Page 1 of Break Me Beautifully
Chapter 1.
Imet the devil whilelying in a garden of roses.
There's a wonderful breeze in the air, my hands graze through the ruby-red flowers, fingertips feeling their cool, velvety petals. I often retreat to this spot in my family's garden. It's one of the few quiet places I have access to. The manor is full of voices at all hours; my siblings, the dogs, security officers, my father's business partners, people offering favors (or seeking them).
But here, with just the sun and bees and my sketchbook, I'm alone. The patch of garden is surrounded by hedges that stand as high as the second floor of the mansion. The grass slopes so I can see through the gaps in the greenery to the huge circular driveway below. Our estate is massive. As a child, I used to pretend I was in another country while I ran through the halls, slipping behind doors, ducking under desks.
Mouse. That was the nickname the maids gave me when I was just five years old. It had stuck, but my siblings twisted it into an insult, calling meratwhen they thought our parents couldn't hear. I'm sure Mom and Dad knew about the cruel name. They didn't stop the wicked games, though.
Honestly?
I don't mind the name.
Rats are smart. Rats are quick. Rats are survivors.
There's a sound below. I sit up on my elbows, recognizing the gentle creak of the large gates before I see them spread wide. Three cars, all expensive matching models with glossy black paint jobs, roll onto the driveway. We have company.
This isn't anything new. Not around here. Dad does deals upon deals from sunup until sundown. He controls the biggest construction firm this side of the rust belt.
I'm so used to the blur of faces parading through our home that I avert my eyes—I have a sketch to finish, after all.
Then I see him.
Polished brown shoes glimmer in the sun. They're expensive, clean, leading the way up his tight black pants that hug his thighs in a way that makes me feel dirty just to look at. Large hands grip his belt, and I think I see some ink on his wrists before the skin disappears into his white cuffs and a broad-shouldered dark jacket. You can tell a lot about a person by what they wear. But to me, the secrets are always in the eyes. My eyes sweep over his face. They take in his square jaw with hints of stubble and perfectly curved lips with a tiny scar cutting across the left corner, He's painfully handsome. I want to linger on each detail that makes this strangerhim ...but my goal is his eyes.
When I find them, I freeze. I'm always invisible in my rose garden. The house staff might find me out here, but strangers never see me among the flowers. I've watched so many come and go without a single glance in my direction.
Not this time.
This man is looking directly at me. His chin is tilted up, piercing black eyes narrowing on my wide hazel ones. More men climb out of the cars, talking, laughing, but his attention is squarely on me.
My breath tangles in my chest. I put my hand on my heart to make sure it hasn't stopped. Oh, no—it's thudding rapidly. Whoever this man is, he's staring at me like he knows me, or like he wants to, like he plans to. The edge of his smile lifts, his tiny scar going with it. The wicked pleasure in his hot gaze makes my skin tingle.
I'm not naive. He wants me. I have no idea why. I'm mousy little Leona, the girl who hides in the shadows, who rolls in the grass, who'd rather create fantastical worlds in her sketchbook than deal with the high society drama my family regards.
He hasn't stopped watching me. One of the other men speaks into his ear. He nods, saying something back that I can't hear. The group moves without him towards the mansion’s large front doors. I see the shine of sunglasses as two security guards escort them inside.
My mystery man doesn't go with them.
It's just us now.
The wind rustles the roses, wafting their scent to my nose. Goosebumps Velvety petals stroke my skin and gives me goosebumps. I shiver, and I swear he notices, prompting him to stride up the grassy slope in my direction.
The wind brushes through his thick, glossy hair and carries his scent my way. Brandy, almonds, musk. A whiff of danger. I'm not an easily frightened girl. Here, on my father's gated property with security guards a shout away, I should feel at ease, but my belly knots up as the stranger looms over me. His long legs walked over to me in a blink of an eye. With his fingers tucked into his pockets, he looks down his elegant nose at me. I'm sitting in the flowers at his feet, waiting, unsure what he'll say or do because I don't have a clue why he'shere.Not just at the estate, but literally here, inches away from me.
His delicious looking lips part into a wide smirk. When he speaks, his voice is like cotton across my skin. “You must be Leona.”
A crisp, dominate energy in his voice strips me of my ability to respond; he wields it so naturally. But I grew up with a father who could peel the flesh from your bones with a cross look. “And you must have forgotten you're a guest on my property,” I say coolly. “I'm not Leona to you. I'm Ms. Hark.”
He rakes his eyes over me, then looks at something near my hand in the flowers. “I didn't take you for someone so obsessed with decorum.”
A hot blush builds in my cheeks. I'm pointedly aware of the grass stains on my jeans, the dirt under my nails, the leaves in my hair, and the sketchbook spread open to show off my fantasy. The picture is one I've been working at since yesterday; a girl in elegant armor riding a dragon through the snowy mountains.
I smack the book shut. I've been teased enough about my imagination. I don't need more from this ... this ... “Whoareyou?” I snap.
“The Devil.” He says smoothly. If anyone else responded that way, I would have laughed. But I can't with him staring at me with those intense eyes. He bends towards me, blocking out the sun, swaddling me in shadow and his delicious scent. I think he's going to touch me, and a deep, hungry, dirty part of me wants him to.
He pulls away with my sketchbook in his grip. “You're very talented,” he says, flipping the pages.
