“He wasn’t happy,” she murmured. “He was spoiled, didn’t want to share. He hated me.”
Merda. The childhood she’d suffered. While he’d been merely unhappy, yet safe and well cared for, this little girl had been scared, alone and unwanted. His hand lifted, gently cuddling the side of her face as she kept talking.
“But as I grew up, his attitude changed.”
He ground his teeth, sensing what was coming.
“He started leering. Touching.” A lone tear slid across her cheek. His thumb whisked it away. Another replaced it. “I…I…”
“Say it, carita,” he commanded in a low voice.
A whimper escaped her, but at the same time her shoulders stiffened as if wanting to shake her memories off one last time. “I was seventeen when it happened. I w-w-woke and he was in my bed. Touching me.”
A torrent of Italian curses erupted from him. Marc turned to the man on the ground, ready to pummel him and kill him.
“No!” Her hand clutched his elbow. “I got away. Before he could do anything.”
His breath was harsh in the stillness of the alley. The rage roared and rattled inside him.
“No. Please.” Her knuckles went white as she dug into his arm, keeping him from violence. “I ran away. His parents didn’t believe me. S-s-so I left. Before he could do anything else.”
Her words penetrated his fury.
Marc took a deep breath and straightened. With a shaking hand, he slipped his mobile from his pocket.
“Blake,” he barked at his head of security. “I need you to come around to the back of the bar. I have something I need you to deal with.”
He glowered at the unconscious man, then turned and scowled at her. “He's been stalking you ever since, hasn't he? That's why you reacted as you did at your gallery opening. You didn’t want your picture in the tabloids.”
“Yes.” She stared down at the man, her mouth tight, her skin white.
“Why the hell didn’t you report him to the police?”
Her dark head shot up and a bit of fight flitted in her eyes. “I did. Naturally I did.”
Naturally, his little fighter would have fought back. He reached for her, but she shied away. “Darcy—”
“What good does any restraining order do?” She took another step away, her gaze filling with a flame of anger at the system’s betrayal. “What good does it do to tell a policeman who doesn’t even care?”
“I care.” Fury burned inside him at the thought of his sprite spending years running and hiding from this man. Her artistic talent denied. Her life one long struggle to survive. Her fighting spirit the only thing standing in the way of her utter destruction. The urge to kick the unconscious man lying before him was almost undeniable. “He deserves to die.”
She gasped. “No, that isn't—”
Four men dressed in dark suits interrupted her as they swung around the corner coming at them with a swift gait.
“Take him away.” Marc waved at the man on the ground who was gaining consciousness. He exchanged a few terse words with Blake, ensuring his head of security understood the situation and knew what he wanted done. Within seconds, the stalker had his hands manacled behind his back and was being led sniffling and sobbing out of the alley.
Forever out of his woman's life.
She made a move to shuffle past him, but he turned and tugged her into his embrace. The feel of her against him sent a sharp, intense kick of rightness to his gut. This was where she was meant to be. With him, by him. Inside his soul.
His arms tightened around her.
“He will never get near you again,” he muttered into her soft curls. “They are taking him to the police where he'll be charged and put away. You will have to give your testimony. But I’ll be at your side through it all. He's gone for good and I'll make sure you're safe from him from now on.”
He held her. The rage and pain and fear he'd been dealing with for weeks slipping away.
He’d found her.
In this moment, he had found his place and his heart.
Chapter 17
Darcy stood in his warm, strong arms, drinking in the distinct male smell of him, spicy and sexy. Relishing the feeling of protection, of being safe. For a moment, she let herself remember her dream, drift in it.
Then, his words hit her.
Safe? He would always be sure she was safe?
Yanking herself from his embrace, she stepped away.
His face was all astonishment and he made a move to pull her into his embrace again, where she desperately wanted to be. But this way led to nothing for her.
Her hand came in front of her, blocking his move. “No.”
For some strange reason, he'd tracked her down and thankfully been in the right place and time to deal with her stalker. All the same, that shouldn't go to her head nor her heart. She knew the real man, the man who'd walked away from her without looking back. The man who'd blackmailed her. The man who cynically dismissed love. Whose accusations had cut a deep hole in her feisty spirit.