I wasn’t sure what he was asking for. I let him take my wrist, and he gently tautened my arm. His dark, heavy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he examined the bruises.
Contrary to his tender hold on my wrist, he demanded, “When I’m around you, I lose all sense of—”
“Stop it,” I said. “Youdidn’t do this.”
He was quiet for a beat as his fingers marginally tightened around my wrist. After a moment, he met my eyes. The fire behind them told me for some reason, what I’d just said was worse than letting him believe he’d done this. “Then who the fuck did?”
I drew back slightly at his curse. I’d never had someone address me with such vehemence. And over what? He had no right to worry about me—and those who did had never looked the way David did in that moment . . . teeth clenched, nostrils flared, biceps twitching. As if it took everything in him to conceal his anger.
I didn’t even know where to begin or how to explain, only that I had to. “There was this man,” I started. “After Lucy’s party. He was drunk—”
“Olivia.” David’s tone softened. “Tell me the truth. Is this . . . was it him?”
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
“Oh my God,no,” I said. “Never. Bill wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“That’s a common response from a victim of domestic violence. You can tell me. I’ll take care of—this.”
Take careof it? What did that even mean? I tried to pull my arm back, but he held it steady. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth. Bill isn’t even in town. I told you—he’s in New York for a case.”
David frowned. “A case?”
“He’s a lawyer.” I managed to slip my wrist from his grip and immediately regretted it once my skin cooled, devoid of his touch. “I think it’s related to Bill’s work, because the man who did this was waiting for Bill outside my apartment. He found me instead.”
“He knows where you live?” David’s jaw looked tense enough to snap. “For Christ’s sake, Olivia. I should’ve seen you home on Saturday.”
I lowered my voice. “You should have done exactly what you did—nothing,” I said. “I’m not your responsibility.”
He lowered his hand to grip the lip of the desk. “What happened?”
“He grabbed me when I tried to get away and made some threat about getting Bill to free his brother from jail. I don’t know all the details.”
David massaged the bride of his nose. “Why not? What’d your husband say?”
I sighed. “I haven’t told him. I didn’t want to worry him while he’s out of town.”
“You didn’t want to worry him? You don’t think your safety is of the utmost . . .” He paused. “You slept alone last night? The whole weekend? He could’ve come back—”
“I’m fine,” I said softly and touched his forearm. When his expression eased, butterflies twittered in my tummy. Apparently, David’s urge to protect me wasn’t one-sided. I didn’t like seeing him upset, either—but being able to soothe him fulfilled something primal in me I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “Really,” I promised. “My arm doesn’t hurt.”
He frowned, looking skeptical, but it was true. Vivid as they were, the marks didn’t bother me.
“What about tonight?” he asked, his voice somehow both gentle and gravelly. “You can’t stay alone.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Bill flies home later this afternoon.”
That seemed to be enough to separate David from his rage—and from me. He stood, taking a few steps away from my desk. “I should get going,” he said.
“Oh. Okay. Sure.” I rose from my chair, but he was already halfway across the room. “We can do the interview another time,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “Unless you want to call the whole thing off.”
He had his hand on the knob when he paused. Without looking back, he said, “I don’t.”
With my answering flood of relief, it became apparent: I didn’t want that, either.
8
