Christian stared at the woman before him

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, but he couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

He stepped toward her, and she didn’t stop him. Her eyes widened and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. The small motion nearly caused his knees to buckle. “I have a confession to make,” he began, his voice straining as his body tightened.

“And what would that be?” she asked, her eyes wide and luminous.

Instead of answering, he simply brushed a soft yet firm kiss against the sweetness of her mouth. Once his lips touched hers the contact ignited a firestorm that he couldn’t quite control. Her body melted against his, pressing in all the right places. Her softness fit perfectly against his hardened planes, and as she clutched his lower back, he felt his whole world tilt.

Of course, this complicated matters.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way we envision. A series of bad judgments can derail the most focused individual, sending them crashing into a situation that wasn’t of their design and certainly not part of their dreams. When Skye D’Lane materialized in my mind, I knew her soul before I ever knew her story. She’s the tough but tender, not-going-to-give-up heroine who finds love and acceptance in the arms of a truly amazing man—Christian Holt.

This story is near and dear to my heart, as I believe in the power of self-love and forgiveness. We’ve all stumbled and made mistakes, but it takes a strong will to pull yourself up and keep going even if no one else believes you can.

I hope you enjoy this story of redemption and forgiveness tempered with love. I know I did!

Don’t miss the last in the Mama Jo’s Boys trilogy next month, Secrets in a Small Town.

Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys. Feel free to drop me a line at my website, www.kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail at P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Happy reading,

Kimberly Van Meter

A Chance in the Night
Kimberly Van Meter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kimberly Van Meter wrote her first book at age sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for Harlequin Superromance and Harlequin Romantic Suspense. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

To anyone who’s found the courage

to pick themselves up after a devastating

fall…take pride in your courage

and your refusal to quit.

You are an inspiration!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER ONE

CHRISTIAN HOLT KNEW THE minute she entered the bar. His skin prickled in a sensation that was not unpleasant but certainly unnerving as his subconscious seemed to be on high alert for this particular woman and he wished he could find the off switch.

He didn’t want to notice how her hair waved like summer wheat in a soft breeze over a gently rounded shoulder or how her face reminded him of an artist’s rendition of Helen of Troy that he saw in an art gallery in Soho.

A businessman wearing a Brioni suit flagged him with a lifted finger and ordered a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic. Christian could tell by the six-thousand dollar threads the man was going to ask for the good stuff. He could also tell that the man wasn’t a good tipper by the way he didn’t make eye contact with him, as if Christian was beneath his notice. Christian gave the man his drink and, as expected, the businessman barely gave him ten percent. Christian smiled and nodded to the man for his patronage and then made a mental note to go light on the booze next round.

Unbidden, Christian’s gaze returned to where the woman was sitting. She wasn’t what he’d call a regular at Martini, the upscale Manhattan bar where he’d worked for the past three years, as she rarely drank but she was there often enough for him to notice why she came.

Martini, for all its elegance and refinement, was an excellent feeding ground for anyone with a rich palate. It was a playground for the wealthy and over-privileged, with its posh contemporary decor backlit by hidden lighting. He watched as money changed hands, deals were sealed with predatory smiles and beautiful women were never far from the action.

And this woman, with her perfect figure and equally perfect face, was one of many he saw slinking around the city for one purpose: another’s entertainment.

He slewed his gaze away from her, disgust threatening to curl his lip and ruin the careful facade he put out there as the amiable professional who knew when to look away and when to quietly pay attention.

He wanted nothing to do with this woman. Or any woman of her profession.

Christian had an eye for detail that he’d honed on the raw situations that shaped his early childhood. Out of necessity he’d learned how to read people as well as any FBI profiler with a fancy education. He’d learned his skills on the streets, figuring out quite young that everyone had something to hide and sometimes those secrets were vile enough to twist a person into something ugly. So, yeah, Christian had a sixth sense about people. And he was using those skills to make a nice living as a bartender at Martini where money was no object and anything could be bought.

Including the woman at the end of the bar.

Still, as much as he schooled his gaze away from her, she crept into his thoughts as if he had a giant magnet buried in his forehead tugging him in her direction.

A busty redhead took a seat at the bar and he smiled on autopilot. “Let me guess…white wine spritzer,” he said, and her smile widened.

“How’d you know?” she asked, her appraising look taking careful yet casual note of his person and liking what she saw. He knew if he played it right he could get her number easily but he wasn’t hunting for a good time tonight. Besides, there was too much of a distraction in his peripheral vision to truly focus on the delights of the woman in front of him.

He grinned with a shrug. “Lucky guess.”

“I almost ordered a vodka martini,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting into a flirtier smile.

He cocked his head in thought. “Ah, but some thing tells me you’re not a martini drinker and the only reason you were considering it was because you heard that Martini had the best ones in town and you wanted to try it out,” he surmised to her delight, prompting him to continue. “And, if you had your preference, you’d ditch the spritzer altogether and order the champagne but you’re saving that for your date.” So he can pay for it.

She laughed, leaning forward in a subtle, yet playful motion that gave him an unobstructed view of her double D’s as she said, “You’re good. Are you psychic or something?”

He winked. “I’ll never tell.” But if he were psychic he’d know all the details about the woman at the end of the bar, whether he wanted to or not. And as much as he tried to ignore it, his curiosity was becoming an irritant. He returned to the woman in front of him and gestured to the door as a man entered and scanned the bar. “That your friend?”

She glanced toward the entrance and barely hid her disappointment, which told him he’d been right again. He handed her the spritzer and she reluctantly slid from the bar stool. “See you around,” she said, and he just smiled. She left with a suggestive “Maybe sooner rather than later” and walked away slowly so as to give Christian ample time to check out her perfectly sculpted ass. Any other time he’d have enjoyed the view but his gaze returned to the woman he was trying to ignore.

Tonight, there was something different about her. It was subtle to be sure but there was a dark edge to her that bordered on despair, or perhaps desperation. The fingers on her left hand trembled as she played with the base of her wineglass, the white wine she’d ordered earlier untouched. Every now and again, her gaze would drift over the crowd; she was clearly waiting for someone. He noted the barest sense of relief each time her sweep revealed nothing. Whoever she was waiting for wasn’t someone whose attention she wanted.

Occupational hazard, he supposed.

He ought to inquire if the wine wasn’t to her liking, seeing as she hadn’t tasted the pinot grigio since ordering it but he was reluctant to engage in conversation with her, even if only superficially. There were plenty of times he chatted with the regulars, flirted with the cougars and even hooked up a time or two with a hot patron looking for a good time with no strings attached, but he didn’t want to create any kind of familiarity with the woman at the end of the bar.

But, she drew him just the same. Something in her life was putting the subtle wrinkle in her otherwise smooth brow and something was causing her to perch rigidly on her chair, looking brittle enough to crack with a touch. Oh, but she was doing a damn fine job of hiding whatever was eating at her. He had to give her that but he saw beyond her efforts and he wasn’t happy about it. Sometimes his keen sense about people was a burden he didn’t enjoy carrying.

Like right now.

His feet threatened to carry him in her direction but fate intervened and a portly man appeared at her side, eagerness and hunger in his eyes, and Christian faded to the far side of the bar. He had no wish to witness the beginning of the soulless transaction between the two. He knew that she would leave with the fat man because he had paid her to.

Christian’s mouth tightened as a different memory intruded.

Men—not quite so refined in their tastes or heavy in their pocketbook—bursting through the door of the motel where he played with his action figures. Old fat men or young strung-out men, their hands shoved up his mother’s blouse, squeezing her breasts and grunting with anticipation as they tumbled to the bed.

“Christian baby, go get yourself a soda or something,” she instructed breathlessly, the hot, feverish glaze of her eyes burning into him as he bolted for the door. He knew the drill. His mom would need at least an hour to get the job done.

He closed his eyes and shut the door behind him, wishing he could wipe away that image—and a hundred others before it—and jump into someone else’s life where moms didn’t earn the rent money on their backs, home wasn’t a sleazy motel on the bad side of town and hunger didn’t follow you like an unwelcome shadow because there was never enough to eat.

Christian came back to the present with a jerk, annoyed that such a crappy memory had burst free from his mental lockbox. He never thought of those days anymore. His life before eleven years of age was shitty enough the first go round, he didn’t need to revisit it in memory. His gaze found the woman as she left the bar, grace personified on the man’s arm, and muttered a curse under his breath.

He didn’t care what her problems were.

And there was nothing that could make him care.

SKYE D’LANE TRIED HARD not to stiffen and arch away from the touch of her date as his palm burned a hole into her lower back as they walked to the awaiting Town Car idling at the curb.

Her thoughts returned to the bartender at Martini. He’d make a good escort, she thought wryly. Rich women would no doubt pay a good sum to get their manicured hands on his lean body. She was surprised Belleni hadn’t gotten a hold of him yet. Belleni had a way of drawing in the beautiful ones; it’s what made him so powerful. He offered the best to his clients and they paid him well for the privilege of booking a date with Belleni’s elite stable. She remembered when Belleni had approached her, his benign smile hiding a multitude of sins, and she’d fallen for the easy lies that he parceled out like fine morsels to a starving person.

She’d been broken inside and he’d capitalized on it. Before she knew it, she’d been snared by a net of her own making.

Dreams were a dangerous thing in New York, Manhattan specifically. The glitz could blind you. She should know. She resisted the urge to massage the phantom ache in her knee that always bloomed when she thought of her own hopes and dreams. The injury had healed but her career as a professional dancer had not.

She resigned herself to an evening that by the end, she knew she’d want to forget.

She tried to find that place inside of herself that enabled her to forget what she was about to do and pretend to be the gracious, accommodating escort to whomever had paid the exorbitant price Belleni required for her services, but tonight it eluded her. Her fingers shook as she clasped her beaded clutch, swallowing as she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, reaching desperately for that inner strength but her conversation with Belleni only an hour earlier kept coming back to her, shattering her calm.

He was never going to let her go. Not while she remained his Number One girl. Belleni’s hold on her was resolute. He held her most precious possession as collateral.

Nico.

Their four-year-old son.

Skye exhaled softly as the maddening ache of despair arced through her and she knew she had to put that aside for the moment. Her date—Carlton Essex III—wanted Skye D’Lane, gorgeous, sophisticated, with a willing disposition, on his arm and likely, in his bed by the end of the evening if the price was right. The thought caused bile to sear her throat but she gave no indication of her true feelings.

“You do not disappoint, Miss D’Lane,” Carlton murmured into her ear as the car pulled away, his hand resting a bit too closely to her inner thigh. The eagerness in his voice was downright disgusting. His gaze drifted over her silver metallic sheath and his breathing quickened.

“Neither do you,” she lied easily, hoping the evening ended soon. The client had booked her for a charity event at the Four Seasons where he would be donating a large sum to a center for rehabilitated prostitutes. Skye found the irony sickening, though she supposed in her own small way she was helping, too.

“Your skin is like smooth silk,” he said, his tongue sliding along his lower lip as if he were already tasting her. She withheld a shudder. This one would likely leave marks on her tender breasts. In a perverse way, she hoped he would. Belleni didn’t take it lightly when a client left marks on his girls; healing time caused downtime and downtime cost Belleni money. He began running his hand up her thigh, slowly lifting the hem of her dress. “So perfect…”

She wanted to scream Don’t touch me, you filthy pig, but instead she simply laughed and gave his hand a gentle nudge with a smile she didn’t feel and reminded him of the rules. “I’m sure Belleni explained our arrangement, yes?”

Carlton narrowed his already beady eyes and drew back with a displeased grunt. “No touching in public,” he answered. He paused a minute to adjust his girth in the well-tailored suit but his gaze skewed back to her with a glint that she didn’t trust as he said, “But we’re not in public and I want a preview of what I paid for.”

So crass. It was no wonder the man—as wealthy as he was—had to pay someone for company let alone sex. She managed a light laugh. “So impatient. The anticipation will sweeten the experience. We wouldn’t want to be late to your event.”

“They’ll wait. I want to see why you’re Belleni’s most expensive whore.”

She didn’t like the hard light in his eyes. Malice rolled off him in waves. Her pulse quickened as she considered her options. She chose her words carefully. “There are rules to follow if you don’t wish to find yourself on Belleni’s bad side,” she warned him, hoping it was enough to cool the hot lust in his stare.

But Carlton didn’t heed her warning. Hell, the subtle threat seemed to incite him further. He jerked her to him in a swift movement that Skye would’ve thought impossible given his size, squeezing a pained gasp from her even as she pushed against him. “What are you doing?” she tried demanding with some sort of authority, but in truth, fear had replaced her calm bravado. “This isn’t the way Belleni does business. You’re risking more than you know if you don’t follow the rules.”

He ignored her and directed his driver to pull around to the back of the bar, out of sight, tucked into the dark alley. His grip tightened on her flesh as her sheath rode up, exposing her rear. He tossed her to the seat and wasted little time in covering her body with his considerable girth. Oh, God, he was going to crush her. She pushed against him, panic fighting with her need to remain in control of the situation for her own sake.

“Please don’t…” she gasped.

His breath hot on her face, his thick hands groping under her dress, bruising the flesh as he sought the tender folds, caused her to react in pure instinct as she raked her fingers down his face hard enough to draw blood. He grunted in shocked pain, drawing away a fraction, giving her more room to breathe and wiggle away from him but while the Town Car was roomier than the standard sedan, Carlton’s bulk made it difficult to maneuver far. She reached for the door but before her hand could touch the handle, he hauled her back with his fist tangled in her long hair.

“You bitch,” he growled in her ear, his grip tight at her scalp. She twisted against his hold, blinking back tears of pain, refusing to give him what the sadistic bastard wanted. His lips stretched in an ugly knowing smile as he held her captive, helpless and scared. “You’ve been a bad girl. I like that. But you’ve made a mark on my face. Only I’m allowed to leave marks.” He drove his fist into her belly, the shock and agony of it causing her to suck air. Heaven help her, he was going to beat her, maybe even kill her. He didn’t care about the consequences.

“B-belleni will have your balls,” she managed to choke out but Carlton just laughed.

“You’re a whore. Easily bought and easily replaced,” he responded with a shrug, shredding her designer sheath to expose her breasts.

“S-stop,” she shrieked, true fear blotting out rational thought as she frantically tried to cover herself. She’d never been in such a situation before. Belleni only allowed select clientele to book his girls. Never before had she been paired with such a monster. She knew how to deal with overeager clients, not ones with a sadistic streak. Her phone and pepper spray were in her clutch, which had fallen to the floor when he’d thrown her. She twisted and reached desperately for her clutch but a lightning-fast crack across her jaw caused stars to fly around her head and black dots to pulse before her eyes.

“You’re a feisty one,” she heard him murmur, the appreciative tone sickening her. “Let’s see if you’re worth what I paid.”

Blood filled her mouth from her busted lip but she opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth. Someone, oh, God, please help her.

CHRISTIAN HAD JUST STEPPED into the alley behind Martini to take his break when he stopped short at the muffled scream coming from the sleek Town Car that lurked in the shadows. The violent rock of the Town Car betrayed a tussle and by the sounds of it, a woman was involved. His brain directed him to return to the bar. It was best to remain uninvolved. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up in someone else’s business. But even as he turned, his hand reaching for the handle, his conscience balked. What if the woman was really getting brutalized? Could he live with himself if something bad happened to her? No. However, the logical side of his brain countered, what if it’s just some kinky couple who liked it rough and she’s in no real danger after all? Busting in on someone’s private time would only cause embarrassment all around.

The logical argument pulled considerable weight but as another scream sounded from the interior only to be cut suspiciously short, he said, “Screw it,” to the logical side of his brain and bounded for the car. But even as he told himself he’d deal with the ramifications of his actions later, he was shocked when he jerked open the door and saw the woman from the bar, bleeding and struggling feebly against the hulking mass on top of her, choking the life out of her.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT THE F—” THE FAT MAN startled as Christian reached inside the car and dragged him out and off the woman who looked in bad shape. He landed a solid punch to the man’s flabby, jowled face, knocking him to the ground, howling. The driver erupted from the car and trained a gun on him, the subtle shake in his grip betraying the fact that he’d probably never fired the thing, but it didn’t make Christian feel any less freaked that he was staring down the business end of a 9mm.

“Don’t do it, man,” he warned. “You’ve got a half-dead woman in your car right now and you don’t want to add more misery to your plate. I doubt your piece of shit employer is paying you well enough to cover up murder. Think about it. It ain’t worth it. I’m going to get the girl and we’re all going to walk away nice and easy.”

The driver gave a short nod as the fat man lumbered to his feet, wiping at the blood flowing from his nose. “Take the bitch. I’m through with her,” he said, his voice nasal and wet sounding. His lip curled in disgust. “Tell Belleni I want my money back. His whore wasn’t worth the asking price,” he said, mistaking Christian for someone affiliated with the woman and her business. That alone made him want to further rearrange the asshole’s face but he settled for a hard-edged glare at the man as he edged past him to gingerly pull the woman from the vehicle, cradling her against his chest.

With a curt nod to his driver, the fat man disappeared into the Town Car and slammed the door behind him as the car melted into the night.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. She was badly beaten. Blood dribbled from her nose and swollen lip, smearing the honey-hued locks he’d noticed at the bar. She was a far cry from the sophisticated trophy that’d been perched on the stool earlier. He couldn’t take her into the bar like this. She opened one eye and he could see the glaze of pain. “I need to take you to the hospital,” he told her. He wasn’t surprised by the weak shake of her head as she moaned.

“No hospital, p-please,” she said, laboring for each word. “I’ll be…punished.” The last part came out with a low sob as she huddled against him and his resolve broke.

Ah, hell. It was his mother all over again. She could be suffering internal injuries and there’d be no way for him to know until it was too late but he knew why she’d rather die than step foot in a hospital because the care came with a price. Hospital staff were required to report if they suspected a patient had been the victim of a violent crime. And if he dragged a broken woman into the E.R., they’d certainly start asking questions. He’d learned that the first time a john had nearly killed his mother. He’d been six and scared. The hospital staff had saved his mother but they’d had to sneak out when the questions had started.

He rolled his eyes to the midnight sky and cursed his own damn luck for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and landing himself a problem he didn’t want. Lucky for her, he lived in a loft above the bar. He supposed he could take her there for the time being until he figured out what else to do. He fished his phone from his pocket and dialed his friend Gage Stratham, who was also on the floor that night, telling him that he had an emergency and he needed coverage at the bar. Gage told him he’d take care of it and Christian carried the woman up to his loft.

He managed to open his front door and then close it with a nudge of his foot. The loft was a convenient pad and he’d turned the run-down space into something he didn’t mind people seeing but he doubted the woman in his arms cared much about the blond hardwood floors he’d installed himself or the four-poster California King bed with its goose down comforter that he was laying her gently on. After spending eleven years of his childhood in sleazy motels, sleeping on threadbare, worn and often dirty linens, Christian had a taste—no requirement—for fine bedding. He winced at the thought of blood staining the white duvet but he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t like she could manage to wash up on her own right now. He averted his eyes as the ruined dress hung on her slender frame, ripped down the center so that she had little covering her lithe body. Even as he looked away, he’d caught an unfortunate glimpse of creamy, well-toned thighs and near perfect rose-tipped breasts.

He swallowed and then cursed softly. He needed to assess her injuries. He went to his bathroom and pulled out hydrogen peroxide, a clean washcloth, cotton balls and antiseptic cream. He sighed, hating that he even had the knowledge required. After that first episode with his mother, he’d taken over bandaging and administering first aid when johns got a little rough.

He dropped the supplies on his bed beside her and after rummaging through his dresser drawers, he found an old T-shirt he didn’t mind parting with and some old sweats she could wear. Her eyes slid open and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she understood his intention.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice choked with pain.

“Save the thank-yous for later. This is likely going to hurt like a son of a bitch,” he muttered in warning. He wasn’t her prince charming coming to rescue her from her life but human decency demanded that he do what he could to help. “Can you sit up?” he asked. She struggled, blanching with the pain as she tried. He gently stopped her. “You might have a broken rib. You really should see a doctor,” he admonished but he knew it fell on deaf ears. “I’ll do what I can but you’re pretty messed up.” She gave a subtle nod to indicate she understood but otherwise remained silent. He swabbed the crusting blood from her jaw-line and wiped the matted strands of her hair. “Did you know him?” he asked, telling himself he wasn’t interested in the answer, he was just filling the space between them with words, perhaps to distract her from the pain. His mother had never known a single man who’d paid for her services. The only man she’d bedded and known was his father and it wasn’t as though he’d been a catch. He’d died in prison, serving time for aggravated assault. His biological family tree wasn’t anything to write home about. “You ought to file charges,” he suggested, dabbing her lip with antibiotic cream. She winced and he gentled his touch, a familiar well of frustration lacing his tone as he added, “If you don’t, at least tell the authorities. He might do this to someone else. Maybe a friend of yours or something.”

“I don’t have any friends,” she responded, in a voice so scratchy he barely made out the words.

Then he saw the finger bruises along her throat. That man had nearly killed her, not figuratively, but literally. Another occupational hazard, he thought bitterly. He couldn’t understand her choice to lower herself in such a way. “You’re a beautiful woman. There are other choices out there. Hell, find yourself some sugar daddy and become his arm candy but at least get the ring on your finger so you have some kind of security if he ditches you for another.” He threw the soiled cotton swabs in the bedside trash and steeled himself for what came next. “Listen, I promise to do this quick,” he said, lifting the shirt in his hand. “But we gotta get you into some real clothes. Okay?” She nodded and he tried to gently pull off the remains of her dress without hurting her. “Here,” he said gruffly, sliding the T over her head as carefully as possible. He made quick work of tugging his faded sweats up her legs. They hung on her slight frame but at least they covered her. He released a short breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and rose, saying, “I’ll get you some Tylenol. I’m not big on meds so it’s the best I can do.”

He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment or, frankly, for anything, he simply bolted for the bathroom. He needed a minute to collect himself. His mother had been a street prostitute. She hadn’t slept on five hundred thread count sheets or enjoyed caviar and champagne. Not like the woman on his bed. She had the look of someone who knew all about fine living. Everything about her seemed delicate and fragile, refined and expensive. Yet, just like his mother, she sold herself for cold, hard cash.

In that they were the same. And for that reason, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow any kind of deep connection to take root.

When he finally left the bathroom, a few Tylenol tablets in his hand and a glass of water, he’d managed to put his emotions back in order.

He helped her with the painkillers and covered her with a blanket. “Is there someone I should call?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to say the word pimp. Her bruised throat worked as she swallowed and he knew it must hurt like hell. That fat bastard had really done a number on her. She shook her head and he sighed. “Well—” he gestured to the bed “—you’re welcome to stay the night. I’ll take the couch.”

“Thank you,” she said again, and he was no more ready to accept her gratitude now than he was the first go-round but Mama Jo, his foster mother, had drilled manners into his head since the day he’d shown up on her doorstep, courtesy of the Bridgeport, West Virginia foster system so many years ago.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, taking his pillow and blanket to the couch. “Don’t mention it. Get some rest.”

Something told him sleep would find her sooner than it would him.

SKYE AWOKE TO A PARADE of pain. Her rib was most certainly broken on her left side. Early morning shafts of sunlight streamed into the loft, bathing everything in a soft creamy light that would’ve been beautiful if she hadn’t been sucking back tears at the agony in her body. Just breathing took effort.

As she slowly took stock of her situation, she remembered the details from the night. That corpulent pig—Carlton Essex III—had done this to her. She’d been unable to get to her phone or her pepper spray. And Carlton had been unconcerned by the threat of displeasing Belleni. In that the man was an idiot. Belleni was vicious when crossed.

Her gaze slid over to the sofa where soft snoring sounded. She rolled to her uninjured side, nearly crying out at the bite of pain, and slowly stood. She spied her clutch and the remains of her Anna Sui sheath. She grabbed the clutch but left the dress and made her way to the door. The man—she didn’t even known his name—didn’t stir even as she padded slowly to the door. She regretted leaving like this after he’d taken her in but Belleni was probably turning the city upside down looking for her and she’d rather not repay the man’s kindness by dragging him further into the mess that was her life. There was also her mangled pride in her reasoning, as well. How could she adequately express her gratitude to someone for saving her from someone she’d been paid to service? Shame twisted her guts in a knot and she slipped from the loft with only the hope that karma would find the man still sleeping and repay him appropriately for his kindness.

God knew she couldn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

CHRISTIAN WOKE WITH A SNAP of his eyes, knowing without having to look that she was gone. Still, he rose and swore under his breath when he confirmed the suspicion. This was good, he told himself when irritation followed at the knowledge she’d snuck out while he slept. Now he didn’t have to deal with the inevitable awkwardness of the morning after, not the typical morning after mind you, but it would have been weird considering what had happened.

He walked to his bed and saw that she’d taken her little purse but left her dress behind. He lifted the ruined mess from the floor and her scent wafted from the material. The dress was cool against his fingers as he replayed the scenario from last night in his head. Questions nagged at him but he resigned himself to letting them go. She was gone. It was probably better this way. Christian tossed the dress into the trash, noting with wry humor, that scrap of silk had material that probably cost more than some people saw in a month’s wages. And now it was in his trash. Somehow that seemed sadly metaphoric. His brothers had always accused him of having the heart of a poet. Seems they weren’t wrong. Damn.

He sighed and headed for the shower and hoped for a day that was devoid of mystery women, their questionable choices in life and rich, well-dressed pricks.

SKYE SANK LOWER IN THE HOT water, the details from the night too fresh in her mind, and closed her eyes. Steam rose and drifted from her body as she allowed the heat to soak into her bones.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she winced as the pain reminded her of what had gone down only hours before.

Some men were rutting bastards who found excitement in the pain of others. She swallowed and wiped away the tear. He’d done more than leave just bruises. She touched the swollen flesh of her upper lip and winced. The doctor Belleni kept on the payroll confirmed the broken rib and gave her some painkillers with the advice to rest.

“He will not touch you again,” a voice at the door vowed, making her tense beneath the water. She opened her eyes to see Belleni standing in the doorway, gazing at her body as if he had the right. “The man was a pig but no worries, darling, he has enjoyed his last Belleni girl, I assure you.”

She slid the washcloth over her breasts as a slow, quiet rage percolated in her chest at the liberties he took just because he believed she belonged to him. “I want to be alone, Belleni,” she said, hating the way his gaze roamed her nakedness, resting on areas that belonged to no man, least of all him. But even as she burned to tell him to get the hell out of her life, she was held captive by a past she couldn’t change.

Instead of complying with the curt response, he settled himself at the edge of the bathtub with an indulgent smile. He was a good-looking older man with an air of experience that was misleading in its seeming benevolence. Even as she loathed him, sometimes it was hard to separate her tangled feelings, for Nico was his spitting image and she adored her son with single-minded focus. She chose to keep her attention away from his roving stare for fear of her tongue getting the best of her. Still, she fairly vibrated with the tempest raging inside her over her inability to extricate herself and Nico from Belleni’s sphere of influence and she didn’t trust what might fly from her mouth.

“You are angry,” he surmised, his Italian accent smooth as fine liquor, his touch deceptively gentle on her cheek. She pulled away and he sighed. “Of course, you are. And you have every right to be. I should’ve listened to my instincts, no matter the hefty weight of his bank account. Can you forgive me, my love?” he asked, his gaze softening with an emotion Skye knew didn’t exist in his world. She choked down the bitterness stuck in her throat and nodded but the effort nearly killed her. Belleni smiled. “Good. But I must make amends to my best girl. While you heal I shall see to it that you want for nothing. You will have the best of care. Name it and you shall have it. But first, tell me how you managed to get away from this brute? Vincent said you didn’t call him for help.”

She wouldn’t give up her kind stranger. She wished she’d gotten his name but she recognized that it was better this way. She would likely never see him again as she planned to avoid Martini from here on out after the whole experience. Still, she found herself thinking of him and his kindness to her when she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all. “I sprayed him with pepper spray,” she lied. “Then I called a cab and came here.”

He eyed her with faint suspicion. She held her breath as more questions built behind his speculative stare. “What are you going to do to him?” she asked, hoping to distract Belleni from his current train of thought.

Belleni waved away her question. “The details are unnecessary for you to know at this point. Just take me at my word that he will pay for his insult. Now name your desire, my love, and I will see to it personally.”

She knew he awaited her gratitude but she couldn’t make herself utter the words. He expected her to thank him for taking care of her when he was the one who had set her up with that monster? It was his fault her lip was split and her eye was blackened. Her breasts were marked with bruises from where the man had squeezed so hard tears sprang to her eyes at the memory. Her neck still bore the finger marks from where he tried to choke her to death. He hadn’t been interested in straight sex. No, he’d wanted to hurt and because he’d paid a good sum for her services, he’d believed he could do what he wanted with her. And he nearly had. Belleni heaved a sad sigh and rose from the tub’s edge. “It pains me to see you so abused. I will make this up to you, my darling,” he promised.

She stared at the tips of her toes as they peeked from the water’s edge where she rested her feet against the water spigot. “You mean it?” she asked softly.

“Of course, what do you desire and I will make it yours,” he said.

“I want Nico home with me.” She turned and met his gaze with her one eye that wasn’t impeded by swollen tissue and said, “He shouldn’t live with you and Vivian. He should live with his mother.”

At her quiet request Belleni hardened into the man she knew hid under that soft and generous exterior. Gone was the loving benefactor, former lover and father of her son, replaced in a heartbeat by the man’s true character that was obsessed with her and ruthless in his determination to keep her at all costs. “He stays with me,” he said brusquely. “You have had a hard night. I will forgive you. But do not try me, darling. I would not have you attempt something brash. You must remember that I am not a fool,” he reminded her, straightening his cuffs with slow, methodical movements that betrayed his need for control in all things. “Get your rest. We will discuss things further after you’ve had a chance to think more clearly.”

He left her alone and when she heard him leave the apartment, she shuddered and tried to draw a deep breath but the air felt trapped in her lungs. There was nothing she didn’t understand with the clarity of glass. Belleni knew if he didn’t keep Nico she’d try to run again.

She’d tried to run away when Nico was born but Belleni’s watchdog, Vivian, had caught her as she’d tried to board the train. Belleni’s punishment had been to take Nico from her physically. She hadn’t even been allowed to breastfeed her own child any longer. At six weeks old Nico had been taken from her breast and put on a bottle. The punishment had served its purpose. The second time she’d tried to run, Nico had been two years old. Vivian had found a credit card receipt for airfare out of the city. Her punishment for that had been even worse. Belleni had kept her son from her for three months. By the time he’d allowed her to see Nico, her son had nearly forgotten her. Belleni had known the effect it would have on her when Nico shied away from her open arms and returned to cling to Belleni’s leg.

The pain had been unimaginable.

This time, she’d thought she’d get away.

Everything she’d worked for, all the money she’d managed to squirrel away…useless and for nothing. Her future stretched out before her in an endless road of servitude and the magnitude of her despair drowned the last ounce of hope she’d been fostering since the day Nico was born.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered as a wave of shame overtook her. She couldn’t go backward and she couldn’t move forward. She was permanently stuck under Belleni’s thumb. Tears burned her eyes and she didn’t have the strength to hold them back any longer…so she didn’t.

IT’D BEEN A WEEK SINCE the incident with the mystery woman but that coupled with the other things on his mind had served to cripple Christian’s REM time, leaving him grouchy and fatigued by morning. He rose early in spite of having hit the sheets only a few hours prior and went to the gym. Christian melted into the busy streets and walked the short distance to his local fitness center. He felt like crap, the lack of sleep was really starting to wear on him, but there was more to his edge than fatigue. His buddy and business partner Gage had been pressuring him to take a meeting with this bigwig money guy so they could finally open their own nightclub, but Christian wasn’t warm to the idea of bringing more people to the deal. That saying “Too many cooks in the kitchen…” came to mind and he could almost hear his foster mother’s voice in his head saying it, too. Mama Jo may be a couple of states away in West Virginia but her voice was firmly in his subconscious. Most times, it was a good thing because it kept him walking the straight and narrow when he might otherwise feel pulled in a different direction. Other times it was a bit annoying to have the female version of Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder.

He entered the fitness center and was met by loud music and a tattooed woman who looked as if she could bench-press him without breaking a sweat. She smiled, revealing her tongue piercing—something Christian had never found attractive—but he returned the smile as he swiped his membership ID.

Christian met Gage at the weight station where he was already doing his reps.

“You’re late,” Gage said, his face tightening with the exertion of a curling exercise set with major poundage.

Christian pulled his sweatshirt over his head and tossed it aside. “Cut me some slack. I just went to bed about three hours ago. You’re lucky I came at all.”

Gage grunted and allowed the weight to slowly release. “Yeah, yeah, cry me a river.” He grabbed a towel and mopped his face. “So, you give any more thought to what I mentioned to you the other day?” he asked, around a gulp of Vitaminwater.

Christian withheld the grimace threatening to pull on his mouth. He knew this was their best shot but it left him with a bad taste. Still, he nodded. “Yeah. I guess I’m in. What do you know about this guy? Is he solid? I don’t want to climb into bed with someone who’s going to just take my money and split,” he grumbled.

Gage brightened and grinned. “So paranoid. Yeah, he’s solid. This is what he does. He handpicks projects to invest in. Trust me, everyone in town wants this guy in their corner.”

“So how do you know him?” Christian asked.

Gage shrugged but his expression turned coy. “I just do. This is our best chance at getting the club off the ground in this environment. It’s not like we have a handful of investors lining up to open a nightclub in this economic climate. It sucks, man. That’s why it’s important that you make a good impression with him.”

“What’s his name again?” Christian asked, settling into the leg press machine.

“Frank Rocco,” Gage answered, getting ready for another set. “I think you’ll like him. He’s a nice older guy who gives off a real down-to-earth vibe. Nothing like the rest of the suits I’ve dealt with. Frank’s the kind of guy who would sit down and have a beer with you just as easily as he would drink some fancy French wine. You’ll like him,” Gage assured him with another grin. He blew out a short breath and started his sets.

They were both silent for the moment, focused on the exercise, but Christian’s mind was not on his reps but rather what he felt was a crossroads in his life. He’d always dreamed of owning his own nightclub, something classy like Martini only not quite so stuffy, but just when he thought he’d saved enough capital to quit his job so he could focus on his own project, he was faced with the unpleasant reality that no one was willing to float him a loan because he had no track record in his field. It was the proverbial catch-22. He needed experience to prove himself but he couldn’t prove himself without experience. So he needed someone who was willing to take a chance on him and his vision to get his foot in the door. It’d been a year of trying to find the capital and coming up short that had finally tipped the scale. He didn’t like the idea of being attached to a money guy but he was willing to do what it took to get his business open.

“So set up the meeting then,” Christian said, his jaw tight.

“Good, because I already did,” Gage admitted with a grunt as he lowered the weights, sweat running down his face in rivulets. “First meeting is set for next week over coffee at this little hole-in-the-wall place called Café Au Lait that supposedly makes the best espresso in the Village. Wear something casual but not too casual.”

“I know how to dress,” Christian said, shooting his friend an annoyed look. “You just worry about yourself. I always make a good first impression.”

Gage mopped his face. “You’re right. That’s why I know this is going to work. I wouldn’t have tied myself to you in this deal if I didn’t think we could make it happen. I forgot my phone at home so I’ll text you the date, time and address when we’re done here.”

“Thanks,” Christian said, appreciating his friend’s candor and his support but it wasn’t entirely altruistic on Gage’s part. Gage, like Christian, wanted to make money. He finished his set and moved to another machine to work on his deltoids. He focused on the workout, glad to blank out for a minute. The past few weeks had been hell. He loved the city but sometimes it wore him down. It was easy to stumble and fall in this place where the pace never stopped or slowed down for pedestrians. But every now and again, he felt that odd twinge for a little peace and quiet. He usually satisfied that urge with a visit home to Mama Jo but he hadn’t been able to get back there for a while now. He knew what the twinge really was—guilt.

Mama Jo had raised him and his foster brothers, Thomas and Owen, when hell had opened its doors for each of them and the flames of their personal lives had threatened to incinerate them.

He owed that woman more than she could ever know. That was another reason he wanted to get the club running. He wanted to make sure he always had the means to take care of Mama Jo if the need ever arose. He knew he could make a go of things if he was given the chance, but so far, he’d been hit by a shitload of roadblocks. And he was feeling the pressure.

“Hey, I need a favor,” Gage said, interrupting his thoughts. Christian slowly disengaged the weights and stepped away from the machine he was using, suspicion raising his brows at Gage’s request. “I managed to score this date with a girl I’ve been trying to land for weeks now and she finally said yes…”

Christian shook his head, knowing where this was going. “I don’t double-date,” he said.

“Dude, wait until you see her friend. She’s hot,” he assured him but Christian wasn’t buying.

“So why aren’t you going after her instead?”

“I’m a gentleman—”

“No, you’re not. You’re a man-whore. What’s the deal? Is she missing a leg? Got a great personality but has a moustache? C’mon…don’t con a con, man. I know you’re trying to sell me a damaged bit of goods.”

Gage laughed but didn’t deny it. “So, she’s a little on the plump side,” he admitted. “But you’re always talking about how shallow I am so I figured you’d be willing to take a lovely—albeit healthy—lady out for the evening.”

“I don’t mind a woman with curves,” Christian said, shaking his head. “But doing anything that helps you get laid I’m against on principle. I figure I’m saving some woman’s heart from getting broken because after you hit it and then don’t call her back she’s going to cry her eyes out. My foster mother says, ‘Karma is a bitch’ and, brother, you’re headed for a world of hurt very soon the way you’ve been behaving since I’ve known you.”

“Thank you, Ghandi,” Gage retorted with a snort. “Save the morality for when you’re back in the sticks of Virginia. This is Manhattan, my friend, where the women are as tough as the men. Besides, when was the last time you enjoyed the company of someone other than your hand?”

Christian scowled. “You’re a dick and it’s none of your business.”

“Be that as it may…you’d be doing me a solid with this one.”

“And why do I care about the status of your love life?”

Gage straightened and while a smile remained on his lips, there was something serious there, too. Hell, if Christian didn’t know better he’d say that whoever this woman was, Gage was pretty into her for more than just a good time. Christian sighed, hating him self for being a sap. God, his brothers were right, he was a damn romantic at heart no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Fine,” he bit out. “But just dinner and you owe me big-time for this one.”

Gage’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “You got it.”

Christian sighed and left Gage to shower up. While Gage may have hours to spend at the gym, Christian had other commitments.

It was nearing ten in the morning and his stomach was growling but he didn’t have time to grab a bite before his next appointment.

He jogged the short steps to the well-kept brownstone and rang the buzzer. A minute later a voice inquired about his business.

“Christian Holt. I’m here to pick up Mathias Breck.”

The door buzzed open and he stepped over the threshold as the director of the group home for boys, Sally Hutchins, greeted him with an effusive hug, but there were worry lines bracketing her thin mouth. “Maybe today isn’t a good day,” she said, causing him to wonder what had happened. They’d had this day scheduled for a month now. He was taking Mathias into the Village for Little League tryouts.

“What’s wrong?” Christian asked.

Sally pushed away a lock of fine, graying blond hair and pursed her lips as she shook her head, sadness in her eyes. “I think his visit with his mother didn’t go well. He won’t talk about it.”

“Can I see him?” Christian and Mathias had a lot in common in that they both came from really messed up backgrounds. Christian knew how it felt to sleep with uncertainty, a growling belly and constant fear. Whereas Christian’s mother had checked out of this life unexpectedly with an overdose when he was eleven, Mathias’s mom was still crashing in and out of the boy’s life now and again, most likely when she sobered for a short time, and then disappeared again when her addiction came raging back. It was rough for a kid to see his mom like that. He remembered quite vividly.

Sally closed the door behind him and ushered him into her office, off the main hall. She sighed as she lowered herself into an overstuffed leather office chair. “It was terrible,” she shared, drawing Christian into her confidence. “She came and checked him out for the day and everything seemed fine but when he returned—alone—I knew something bad must’ve happened.”

Christian didn’t need to ask how a boy managed to navigate the city without an adult. Likely, Mathias had done it often enough at a much younger age, another unfortunate commonality he shared with the young boy. “He didn’t tell you what went down?” he asked, curious that Mathias’s mother was allowed to check the boy out in the first place.

Sally shook her head. “He buttoned up real quick the minute he walked through the door. Something tells me it was very upsetting.”

“Did you file charges against the mother?”

“No, she hasn’t broken the law. I did report her to Mathias’s social worker, though. Perhaps they can do something about her.” She shrugged as if knowing the hope was futile, having seen too many similar scenarios before. “But he’s back and that’s all that matters, though he’s not the same kid. So, I don’t know if this is a good idea today.”

Christian wasn’t deterred. If anything, he was more determined to get Mathias back on track and that included things that kids should be doing, such as Little League tryouts. “Can I give it a try?” he asked.

Sally hesitated, clearly unsure if letting Mathias go with Christian was the right decision, but after another lengthy sigh, she picked up her phone and called for Mathias to come down from the rec room. She pinned Christian with a serious look. “If it looks like he’s going to give you trouble, then you bring him right back.”

He knew how to handle a kid like Mathias but he gave Sally the assurances she needed so that he could sign the necessary paperwork involved with a day trip.

Ordinarily, anyone not employed by the state wouldn’t be able to sign out an unrelated minor housed in the group home but Christian had gone through the mentorship program, which enabled him to work with the kids. He’d gone through extensive background checks that included a full physical workup to ensure that he was suitable to work with the kids housed at the home. It was something he felt strongly about and he didn’t mind the hoops he had to jump through as long as he could help some kids out of a rough spot in their lives.

Mathias, a nine-year-old boy with streaks of gold running through his mop, appeared in the doorway, his expression wary until he saw Christian, then a brief light flared in his eyes that spoke of his happiness even if he didn’t say a word.

Sally stood and waved Mathias in with a warm smile. “Look who’s here to see you…would you like to spend the day with Christian?”

Mathias shrugged. “I guess.”

Christian saw through the artful nonchalance and remembered giving off the same vibe the day he walked through Mama Jo’s front door, a bundle of nerves, dread and apprehension beneath a surface of guarded calm. He knew that somewhere in that kid’s most private thoughts pulsed a raw wound that Mathias would do anything to protect, including pushing away those who were only trying to help.

“Let’s go, buddy,” Christian said with a friendly gesture. “Got a full day ahead of us.” He waved goodbye to Sally and then they headed out the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU SHOULD BE RESTING.”

Skye ignored the advice. She wasn’t about to give up the opportunity to spend some much-needed time with her son to lie around in bed. She slid into her wool coat, taking care not to wince even though the pain nearly took her breath away. It’d been almost two weeks since the beat down so at least her facial bruising had nearly disappeared but her side still hurt like a son of a bitch. She couldn’t let on how much it hurt or how much she was suffering or else Belleni’s watchdog would make things difficult for her. Once Skye had broken her pinkie toe by accidentally catching the corner of the wall as she ran to help Nico when he’d fallen and even knowing this Vivian had insisted that Skye wear stilettos that night for a client, saying that a former ballerina should be accustomed to pain. Skye forced a smile. “It’s a beautiful day and Nico wants to go to the park,” she said, adding with enough ice to convey her feelings, “besides, I’m not about to miss my designated day with my son. I see him so little as it is.”

“Suit yourself. It matters little enough to me if you’re in agony or if you stupidly injure yourself further but Belleni might care if you’re unable to fulfill your duties.” Vivian Forrone, a woman whose flawless skin yet shrewd gaze made it difficult to determine her true age, pinched her mouth in obvious disapproval as she took in Skye’s pallor and mostly faded bruises. She gave the apartment a cursory inspection before saying, “You look like hell. You can’t go walking around the city like that.” She chided with a scowl, “Belleni said—”

“I don’t care what Belleni said,” Skye cut in sharply, just saying his name made her want to snarl. It was reckless, acting this way so openly, but she felt the walls closing in and she needed some fresh air before she went crazy. Added to that, she missed her son and felt his absence like a physical ache in her chest and it would take a nuclear bomb going off to stop her from spending time with him today. “I promised Nico and I’m not going to disappoint him.”

“Nico is not in charge,” Vivian reminded Skye with a glint to her icy-blue eyes that almost looked like hatred, and Skye suppressed a wary shudder. Vivian reported to Belleni alone and provided an extra set of eyes on the women that he kept in his stable. Vivian was the equivalent of an office manager/accountant/ spy and as far as Skye could tell, the woman relished her job with a zealot’s enthusiasm. Skye had often wondered at the relationship between Vivian and Belleni but no one, including herself, had ever had the courage to find the answer. A frown pulled Vivian’s smooth brow into disapproving lines.

“We won’t be out long,” she assured Vivian, moving quickly to get away from her. “Probably only an hour or so.”

“Perhaps we should check with Belleni first. I’m sure he’ll agree with me that you should stay indoors.”

Skye called out to Nico as she headed toward his room. “Vivian, I’m taking my son for some fresh air and I don’t care if it snows, we’re going out.”

Belleni had sent Vivian to help care for Skye while she recuperated but that wasn’t the only reason the sharp-eyed woman was suddenly her shadow. Skye wasn’t naive; he’d wanted to ensure that Skye knew she still belonged to him by infringing on her privacy.

“This is very unwise,” Vivian cautioned, yet her expression was inexpressibly smug, almost glad. “But do as you will. Your star has fallen and it’s just a matter of time before it’s snuffed out and replaced with something shinier and brighter, someone far prettier than you.”

“I look forward to it,” she said simply. The day Belleni let her go would be the best damn day of her life, but given their most recent conversation…that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Plainly disappointed by Skye’s failure to react more strongly, Vivian switched tracks, aiming for something far more bound to rile her as she queried, “Have you given any more thought to the Excelsior School for Boys?”

Skye’s gaze narrowed. “No. My answer remains the same as it was the first time Belleni suggested it. I want my son to have as normal a childhood as possible and that does not include being sent to boarding school,” she said firmly, ignoring Vivian’s long exhale of annoyance. Belleni’s motivation was transparent enough to Skye. He no longer wanted to be encumbered by a child and shipping Nico off at the earliest opportunity was the easiest answer but there was no way she’d even consider it. Nico was the only thing keeping her sane on some days. “Besides, he’s not even old enough to be put on the list so why even talk about it?”

“Oh, please, let’s not run in circles about this. I only ask because Belleni is eager to see Nico with an excellent education. Personally, I couldn’t careless. But Belleni seems to have taken a mild interest.” Her lip curled in distaste and Skye’s fingers curled into a tight fist but she made a concentrated effort not to give into her impulse. Punching Vivian would only provide a momentary—albeit deliciously wonderful—satisfaction but it would no doubt create more problems than solve. And she had enough of those on her plate as it was. “Well, I can’t expect you to understand the value of a higher education seeing as you barely graduated high school—”

“You know that’s not true, Vivian,” she interrupted coolly. “I graduated early so I could focus my attention on my ballet.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Vivian made a show of remembering, though Skye knew it was an act. Why they had to play these silly malicious games was beyond Skye but Vivian rarely gave up an opportunity to jab at her. “Dance. What a shame that didn’t work out, either. Given your experience, I would assume that you would want Nico to focus on getting the best education possible. But what do I know? I’m not a mother.”

Thank God for that. She imagined crocodiles were more suited for parenting than the spindle-thin, pointy-jawed, designer-clad menace idly straightening Skye’s photos along the mantel. “No, you’re not. For everything there is a reason, I suppose,” Skye said, not quite able to help herself.

Vivian’s gaze cut to hers, frost in her eyes. “Yes, well, not everyone is as lucky as you.”

Lucky? Skye swallowed the sputter of indignation. She was hardly what she’d consider graced in that area. If anything, ever since she’d booked that flight from Iowa to New York, a black cloud of misery had been hanging over her. Ballet had been her life but if she’d known how cutthroat the professional world of dance was…She suppressed an inward sigh of resignation. Oh, who was she kidding? It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d had stars in her eyes and believed stardust in her slippered toes. Ha. The old injury twinged in her knee as if to remind her how far she’d fallen from her dreams, pulling her back to the moment and the fact that she was wasting time trading barbs with Vivian when she could be enjoying the day with her son.

“I doubt your services are needed for the rest of the day. Go someplace where you’re wanted. If there is such a place.” Skye allowed a small amount of pleasure at the red creeping up Vivian’s neck to stain her cheeks at the insult. “Don’t let me keep you from the rest of your day,” Skye said, dismissing her as she walked toward her son’s room. “I know Belleni keeps you busy with all your responsibilities.”

Vivian smiled and grabbed her purse, saying as she opened the door, “Enjoy your day with your son, Skye D’Lane. Perhaps the memory of it will ease your heartache when he’s gone. But remember there are eyes in the city. Don’t think of running off or else you will find yourself scratched out of Nico’s life forever.”

The door slammed and Skye flinched. Vivian didn’t make idle threats. The woman was a socio-path draped in a socialite’s body. Vivian didn’t seem to understand or possess anything remotely close to human compassion. She wasn’t moved by tears, pleas or heartache. And she seemed to hate children. Or maybe it was just Nico. Another reason Skye wanted Nico out of Belleni’s house.

She’d long suspected that Vivian hated her but she’d never figured out why. After she’d become pregnant, she’d realized the true depth of Vivian’s aversion as it was reflected in all its purity when she looked at Nico with something between revulsion and fascination. Skye found it extremely unsettling that Belleni had sent Vivian to play nursemaid when there were plenty of other women in his employ who could’ve fit the criteria.

Nico appeared, a darling angel with a shock of dark hair and deep-set blue eyes the color of diamond-cut sapphires, wearing a hopeful expression that buoyed her as much as it broke her heart that he was being raised in such an environment, and she longed to scoop him into her arms but her protesting rib prevented it. She wiped at her eyes and then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It’s a lovely day, sweetheart. Are you ready for the park?” she asked.

Nico nodded but his gaze went to the door where Vivian had left. “Do I have to go back?” he asked in a small voice. Vivian scared Nico and it renewed Skye’s ire that Belleni insisted Vivian be the one to shuttle Nico to the apartment for visits.

“Yes. For now,” she answered, wishing things were different. Perhaps, a house will fall on the big, bad witch and at least one half of her misery would disappear. “But she’s gone, at least for today,” she said with bright cheerfulness. “Ready to have some fun just you and me at the park?”

Nico nodded and smiled up at her, his fears dropping away. “Can we get hot dogs?”

“Of course. A trip to the park isn’t complete without a hot dog with lots of ketchup and mustard, right?”

“Right!”

She carefully wound a warm, woolen scarf around his neck and grabbed his mittens and deliberately pushed aside the knot of fear lodged in her belly for the repercussions that were surely coming for her disrespect. She was going to have a great day with Nico and that’s all she was going to think about. Period. “Let’s hit it, little man,” she announced with a smile. “We’ve got a whole lot of fun to do before the day is done.”

That’s right. Fun, damn it.

And she’d mow over anyone who tried to get in their way.

LITTLE LEAGUE TRYOUTS were finished and Mathias and Christian were both starved so they headed for the hot dog vendor that was smart enough to hang around the park during the tryouts. It was there Christian saw her again.

The brisk air had put hearty roses in her cheeks and pinked the tip of her nose but it was the million-watt, sweet smile that stopped him, sucking the air out of his lungs. The memory of her beaten and broken seemed incongruous with the image of her now. Her blond hair, tucked in a messy ponytail trailed down to the middle of her back and she was laughing with a small boy who looked to be around four years old. She wiped mustard from the corners of his mouth while he giggled.

She looked…different. Wholesome. Nothing like the woman he often saw at the bar, waiting, world-weary, jaded.

Her sunglasses hid her eyes but there was no mistaking the love she felt for the boy.

“Are we gonna get some dogs or are you gonna stare at that lady all day?” Mathias asked, annoyed that Christian had simply stopped in his tracks, obviously rattled. Mathias elbowed him. “I’m starved.”

He shook himself. “I’m not staring,” he denied to the kid who was too street-smart to buy it but Christian couldn’t admit that he’d been shocked to see the woman here, in a setting so far removed from where he usually saw her. Looking nothing like she normally did. Not to mention now the worst of the bruising had faded and while she still favored her left side, she looked like a million bucks. He glanced down at Mathias who had shaken his head as if to say “weird” and moved on ahead to get his dog. Christian slowed as he approached the vendor, coming up on her and the boy, and found himself staring harder. Questions better left unanswered crowded his brain and he couldn’t look away. Maybe he’d been all wrong about her. The possibility made him feel like an idiot. In this light it was hard to imagine her as the seductress he’d seen. Sure, the worn jeans hugged a near-perfect ass and even though she was layered in warm clothing, he could almost see the outline of firm breasts but there was nothing of the overt siren he was accustomed to seeing.

And hot damn, she was stunning.

CHAPTER FIVE

SKYE FELT EYES ON HER and just as she’d popped her finger in her mouth to suck off the mustard that had dripped from her hot dog, she locked eyes with the man who’d quite literally saved her life.

Sweeps of unruly brown hair ruffled in the breeze curling around the park, the sunlight picking up the subtle golden highlights and accentuating blue eyes that made her think of cool seaside mornings and crisp outdoor days. She pulled her finger from her mouth and looked away. What were the odds in a city crowded with people that she’d run into this man?

“Hey, lady, you’re holding up the line,” the surly hot dog vendor said, cranky and annoyed. “Keep it movin’. I ain’t standing here for my health, you know!”

She risked a short glance at the man again before clasping Nico’s hand and walking away with a murmured apology to the vendor.

“Mama? Are you okay?” Nico asked, looking up at her with a frown on his beloved face.

She smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. I was just surprised is all. I thought I knew that man from some-where but I think I was wrong. C’mon, sweetie, let’s find a spot where we can eat these dogs.”

Nico seemed content with her answer and quickly forgot as he ate his hot dog. “Mama, I love the park,” he announced, a mustard smear on his cheek that she wiped away with her napkin. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…maybe,” she hedged, although an unhappy knot twisted her stomach. Belleni refused to keep to a visitation schedule, partly she was sure to keep her tethered and partly because he couldn’t be bothered with something he considered so trivial. Never mind that she lived and breathed for the opportunity to spend time with her son. Nico’s expression fell and she sighed, giving in. “If it’s not raining or snowing, perhaps Belleni wouldn’t mind,” she said, pleased when Nico grinned. Her son’s happiness meant the world to her. She’d risk whatever she had to, to lessen the effects of such an unusual living arrangement for Nico.

“And can we have another hot dog?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered, leaning forward to kiss him on the nose. “Now, eat up, so you can ride the swings.”

She kept her smile but on the inside she trembled with a growing sense of urgency to get away from Belleni. Two months ago she’d been on the verge of escape. But that all came crashing down the day Belleni called her to his home.

“Hello, darling,” Belleni had said, his voice deceptively mild as she’d entered his sprawling office with its imported Roberto Cavalli rugs and fine-grained, hand-carved mahogany furnishings that cost more than most people saw in a lifetime. At one time she’d been awed by his display of wealth, his obvious fine tastes reflected in the works of art hanging on the walls and the opulence of his home but that was before she’d realized how he consumed lives to pay for his lifestyle. Now it just turned her stomach.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked, nerves stretched thin at the request. At first she’d thought he wanted sex—and though the thought of that man touching her body made her quake with disgust—she’d endure to keep up appearances.

But that wasn’t his intent and she should’ve known when she saw Vivian standing beside him, her eyes aglow with barely concealed glee that something far worse was coming her way.

“Aren’t you happy being a Belleni girl?” he asked, throwing her. “Do I not see to your every need?”

“Y-yes,” she said, her gaze darting to Vivian, uneasy at the questions he was asking. “Of course. I’m quite happy,” she lied.

“I want to believe that, I truly do, but something troubles me,” he said with a heavy sigh, his solid body rippling with the motion. He pulled a small slip of paper and gazed at it a long moment, his mouth pursing with displeasure and her blood chilled as she realized what he was staring at.

An ATM slip. Her mind tripped over possibilities. Had she been sloppy and dropped it somewhere in the apartment? She thought of the last time she visited her bank to make a deposit into her secret account and she held her breath, too afraid to give anything away. That money—painstakingly deposited away from Vivian’s watchful eye—was her and Nico’s ticket out of this hell. She finally had enough to run. She was just biding her time, looking for the perfect opportunity to slip away….

He let the paper drift from his fingertips in perfect timing as two men Belleni hired as muscle came soundlessly into the room, blocking the exit with their solid mass.

“I took you in off the streets,” he began, steepling his fingers as he regarded her with the sharp eyes of the predator he was but she resisted the urge to make a run for it. To run would signify guilt and so far he hadn’t actually accused her of anything. “You were such a sad thing when I found you. Full of broken dreams and heartache. I nursed you to health. I gave you purpose. I gave you Nico.”

“I—”

“Silence!” he interrupted her with a snarl, losing the act of gentle benefactor, shedding it like a snake lost its skin in the heat of summer. “I have nurtured you, cosseted you, protected you…and you repay me with treachery?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Stop lying,” he demanded, holding her stare for a long moment as her heart banged painfully against her chest. Did he know how much she’d saved? If so, he knew she’d been planning to bolt. He gestured and the two men advanced on her, grabbing her arms, startling a yelp out of her. He shared a look with Vivian then said, “Here’s the situation, my darling. Tomorrow you will go to this bank of yours and you will make a withdrawal…”

Nooo! She struggled against the grip on her arm but they were like steel manacles clamped against her skin and it was no use. Tears sprung to her eyes—born of pain and despair—and began tracking down her cheeks. “I can explain,” she began in a desperate bid for damage control but Belleni waved away her attempt.

“You will close your account and the balance will be brought to me as punishment for your deceit.”

“It’s for Nico,” she protested the half truth on a sob, too devastated at the realization that their hope was dead to hold back her tears. She couldn’t imagine losing all that she’d saved, not when they were so close. “For his college education. Please…please don’t take that from him.”

“I want to believe you but I would be a fool. Would you like to know what I think you were going to do?” He continued without her answer. “I believe you were going to use that money to take my son and disappear. After everything I’ve given you…it’s disappointing. Vivian was right—I’ve given you too much slack. You’ve forgotten your place. As much as it pains me, it’s time to remind you.” He looked at the men holding her. “Do not leave too many marks and do not break any bones,” he instructed, adding with a sigh. “Nobody pays for a broken Belleni girl, that’s for sure.” He dismissed them with a wave and Skye was dragged from the room to be taught a lesson in obedience.

“Mama?”

Nico’s voice jerked her back to the present and she realized a tear had snaked its way down her cheek without her notice. She lifted her sunglasses and wiped it away. “Sorry, honey. What did you say?” she asked, shaking off the memory with effort. In the past three months she’d endured more than she ever thought possible and that was saying a lot.

“Why are you crying?” he asked in a solemn tone.

She swallowed and regarded him, the love she felt for Nico colliding with the hatred she felt for his father, and she wondered how the hell she was going to get them out of this mess in one piece. “I was just thinking that today is the best day ever and I’ll be sad to see it end,” she lied, sliding her fingers through Nico’s hair and smoothing it away from his face. “But we still have to hit the swings before we call it a day so what do you say? You ready?”

He nodded, but there was still worry in his voice as he said, “Are you sad because of your owies? I have a Band-Aid if you want. They always make me feel better.”

A Band-Aid. She bit back the sad laughter and merely smiled at her son’s compassion. If only the answer to their problems was so easily found. “You’re too sweet for words, kiddo,” she said. “But I’m already feeling better so you go ahead and hold on to those Band-Aids for a true emergency. Okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” he said dutifully, and then as he clamored to his feet he surprised her with an exuberant, “Race you!” taking off as fast as his sneakered feet would take him in the direction of the swing set.

She sighed, wishing she could chase after him but the painkillers were wearing off and already it was becoming difficult to hide the pain of her ribs. Still, she refused to let anything keep her from enjoying every last moment of the day and climbed to her feet.

Her problems would still be there tomorrow but if Vivian had her way, Nico would not.

CHRISTIAN WATCHED AS SHE followed a small boy, her face alight with joy, and a grin tugged at his lips. Mathias was climbing the monkey bars, swinging like, well, a monkey, and Christian was hard-pressed to keep from staring at the woman as she went to the swings. He had to get her name. He couldn’t keep staring at her and referring to her as “the mystery woman” in his mind. He ought to let it go. He already knew she was trouble and he had enough on his plate to heap someone else’s problems on it, too. But he had questions. Why’d she leave without even saying goodbye? He figured saving someone’s life earned a courtesy chat in the morning. He’d snuck out of a lot of bedrooms in his day but he’d never had a woman sneak from his. But it wasn’t about that, not really. He just couldn’t get her out of his mind. He wanted to ensure she was all right. He double-checked Mathias and then wandered over to the swing sets.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, breaking into a smile that she didn’t immediately return. In fact, she seemed quite distressed that he’d approached her, much less addressed her. “You look good,” he added, hoping to break the awkwardness between them.

“Thank you,” she murmured, returning her attention to the boy he assumed was her son, effectively communicating the “I’m not interested in having this conversation” vibe.

He ought to take the hint but he wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Last time I saw you…” he ventured, hoping she’d take up the lead but he was disappointed.

“Yes, I’m aware of how I looked,” she said, ducking his gaze, extreme discomfort radiating from her trim body. “As you can see I’m doing fine. Thank you for your help,” she added stiffly.

“I get it. You don’t want me in your business. That’s coming across loud and clear. Like I said I was just, well, worried. You snuck out before I woke up and I didn’t see that coming. I figured we’d at least exchange names or something in the morning. It’s not every day I save a woman’s life. It was a unique experience and I’m sorry if I don’t know how to act.”

She had the grace to look ashamed but she also looked panicked that her son might overhear their conversation and for that Christian felt like a jerk. She stepped away from the swing set and he followed. He opened his mouth to apologize but she started first. “I’m sorry. It’s not my style to sneak out on someone who’s been so kind to me but I’d never been in a situation like that and I didn’t know how to act, either.” Never? He found it hard to believe that in her line of work she’d never been roughed up before that moment. His mom had been brutalized more times than he could count. Sometimes it’d been a crack across the mouth, other times it’d been broken bones. Maybe that was the difference between a streetwalker and the high-class variety. “Anyway, I’m just here to enjoy the day with my son,” she finished with a glance toward the boy on the swings and Christian’s gut clenched. Didn’t she realize the damage she was doing to her kid by continuing to hook? It didn’t matter that she was high-class, she’d still been beaten like a common prostitute. What if she’d died that night? Where would that put her kid?

“It’s probably none of my business but you really shouldn’t put yourself at risk like you do when you’ve got a kid depending on you,” he said, even though he knew he ought to leave it be.

The wariness returned to her eyes and her mouth firmed as she said coolly, “You’re right…it isn’t any of your business.”

“Fine. But I can tell you that I’ve seen the damage that parents inflict on their kids because of their choices.”

Her mouth twisted. “Speaking from experience?”

“No.” Hell yes. But he wasn’t about to share the deepest, darkest chapters of his life just to make a point. He gestured at Mathias playing on the playground. “See that boy over there?” he asked.

She followed his subtle gesture then returned to him. “Is he your son?”

“No,” he answered, chuckling as Mathias scrambled up the play structure, going up the slide backward instead of using the steps just so he could slide down again. “I’m his designated Buddy.” At her frown, he explained, “Mathias is enrolled in a state program for kids at risk. It’s like the Big Brother mentoring program but different in that Mathias lives in a group home and I have to sign him out for visits. It’s a bit more structured because of the circumstances the kids are in. Circumstances where their parents have put them at risk because of their environment,” he added meaningfully.

He expected her to react defensively because that was the standard operating procedure for people when attention was brought to the things that they shouldn’t be doing but she surprised him when her hazel eyes warmed. “So you take a kid who is a total stranger out for the day?”

“Yep. Just like renting out a DVD.” She drew back and he laughed, saying, “I’m kidding. But yes, I take a kid who is a total stranger out for the day. It helps them to see that not everything is bad out there in the world. Today, I brought Mathias out for Little League tryouts.”

“What happens if he makes the team? Does he go to another Buddy?”

“Nope. I signed on for the full season. If he makes the team, I’ll pick him up for practices and games. I’ll even volunteer on snack day.”

“That’s quite a commitment,” she murmured, but there was a hint of wistful admiration couched in her tone that made him wonder.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mathias is a good kid.”

“And you do this out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “You don’t get paid or anything for this?”

“No, I don’t get paid but it’s worth something to me,” he said. Perhaps if he’d had someone to talk to before his mom died, he might’ve felt less alone, less afraid.

“Oh?”

“I get the chance to make a difference,” he answered truthfully. “Not every kid gets an ideal start in life. I’m trying to do what I can to even the score.”

Her brow lifted ever so slightly as she said, “If only more people were more like you.”

“You don’t believe me. I sense sarcasm.”

“This is Manhattan. Everyone’s got an angle. Yours seems harmless enough, though.”

He tried not to take offense. She was right. Everyone did have an agenda but in this, he didn’t. However, he wasn’t going to waste time justifying himself for it would only make him look guilty. “Believe what you want. Just take me at my word that your actions will affect your son somewhere down the road.”

He must’ve struck a nerve. Her silence felt weighted, filled with something she couldn’t talk about without cost. Then he remembered something from that night. “Listen, if you need help…I might be able to hook you up with some resources. I know a lot of people from my connections to the Buddy program.”

“You can’t help me,” she said quietly, shocking him with her bleak honesty. “No one can.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked. “You mentioned being punished. If you’re being forced…” He’d heard of pimps getting dangerously possessive with their girls. He couldn’t imagine being under someone’s thumb like that. At least with his mother she’d been a free agent. For that small blessing, he’d been grateful. “I could see what I can do.”

She gave him a look from her clear hazel eyes that was at the same time hard and vulnerable and he wondered if she realized how much she gave away with that single glance. “I can’t afford any more attempts.” She drew a halting breath and forced a short smile. “I appreciate your help. I’m sorry I snuck out on you. You deserved better but believe me when I say that I did you a favor.”

He didn’t doubt her honesty at that moment. And he should’ve left it at that. She was giving warnings to steer clear of her and her problems. But there was something about her—and it wasn’t anything about her physically, which would’ve been the easy motivation for anyone else—but rather it was when she looked at her son he saw pure love tempered by desolation. He wanted to know why. And he knew full well his curiosity wasn’t a good thing but he’d been snagged in the mouth pretty hard and there was no shaking it loose no matter how hard he tried.

“At least tell me your name,” he said.

Her groomed brows arched. “What’s in a name? The likelihood of ever seeing each other again is slim.”

“The odds were slim before today and yet here we are.”

“I could give you any name and it wouldn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She held his stare for a long moment and he wondered what went on beyond that careful facade. He suspected a deep well lurked beneath that seemingly still surface. He half expected her to leave him hanging like she did that morning. But she surprised him with an answer. “My name is Skye D’Lane. Thank you…” She paused in question, waiting with a slight tilt of her lips.

“Christian. Christian Holt.”

“Thank you, Christian, for being there.”

SKYE NEARLY BIT HER TONGUE for going against her own decision to remain a mystery. But she’d felt compelled to at least give him her name. She figured it was only fair seeing as he’d saved her life. Yet, as she chewed her bottom lip, she had a strong suspicion a name wouldn’t be enough for a man like Christian Holt. Men like Christian found projects and Skye had just given him the green light to count her among his. A delicate shiver rocked her at the thought.

Perhaps it was the remnant of her distasteful altercation with Vivian that still had her on edge and feeling reckless. Or perhaps it was just that standing there with this incredibly good-looking man who was smiling at her as if she’d just given him the keys to the castle made her feel normal and she hungered for such simple pleasures. “I used to dance,” she said, the need to be anything other than he already knew caused her to loosen her tongue when she otherwise would’ve remained quiet. She never gave up personal information. Her dancing had been her own, a bright, shiny spot on the time line of her life thus far and she protected it with the fierce snarl of a mother bear. And yet, she’d given him this information without a fight.

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