Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds Read online

  “I just want to bring you up to date with the plan. I get that you want to take Black Diamonds off the market to protect the Jail Run profits but just buying the game doesn’t stop somebody else from coming out with a replica or the actual game if they somehow got their hands on the source code. Now, it can be tricky to register intellectual property in gaming software, particularly app-based games. Well, I don’t need to tell you that, look at the hit Jail Run is taking thanks to Black Diamonds being a similar concept. But, we do need to get you some registered intellectual property rights to give us a starter for ten if someone tries to rip off the game. Otherwise, you’re right back to paying seven hundred and fifty thousand and employing a new software developer.”

  “I have a feeling he’ll come good,” Gregory says, more to Williams than me.

  “I agree,” I admit. “But the point is valid.”

  “And accepted.”

  “Good. Now, I’m not an intellectual property specialist but I can obviously hold my own. I’ve pulled together a plan for due diligence and, loosely, registration of an intellectual property portfolio but that part is pretty fluid, depending on what the due diligence throws up. Of course, most people would have done that due diligence before putting down an obscene about of money for a game.”

  “It wouldn’t be the most costly mistake we’ve ever made if it doesn’t pay off, Scarlett. We stand to lose a lot more if we do nothing.”

  I hold a palm in the air. “Let’s not go over old ground.”

  “You started—”

  “You were saying, Scarlett?” Williams interjects, adjusting his Oakleys.

  Gregory scowls. “Go on.”

  I take a sip of Sem-Sauv and sit back into my chair. “Halt me if I’m teaching my grandmother to suck eggs at any point. I won’t fill you with stuff you don’t need to know. Suffice to say, there are various forms of intellectual property rights, copyright, trademarks, design rights, for example. We can register them all to an extent based on what I’ve seen of the game.”

  “I thought copyright was an automatic right?” Williams asks.

  “Mmm, well, it is. Stuart was a one man band and from what I know he wasn’t operating through a company. So yes, copyright vests in him as the creator. But that’s the case under English law. In some jurisdictions copyright has to be registered, same for trademarks and design rights. And that’s part of the due diligence jigsaw. I’m sure it’s all fine but we need to confirm that Stuart does actually hold the copyright and other rights in the game. Once we confirm that and assuming we do, we look to registration. I’ve already got a junior looking into Stuart’s ownership.”

  “And what’s the registration plan?”

  “Well, it varies from country to country. If everything goes to plan, we’ll start registering what we can. My suggestion, unless you object, is that we start with China and Europe. Then we move to the US and Australia. Then the rest of the world, to the extent appropriate.”

  Gregory rubs his chin. “Why do we stage it?”

  “Cost, resource. The applications take time. I need support from local counsel.”

  “Staged is acceptable but I want the US in the first round with China and Europe. Gaming is too big in the US to delay.”

  “Alright. I can fix that. Anything else?”

  “What can go wrong?” Williams asks.

  I laugh. “There’s a seven hundred and fifty thousand pound question.”

  Gregory rolls his jaw stiffly but relaxes quickly.

  “The main risks are, one, that someone already has a knock-off in the making. They could have reverse engineered the source code or be at work creating identical concepts. Characters and branding, for example. I guess we have to cross our fingers it hasn’t been on the market long enough for someone to try. The second big risk is that we don’t have the power to register. In other words, if Stuart’s ownership of the game and therefore Constant Sources’ ownership of the game, is somehow questionable.”

  “How could that happen?” Gregory asks.

  “Either Stuart never held the rights to the game in the first place, or he had them and licensed or sold them in such a way that Constant Sources could never have acquired them.”

  “And the other risks?” Gregory presses.

  “We could stumble on something in a particular jurisdiction. Say, I don’t know, erm, elements of Black Diamonds have already been registered. But we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. First step is to check Stuart’s authority to sell to Constant Sources. Second step is to set out what rights we need to register in the various jurisdictions. I’ve already put the feelers out with local counsel.”

  “How much is this going to cost me, tens of or hundreds of?”

  “All being well, tens of.”

  Gregory nods and takes a sip from his freshly topped up wine. “Fine.”

  “You don’t want to know how many tens of?”

  “If we’re not talking hundreds that’s micro detail. I’m a macro man.” He smirks, as does Williams. I suspect this is something Williams has heard more than once.

  “When I work for you, I’ll be taking much tighter control of your legal spend, Mr. Ryans.”

  “Someone probably should,” he says with humour in his voice.

  “Okay. If we’re done. I’m going to get changed and join Amanda.” I ruffle his hair and drop a kiss to his scalp.

  * * *

  The master bedroom looks exactly as I would have imagined the master bedroom of a yacht to look. There’s something about it that smells, looks and feels luxurious and at sea all at once. The furniture—trims round the mirrors, chairs, feet of the sofa, coffee table—is all mahogany and cream.

  Stepping out of the bathtub-shower, I wrap a towel around me and draw I Love You with a heart in the steam on the mirror above the sink unit. Leaving the bathroom, I rummage through the stash of bikinis that Julia and Lucas have picked out for me, choosing a red shimmer bandeau style. He likes me in red. I cast it onto the fresh white linen of the queen bed then head into the small lounge area and coat my body in suntan lotion.

  Standing in front of the dresser mirror, I twist my hair in my fingers then roll it into a knot and slide through a clip. The bikini fits perfectly, it’s classy and, well, hot. But I close my eyes so I can’t see myself. I can’t go out there half naked. Christ, Williams is a client. There are eight crew. I’m not uncomfortable in my skin but that’s a lot of people who don’t need to see my semi-naked body.

  Shaking my head fast, I blow a dry raspberry with my lips. Suck it up, Scarlett.

  Amanda is sprawled on her back, head tilted, chin to the sky. Williams is also on a lounger reading a hardback, bare chested, legs pulled up, a full glass of wine on a small rattan table next to him. My perfect man is at the bow of the yacht, his torso bare, and so damn delicious I’m wet just thinking about those muscles moving against my body. He hangs up his Blackberry when he notices me walking the deck towards him.

  Over the low guitars of Oasis, I catch his words. “Get here.”

  Dropping my book and floppy hat to a sun lounger, I go to him. He yanks me the last foot by the small of my back, pulling me against his pelvis.

  “If you intend to wear that, you better get in that water. Right. Now.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I push my hips slightly forward, adding pressure to his growing erection. “Looks like you have a bit of a problem, handsome.”

  “You think it’s funny that you’ve made my dick solid in swim shorts?”

  “Not funny. Sexy as hell.” I push my hips a little further and he brushes his lips across mine, growling into my mouth.

  “Water. Now.”

  I squeal as he lifts me from my feet, leaving my flip-flops behind, and propels us off the side of the boat. He holds me to him, my back, my head. He doesn’t
let go as we crash into the water. We kick, both breaking the surface on a deep inhale. Then we laugh. I pause for a second just to hear him, then start up again.

  “What the hell? Are you two okay?” Amanda screams over the side of the yacht.

  I hold up a hand to say we’re fine as Gregory pulls me into him. I lock my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck as he paddles for us both.

  “Did that cool your raging cock, Mr. Ryans?”

  “Watch those expletives, lady. And no. It made my thunder cock angrier.”

  “Thunder cock?” I raise an eyebrow with a giggle.

  “I want to fuck you. Now. In the sea. I can’t get enough of you.”

  I sigh and lean back in his arms, my head grazing the water. “Gregory, I’m going to be your wife. I need you to stop objectifying me. When we’re married, I think we should have a routine. Maybe sex on Saturdays. I need to know you respect me for me, not my body.”

  “Sex on Saturdays?”

  “Okay, Saturday and maybe once on a Sunday morning. It’s important that we have boundaries.”

  “Lady, I respect you. And I would like to help you with your self-esteem issues. Really, I would. But I think the best way for me to do that would be to make you understand how desperate I am to come inside you. All the fucking time. And how I love to hear you scream my name when I drive you to orgasm. How your insides squeeze my cock.”

  I shuffle in his arms as my body responds to his words. Wanton.

  “And the way you shove those wonderful breasts in my face when I make you hot for me in the sea.”

  My eyes fly open as he bites my plump flesh through my bikini.

  “I’m going to fuck your tits later and I’m going to come all over this fine chest. And when I do, you can think to yourself, I deserve that for winding up my man.”

  I giggle but it’s short lived. His fingers move into my bikini bottoms then into my sex. My body responds on reflex, thrusting into his chest. He frees himself from his shorts with one hand, holding me with the other. I move my bikini bottoms to the side and guide him to my entrance. He loosens his hold enough for me to slide onto him and pull breath through my teeth as his tip strokes the bundle of nerves only his thick, long length has ever reached.

  I glance up to the yacht, satisfied that no one is paying us any attention. “This could be tricky,” I say with a smirk.

  “You might have to do the work, gorgeous.”

  “Gladly.” I roll my hips and nip his lip.

  His kiss takes me by surprise, long, slow, like he’s cherishing every second. I close my eyes and savour the feeling. Absorbed in him. His touch, his words, his tongue, the feeling of rightness between my thighs. We move slowly, discreetly, the sun beating down around us, the sea ripples glistening. He holds me, moaning, brushing his lips against mine in a way that leaves no space for me to doubt his love and adoration. The thought flips my stomach because his actions reflect my own mind. An overwhelming sense of love, complete physical and emotional love, emulates through me. I lean forward and bite his shoulder to prevent my body from externally erupting as my climax comes. He drops his head to my neck, biting and groaning quietly as he fills me with his physical desire.

  “This is perfect,” I mumble into his shoulder.

  He strokes my hair and hums against my neck, then drops his lips to my cheek. “You’re beautiful when you’re happy.” His eyes change, a switch that’s completely ordinary for Gregory but a move that I don’t want to see in our paradise. “I want to always make you happy.”

  Shifting slightly, I meet his eyes. “What is it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nada.”

  “Oh no, Gregory Ryans, don’t you dare. That’s the same look you had when you were on the phone just before. What is it?”

  “Baby, nothing to worry about.”

  I sit up and try to unravel my body from his but he holds my legs around his waist.

  “Please don’t keep things from me. I thought we got past this. Everything that’s gone wrong with us is because you’ve kept things from me. If we’re going to be a team, Gregory, you have to share things with me. That’s what the big rock is supposed to mean, isn’t it? That you want us to be a team?”

  “Now that you mention it, where is the big rock?”

  “It’s in the safe, I didn’t want to wear it to frolic in the sea with you.”

  “That’s what we’re doing, baby, frolicking?”

  “Stop changing the subject, Gregory.”

  Any semblance of playfulness disappears.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. Clearly that ring doesn’t mean as much as I hoped.” I kick back from him and start a front crawl to the boat.

  “Hey.” He pulls my left hand back before I can lift it over my head. “What have I told you about that attitude?” He drags me back to his waist.

  “Tell me.”

  He sighs. “I’m fixing it.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “One of the tabloids has found out about my case.”

  My brow furrows. “Your non-case. It’s over, you weren’t charged. Am I missing the point?”

  He drops his forehead to mine and paddles so we turn in a circle. “I paid off most of the broadsheets and big corporate papers at the time. Sydney in PR thought that someone might have talked, given the level of sudden media attention.”

  “So this is a regional?”

  “Yes, a regional tabloid, which means I don’t have a settlement in place restricting what they print.”

  “So you’re going to have to pay them off?” Guilt kicks me in the gut as I speak. Another reality check. I put him in this situation. He’s paying for my actions. “Gregory, I’d like to fix this. Before you jump in and say no, I’ll have the money from the house in a couple of weeks. You’ve paid enough. This was my doing. Let me fix it.”

  He cups my face in his hands. “Baby, you didn’t bring this on us. I did. And I would never let you pay for my past. But you’re amazing for wanting to.”

  “There’s no ‘I’ in team, right? What’s yours is mine and all. I think we can call it our mistake and our past now. I want all of you, Gregory Ryans, past, present and future. And let me tell you something else, I’d do it again. I’d do anything for you. Even go Dutch on paying off the tabloids.”

  “How did I find you?”

  “You were supposed to.”

  He smiles as he hooks his hands under my thighs and propels me out of the water squealing. He’s laughing when I surface, rubbing hair and salt water from my eyes. “You’re going to pay for that, Ryans.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We’ll see you on the aeroplane beach around five or six?” I ask, dropping a kiss to Gregory through the window of the rental Porsche.

  “By the aeroplane beach you realise you mean Maho Beach?”

  I scowl. “Did you understand what I meant? Then don’t be an arsehole.” He chuckles as Williams climbs into the passenger seat. “Sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

  “No, baby, it’s just a catch up with a business acquaintance, not deal specific. Go. Enjoy your day with Amanda. I’ll see you later. And please be careful.”

  “What could possibly go wrong?” I ask, pulling my Bvlgaris down and winking over the frame.

  “Have fun in your business meeting boys, we’ll just be, you know, shopping, sunbathing.” Amanda waves a hand in her floral spaghetti-strap all-in-one, the kind of wave I know will grate on Gregory’s nerve endings.

  “You be careful with my little man in the sun,” Williams calls in a way that makes me smile fondly, first at him, then at Amanda’s hardly-there bump.

  “She and I will be just fine. Aunty Scar will look after us.” She giggles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

 
I wave one hand and pull Amanda into my side with the other. “Just the three of us, then.”

  Gregory and Williams dropped us on the French side of the island. Shopping is number one on the agenda, followed by a royal binge on French pastries, then Aeroplane or Maho or whatever beach for sunbathing and plane spotting.

  We wander the quiet, clean, Parisian-feeling streets, dipping in and out of boutiques, more for air-con than shopping. We stumble across a market at the water’s edge. A ream of stalls selling towels, neckties, scarves, kaftans. I wrap half a dozen sarongs around my strapless cotton dress and decide to buy two—one sky blue chiffon with shells draped from the hem, the other black and white spotted. Amanda is bartering over two very similar neckties. With one instinctively protective eye on her, I look around the photo frames, decorated shells, playing cards and such on the tables.

  “Can we eat?” Amanda asks, lifting her thick red hair off her neck.

  “Of course. Do you want a hair tie?”

  “Please. Gosh, I’m frying.”

  “I think that’s enough shopping for you.”

  I lead Amanda to a cute bakery near the spot the gents dropped us. “It’s nice to have some time just us,” I say, placing a basket of various pastries—almond, cinnamon and raisin, all butter, chocolate—and two glasses of fresh orange on the white cotton cloth covering the wicker table.

  “Sure is. I can’t believe you’re engaged!”

  “Pretty crazy, isn’t it? You pregnant, me engaged.”

  “When did we grow up?”

  We laugh and each take a pastry, me moaning around an almond croissant, Amanda practically making love to a pain au chocolat. Her auburn locks are glowing in the sunlight and it’s nothing to do with pregnancy, she’s as beautiful as she always has been.

  “You and Williams seem to be doing well.”

  She nods but purses her lips. “We’re good in that we agree we want to be together. And he already loves the little mite. My pops has started to hate him less about the whole baby, unwed, will he or won’t he stay thing.”