“Fedor just pulled up,” she said. Her mom coming in with that announcement almost made it feel like she was in high school and her prom date had arrived. Those days her biggest worry was how far she was going to go with Steve Epson. These days Steve was a successful real estate mogul with two children. He had a happy successful life, but she couldn’t say the same for herself.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She’d made her own choices. This wasn’t like her—she needed to snap out of it. It was as if all the dark makeup had coated her soul as well.
“Thanks,” she told her mom. “I’m almost ready.”
Instead of leaving, her mom sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you excited for your date tonight?”
Now it really felt like she was in high school. She was just as reluctant to talk to her mom about her love life now as she was then, though for much different reasons. How could she possibly explain to her mother—who’d stressed the importance of her daughters being strong, independent women—that she was compromising her morals so much? And if she told her mom what Fedor had told her about Veronica, that would break her heart. She couldn’t do that.
“Sure.” Ginny tucked her lipstick in her clutch.
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
Ginny looked over at her mother’s knowing eyes. This whole time she thought she’d been fooling her, but no. She should have known. Her mother adhered to the notion that children should make their own mistakes and learn from them, so she’d had a long leash as a child. Now that she was an adult, was her mother adhering to the same principles? Or had she not said anything because her children were now adults?
“I’m tired.”
“I just wonder if you’re really happy with Fedor.”
Ginny looked in the mirror at her mom’s reflection, then averted her eyes. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I wouldn’t have chosen him for you. He seems more like Veronica’s type.” She stood moved to stand behind her daughter. “And this?” She picked up a curled strand of hair and gestured to the heavy makeup. “Also Veronica. So it makes me wonder.”
It was easy to forget that her mom actually had a strong mother’s intuition when she wasn’t immersed in her art. Ginny wondered if her mom had had a similar conversation with Veronica before she married Barry. Barry had been older and much more conservative, so for a time, Veronica had put aside her brazen style in favor of a demure one. But then again, Veronica had always been somewhat of a chameleon, changing her looks to suit her needs.
“Just trying something new,” Ginny replied. Her mother’s concerned expression made this harder. She didn’t like lying, especially knowing she was going to have to continue the farce for years to come.
Her mom nodded, although her expression said she clearly wasn’t convinced.
The two women walked downstairs. Fedor and Ginny’s father sat in the front room. Her father was talking and waving his hands animatedly. While Fedor indulged her father’s talk, he thought the man was silly, and though he’d never said so, Ginny knew he didn’t think very highly of her father. He had no respect for a man with no business sense. Besides that, her father was blind to the real circumstances of Ginny and Fedor’s impending nuptials, even though it was happening right in front of him. That was also a cause for lack of respect. Ironic, wasn’t it?
Fedor actually didn’t respect most people and it was a perpetual thorn in his side that he was forced to suck up to people he considered beneath him so he could gain footing in society. He had contempt for those who came from old money because the families hadn’t had to work for their wealth and privilege—the individuals had simply been born into it. It was a warped catch-22—he hated them, but he was also dying for their respect and acknowledgment, the one thing money and intimidation couldn’t get him.
Born into it or not, some of them still worked their asses off to keep things afloat. Though, on the other hand, she could understand Fedor’s point. He was an entirely self-made man. She could respect that, except that he’d built himself up on questionable means.
“I’d considered selling this place,” her father said, continuing the conversation that Fedor had no interest in, “but then I thought we might want the space for the grandchildren.”
Fedor nodded. “There is plenty of room for children to play. I’m sure they will enjoy visiting.”
Ginny stopped. She knew Fedor wanted—and expected—children, but hearing him and her father talk about it so casually make her palms go slick.
Fedor would be the father of her children. Her children would wear his face and have his name.
Bile rose in her throat and she forced it back down. Fedor chose that moment to notice her, and she quickly forced a smile. But she wasn’t fast enough. His lips stretched into a thin line of displeasure as his eyes raked over her body. She shuddered, goosebumps forming on her skin.
“Shall we go, luybov moya?”
* * *
Fedor’s arm struck out before she’d even registered what he intended to do. Something hard struck her cheekbone, and the intellectual side of her brain deduced that it must have been the gaudy signet ring he always wore.
Her head jerked to the side and pain exploded in her eye socket.
Although it felt like this was happening in slow motion, she wasn’t fast enough to shield herself.
A second blow knocked her to the floorboard of the car, and she tasted the coppery wetness of her own blood.
“Stop! Please!” She raised her arms to cover her face, and he grabbed her wrist, twisting it so painfully she cried out.
His foot struck her leg, making her shin bone feel like it was going to shatter.
“Get up, cyka,” Fedor growled. He grabbed her hair and used it to haul her back up onto the seat.
“Please, help me!” This time her plea was directed at the driver, but he didn’t even turn around. Fedor had him trained well.
Fedor gripped her chin and shoved her face back until her skull collided with the window. He spat in her face, then backhanded her again, this time striking her other cheek.
They’d only left her parents’ house five minutes earlier. She’d expected Fedor to be surly, but this . . . this was beyond anything she expected.
She put her palms flat against his chest, using all her strength to push him away, but it was no use—he was too strong.
The car was slowing, so she gripped her clutch in one hand and felt behind her back for the door handle with the other. She flipped the lock to open and just before the car pulled to a stop at a red light, she flung around the purse, striking Fedor in the side of the head. She didn’t think she’d be able to hurt him, but she was hoping it would distract him just enough for him to loosen his hold on her.
She quickly pulled the release on the handle, and the door gave way behind her. She slid out of the car, her ass and her elbows landing painfully on the asphalt. She cried out as her knee twisted unnaturally. Her feet were still stuck in the car, one of them tangled in the seatbelt.
She yanked at it, disengaging her foot. Then she scooted backward a few feet and got up. She took off in a hobbled run. Daring a glance over her shoulder, she saw Fedor slam the car door closed. The light turned green and the car pulled into the intersection.
Ginny ducked into an alley and leaned against the side of the building. He isn’t coming after me.
True, he could tell the driver to circle around and look for her, but somehow she didn’t think he would. In a twisted way, she was insulted. It was salt in her open wound—she wasn’t even worth the effort to retrieve.
Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. She went further up the alley, each step causing a pain to radiate up her leg into her knee, but still she kept going, her hands shaking. After about ten blocks, she stopped and pulled her phone out of her clutch.
She stared at it. Who should she call? The police? Probably, but she wouldn’t, and Fedor knew that. Calling the police put Veronica in danger.
Her parent
s? No, she wanted to keep them out of this.
She scrolled through her contacts list, her thumb hovering over a number. He’d said to call anytime. God, she hoped he meant it.
It rang twice, three times. “Pick up, pick up,” she begged into the darkness of the alley.
“Sorry to have missed your call—”
She ended the call with a curse.
Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. When she wiped at them, her hands came away tinged with blood. God, what had he done to her face?
She’d never felt more alone. She had no one else she could call.
Sure, she had some local girlfriends and society acquaintances, but she had no one she could call to pick her up in the middle of the city when she was battered and bleeding.
She was a fool to think she could handle the situation with Fedor, a fool for thinking a marriage to him would be a solution for anything. For every problem the arrangement would solve, a bigger one had sprung up in its place.
But she couldn’t stay here. She opened the Uber app on her phone and entered her location.
Chapter 11
Tony scrolled through the messages on his phone as he walked up to his apartment. He’d missed a call. When had that happened? He’d had his phone with him all evening. Oh, right. It must have been that call he declined while in his father’s office. He’d forgotten all about it.
He clicked on it and nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw the call was from Ginny. Shit. If she’d actually reached out to him, it probably wasn’t for a good reason.
“Tony.”
He looked up to see Ginny, in the flesh, climbing to her feet at his front door. She’d been sitting on the ground. What the hell?
He rushed over, and when she brushed her hair out of her face, the blood in his veins ran cold.
Her face was a mess. Black makeup was smeared all over her face, but that was the least of it. The rest of her face resembled his after he’d taken a beating at his first MMA match. The skin around her eyes was turning a sickly shade of purple, the beginnings of two black eyes. Dried blood was coated on her lip from where it’d been split. Bruises were forming at her temples.
Goddammit! Of all times not to take a call. Could this have been prevented if he’d answered his fucking phone?
“My God,” he breathed. “What happened?”
He put his hands on her arms, wanting to touch her, to reassure himself that she was there. Alive. She looked like she’d been fighting for her life.
Her lower lip quivered and she started sobbing, her whole body shaking with the effort. He tucked her into his chest, using one hand to fish his keys out of his pocket. He quickly unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
He pulled her against him again, holding her while she cried, the sobs wracking her body. She was breaking right here in his arms. And he wanted to break with her.
He hurt for her. God, he wanted to take her pain away and make it his so she didn’t have to suffer. Every tear that fell broke off a sliver of his heart.
And increased his need for vengeance tenfold.
He only needed one guess to figure out who was responsible. If Ginny didn’t need him right now, he’d be in his car, hunting down the bastard. Then he’d tear him apart, limb by fucking limb. He’d enjoy making that fucker suffer. The only downfall would be that he couldn’t kill him twice.
He tamped down his rage, knowing it wouldn’t help Ginny at that moment.
So instead, he stroked her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead. God, he wanted to do so much more. He wanted to inspect every inch of her skin and kiss her all over.
She should be worshipped, not used as a punching bag.
Her sobs quieted and he lowered his arms. She gasped when he came in contact with her elbows. He gently shifted her arms so he could inspect them. Both elbows were skinned and little pieces of gravel were stuck in the wounds.
He closed his eyes, trying to control his anger at the thought that she might have scars.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice even through clenched teeth.
She nodded, looking up at him with wide trusting eyes, and he took her to his bathroom.
“The first thing we need to do is get the gravel out,” he said.
She nodded again and he took her arms and positioned them over the sink so he could pour water over the wounds. Goosebumps formed on her arms and he immediately increased the water temperature.
Goddammit.
This was wrong on so many levels. She could not have goosebumps as a result of her wounds being tended.
The only goosebumps he wanted on her flesh were the ones he would put there. They would be goosebumps caused by pleasure, not discomfort.
Even in her battered state, his body still responded to her. He wanted nothing more than to take care of her in every way she needed.
She angled her arms so he could access her elbows better and in doing do, leaned up against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He stopped what he was doing for a moment and enveloped her in his arms. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled.
Good. He wanted her to feel safe with him.
They stayed that way for several minutes, the running water the only sound in the small space.
“How could he do this to me?” Her voice was small and void of emotion. It tore at him—Ginny was normally lively and full of life.
Barkov had broken more than her body—he’d broken her spirit.
He spun her around and her eyes widened in surprise.
“You are worth everything,” he said roughly. He trailed her fingertips down her cheek. “Your face and smile brighten a room.” He lightly touched his lips to her forehead, then her jaw.
She inhaled sharply, clutching his forearms.
“Your body should belong to a goddess.” He placed butterfly kissed on her exposed shoulder, trailing them down her arm. Then he took her hands in his and turned them up, nuzzling her palms.
“But what I like most about you—” His voice was hoarse, full of raw emotion. “Is your mind. You’re so beautiful, inside and out. You’re worth everything and more.”
Her lower lip quivered and it took all his restraint not to press his lips there, to continue his kisses on the rest of her body. To show her her worth.
But she was emotionally and physically fragile.
“Let’s finish cleaning you up,” he said.
“No,” she whispered.
“Ginny, we have—”
“No, I mean keep going. Your kisses.”
* * *
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, stunned at her own brazenness. But the feel of Tony’s lips on her skin were the only thing making her feel alive, the only thing making her remember she deserved love, care, tenderness.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring back at her with a question in his eyes. That and tenderness. She’d always been able to count on Tony for that.
And she needed it now more than ever.
God only knew she had no right to what she was asking.
But she nodded at him, giving him the permission his question demanded.
Tony’s eyelids lowered, his gaze sweeping over her body. Then he gently kissed her palms again. First one, then the other.
His breath on her skin warmed her in more ways than one.
He rotated her arm so he could kiss the tender spot on her wrist. He sucked gently and her pulse throbbed as her heartbeat quickened.
His dark eyes were on hers again and he stepped closer, putting them toe to toe. Then he dropped his mouth to her throat.
Her hands clutched at his back and she swayed into him.
His lips worked on her skin. When she felt the flick of his tongue, she almost moaned. Tingles rushed through her body and she almost staggered at the power. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had affected her this way.
Except no, that wasn’t true.
Tony had given her these feelings b
efore, at the gala.
His hands traveled lightly down her spine. Through the sheer dress, she could almost feel his touch on her bare skin.
She wanted to feel it. She wanted to feel his touch on every inch of her body.
But she also wanted to touch him.
She reached for his shirt, planning to tug it out of his pants. But when she gripped his belt, her skinned knuckles brushed against the hard leather and she hissed in pain.
Tony stopped immediately, pulling back. “Did I hurt you?”
Wanting to pull him close to her, she reluctantly shook her head. “No, I skimmed my knuckles against your belt.”
Various emotions flickered through Tony’s eyes. Sorrow, anger, and finally the tenderness again.
“We need to finish tending to your wounds.”
He was right, but damn if she would rather stay here for hours, letting him rain kisses upon her body. They might not heal her physical wounds, but they tended to her soul.
* * *
Tony gently washed the dirt and blood off her arms.
Barkov spilled Ginny’s blood kept running through his mind. That fucker was so fucking lucky Ginny needed him right now. Tony didn’t own any weapons, but he wouldn’t need one—he would rip Barkov apart with his bare hands.
For a moment while tasting Ginny’s skin, he’d almost forgotten why she’d come to him. Then she’d hissed in pain, snapping him back to reality.
He needed to be careful with her.
He worked meticulously, trying hard to mask his anger that her soft skin was marred, but he was also putting off what came next.
He pulled a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out from under the sink. “We need to clean the cuts.”
She nodded again, and he screwed the lid off the bottle, hesitating for a moment. He knew all too well how much this stung. During the time when he did MMA every day, he’d dressed a fair number of his own injuries.
He poured the solution on her elbow and she sucked in a breath. Tears came to her eyes and she blinked, obviously trying hard to be strong.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” Even though he knew it was necessary, he hated causing her more pain, especially when all he wanted to do was make everything in her world right. When all he wanted to do was kiss her until everything was all better.
Hold You Close Page 9
