Damon Shaw is a man as dangerous as his connections.
Beautiful Ruins, an all-new forced proximity, revenge, billionaire romance from debut author MJ Lucy is now available!
Mae
Damon Shaw is a man as dangerous as his connections.
Rich. Commanding. Devilishly charming. He doesn’t play fair.
Well before receiving the lavish dinner party invitation, my future had already been predetermined by a man I had yet to meet. I am to become a pawn, a consequence to a shady business deal that will see my husband put our lives in danger. As the night descends into pure chaos and the intricacies of my volatile marriage are exposed, there’s nowhere for me to run.
That’s when Damon makes his move. And I Iet him.
Drawn to him like a lamb to the slaughter, I quickly realize that every lingering touch, every stolen glance, even the gentle brush of his lips against my cheek in greeting—all of it was meticulously calculated to make me fall, hopelessly and completely.
And fall, I did.
What I need is an escape to outrun my past and evade my future, but neither man will set me free.
One warns of retribution. The other promises all-out war.
Damon
Mae ‘Ellison’ was a means to an end. At least, that was the plan.
Exquisite. Creative. Broken. This woman will bring me to my goddamn knees.
The deeper I delve into her poor excuse of a marriage, the more I gain a thirst for revenge.
Peter Cooper is guilty of many reprehensible crimes, but none so truly heinous as the ones committed against his own wife.
What started out as a business venture has now become an obsession. One borne out of the need to save Mae from the utter destruction that awaits. Because just when I think I’ve uncovered the worst of what he’s done, I find I’ve barely scratched the surface of his depravity.
For Mae… I will end Peter.
Then I will collect the pieces of her life he so callously left in ruins.
The problem? She may well loathe my very existence by the time the last shot is fired.
Renee’s Five Star Review
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Feeling grossly out of place, I pay closer attention to the sixteen other guests, who seem very comfortably lost in conversation. “It looks that way.” “I bet they all attend the same goddamn country club,” Peter mutters. Not to feed into his contempt, my wandering gaze moves around the room, from admiring stunning designer dresses to the authentic artwork on the walls. That’s when he finds me. I recognize his handsome face immediately, my attention well and truly hooked by the stranger. He takes a devoted moment, absorbing the sight of me as the conversation with another couple trails to an end. His beautiful lips form a smile, the kind that reaches the eyes, sincere and warm. Then, as if nothing else matters—as if I’m the keeper of his undivided attention—the man, who I believe to be Damon Shaw, politely excuses himself before crossing the room. Peter’s quick to add a final snide remark behind the safety of his champagne glass. “Christ, just look at him. That bastard’s got all the luck.” “That, at least, is true. Damon’s confidence is truly captivating. It’s not an arrogance that could be attributed to my husband’s confidence. It’s more refined. More authentic. And if that doesn’t hold your attention, his towering height and impossibly broad shoulders will. He wears a suit with manly sophistication, perfecting the mix of class and casual elegance with his crisp white shirt partially unbuttoned. A wash of dark hair—short on the sides and longer on top—a close-cut beard and piercing sky-blue eyes, the kind of blue on a dry summer’s day, are all complimented by an enviable summer tan. His cheekbones and jawline are strong and sculpturally angular, while his charming smile is like drawing a moth to a flame. Anyone on the receiving end stands no chance. Myself included. “Peter, good evening.” Damon shakes my husband’s hand firmly before shifting his intense focus back to me. “And you must be Mae.” Transfixed by my name on his lips, my words are barely audible. “That’s me.” “I should hope so.” He leans down, kissing my cheek, his perfectly groomed stubble against my skin, igniting senses I didn’t know existed. Oh my, should anything ever feel that good? In what is an unexpectedly intimate first greeting, his fingers run the length of my bare arm right down to my fingertips, where they linger for one, two, three moments, bringing my heart to a thudding halt. When he steps away, his deep voice, which is both eloquent and authoritative, seems solely directed at me. “I’m pleased you could attend.” “Thank you for hosting us. Your home is stunning, and I just love seeing all the art on your walls.” The following smile is nothing short of disarming. “The pleasure is mine, and I’d be happy to give you a private tour. There’s art in every room I’m sure you’d appreciate.” For whatever reason, my cheeks flame, and he offers a hint of an amused smile in return. “That would be lovely, thank you.” A single nod—barely an incline—seals the deal. “My wife is obsessed with art, so from one man to another, there’s your warning. Don’t let her waste your time because she’ll chew your ear off if you get her started.” Beneath the joke is Peter’s evident disdain for my career. I’ve often wondered if strangers looking in can detect his level of resentment, and judging by the flash of fresh contempt in Damon’s eyes, I’m now certain of it. In the unexpected comradery, I find the validation I’m so regularly stripped of. “I’m here…” my husband continues, “… because I’m eager to learn more about your proposal and what my involvement will be.” “Fortunately, Peter, I consider myself somewhat of an art enthusiast, so I’ll happily talk shop with Mae and business with you both.”
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