. Why do we have to go to a club to help Cody? Why can’t we help in a library? Somewhere that we can wear regular clothes and go during the day?”

  “Because this guy has incriminating evidence on Coach Price.”

  “And he’s just going to give it to us?”

  “That reminds me. Do you have five thousand dollars?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Look, don’t freak out. People our age go to clubs all the time.”

  “I’ve never been inside one.”

  “Because Liam still acts like you’re twelve years old and watches your every move.”

  In my mind I can see Liam’s stern expression. Say it back to me, Samantha. I need to know you understand. Imagine if I told him I wasn’t a virgin. I already know about condoms because I use them all the time. Well, maybe not all the time. Once would be enough.

  Would he have been shocked? Probably. He might have tried to lock me up in a tower and throw away the key. Or maybe he finally would have seen me as a woman. He wouldn’t treat me like I was a little girl if I wasn’t a virgin. Would he?

  “Fine,” I say, grabbing the clothes. “We can stop by the bank.”

  She follows me into the bathroom. “I’ve been working on cat eyeliner.”

  “A little privacy, please?”

  That earns me an eye roll. “Okay, Ms. Concert Dress. I happen to know there’s no privacy in those backstage rooms. And no marble floors either. So stop complaining.”

  Privacy? No. There’s not enough room for that. And any rooms with doors are taken by people having hookups before the show. It would have been easy to lose my virginity to someone playing the tuba or even a conductor, but I never wanted that. Being a so-called child prodigy has made me weird enough. I would like my first time to happen an ordinary way—with a man who cares about me, preferably.

  Condoms are mandatory. The words come back to me in a humiliated rush, my cheeks heating with the memory. I actually said that to Liam North. The words came out of my mouth when I was only a few feet away from him.

  Not only that, but I told him about condoms appearing on cave paintings.

  Awesome.

  The first attempt at eye makeup turns me into a raccoon.

  The second one isn’t much better.

  By the third attempt Laney achieves a somewhat smoky eye that tilts up at the side. I stare in the mirror, wondering how I look like a stranger even to myself. The ruffled silk blouse and black boy shorts look cute and sexy and completely un-Samantha-like. Maybe this is what it would feel like to be normal.

  Laney stands back, looking pleased with herself. “You look so slutty right now.”

  That makes me laugh. “Thanks, I guess.”

  She’s an unconventional fairy godmother, transforming me into someone who can go to the ball. Some people think that Cinderella was weak because she needed help. Those of us who’ve been orphaned, who’ve been alone, who’ve been smudged in cinders, we know the truth. We can be strong every day of every year. The hard part is leaving it behind for even a night.

  LIAM

  Knock knock knock.

  I’ve definitely learned to knock every single time I want to speak to her. Even if I hear voices coming from inside the room—Samantha and Laney. The door is too thick to hear what they’re saying, but they’ve been friends for a long time.

  “Yes?” That’s Laney, sounding playful and defiant like she usually does.

  It makes me wonder if Samantha told her about me walking in on her. I’m not sure whether I hope she does or hope she doesn’t.

  She deserves to share something that’s bothering her. On the other hand, it feels strangely good to have a dirty little secret with her. Too good.

  “Can I talk to Samantha?” I say through the door. Normally I would have opened it by now. It’s not like Samantha’s humping a pillow at this exact moment. Except I can’t bring myself to turn the knob. My fist tightens on the cool metal, but all I can see is small hands clenched on a white pillowcase.

  “No,” Samantha says, too loud and fa
st. “We’re having girl talk. Very, very private girl talk.”

  Very, very private girl talk.

  Then she is telling her friend about what happened this afternoon. My cheeks feel warm. Jesus. How long has it been since I actually blushed? Certainly not when I saw her hips fucking a pillow. All I felt was pure lust. Now I’m wondering what she’s saying about me. He’s a fucking bastard who’s barely hiding his erection when I’m around him. No, she wouldn’t talk like that. It’s the truth, though.

  “I’m heading out for the night. Call my cell if you need anything.”

  “Okay,” she says through the door, her voice like a squeak.

  Hell. “Leave her alone, North,” I mutter to myself.

  The rest of the men are already gathered downstairs, wearing clothes other than fatigues for a change, laughter bouncing off the walls. I meet Josh by the wet bar, where he’s pouring himself a drink. He salutes me with a wry expression. “Thought I might not see you tonight. Figured you’d stay here and play nurse for the night.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Eyebrows go up. “Well, well. What crawled up your ass?”

  Having to give a safe sex talk to the girl in my custody, a girl I’m responsible for. A girl I want to taste more than my next breath. “What are we doing tonight?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Because I already know it’s not a strip club.”

  “Not when you threatened to kick my ass.”

  “Sorry, but the stink of desperation and coercion really messes with my hard-on.”

  “What about a girl who loves attention and dancing?” Josh says, challenging me. He likes fucking with me. And apparently, he also likes strippers.

  “Are you really going to tell them apart?” I ask, my voice caustic. I can’t keep my employees from visiting a strip club on their off time, but I’ll be damned if I go with them.

  “Or a college girl who’s paying for tuition on tips?”