And she’d fallen for it. Not only with James but also, if not to the same extent, with Miles even though she’d always known something was off about him. Now she knew exactly what it was and, in hindsight, it was glaringly obvious.
Worse, Joy and Yasmin felt they needed to protect her like she was some naïve idiot unable to look out for herself.
Worse than that, they were right.
She was a stupid, silly, foolish, naïve idiot.
Belle choked back tears as she peeked around the corner and saw the hall deserted. Joy and Yasmin had disappeared.
Then she ran to her room like the very devil was at her back.
She had to get out of there.
Immediately.
She knew all along this wasn’t a safe place.
And she was right.
She should have listened to herself.
She now understood the reason she wrapped herself in cotton wool. To protect herself from this kind of irrevocable damage because it hurt worse than anything she could ever imagine. Worse than a broken arm. Worse than a sprained ankle. Worse than anything.
She threw open the door to her room and charged in only to come to an immediate, rocking halt.
And this was because Miles was lying on her bed clothed in his tuxedo without the jacket or tie but still wearing his shoes. He had his arms lifted, his head resting on his hands. He looked, for all the world, like a man in thoughtful repose.
When she arrived, his eyes turned to her, they took in her face, her hair, James’s shirt and they narrowed dangerously.
Then his voice, low and trembling with fury, came at her, lacerating her frayed nerves and exacerbating her already overwhelming humiliation.
“He fucked you,” Miles declared.
At his awful but very true words, Belle jolted out of her horrified stance and ran to her handbag. Throwing her dress and shoes in the direction of her suitcase, she turned and dug in her purse to find her phone.
“You let him fuck you,” Miles’s voice said from behind her.
She pulled out her mobile and bent her head to it, her mind racing, her thumb touching the screen, her shaky hand making her call nearly impossible.
“Belle,” Miles called.
He was closer. She could hear it and she could feel it and it terrified her.
She hit the call button and put the phone to her ear.
“Belle, I’m talking to you.” Miles’s voice was changing, his tone had turned biting. She didn’t have to look at him to know his anger was fierce.
She’d heard that tone before, dozens of times and her fear escalated alarmingly.
The call connected and she asked to be put through to a taxi service.
“Belle, put down the fucking phone,” Miles demanded but the call went through and Belle moved. Digging in her bag, she pulled out a pair of jeans.
“Belle, I said put down the fucking phone.” Miles’s voice was getting louder but Belle, beginning to panic and almost unable to cope with her stifling humiliation, ignored him, focussing solely on escape.
The taxi service picked up and Belle said in a tremulous voice, “I need a taxi at Chy An Als Point. Immediately. It’s an emergency,” she semi-lied.
It wasn’t a true emergency, just an emergency to her.
But in order to get away, she was willing to lie.
She’d worry about the black mark against her soul later.
A lot later.
“Belle.” Miles’s voice was an ugly warning.
“What’s the name?” the lady at the taxi service asked in her ear.
“Belle Abbot,” Belle answered.
There was a brief pause then a breathy, “The Tiny Dynamo?”
Belle shut her eyes tight at the hated, ridiculous title the papers had given her as she felt the fury emanating from Miles hitting her.
“Yes,” she replied, not willing to extend the energy to fight it.
“And it’s an emergency?” the lady asked.
“Yes,” Belle semi-lied again.
“Someone will be right there, love. Don’t you worry,” the lady assured her and Belle felt immense relief mingled with guilt for leading the nice taxi lady on.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered, only the relief evident in her voice then she touched the screen to end the call.
She threw her mobile on top of her purse and shook out the jeans, still ignoring Miles.
“So, you think you can come to my home, meet my mother, spend the night fucking my brother while I’m at the party searching for you, half mad with worry and then just go home?” Miles’s dangerous voice asked.
“Go away, Miles.” Belle sounded exactly as frightened as she felt and she didn’t care. She yanked up the jeans, fastened the button fly and then dashed around the room, gathering her things and running back to the bag, shoving it in.
“Go away?” Miles asked quietly as she did this.
“Yes. Go away,” Belle repeated, rushing around the room, blindly grabbing her belongings, not looking at him.
“Go away,” Miles whispered and it was a sinister whisper. A whisper that sent shivers of fear up her spine.
Belle didn’t respond, she pushed her hand into her bag, found her flip-flops and pulled them out, dropping them to the floor.
She felt him get close when she shoved her feet into the shoes.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
“Go away,” she whispered, thrusting her stuff into the bag so she could do the zip.
She felt fingers tighten brutally around her upper arm and with an instinct borne of experience, she braced minutes before he shook her by her arm savagely so she turned to him.
His face was frighteningly red with clearly evident wrath and Belle sucked in a terrified breath at the sight right before he roared, “You fucking whore!”
She flinched then belatedly tried to jerk her arm out of his grip.
This didn’t work.
Fear spiralled through her belly as he took her other arm in his grasp and shook her so hard her head snapped back.
He was shouting loudly when he said, “A month I’ve been taking you to the finest restaurants, feeding you the best food, dancing fucking attendance on you like an absolute jackass and you barely let me put my tongue in that sweet mouth of yours. Yet, in one fucking night you open your legs for my fucking brother when I’m under the same goddamned roof.” He shook her roughly again and yelled, “You fucking whore!”
“Let her go, Miles.”
Belle and Miles’s eyes swung to the voice that came from door.
There stood James wearing faded jeans and a black t-shirt that fit snug on his chest and stomach. His black hair was tousled. His feet were bare. His powerful body was held stiff and the expression on his face was downright scary.
At the sight of James in all his angry beauty, Belle forgot her current physical predicament and tears crawled up her throat, stung her eyes and she didn’t have the strength to hold them back.
They spilled down her cheeks.
James’s angry gaze swung to her face, he took one look at her and the obvious anger turned to even more obvious fury and he strode purposefully into the room.
“Take your hands off her,” he demanded.
“Fuck you,” Miles returned viciously.
James got close, his eyes locked on his brother and he warned softly, “I’m not going to ask again.”
James and Miles glared at each other and Belle stood frozen watching them as the white-hot current of what seemed to be hatred crackled between them.
Suddenly Miles moved. He tossed Belle toward James with great force, sending her flying across the short expanse and colliding into James’s body.
James’s arms immediately folded around her to hold her close.