Tempted Heir

by Michelle Heard

  The tenderness from my loved ones makes something click into place inside me – as if I’m only now realizing I’m safe.

  A sob flutters over my lips, and I turn my face into Christopher’s shirt. He keeps a hand behind my head while his other slips behind my neck.

  My arms move up, and I’m unable to keep from crying when I wrap them around him. Sobs begin to wrack through my body until I feel sick.

  They don’t say anything. Mom just continues to dab at my back while Christopher holds me.

  My fingers grip hold of his shirt, and I use the little strength I have left to cling to him. In a moment of weakness, I beg, “Please don’t leave me.”

  Christopher moves, and it makes a strangled sound escape me. He crouches again, and bringing his hands to my face, he gently cups my cheeks. Our eyes lock, and then he says, “That will never happen. You’re my heart and soul.”

  The words act as a soothing balm, easing the deep ache in my chest a little.

  Chapter 24

  CHRISTOPHER

  It’s been a week since we found Dash. Every day she seems to be doing a little better.

  Her wounds are healing, and the bruises have faded. She’s regained the weight she lost, and she’s not as jumpy every time one of us moves.

  I’m sitting out on the veranda with her. We haven’t talked about her time in the cabin. I was hoping she’d just open up to me, but I’m getting a feeling that’s not going to happen.

  Reaching for her hand, I link our fingers. My eyes are glued to her face while she stares blankly ahead of her. “What are you thinking of?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Life. Work. Going back to the penthouse.”

  A frown forms on my forehead. The penthouse. Not home. “How do you feel about going home?”

  “The sooner, the better, right?” Her mouth curves up, but that’s where the smile stays. It never reaches her eyes anymore.

  “We can stay here if you’re not ready,” I offer. “I don’t mind.”

  Dash turns her gaze to mine. “Do you want to stay here?”

  She’s been doing that for the past couple of days. Every time I ask her a question, she turns it on me.

  I tighten my grip on her hand. “It doesn’t matter where we are as long as we’re together.”

  Lowering her gaze, she stares at her lap, where her other hand lies curled in a fist. “We can go if you want to. I don’t mind.”

  Leaning closer to her, I use my free hand to nudge her face up until her eyes meet mine. “Do you want to stay here, Dash?” There’s a flash of panic tightening her features, and it makes me tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”

  She nervously wets her lips, her eyes darting down. “Nothing. We can go home.”

  Leaning back, I take a deep breath, then I ask the question I’ve been avoiding. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  I’m surprised when Dash turns her body toward mine. She scoots closer as if she’s cautious, and it guts me. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her against my chest. I lower my mouth to her hair, and then I whisper, “Tell me what happened.”

  She shakes her head, her hand gripping a fistful of my shirt. I expect her to keep quiet, but then she whispers, “He thought I cheated on him, and… he… punished me for it.”

  Dash hasn’t asked about Josh, but feeling now’s the right time, I say, “He’s gone. He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”

  “Gone?” Her voice sounds small as she cowers closer to me.

  I close my eyes from the intense wave of protectiveness I feel. “Yes.”

  “Did he get arrested?” she asks.

  I’m surprised that she wants to know anything about him.

  “No,” I answer honestly. I can’t lie to Dash, but God, I don’t know how she’ll react when she finds out he’s dead. “He’s just gone.”

  “Where?” she asks, this time lifting her head to look at me. Then she adds, “I need to know.”

  “He’s dead.” I watch her closely, and when there’s no reaction on her face, I ask, “Did you hear what I said?”

  She rests her cheek against my chest. “Yes.”

  Needing to know where her mind’s at, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m… glad… that he can’t get to me again,” she whispers. “Who… killed him?”

  “Alexei.” But I gave the order.

  Dash nods, but it feels like the news doesn’t really change anything for her. I want to tighten my hold on her, but her back is still healing.

  Deciding it might be best to get back to our regular routine, I say, “We can go home tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispers, no emotion in her voice whatsoever.

  We sit in silence for a while, and it makes emotions bubble in my chest. When it becomes too much, I murmur, “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

  She only nods.

  Moving my hand to my pocket, I dig the engagement ring out. “Miss Sebastian found this on you. Want me to keep it?”

  Dash lifts her head, and for a moment, she only stares at the ring before she slowly looks up at me with fear alive in her eyes. “Do you want to keep it?”

  I can only stare at her as it begins to sink in – Dash isn’t sure of anything anymore. It’s like she lost her ability to make decisions.

  “Why would you ask me that?” I probe.

  She begins to pull away. “I’m sorry.”

  Tightening my arm around her, I keep her from pulling away totally. I tilt my head, trying to catch her eyes. “Do you want to wear the ring?”

  She nods quickly. I slip it onto her finger before placing a hand under her chin, nudging her face up. When our eyes meet, I ask, “Did something happen to make you doubt us?

  Her gaze lowers to my throat. “No.”

  “So we’re good?”

  The corner of her mouth lifts slightly but then her chin quivers, and the meager smile fades.

  Moving my head closer to hers, I keep my voice soft as I ask, “Nothing has changed between us, right?”

  She lets out a burst of air. “Nothing has changed.”

  Aunt Leigh assured me Dash wasn’t raped, so sexual assault never crossed my mind. Before I can stop myself, the words rush from me, “Did Josh force himself on you in any way.”

  Dash freezes but then shakes her head. I keep staring at her, taking in how she keeps her shoulders hunched, her head down.

  Something happened, and she’s not telling me. I can feel it deep in my gut.

  My body shudders, and then I pull her back against my chest. I clench my jaw because, for the first time, I wish I had pulled the trigger myself.

  DASH

  A kiss isn’t sexual assault. Right?

  Josh bathing me… it’s not sexual assault.

  Right?

  It’s nothing compared to the beatings. The starvation. The thirst.

  It’s really nothing in comparison to the threat of death.

  I push the feelings of disgust down as far as I can.

  Knowing everyone’s waiting for me to break, that they’re worried about my mental stability, I force a smile to my face and lift my head. “I’m fine,” I answer Mom. “I really don’t want to talk to a stranger about what happened.”

  “You need to talk to someone,” Mom argues.

  “I will.” I swallow hard on the lie. “I just need time.”

  I could never tell anyone about those four days. Living through them was hard enough.

  I lean into Mom and give her a hug. It’s on the tip of my tongue like a lump of scorching coal to say I love you. Instead, I swallow the words down. “Thank you for everything.”

  Mom pulls back and placing her hand on my cheek, she gives me a loving smile. “I’ll come by tomorrow. Okay?”

  Nodding, I move toward my father. When his arms wrap around me, I snuggle closer to him. He holds me for the longest moment until I have to force myself to pull back. “Call if you need anything. Okay? I’ll be over in a flash.”
>
  “Thanks, Daddy.”

  My throat begins to close up, and I have to force my legs to move. Christopher reaches for my hand, and when he links our fingers, I tighten my grip on him.

  It feels as if we’ve gone back to being friends, and it only increases my anxiety.

  Should I cancel the venue?

  A deep ache spreads through my chest, and I try to breathe it away as I follow him out of my parents’ house.

  Maybe he’s just waiting until I’m better before he tells me he’s changed his mind.

  I mean… it’s understandable. Who would want to be with someone who’s… broken.

  It was hard enough for me to believe he wanted more with me before the cabin. Now it’s an impossible thought.

  When we’re in the car, Christopher places his hand on my thigh. “Are you sure about going home?”

  Not wanting to give him a reason to worry, I nod quickly.

  He starts the engine, and silence fills the car as he drives us back to the penthouse.

  When we walk into the apartment, I feel uncomfortable like a visitor. It’s silly of me. I know. But I can’t get rid of the feeling. It’s like I’m an impostor, barging in on another woman’s life.

  A woman who had the world at her feet. She was happy, living her dreams.

  The woman I used to be.

  I follow Christopher up the stairs to his bedroom, and when he sets the bags down on the bed, I open mine. I place the dirty clothes in the laundry basket and put everything back in its place.

  It feels normal and gives me something to do. Walking back to the bed, I pick up the bag and taking it into the closet, I try to slide it in on the top shelf.

  Christopher comes up behind me, and when he leans into me, pushing the bag into the spot it belongs, my body stiffens.

  His movements slow until he keeps still behind me.

  My anxiety spikes, and afraid that the memories will resurface, I spin around.

  His eyes are sharp on me, scrutinizing for the slightest reaction, and it makes me force a smile on my face. “Home, sweet home,” I say, my voice sounding tense to my own ears.

  Christopher lifts a hand, and my body instantly flinches. He freezes, and when he begins to pull back, I quickly say, “It’s just a stupid reaction. It’s not you.”

  He moves even slower as he places his palm against my cheek. His thumb brushes over my skin, and then he begins to lean down.

  My heartbeat begins to speed up, and my body tenses.

  It’s Christopher.

  His lips brush over the corner of my mouth and up to my ear, and then he asks, “Is this okay?”

  I nod quickly, whispering, “Of course.”

  He doesn’t kiss me but instead wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.

  “Tell me what happened?” he asks again.

  I begin to pull free from him, mumbling, “I already did.”

  Christopher doesn’t let go, and ducking his head low, he tries to make eye-contact. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

  “There’s nothing more to tell,” I say, my voice too tense. Again I try to step back, and when Christopher doesn’t let go, a deep chill spreads through me. Instantly I resort to begging, “Please. I’m sorry. Please.”

  Christopher moves back until he’s on the other side of the closet. “That right there tells me you haven’t told me everything. What happened, Dash,” he asks, heartbreak making his voice hoarse. “Tell me so I can try to help you.”

  Shaking my head, I dart past him and out of the room. I rush down the stairs and run to the balcony. When I struggle to get the damn sliding doors open, I let out a frustrated sound.

  I begin to yank at the handle, and then it’s as if I’m right back there, yanking at the boarded-up windows.

  Chapter 25

  CHRISTOPHER

  Going after Dash, my steps come to a faltering halt when she begins to whimper like a wounded animal.

  She yanks at the sliding doors, and it has me darting forward. Wrapping my arms around her, I begin to pull her away so she won’t hurt herself. The last place I want her is out on that balcony.

  Dash throws her body forward, an agonizing cry tearing from her.

  God, my soul. I can’t bear to see her like this. It’s flaying me open, ripping me apart.

  I tighten my hold around her and clamp her to my chest. “Dash, it’s me. It’s Christopher. You’re safe.” I keep repeating the words until her cries turn to sobs, and she sags back against me. “I’ve got you.” I press my mouth to the side of her head, fighting to hold in my own tears.

  She begins to calm down, enough to whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” I try to assure her, my voice hoarse with heartache from seeing her suffer like this.

  Dash has never kept anything from me before. We have shared every single detail. My gut was telling me she wasn’t coping, and it was right.

  “Please tell me what happened. Let me in,” I beg, just wanting to help her.

  “I can’t,” she gasps. “I can’t.”

  I move around her so I can see her face, but the second I loosen my hold on her, she pulls away and puts a safe distance between us.

  “What did he do to you?” I push her. I get a feeling it’s the only way she’s going to open up.

  “I… I already told you,” she stammers.

  “Dash,” I groan. “We’ve never kept things from each other. I know it’s hard to talk about it, but share it with me. Let me help you carry the burden.”

  It looks like she’s in physical pain as she shakes her head. Then her expression turns pleading. “Please. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I ask as I take a step closer to her.

  She moves back, her eyes flitting around the dining and living room. “Just… just… don’t.” Turning her gaze back to me, she swallows hard.

  Lifting my hand, I rub over my jaw, the stubble making a scraping sound, and then I say, “I just want to help you.”

  It’s starting to feel like the problem lies with me.

  DASH

  For a long moment, we stare at each other in silence. Then I see something break in Christopher’s eyes, and he takes a step toward me. He stops himself, looking torn.

  A moment later, he loses the battle that’s been waging inside him, and in three long strides, he grabs hold of me, yanking me to his chest.

  Unable to keep the tears back, they begin to flow until I’m a sobbing mess in his arms.

  I’m so sorry. I wish I was stronger.

  I hate what this is doing to him.

  Christopher moves us to the couch, and when we sit down, I use the back of my hand to dry my cheeks.

  As silence fills the air, I know I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to Christopher. He deserves someone who’s… not broken. A lost sob flutters over my lips, making me sound pitiful.

  Christopher deserves a trophy wife.

  Swallowing hard, I gather whatever courage I can and say, “I’m really sorry. For everything. You deserve so much better.”

  Than me… this broken woman I’ve become.

  He keeps quiet, and with his eyes resting intensely on me, he waits for me to continue.

  I swallow hard. “I… I feel like… I’m stuck there.”

  “But you know you’re safe, right?” he asks softly.

  I nod as I stare down at my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry.” My voice falters as I admit, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  He begins to reach for my hands but then pulls back. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

  I shake my head, my shoulders slumping. “No. It’s just… me.”

  “You don’t feel any better?” I hear an edge of despair in his voice, and it just breaks my heart more.

  “I’m just… I just feel… scared… all the time, and like it’s only a matter of time.”

  “A matter of time before what?” he asks.

  My shoulders slump eve
n more, and I shake my head, not able to say the words.

  Christopher turns his body to face mine. “A matter of time before what happens, Dash?”

  Not having the courage to say it out loud, I whimper, “I can’t.”

  “You can,” he urges. “Tell me. Please.”

  It feels like if I say the words out loud, they will come true. A sob drifts over my lips, sounding lost and fragile, as I whisper, “Before you leave me.”

  Closing my eyes, shivers ripple through my body.

  “You really think I’d leave you?” he asks, his tone sounding incredulous. As if it’s a farfetched idea.

  Nodding, a desperate sound escapes my lips.

  “How can you think something like that?” The exasperation grows in his voice. “After everything we’ve shared, all the times I’ve reassured you of my love, of how much you mean to me? Why?”

  “It’s… just… there.” I suck in a suffocating breath. “It’s always there.”

  “Did I do or say something to make you think that?” Hearing how torn up he is, makes me feel awful, and I can only shake my head. “Then what, Dash? We’ve always been solid. Why would you doubt me now?”

  I let out another sob, and it makes me sputter, “I don’t doubt you.”

  This time Christopher reaches for my face, and taking hold of my chin, he turns my head so I’ll look at him. “Dash, please open up to me.”

  Our eyes lock, and seeing the worry and heartache in his gaze, makes the tears rush to the surface.

  “One day… you’re going… realize… you can do so much better… than me.” The words are followed by a sharp, bitter taste of bile.

  “Never,” he rasps, his features tightening even more. “Never.”

  The words I was forced to believe – that were etched into my skin – spills from me with heaving breaths, “You deserve a trophy wife. Not someone like me. Not something so… broken.”

  Christopher moves his hands up, framing my face. His eyes shine with an intense light as he groans, “You’re not broken, Dash. You went through hell, and you just need time to heal.” He moves closer to me, his hands sliding down to the sides of my neck. “Look at me.” My eyes dart up to his. “Tell me what happened. Please.”