Hearts and Diamonds Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Praise

  Also by Justine Elyot

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Excerpt from Fallen

  Copyright

  About the Book

  The celebrity and the bad boy?

  Former celebrity judge Jenna Diamond has embarked on a steamy affair with a perfect stranger who cares far more about her body than her fame.

  However, as the press scrutiny of their relationship intensifies Jenna cannot resist trying to smooth out her lover’s rough edges. But Jason is a man who refuses to be tamed. Can their relationship ever be more than a kinky fling?

  Addictive, romantic and devilishly sexy, Hearts and Diamonds is part of the Diamond trilogy and perfect for fans of Sylvia Day.

  About the Author

  Justine Elyot’s kinky take on erotica has been widely anthologised in Black Lace’s themed collections and in the most popular online sites.

  She lives by the sea.

  Praise for Justine Elyot

  ‘If you are looking for strings-free erotica, and not for deep romance, On Demand is just the book . . . Indulgent and titillating, On Demand is like a tonic for your imagination. The writing is witty, the personal and sexual quirks of the characters entertaining’

  Lara Kairos

  ‘Did I mention that every chapter is highly charged with eroticism, BDSM, D/s, and almost every fantasy you can imagine? If you don’t get turned on by at least one of these fantasies, there is no hope for you’

  Manic Readers

  ‘. . . a rip-roaring, rollercoaster ride of sexual indulgence; eloquently written, at times shocking, and always entertaining’

  Ms Love’s Books

  Also by Justine Elyot:

  On Demand

  Seven Scarlet Tales

  Fallen

  Diamond

  Hearts and Diamonds

  Justine Elyot

  Chapter One

  FROM THE FRONT, it was easy to see that the house had once been handsome, almost stately, before the rot had set in. It might stand inside a barrier of weeds and its blank, shuttered windows might need a little care, but years of neglect could be reversed. There was hope for the place, and the hope was symbolised by the man standing on the front porch, painting the panels of the door.

  Despite the paint-spattered overalls it was clear to see that the man was young and handsome, his rolled-up sleeves revealing strong, tanned forearms streaked with pillar-box red. The photographers ranged about the front gate certainly thought he made for a good snap.

  So a casual observer might think that there was cause for hope. Ruin was being averted by new and enthusiastic owners who would restore the house to glory.

  Approach the rear of the house, however, and hope would not be the dominant emotion. The wild and unkempt state of the gardens was one thing, the splintered window frames and sporadic roof tiles another, but the eye was inevitably drawn to something more sinister. A fence of yellow tape, rustling in the summer breeze, surrounding a square-shaped hole in the patio. Beside the tape stood a temporary tent, in and out of which people in plastic overalls came and went.

  A helicopter, hovering overhead, had a good position from which to observe proceedings. Its occupants must have seen an attractive woman in her mid-thirties come out of the sparkling new patio doors with a tea tray, which she set down on a low wall before conferring privately with one of the plastic-overalled crew.

  She looked up, so quickly it was almost over before it could be perceived, then ran back inside.

  ‘Did you get her?’ The helicopter co-pilot’s tone was anxious. ‘That’s the first time we’ve seen her all day.’

  ‘I think so. Just.’

  ‘Great. Something for the evening edition.’

  That same photograph, of the woman looking up at the helicopter while a forensics expert stood beside her, was in all the next day’s papers.

  ‘CURSE OF HARVILLE HALL’

  Jenna Myatt read the Gazette’s headline aloud as she sat at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to brew.

  ‘More tabloid bollocks,’ said her lover and front-door-painter, Jason, with dismissive contempt. He cracked several eggs aggressively into a basin and beat them to within an inch of their life with a fork.

  ‘You don’t think this place is cursed then?’ Jenna put aside the paper with a sigh.

  ‘How can I?’ He turned to her, his head on one side. ‘It’s where we met.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She smiled at him, glowing. ‘My biggest bit of luck in years.’

  ‘Mine, more like. You were already living a charmed life.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was losing its charm rapidly, or I wouldn’t have come here.’

  ‘From LA talent scout to Bledburn hermit,’ said Jason. ‘Riches to rags. Hero to zero. Sublime to ridic—’

  ‘All right, I get your point.’ Jenna’s tone was slightly frosty. ‘And it’s none of those things, because it was my choice to leave LA and Talent Team, and I’m certainly not in rags yet. In fact, I’m still what you might call bloody loaded.’

  ‘The new Lady Harville.’ Jason whipped up the egg so vigorously the yellow mixture slopped over the side of the basin.

  ‘I’m hardly that. I bought Lawrence Harville’s house, that’s all. It doesn’t make me a member of the family. Just as well, given what a dodgy crowd they’ve turned out to be.’

  ‘Even dodgier than their lodger,’ said Jason with a grin.

  ‘Their unknown lodger,’ said Jenna, mirroring his smile, remembering the moment she’d discovered him in the attic of her new house, lying on his sleeping bag, unshaven, unkempt and surrounded by painting paraphernalia. Some people left lampshades or curtains in their houses after they’d sold them. Not many left a living, breathing, secret sitting tenant.

  Jason tipped the beaten egg into a pan, tipping it this way and that so the yellowish mixture filled the foaming surface.

  ‘Your sabbatical hasn’t exactly been relaxing so far,’ he said.

  ‘No. I may need another one to recover.’

  He smirked over the omelette pan. ‘You need to take up yoga or tai chi. Aren’t they meant to be good for stamina?’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about that,’ she said, her cheeks heating in memory of the vigorous wake-up call he’d given her earlier on in bed. ‘I meant generally, in terms of stress and constant bloody argy-bargy. First all that stuff about Lawrence Harville trying to frame you for his own stinking drug crimes, now a mysterious skeleton in the hidden cellar. I can see why the papers are going gaga over it all. I’m like a walking copy of Now! magazine.’

  ‘Are those forensic guys coming back today?’

  ‘No. They got everything they needed yesterday. It’s all lab work from now on.’

  ‘D’you think it’s that chick Harville told you about? The one who was meant to have committed suicide? Fairy Fay or whatever he called her?’

  ‘Could be. I’ve no idea. Harville might have been making it up to freak me out. That would be typical of him.’

  ‘He must have known that cellar existed. He lied about that. Got any ham?’

  ‘Some prosciutto, I think, in the fridge.’

  Jason gave her a look.

  ‘Is that ham or not?’

  ‘Yeah. Wafer thin Italian ham. It’s nice. Try it
.’

  Jason went to the fridge mumbling something about British pigs being good enough for him.

  ‘I wonder if he’s been charged,’ said Jenna, her mind still running on the Hall’s former owner and Jason’s near-nemesis.

  ‘You know he was.’

  ‘No, not with the threatening behaviour towards me. There’s bags of proof for that. I mean the drug stuff.’

  Jason shrugged, peeling open the packet of prosciutto.

  ‘Up to the CPS now innit,’ he said. ‘And Kayley holding her nerve. And Mia finding hers.’

  ‘I feel for those girls. He manipulated them.’

  ‘Don’t let your heart bleed too much. They knew what they were doing – Mia especially.’

  Jason’s tone was bitter and Jenna succumbed to an urge to go over and wrap her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head against his shoulder.

  ‘What? I’m OK.’

  ‘You’re still hurt. She really let you down.’

  ‘Yeah, well. These things happen. Especially on the Bledburn estate. Anyway.’ He pulled her round to his side, resting his forehead against hers. ‘Landed on my feet, didn’t I? Now I’m here with one of the most gorgeous women in the world and she’s banged up waiting for a bail hearing.’

  ‘I’m not one of the most gorgeous women in the world,’ said Jenna, laughing. ‘That’s all make-up and camera angles.’

  ‘You’re the most gorgeous woman in my world.’ He gave the pan a shake, making sure the egg was set. ‘Are you sure you don’t want one of these?’

  ‘I’ll do myself an egg-white special once I’ve had coffee.’

  ‘How can you have an omelette without the yolk? That’s just weird.’

  ‘It’s the LA way. Can’t go getting fat, can I?’

  ‘Are you fucking joking? You could do with putting a bit of meat on, girl.’

  ‘Not if I want my career back at the end of this year.’

  ‘What? Don’t be stupid. You’re saying that you’re only famous because you’re thin? Get lost. You’re famous because you’ve worked flat out for it. Don’t put yourself down.’

  ‘I’ve worked flat out, yes, and part of that was working to make sure I had a flat stomach for TV. You can’t be less than perfect in my business, Jay. A few extra pounds could finish me on Talent Team.’

  ‘But don’t you think that sucks? What about that dude on the team, the one who was famous in the seventies? He’s about the size of this house.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It just is.’ She could feel her patience wearing as thin as the rest of her. ‘Besides, I thought you liked my body. My scrawny arse doesn’t seem to put you off exactly.’

  ‘It’s not scrawny.’ He cupped it in both hands, as if to make sure of this. ‘But I sometimes think I’d like a bigger target. When you’re bent over my knee.’

  She swallowed, all her indignation melting at the low, drawled words.

  ‘That’s because you’re a dirty pervert,’ she said.

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ He rubbed her silk kimono gown over her curves.

  God, I can’t be turned on again, not so soon after . . .

  The thought was scattered by a kiss, which became long and slow and involved tongues and fondling.

  The smoke alarm screeched and they leapt apart.

  ‘Shit!’ Jason rescued the pan and its lightly charred contents from the hob. The scent of burnt coffee joined that of barbecued egg. ‘Looks like breakfast’s off. Better find another use for that table, eh?’

  Keeping his hands beneath her buttocks, he jolted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his hips. She clung on about his neck, falling eagerly back into the kiss while he hefted her across the floor to the big shiny Corian-topped table in the centre of the huge room.

  Before he sat her down on it, he lifted the hem of her gown clear of her bottom, so that it landed on the cold, sleek surface with no protection, causing her to squeal.

  ‘Oh, it’s cold,’ she said, when he moved his lips from her mouth to her ear.

  ‘Good,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll want warming up then.’

  She was naked beneath her robe, so it took Jason mere seconds to open his own dressing gown and introduce what lay beneath to her parted legs. He leant over her, laying her down flat between the salt cellar and the pepper pot, and eased into her, a knife into butter.

  She was not exactly sore, but she felt a tingle as he pushed himself in, a reawakening that reminded her of how they had already been hard at it only an hour earlier. Nothing seemed to tire him or put him off. Sometimes she thought he would keep going all day and all night if she let him.

  A fork clattered across the table as he thrust, thrust, thrust, his eyes gleaming with their purpose. She held on to his shoulders, crossed her ankles behind his back and pulled herself into him in rhythm. The pace was bruising and intense and soon they were both gasping, feeling the heat of the warm summer morning mingle with their exertions to bead sweat on their brows.

  No amount of perspiration would deter Jason, though. When it came to sex, he was single-minded. There would be no deviation from his course. She would get shagged ragged and that was that.

  ‘Feeling it, babe?’ he groaned. ‘Want it, do you?’

  ‘I want it, give it to me.’

  She was burning up, her throat dry, her bottom sticking to the Corian, but nothing beat the feeling of him, large and thick in her narrow channel, owning it, taking possession of her.

  They came in a burst of slapping hands and pinches and growls, Jason sunk as deep as he could get inside her and straining to go still deeper, not that it was possible.

  ‘Fuck, that took it out of me,’ he panted, kissing her hard. ‘But you could get it all over again.’

  After all the LA sophistication and veneer, his simple animal passion was the best tonic there could be. It had revived her, made her see life in colour and depth again, something she hadn’t done since the early days of her relationship with Deano Diamond. She hadn’t had a bruised back or a sore bottom or a raw smart between her legs in fifteen years, but she was certainly making up for it now.

  ‘This kitchen table is going to break my spine,’ she moaned, only now realising how ill-suited it was to frantic sex. ‘Next time bring a cushion down, eh?’

  He withdrew slowly, grabbing a handful of kitchen roll to mop up the mess he’d made of her.

  ‘That was a bit more spontaneous than I’d planned,’ he said, sheepish now for reasons that were slowly dawning on her.

  ‘Well, by definition,’ she said, a little sharply, trying to struggle up to her elbows. ‘But you mean . . .?’

  ‘Didn’t think to bring the rubbers down, babe. Is it . . . OK?’

  ‘OK?’ She sat up, wincing.

  He stood against her, wrapping her in his arms, rubbing her poor back and shoulder blades with an expert touch.

  ‘You know . . .’

  ‘I won’t get pregnant, if that’s what you mean. I have the implant.’ She stopped, a stray little pang piercing her from nowhere. She had been going to have it removed, a year ago. She and Deano had discussed having children. She had felt ready. And then she realised that he was too far gone in his addictions and had given up on the idea. It still hurt, even now that they were over and she was with this phenomenon of sex and creative talent.

  ‘Right. But, even though I haven’t slept with anyone but Mia in seven years, well . . . There were things she wasn’t telling me, and . . . I suppose I ought to . . .’

  ‘Get tested?’ Jenna screwed her face up in his robe. She didn’t want to think about this. It was too horrible, too real. She’d earned a bit of holiday fantasy time. How dare the mundanities of life intrude on it like this?

  ‘Just to be safe,’ he said, cradling her head and stroking her hair.

  ‘Oh, that’s weird,’ she said, looking up at him.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘You being the responsible, sensibl
e adult one. I thought that was my role.’

  ‘Why did you think that? What have you done that’s been sensible since you got here?’

  She felt stung, but then she saw the justice of his words. She’d behaved like a cross between a hormonal teenager and a bad amateur detective ever since setting foot in Bledburn.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’ll make us an appointment. At a private clinic.’ They rested, lulled for a few minutes, in each other’s embrace before she spoke again. ‘Jason.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you think it’ll change us? Being “out”? Public?’

  ‘It’ll be different. But we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to, or see anyone we don’t want to. We can stay tucked up here as long as we like, can’t we?’

  She could hear the trace of anxiety in his words, though. He didn’t want the secret idyll to end either.

  She put a hand to his cheek. It was stubbly, and the stubble was growing out into a fuzzy beard. It felt soft, the hairs bending into her palm.

  ‘Are you going to finish your paintings? In the attic?’

  ‘I suppose. I thought you wanted me to sort out the garden.’

  ‘I want you to do what you want to do.’

  ‘Stay in bed forever then?’ he said, his lips seeking hers and finding them.

  The embrace was broken by the buzz of Jenna’s phone. This was the phone she used for people she actually wanted to talk to – only half a dozen people were allowed access – so she sighed and fished it out of her robe pocket.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking at the caller display. She went out of the back kitchen doors and stood on the warmed stone of the patio, putting the phone to her ear.

  ‘Tabitha? Hi. You’ve caught me at breakfast.’

  ‘Have I? It’s half past ten, you know. I’ve been at work for nearly three hours.’

  ‘Well, things have been a bit intense round here lately. I’ve got a lot of rest to catch up on.’

  ‘Quite.’ There was a pointed pause, then Tabitha continued, ‘Did you see the feature in The Times?’

  ‘Oh God! Yes. Yes, I did.’

  It was like rewinding the last few days, past the discovery of the bones, past Jason’s release from his wrongful arrest, past all the work it had taken to get him out of prison, past Jason’s desperate last stand on the parapet of the house and the police arriving at her door. She could almost see the officers walking backwards down her path, getting into their cars and reversing up the road, blue lights flashing.