by Leslie Kelly
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Viv said, her smile bright and disarming. “I’ve heard so many other older guests such as yourself say the same thing. Those orthopedic beds are perfect for aches, pains and rheumatism.” She glanced at Damien. “Right, babe?”
Damien held in a laugh. The woman in red appeared ready to spit nails, but Viv merely lifted her champagne glass and refocused her attention on Amelia.
Viv might have been protecting her territory in a woman’s game, but he found himself amused by it. Probably not what she’d been going for, but he enjoyed the feeling, anyway. Her hands-off-bitch-he’s-mine attitude only aroused him more, and he was dying to get out of here.
First, though, there was one more thing he wanted to do. He’d held Viv in his arms many times now, but never while there was music playing. “Dance with me?”
She glanced at the nearly empty dance floor, obviously wondering if she should make a spectacle of herself. But he knew she wouldn’t let him down. Finally, she nodded and let him take her hand to help her out of the chair. He led her out onto the dance floor and swept her into his arms.
Damien had been stuck in dance classes as a kid. He hadn’t remembered them in years, but when he drew Viv close, one arm around her waist, his other hand raised and entwined with hers, he found them coming back. It was schmaltzy and a little silly, but the steps of the waltz suddenly seemed exactly right. She looked like Cinderella, so why shouldn’t she be swept into a formal glide around the ballroom?
“You dance very well,” she said.
“So do you.”
“Where did you learn?”
“Madame Fleming’s Dance Academy for Young Ladies and Gentleman in Miami Beach.”
She snickered. “Old lady Sneed’s after-school dance-a-palooza, Gerryville YMCA.”
They spun and twirled, and out of the corner of his eye, Damien noticed the few other couples on the floor leaving it. Soon he and Viv were entirely alone, turning in broad circles, oblivious to everyone else but the music and the twinkling lights and each other.
They were halfway through a three-quarter turn, between a potted palm and the raised stage where the musicians sat, when he realized he was falling in love with her.
Staring into those blue eyes, hearing that delighted laughter, smelling her soft, evocative scent, even noticing the way her brow creased as she concentrated on her counting absolutely delighted him. He found himself wanting to do nothing but stare at her, talk to her, be with her. She was his first thought every morning, and if her face wasn’t literally the last thing he saw every night, it was most certainly the last image in his mind.
He had never experienced it before, always doubted he would...but he truly believed he had fallen in love. It went against all odds and expectations—hell, practically against his own genetics—and probably against common sense, considering the obstacles. Proximity being one of them, the fact that his family was pretty fucked up being another. But it suddenly didn’t matter.
For the first time in his life, he actually began to believe he understood what the whole love thing was all about. Because of her.
“I’m glad we came,” he said, not yet ready to actually say anything to her about his strange emotional self-revelation.
“So am I.”
He kissed her temple. “But now I’m ready to get out of here. I want to take you upstairs and strip that dress off you so I can make love to you for hours.”
Her mouth trembling, she nodded. They abruptly halted their dance, heading without a word toward their table. Before they reached it, though, she said, “I left my wrap in the prep room we were using before the party. Actually, I left my overnight bag there, too.”
“Oh, were you planning on having a sleepover?”
She smirked and lowered her voice. “You’ve done a great job tonight, baby, being pretty and keeping your mouth shut and all. I guess I’ll give you somethin’ to make it worth your while.”
He had no doubt of that. Anything she cared to give him would undoubtedly go on his list of favorite things ever. “I’ll go get your wrap and your bag.”
“That’s not necessary,” she insisted. “Give excuses to Lex and Amelia for me, and meet me out in the corridor. I can slip out of the prep room, cut through the service wing and avoid the farewells.” She reached down and lightly pinched his ass. “I’ll meet you at the elevators. The sooner we’re in one, the sooner I can shimmy out of my panties.”
Whistling as he imagined how much fun it would be to test the elevator’s safety systems again, he strode to the table. Lex and Amelia were going as well, and they ended up leaving the ballroom together, along with a handful of other guests.
As they walked out the doors, Damien glanced down a side corridor and spotted a flash of blue that could only be Viv’s dress. He smiled, wondering if her panties were the same color. Or if she’d already slipped them off and intended to hand them to him the minute they were alone. With Viv, anything was possible.
The idea of her being pantieless and alone suddenly worried him. Rather than heading to the elevator, he decided to go to her, not wanting her to walk through the rear service hallways of the hotel alone. He turned to give a final wave to Viv’s friends, but froze when he heard the sound of a woman’s shriek.
His blood went cold. Some might have confused the noise for a shrill laugh, but Damien knew it hadn’t been. His instincts—already heightened even before he’d heard the sound—were now pinging, tension flooding him. He couldn’t see who’d made the distressed sound.
But he didn’t have to.
He knew Viv. By now, he knew every inch of her, from the dimple on her pert butt to the freckles on her collarbone, to the sound she made when she was excited. Or happy.
Or frightened.
Damien spun around, his body reacting before his mind had a chance to. He didn’t spare a glance for Lex or Amelia, or anyone else, including the startled-looking staff members. There was no time. Viv needed him.
He pounded down the hall at a dead run, toward where he’d last spotted her.
Frantic for her, he rounded the corner and his heart fell from his chest. Because there stood Viv, one hand gripping her torn dress, the other touching her swollen lip. Her blue eyes swam with tears of pain, which filled Damien with a level of rage he’d never experienced before in his life.
There was no evaluating the situation, no wondering who, what, why. He simply saw Viv—his Viv—struggling with a massive guy wearing jeans and a hoody, and launched.
9
WITH HER WRAP in her hand and anticipation filling her mind and heart, Viv hadn’t experienced the slightest hint of worry as she’d entered a secluded hallway of the hotel. She’d been practically skipping, still cocooned in the bliss she’d experienced when Damien had whisked her across the floor. Viv had always been more of a shake-it-don’t-break-it kind of girl when it came to dancing. But when Damien Black had waltzed her around the room, she wasn’t sure she’d touched the ground.
She’d felt, for one heart-stopping moment, cherished, as if she was living out her most romantic girlhood fairy-tale dream.
And then she’d walked by herself into the small hallway near an access door used for loading and unloading into the catering kitchens, and entered her worst nightmare.
“You fucking bitch.”
The words had hit her a split second before the body did.
Big. Hard. Smelling of sweat and liquor.
She hadn’t recognized him at first, too shocked to do anything but throw her hands up as he came at her. But she might has well have been trying to stop a tsunami with two open palms. Her strength was no match for his, her defenses completely ineffectual against the hundreds of pounds of angry, muscled man.
He grabbed her hair, pulled it painfully, while, with the other hand, he yanked a fistful o
f her dress and twisted. She heard seams tear, cried out at the agony of skin being sliced and abraded, then found herself thrust off her feet and shoved into the wall so hard her head thunked against it.
Her breath whooshing out of her, the world spun. Confusion warred with pain, but both immediately lost ground to fear. “What do you want?” she said, her voice shaking.
“Whatya owe me, y-you teasing whore.”
Her vision was blurry, tears, terror and pain confusing her, but at last she recognized the face and the voice.
“Bruno?”
“Should remember my name since you ruined my life.”
Genuine terror had her in its grip and now it squeezed tight. Bruno Neeley had always been a giant asshole, but he’d at least tried to hide his jerkish tendencies behind an aw-shucks-I-didn’t-mean-any-harm act.
Now there was no charm. His mask was off, the real man—big, angry, drunk—was fully revealed.
“I didn’t ruin your...”
“My wife took my kids, you cunt.”
Anger swelled, momentarily shoving the fear aside. Along with every other female in the world, she hated that word. “Smart woman,” she muttered.
He shoved her again, but this time he didn’t let go of her dress, and it ripped further. She crossed her arms over her breasts, struggling to keep herself covered. Though it went against her nature, Viv said nothing, instinctively aware she had to avoid provoking him further while she waited for an opportunity to escape him.
Viv tried to remember where the door to the next banquet room was, wondering if Damien had emerged through it yet. Nobody inside would hear her scream, but those leaving might.
“She’s divorcing me and is gonna get more in alimony than that stupid Canadian team can pay me.”
“Bruno, please, let me go. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Yes it was!” He leaned close, spittle landing on her skin as he shouted, “You acted like you wanted me, and when I took you up on it, you slapped me and humiliated me in front of the press. You cost me my job, and my family.”
“No, no I didn’t.” She swallowed, trying reason, though he was probably too far gone for that to work. “I never meant to lead you on. And I had no idea you would be traded.”
“Bullshit!” He rubbed his hand on his mouth, something she’d seen alcoholics do. Considering the man’s reputation for bad behavior, she had to wonder if he’d had an alcohol problem long before he’d gotten drunk to drown his woes tonight.
“You’ve got to let me go. I’m sure we can work this out.”
“Yeah, you gonna get your boyfriend to cancel the trade and give me my job back?
She shook her head. “What?”
“You got me fired, you can fix it. Spread your legs, make him happy and get me on the team again.”
Now he was just rambling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Stop lying, I saw you with him! You’re fucking the team owner.”
“No, I’m certainly not. That’s crazy.”
“Well, you will be soon, ’cause that’s the only reason anybody would be with you. You stupid bitch, he just wants a piece of ass.” He let out an ugly laugh. “Oh, and to keep you from suing or something. When his pussy lawyer threw me out, he said the owner was sooo worried about you suing them all.”
“Bruno, I’m sorry for your problems, but you’re very confused right now.”
“You’re the one who’s confused if you really believe some billionaire gives a shit about a trashy slut like you.”
She swallowed hard, determined not to let his words get to her. She couldn’t let her anger lead her to make a mistake that would goad him into more violence.
But he wasn’t finished. “You ain’t livin’ no fairy tale, sweetheart. I don’t care how much you dance around the room with him.”
He meant Damien. Apparently Bruno had heard about tonight’s event, come here drunk and spied on what was going on. The fact that he’d caught her alone had been icing on his revenge cake.
“He uses people like me...and like you. He’ll trade you when he’s done with you, too.”
His words confused her, but she tried to keep her tone calm, treating him as she would a wild bear she’d encountered in the woods. “Bruno, why don’t you go next door—some of the guys are there. I’m sure one of them would take you home.”
“Are you deaf? I don’t have a home no more!”
He shook her violently, so hard that she lost her grip on her dress. The silky blue fabric fell down, exposing her breast, and he immediately focused his attention there, an ugly smile pulling up his mouth, revealing his broken teeth.
“Or maybe we can make a deal.” He licked his lips. “You give me what you’re giving your boss, Mr. Black. Let’s find out if your pussy is worth the cost of that necklace he put on you tonight.”
“You’re disgusting. You’re also confused, and you’re drunk,” she said, trying to sound calm and strong, though she was trembling and her heart was galloping in her chest.
“Drunk. Not confused.”
He crowded closer, bending to try to kiss her. Viv jerked her head away, but he grabbed her jaw to hold her still, gripping painfully with his strong fingers. She would have bruises tomorrow.
Dear Lord, please let it be only bruises.
She wasn’t about to give up without a fight. When he moved his mouth to hers, she bit him, satisfied by his yelp of pain.
Her satisfaction was short-lived. Growling, Bruno slapped her hard across the face, making her whole head jerk to the side. Her ears rang, her face ached, but even through the shock, Viv saw his fury when he realized she’d drawn blood. It spilled off his lip, and he angrily rubbed it away with his arm. An almost visible blanket of rage dropped over him, and every ounce of it was directed at her.
She was in trouble now. Serious trouble. Viv had no doubt he intended to hurt her. She could smell his intentions in his fetid, whiskey-soaked breaths blasting her in the face.
His big hand fisted.
She reacted instinctively, diving away from him, hearing a crash as he landed a punch on the wall behind where she’d just been standing. Stumbling, she spun around the corner into a broader corridor that led out toward the lobby. She managed to get a few feet ahead of him, aiming for the far end of the hallway that led out of this service-room maze. At the end of it, she beheld a tall, dark-haired man in a tux, and her heart leaped.
Opening her mouth to scream for help, she found herself yanked out of sight of the man she prayed was Damien, and a beefy hand slammed on her lips. Viv twisted and struggled, not caring that the dress was falling off her. She bit at his hand, scratched at his face and finally was able to draw breath enough to scream.
Only once, but she gave it everything she had.
God, please let Damien have heard.
Bruno picked her up and began dragging her toward a storeroom. She was well aware if he got her inside, she would not escape rape. Or worse. He was out of his mind, blaming her for all that had gone wrong in his life, determined to mete out punishment. Tied up in that anger and drunkenness was lust, violence and a seething desire for revenge.
They neared the door.
She remembered something she’d read once about how to evade an attacker. Letting her body go limp, she forced him to support her entire dead weight.
If he’d been a normal-sized guy, it might have helped. Neeley, however, wasn’t slowed down a bit. Instead, as if to punish her for trying, he began to squeeze her around the middle. His crushing grip made her bones audibly crack. The air was being forced out of her lungs, and she was unable to fill them again, breathing in desperate pants.
Hot tears filled her eyes. Viv became light-headed, and wanted to sob at the pain in her ribs, when suddenly, to her shock, Bruno dropped her onto the gr
ound as he stumbled to his knees.
Gasping for breath, she scooted out of the way as Damien landed on the other man. The two of them rolled across the floor, crashing into the opposite wall. Damien was pummeling the hockey player, cursing him, threatening him. His face was a twisted mask of rage; she’d never seen him like this, oblivious to everything except the thug who was staggering to his feet, ready to fight against someone closer to his own size.
But not that close.
Bruno Neeley had to weigh almost three hundred pounds. He was acknowledged as a brute on the ice, a right wing who gave out concussions by the boatload to opposing players. Yes, he was drunk, unsteady, and Damien had caught him off guard. But he was quickly rebounding, throwing his weight behind a counterattack.
The two men went flying by her in the other direction, each struggling for an advantage. Bruno was all brawn, but Damien was quick, strong and driven by an almost insane bloodlust. Fists thudded against bodies. Harsh breaths became snarls. Viv looked frantically around, wanting to find something to help Damien, and spied only her bag, which held nothing but clothes. There had to be other people nearby. She ran to the hallway for help, beyond happy to see Lex and Amelia hurrying toward them, apparently having followed Damien.
“Help him!” she screamed.
Lex barked something to Amelia and came toward her at a run. He rounded the corner, realized what was happening and dived in to assist Damien. Amelia, meanwhile, darted toward the lobby, calling for security.
Helpless to do anything, Viv stood there biting her nails, watching as two strong men she cared about worked in unison to contain an enraged animal. Fortunately, between them, Damien and Lex got Bruno under control. By the time the two security guards joined them in the alcove, the hockey player was sitting on the floor, his head between his knees, moaning.
Viv began to breathe again as they took control, radioing for the security office to call the police. Once she was sure that Bruno wasn’t going to get up again, she ran into Damien’s arms, sobbing in a delayed reaction made half of fear and half of relief.
He grabbed her, pulled her close, running his hands up and down her sides as if to make sure she wasn’t broken. “Are you all right?”
