by Caro LaFever
Marc glared at the unconscious man, rubbing his knuckles. A primal rage pumped in his blood. His woman. No one else’s. His woman would never be touched by another man. “How old were you?” he rasped.
A short, sharp pause. “It d-d-doesn’t matter.”
He swung around, anger pulsing inside, needing an outlet. “It sure as hell does.”
Her eyes widened at the expression on his face.
“Tell me.”
“I never talk about it.” She slumped on the brick wall as if every bit of her energy was gone.
“You must.” He paced over to her and leaned down, gazing into night-blue eyes filled with turbulent fear. “You must get it out so the memory can be put to rest.”
She stared at him, searching for something. Maybe she found it because she finally spoke. “I got placed with them when I was twelve.” Her lips twisted in a grimace before she continued. “He was the only kid they had. They wanted a g-girl.”
“Go on.” He leaned farther in, trying to wrap her in his presence, in the safety he provided.
“He wasn’t happy,” she murmured. “He was spoiled, didn’t want to share. He hated me.”
Merda. The childhood she’d suffered. While he’d been merely unhappy, yet safe and well cared for, this little girl had been scared, alone and unwanted. His hand lifted, gently cuddling the side of her face as she kept talking.
“But as I grew up, his attitude changed.”
He ground his teeth, sensing what was coming.
“He started leering. Touching.” A lone tear slid across her cheek. His thumb whisked it away. Another replaced it. “I…I…”
“Say it, carita,” he commanded in a low voice.
A whimper escaped her, but at the same time her shoulders stiffened as if wanting to shake her memories off one last time. “I was seventeen when it happened. I w-w-woke and he was in my bed. Touching me.”
A torrent of Italian curses erupted from him. Marc turned to the man on the ground, ready to pummel him and kill him.
“No!” Her hand clutched his elbow. “I got away. Before he could do anything.”
His breath was harsh in the stillness of the alley. The rage roared and rattled inside him.
“No. Please.” Her knuckles went white as she dug into his arm, keeping him from violence. “I ran away. His parents didn’t believe me. S-s-so I left. Before he could do anything else.”
Her words penetrated his fury.
Marc took a deep breath and straightened. With a shaking hand, he slipped his mobile from his pocket.
“Blake,” he barked at his head of security. “I need you to come around to the back of the bar. I have something I need you to deal with.”
He glowered at the unconscious man, then turned and scowled at her. “He's been stalking you ever since, hasn't he? That's why you reacted as you did at your gallery opening. You didn’t want your picture in the tabloids.”
“Yes.” She stared down at the man, her mouth tight, her skin white.
“Why the hell didn’t you report him to the police?”
Her dark head shot up and a bit of fight flitted in her eyes. “I did. Naturally I did.”
Naturally, his little fighter would have fought back. He reached for her, but she shied away. “Darcy—”
“What good does any restraining order do?” She took another step away, her gaze filling with a flame of anger at the system’s betrayal. “What good does it do to tell a policeman who doesn’t even care?”
“I care.” Fury burned inside him at the thought of his sprite spending years running and hiding from this man. Her artistic talent denied. Her life one long struggle to survive. Her fighting spirit the only thing standing in the way of her utter destruction. The urge to kick the unconscious man lying before him was almost undeniable. “He deserves to die.”
She gasped. “No, that isn't—”
Four men dressed in dark suits interrupted her as they swung around the corner coming at them with a swift gait.
“Take him away.” Marc waved at the man on the ground who was gaining consciousness. He exchanged a few terse words with Blake, ensuring his head of security understood the situation and knew what he wanted done. Within seconds, the stalker had his hands manacled behind his back and was being led sniffling and sobbing out of the alley.
Forever out of his woman's life.
She made a move to shuffle past him, but he turned and tugged her into his embrace. The feel of her against him sent a sharp, intense kick of rightness to his gut. This was where she was meant to be. With him, by him. Inside his soul.
His arms tightened around her.
“He will never get near you again,” he muttered into her soft curls. “They are taking him to the police where he'll be charged and put away. You will have to give your testimony. But I’ll be at your side through it all. He's gone for good and I'll make sure you're safe from him from now on.”
He held her. The rage and pain and fear he'd been dealing with for weeks slipping away.
He’d found her.
In this moment, he had found his place and his heart.
Chapter 17
Darcy stood in his warm, strong arms, drinking in the distinct male smell of him, spicy and sexy. Relishing the feeling of protection, of being safe. For a moment, she let herself remember her dream, drift in it.
Then, his words hit her.
Safe? He would always be sure she was safe?
Yanking herself from his embrace, she stepped away.
His face was all astonishment and he made a move to pull her into his embrace again, where she desperately wanted to be. But this way led to nothing for her.
Her hand came in front of her, blocking his move. “No.”
For some strange reason, he'd tracked her down and thankfully been in the right place and time to deal with her stalker. All the same, that shouldn't go to her head nor her heart. She knew the real man, the man who'd walked away from her without looking back. The man who'd blackmailed her. The man who cynically dismissed love. Whose accusations had cut a deep hole in her feisty spirit.
That was the man making promises to her he couldn’t, wouldn’t keep.
“Carita?” His hands twitched as he slowly lowered them. “What’s wrong?”
Everything, she wanted to scream at him. Everything is wrong with you and it's torn my insides apart.
Still, she controlled her emotions, tried to put a brave front on. She had her pride. “I don't know why you're here—”
“I'm here for you.”
She ignored the words, knowing her aching heart couldn't stand another disappointment. “I appreciate you were around when this happened, though.”
He stared at her, silver eyes blazing like star-streaked light. “He'll never bother you again. Of that, I’ll make sure.”
A dry chuckle came from her throat. “We'll see.”
“The police will charge him.”
“He'll eventually get out.” She gave him a nonchalant smile as if it mattered little to her. Yet inside, the old fear bubbled. She’d never really be free of her demon. She’d come to accept the fact. “He's followed me for years. I can't see him changing his ways.”
The man in front of her scowled. “What if he does get out? You don’t remember the security surrounding me at all times?”
“I can't see that has anything to do with me.”
“Why not? You don’t think I have it in my power to protect you? You don’t believe I can keep you safe?”
“Safe?” She was glad her voice held steady. Glad the tone was mocking and cool. “You plan on keeping me safe?”
“Si.” A determined slant edged his mouth. “You will always be protected with me.”
“But that’s the point.” She wrapped her arms around her. “I won’t be with you.”
“Don’t say that.” He took a deep breath, his face tight with tension. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m never letting you go.”
Lightning-quick anger zip
ped along her spine. “I’m not some kind of possession you can pick up any time you want.”
His hand slashed down in instant rejection. “That’s not—”
“Or discard when you no longer want me.”
“Darcy.” His hands fisted on his hips and he dropped his head as if he couldn’t face her. “I’ll always want you.”
His choked words reignited the useless hope, lighting her heart with a deep yearning. She tried to ignore it, push it away. She would not subject herself to the pain she’d felt over the last two weeks ever again. “That’s not what you told me the last time I saw you.”
“I didn’t mean it.” He swung around, as if he couldn’t meet her gaze and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I was wrong.”
The hope tugged at her, her heart cried for her to believe. She wanted to race to him, soothe him, and take him into her arms. But what would she get? A few more nights in this man’s bed? A few more presents she didn’t need? Eventually, inevitably, their relationship would end in his cynical rejection of her when she stepped out of line or did something that roused his mistrust.
She deserved better.
She deserved better.
She loved this man, yet if she let him, he would destroy her. Better to face the pain now and walk away from him with her heart hurting than subject herself to more anguish than she could handle down the road.
“You were right, actually.” She tried for a careless tone, holding onto her last strand of pride. “It would never have worked between us.”
“No,” he snarled, swinging around to glare at her. “It will work.”
His arrogance might have brought a smile to her lips at any other time. However, she was fighting for her soul here, and his bloody insistence in having his way stoked her temper.
“For how long do you want me in your bed?” she scoffed. “For another month? Until you grow tired of me?”
“That is not—”
“Matt warned me. Told me all about you.” She pushed past his objection. “But I was stupid and didn’t listen. I realize that now.”
His hands fisted at his side as if he were ready to battle. “My brother wants—”
“I deserve better than you, Marcus La Rocca.”
Her words echoed in the alley. A hush followed as she watched his face. White brackets around his mouth. Watched his eyes. Grey and stark. Watched as his big body flinched and then grew taut.
“Si,” he finally admitted. “Si. You deserve a better man than I am right now.”
She nearly gasped at his confession.
“Nevertheless, I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
“There’s no point.” The ache was too harsh, the yearning too strong. Before she capitulated to his plea, she turned to leave.
His hand stopped her in her tracks.
“Let me go,” she whispered, her head turned from him.
“I can’t.” His words were tortured, husky with pain. “Please. I’m asking for one more chance to prove to you—”
“Prove to me what?” She turned back and glared at him. “Prove to me your cynicism runs so deep I can’t ever overcome it?”
“Darcy—”
“Prove to me your mistrust will always mean I’ll be under the microscope?”
“I will—”
“Prove to me you don’t and never will believe in love?”
The last word ricocheted between them. His gaze burned with…She couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to know. She simply wanted to leave, huddle somewhere alone, and lick her wounds. But his hand tightened around her, holding her in place.
“I was twenty-one.”
She watched the words come from his mouth. His grim, tight mouth. Held her breath, waiting for what was next.
“I fell in love.”
A gasp did escape her at this confession. It seemed to be enough for him to realize he had her attention. His hand dropped, he paced two steps past her, leaned his shoulder on the brick wall and gazed at the street. “Juliana was the daughter of a wealthy family. I thought she was in love with me, too. Yet when the time came, she went another way.”
“What do you mean?” She stared at him, watching the flash of emotions cross his face. Damaged pride. Remembered hurt.
“She left me and married another man.”
“I’m sorry.” Her heart melted in spite of her determination to stay distant. “Just like your mother.”
He froze. “I never thought of that.”
Men. Totally clueless in so many ways. Darcy barely restrained herself from going over to him and kissing his pain away.
“The man she married,” his confession kept coming, “was also wealthy and powerful.”
She stood silent, letting him give her the gift of himself. His past. His memories.
His gaze met hers. “Because of that experience, I decided that was what I would aim for. Instead of love.”
“What?”
“Wealth. Power.”
“You certainly succeeded.”
He ignored her wry comment. Tension pulsed from him as if he were about to jump into a firestorm and he didn’t know if he’d survive. “I promised myself I’d never be hurt. I’d amass so much wealth I’d snap my fingers and any woman would be at my side. I’d gather so much power I’d never take second place to anyone ever again.”
“Marcus.”
“I succeeded, as you observed.” His gaze never left hers. “Until a small sprite walked into my life and blew my priorities to pieces.”
His words echoed with blunt truth, but she shook her head, not willing to believe in the forlorn hope pumping inside her. She hurt for him, understood now what had caused him to become a cynic, still her spirit couldn’t take the chance on a man this damaged. He would eventually strike out at her. Eventually tire of her and reject her. And in doing so, cut her heart into tiny bits. “That’s not true. I was only a means to an end.”
His grey eyes narrowed as his mouth turned down. “The end being Matteo’s wedding.”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin, the old anger stirring even as she yearned. “Your plan succeeded, didn’t it? Matt is married. I’m of no use to you anymore.”
“No use.” A dry chuckle came from him. Then his keen gaze landed on her face once more. “However, you’re right about one thing. My brother is married.”
She stared right back at him.
“Your lover is married.”
There it was. The essential misunderstanding between them. One that could never be overcome. She scowled down at the road. A pause of breathless suspense or strain or pressure pulsed between them.
“Why the hell did you let me think such a thing?” His words rumbled through the silence. “Why the hell did you let me think my brother and you were together?”
Her head jerked up. “Let you?” Her laugh was harsh. “I couldn’t stop you from believing what you wanted to believe.”
“Now I know better.”
Her hands folded in front of her. Shock bled into a resigned relief. “Matt told you.”
“Si.”
“You believed him.” Her words were flat. “But not me.”
“Si.” He glanced away. Now it was he not meeting her accusing glare.
“That’s why I don’t want to be with you, Marcus.”
Her hard, cold statement wrenched his gaze back to hers. The turmoil in his eyes knifed into her, yet she had to be strong. She had to survive.
“You’re not capable of believing in a woman.”
“No—”
She waved away his hoarse cry. “I understand now why you’re this way. I can accept you were hurt—”
“But—”
“But.” She forced herself to finish. “I can’t handle a life with a man who won’t believe me.”
“I—”
“Who can’t love me.”
His harsh breath filled with silence.
Futile tears welled in her throat. This was it. This was the end. Her heart cried even though
her brain and pride told her she’d done the right thing.
“I love you.”
His words were laced with fear. She felt it. Tasted it. It poured from him in an agony of panicked alarm. He stood tense as if waiting for a blow.
“Marc.” She should walk away now. Still, she was unable to leave him in so much pain.
A short, sharp silence fell between them.
Then he turned to look at her. His eyes, his silver eyes, no longer held a stormy brew of turmoil. They were intense, two silver swords of resolve.
With one pace, he was at her side, tugging her into his arms. A torrent of Italian slipped from him as his lips slid across her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth. His kiss was frantic. A plea and cry she could not deny. Her lips softened, opened to his thrusting tongue and hot mouth. The kiss went on and on as if he’d given up on convincing her with his words and instead, had decided to tell her with his body.
She wrenched herself away from his temptation. “Marc—”
“No,” he moaned into the side of her neck. “Don’t say it.”
Against her will, her hands smoothed across his shoulders. “This won’t work.”
“It will.” He lifted his head and met her gaze with a hot, determined look. “I put myself in your hands, carita.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “I want a man who loves me.”
“You have it.”
The tears choked her throat. She let herself believe a tiny bit. “I want a man who wants to live. Not make money.”
“I will change.” His hands clenched her sides. “I promise.”
“I want a home.” Her deepest desire escaped her.
“You have one,” he responded immediately, without hesitation. “With me.”
Her heart broke free from her pride and fear, jumping and flipping and bursting. “Really?”
The silver of his eyes deepened to pewter. “Marry me, Darcy Moran,” he begged. “Marry me and make me whole.”
She stared at him and saw everything. Everything she’d ever hoped for, dreamed of, needed. Love and hope and need all blended into a promise she could accept.
“Yes.” The one word slipped from her without thought, only instinct. “I’ll marry you.”
