His Dark Love

Christian takes hold of the girl’s arm and pushes it up her back tight. He knows it’s painful and uncomfortable enough for her to feel the tingle of blood draining from her arm. He knows the feeling well. But she’s a fighter. He’s too strong for her but she’s still trying to get free.

He feels a sharp stab of pain when her nails scrape and dig along his wrist drawing blood. Instinctively he swears, violently pushing his hand hard into the small of her back, watching her fall onto the sparsely carpeted floor. She cries out and a small part of him twists with remorse. Hell, he can’t take any chances, working in security to the famous and the stinking rich has gained him too many enemies that want to see him dead or disgraced and run out of Paris, even if she is a pretty bundle of skirt.

He straddles her holding both arms up her back, hurling French at her like there is no tomorrow. She answers back straining to raise her head from the dirty yellow carpet he has her face squashed into.

“So, you are English, you might want to work on your accent,” he tells her in English. “Now maybe you would like to tell me what you are doing creeping into my room from the balcony in the middle of the damn night?”

“Let me go. I had to jump over the balconies. A man forced his way into my room....”

She has a soft voice, gentle and feminine yet he hears something hissing with controlled bitterness behind her words. She sounds afraid of him, as she should be, but he’s not so sure. He sighs impatiently determined to make her feel afraid so she will tell him the truth.

Christian pulls harder on her arms until he hears her squeal. He’s met her type before, all cotton candy sugar sweet girl, but more deadly than any man could ever be.

“Try again and tell me the truth.”

“It’s not as though I had a choice.”

This time he definitely hears the hiss behind her speech as she spits her words out. He feels his brow crease with surprise. He’s right, she isn’t afraid as much as she should be, it’s almost as though she is attempting to control her temper with him. He laughs inside, he’s intrigued.

“Tell me the truth. If you’d stop struggling it wouldn’t hurt so much. Who are you? Maybe the police know who you are. Maybe I should call them.”

He feels a sudden tightness in her body. It’s like her blood has frozen or something. She’s gone cold, really cold. Her fear is chilling the room. She’s silent and then she stutters.

“All right, let me up and I will tell you who I am and what I was doing.”

He decides to take a chance that she isn’t bluffing. Christian doesn’t like the tight feeling in her body. In one swift movement, he pulls her up sharply and drags her nearer the bed. The lamp sitting on the side table is casting a low dim light over the faded yellow bedspread that looks as if it hasn’t been changed in the last thirty years. He lets go of her arms and watches her rub her wrists.

She seems afraid to look up at him, make eye contact. But then she chances it. Now they are next to the light he isn’t straining to look at her in the moonlight coming in through the shrouded French windows.

Her eyes are green, the colour almost an exact match for emeralds. They are twinkling like jewels at him. Her figure is small and curved, a slim hourglass. She’s more than tempting. He notices his tallness and uses it to his advantage to intimidate her, leaning over her like the leaning tower of Pisa. He gives her the once over, studying her with scrutiny for signs that would give her game and identity away.

The woman blushes and lowers her eyes to his chest. Christian follows them and suddenly realises his black shirt isn’t buttoned up after he pulled it on in a hurry when she came through the French windows. He gives her a lazy mocking smile and he sees a flicker of embarrassed irritation flash across her eyes. The grin gets wider. They don’t know each other. There is no history between them, so why does he get the feeling that she hates him already?

He stands in front of her.

“You’ve been in trouble with the police before?”

He takes out his mobile and calls them. Time to call the pretty lady’s bluff.

“No, no please not the police.”

Now she sounds frightened, now he might get somewhere. He allows another smile to light his face. This time its sadistic. Now he has her trapped. Again, he sees irritation and heavy bitterness clouding her eyes with frustration. He decides to push it further as he watches her hands curl into fists at her sides. He knows she wants to hit him and make a dash for it but then she wouldn’t get far.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at her.

“No. I haven’t been in trouble with them before,” she sounds as though she is trying to keep her temper again. He watches her mentally try to rein herself in, softening her voice. “I wasn’t trying to steal anything. What I have told you is true. If you don’t believe me, come back to my room and I will show you. He will still be there,’ Her voice sounds upper crust English, sexy.

Christian shakes his head, holds his phone up and presses re-dial. He watches her bottom lip tremble as they both listen to it ring. She whimpers when she hears the tinny disembodied voice on the other end of the phone answer the call. Time seems to hang paralysed in the air.

“You will have to do better than that.”

“Please, look I will do anything you ask, anything if you will just let me go.”

She’s using that fragile voice again. He sees her search his face for some kind of sympathy, some gallant gesture. But he knows the steel armour he wears over his features is impenetrable. Her head bows and long honey coloured curls cascade around her shoulders. Christian doesn’t have to see to know that she is trying to hide tears. But then she lifts her head, her cheeks are wet but there is a look of determined will on her face. He can throw what the hell he likes at her but she will still fight him.

He can’t work her out. She jumps when he snaps the phone shut.

“Who hit you?” he asks studying the bruising along her cheek, clearly visible since she’s raised her head up at him and her hair isn’t hiding the side of her face anymore.

The strength in her eyes flickers and dies. She looks at him confused. He’s unsettled her. She drops her chin immediately. He moves towards her and she takes a step back. He takes her arm, gently this time, and pulls her back to heel, still feeling resistance running strong within her.

He wants a closer look, wants to know more about her. Carefully he cups her chin to tilt her head to one side. It is an effort. She tenses even further when he sweeps his fingertips over the dramatic mixture of violet and dark blue. He makes his touch careful, protective, as he turns her back to face him.

“Who hit you?” he repeats his question, softly.

“He didn’t hit me this time, it was when he banged my head off the wall,” her words are a whisper as he sees her mentally replay back the memory through her eyes as they scrunch and sting with pain.

It’s his turn to tense. Christian blinks and feels the familiar anger that’s coiled so tight inside him raise its ugly head. Just like Marie, beaten and raped and there was nothing he could do.

The woman is looking at him with confusion again, trying to read his thoughts, second guess what is coming next. He stares at her, sees the pain behind her eyes, sees her strength shining through at him like a defiant beacon. He can’t help but admire it.

His features lose their hardness. Damn it. He is a fool but she’s touched something deep inside his heart - struck a chord with something that has turned hard, black, and is withering to death since Marie’s death. She’s feeding it a little water and giving it some hope that it can live again. He stops staring at her and curses loudly. She jumps in response.

“You are safe for now beautiful, but if you don’t tell me what you are in my room for…”

Christian stops. Damn it she’s unsettled him now. “I will have no choice but to turn you over to the police.” He’s not going to let her win and catch him off guard, he’s learnt the hard way about falling for women and feeling sorry for them since Marie. Maybe he should try another tact with this woman. He toughens inside, intent on not allowing her fragility and pretty face seep through his skin and knock him off guard. He’s seen this all before.

He replaces his fingers back on her cheek. Her eyes look down at his fingers with suspicion.

“Hush, I won’t hurt you like him.”

“Look I didn’t come here to steal anything. Please let me go.”

He ignores the plea in her voice.

“You came into my room unannounced, uninvited in the middle of the night.”

He strokes her cheek gently.

“Look I’ve already told you…”

He holds her chin up until he can feel her straining on his grip. He’s showing his power over her.

“I don’t believe you. How about you stop playing games and tell me why you are here? Did someone send you? Are you here to seduce me for them?”

Christian can’t resist giving her the once over again, admiring the perfect plump swell of her breasts in the little black dress she is wearing. He wouldn’t mind being seduced by her but he did have a reputation to uphold, and to be caught with a prostitute in a run down hotel in the middle of Pigalle with a bruise to the girl’s face could conjure up some interesting stories and false accusations that could ruin him. Just like his father wants.

It’s probably him who sent her. It’s what his father does best, knowing people’s weakness, exploiting it and using it against them until they gave him what he wanted. And they always did. Then he killed them for it. Well this time Gabriel Dumont and his precious Mafia family would have to do without his illegitimate son. The prodigal son would not be returning to take over the family business and perpetuate the family line. He escaped years ago and he is never going back, not even if hell freezes over. This time the evil bastard will just have to do without.

She looks directly at him.

“Don’t be stupid. I came over the balcony from the room next door. If I wanted to take your virtue I would hardly risk my life would I?”

Christian eyebrows rise and he can’t help smiling. The woman has balls. He likes that.

“I don’t know, I’ve heard worse stories.”

The amusement lining his words seems too much for her and he watches her eyes narrow to sharp points.

“What’s your name?”

He lowers his voice to a whisper once more.

“Isabelle,” she answers automatically and visibly regrets her slip of the tongue. She begins moving her feet, clearly feeling the heat of the painful strain on her neck and chin.

“That’s a lovely name, Isabelle.”

Christian’s hands slip to her neck, his fingertips trailing her skin, just where he knows she will be most sensitive to touch. She freezes, looks at him with undisguised horror. But he feels her cold skin warm against his fingers.

“Isabelle who?”