“You stupidcunt! I don’t fucking care what you want. Do you understand English?”
“What thefuckare you doing?” Rage roars through me as I watch blood seep out of Natasha’s leg and her lip, and I glare at my son, who’s breathing hard, a look of pure malice on his face.
Christ.
He’s not answering me, and the woman won’t look at me, so I march to my son, fist my hand in his shirt and snarl, “I asked you a fucking question. I won’t repeat myself.”
“I’m putting her in her place.”
Jesus fuck, this isnothow I taught my kid to behave.
I can smell the liquor on him, and it turns my stomach, and I push him away from me.
“That isnothow I taught you to treat women.”
Elliott shakes his head and turns his back, marches to his bedroom and slams the door, and with a sigh, I turn my attention to the woman on the floor.
She’s in a white dress—I’ve only ever seen her in white, now that I think about it—which is spattered with blood, and her blond hair is down, shielding her face from me. She’s trembling, which only makes me angrier.
Has he been treating her like this the whole goddamn time? They’ve been seeing each other for a month.
Squatting next to Natasha, I reach over to brush her hair behind her ear, but she flinches away from me, giving the rage flowing through me a renewed energy.
“I won’t hurt you,” I murmur to her. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I-I can just go home.” Her voice is small, and she won’t look me in the eyes, which annoys the shit out of me. She’s too amazing to be this ...small.That’s the only word I have for it. Her voice, the way she’s making her already petite body look tiny, as if she’s trying to disappear.
This woman should stand up, take up all the space she needs and fucking roar.
“Do you want me to help you up?”
She takes a deep breath and then shakily climbs to her feet, and with my hand barely on her back, I lead her down the hall. She moves away, so I can’t touch her, which I allow for now, and when we walk into my bedroom, her eyes scan the large space, the tall ceilings and wall of windows that look out to the strip, the perfectly made bed, and I guide her to my bathroom.
I have six bathrooms in this penthouse, and why I immediately brought her to mine, I don’t want to think about.
“I’m going to lift you onto the vanity.”
Her brows pull into a frown, but she gives me a shaky nod, granting me permission to boost her up by the waist onto the marble vanity, and then I grab a washcloth and the first aid kit from beneath the sink, ignoring the way my hands want to continue to touch her.
I turn on the water to let it warm up, and then with one finger under her chin, I lift her gaze to mine.
Christ she’s fucking beautiful.
Since that day in her father’s office, I’ve been drawn to her, which is a huge fucking problem considering she’ll be marrying my son.
But who could resist these big blue eyes, the gorgeous, smooth skin, and those plump bowed lips?
And who in their right mind could possibly mistreat her?
“I’m sorry that happened.” My voice is low, and my face is stoic as I take in her cut and bleeding lip and the older bruise on her jawline.
“It’s not your fault,” Natasha whispers. She’s still shaking, and I hate it. I don’t want her to be afraid of me, and she absolutely shouldnotbe afraid of the man she’s going to be married to, and I’ll be having a conversation with Elliott after I get her fixed up and headed home.
“Are you hurt too?”
I frown, following her gaze to my blood-spattered shirt.
“No. It’s not mine. Does he hit you often?” I ask her as I wet a cloth and wipe it over her chin, cleaning up the blood where her lip is split. She winces but doesn’t jerk away as I dab it clean.
