Her chest tightened as his familiar words sank in. They were the same as the words she'd read on the card that had accompanied the bouquet she'd received at the hospital. Noah hadn't sent her those flowers, she realized. Chad had.
"You never should have left me," he chided as he moved around the counter, his steps deceptively slow and unhurried, his gaze dark and direct. "Did you really think that I wouldn't be able to find you? And I can't believe that your lover thought that I couldn't get to you, just because you were locked in his house. You're mine, and this time I'm not letting you go."
He was too close, too dangerous, and she'd had enough. Taking advantage of the only weapon and distraction she had available to her, she pitched the phone in her hand at Chad's head. The unit hit its mark, striking him in the temple. He grabbed his head and howled in pain, and she turned and ran through the opposite doorway and up the stairs, desperate to get to Noah's gun.
Once she'd made it to the master bedroom, she shut and locked the door. She bolted over to the dresser and rummaged through the drawer where he kept his revolver, her heart beating in time with the heavy, angry footsteps of Chad coming up the stairs.
She tossed Noah's cotton undershirts onto the floor in her frantic search, and a sob of despair caught in her throat when she realized that the gun was gone. He must have donned it this morning, though for the life of her she couldn't remember him wearing his holster, which didn't mean much. She'd grown so used to the weapon being a part of him that she hardly noticed it anymore.
But the fact remained that the gun was gone, and she was trapped upstairs with a crazed man after her.
The bedroom door rattled as Chad tried to kick in the sturdy wooden panel, spurring Natalie to find another means of defense. She'd gone through two other drawers for something sharp or blunt to use when the door cracked and splintered from the force of Chad's repeated blows, then crashed open.
She jumped back with a gasp, while he stood there in the doorway, the cut near his temple oozing blood down the side of his face. His features were filled with violent rage.
Fear swelled within her. "I'm expecting Noah back any minute," she blurted out, hoping and praying it was true. "I suggest you leave before he returns."
Chad strolled into the room, seemingly unfazed by her threat. "Ahh, Noah, your fiance," he drawled in a chilly tone, and smirked. "Do you really believe that lie he told you?"
She shook her head in confusion as she backed toward the far side of the room to keep distance between them. Knowing conversation was her best stall tactic until she could figure out an escape, she asked, "What he?"
"The two of you aren't engaged." He waved an impatient hand in the air. "I've been watching you long enough to know that the two of you weren't ever an item, at least not before the night of your accident."
His comment rippled through her mind, and denial rose fast and furiously. Of course she and Noah were engaged! They lived together. She'd given him her body, her soul. She loved him.
But along with that denial came snippets of conversations she'd had with Noah, of him skirting the issue of their engagement, no ring on her finger, no wedding date set, and no straightforward answers to the many questions she'd asked about them as a couple.
More vague images appeared in her head-Noah at the bar, talking and flirting with her, walking out with her the night of the accident, and her playfully fending off his flirtatious advances. They'd been friends, acquaintances, nothing more. The memories were fresh and real and gave her no choice but to believe Chad's words.
She and Noah weren't engaged.
The truth crashed over her in waves, shaking the very foundation of her relationship with Noah, which in essence had been nothing more than an affair. No wonder so much hadn't made sense to her.
"I thought you'd finally changed," Chad went on bitterly, touching her personal items on the dresser, taking a whiff from her perfume bottle before continuing toward her. "But being the slut that you are, you moved in with him, slept with him and now you're his whore."
Whore. She winced, remembering Chad cursing her with that exact word the night he'd attacked her after work in Reno.
He'd claimed she was a tramp for using her body as a showgirl, and he didn't like other men looking at her, lusting after her. Memories of her tumultuous past with Chad deluged her mind, overwhelming her-memories she would have been happy to keep suppressed. But this confrontation triggered a release of recollections she couldn't stop or escape.
Swallowing the whimper of panic rising to the surface, she kept inching backward, until her spine pressed up against the wall and she found herself cornered by Chad and the king-size bed to her left.
Knowing she was trapped, Chad continued to approach her like a savage animal anticipating pouncing on his prey. "I've had enough of watching you with him. Now I'm going to take back what's mine."
Her chance of escape was slim, but she wasn't going to let Chad bully her anymore. She refused to be a victim any longer, refused to allow this man any power over her mind or body-as he'd had in her past.
Resolute and more determined than she'd ever been before, she sprinted to the left and dove for the bed so she could scramble across the mattress. She made it halfway across before she felt a large hand clamp around her ankle and yank her back. She flipped over just as Chad started to move on top of her, his intent clear.
He was going to assault her.
And she was going to fight for her life, without remorse or hesitation. Just as he let go of her ankle, she kicked, hard, and aimed high. Her foot connected with his jaw with a loud crack, and his head snapped back from the impact. Her other foot landed in the middle of his chest, knocking him off balance and giving her the reprieve she needed to get the hell away from him.
"Goddamn whore!" he bellowed furiously, the agony of her dual attack radiating in his eyes.
She rolled away from him and off the bed. As soon as her feet hit the floor she was running out the door and down the stairs. He was seconds behind her, cursing her and promising retribution every step of the way. Before she could reach the foyer and front door, shards of glass be damned, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her to an abrupt stop.
She yelped in pain but didn't stop moving, her arms swinging, hands punching, and legs and feet striking any body part she came in contact with. They stumbled into the living room, and she kicked him in the shin, expecting his instant reflexes to cause him to let her go.
No such luck. Another explicit curse filled the air and he shoved her down onto the floor between the couch and coffee table, pinning her there with the weight of his body. He straddled her thighs, taking away any chance she might have had to knee him in the groin.
She wanted to scream in frustration but didn't waste her energy on something that would be of no help to her predicament.
He stared down at her, his nostrils flaring with each labored breath he took. "I'm going to take what's mine. Right here. Right now."
"Go to hell," she said through gritted teeth. "You're nothing but a hypocrite! You call me a whore, yet you have no qualms about using my body to slake your lust!"
He clenched his swollen jaw and narrowed his gaze to tiny slits. "It doesn't matter. You're used goods, anyway."
Grabbing the neckline of her shirt, he ripped it right down the middle, exposing her breasts encased in a thin cotton bra. She fought to fend him off, then ceased her struggles when she caught sight of the bronze statue on the coffee table next to her. As much as it revolted her, she let his hands grope her and didn't issue a protest when his mouth touched down on the upper slope of one breast.