Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(27)

“I will,” I lied.

“Ciao, babe,” she said and I could hear her smile in her voice but could only guess it was relieved.

“Ciao, you big dork,” I replied and I could then hear her laughter which I knew was relieved. My words said I wasn’t pissed at her and I’d given in on the talk.

Then she was gone and I knew at that moment, in Heartmeadow, Indiana, my friend Paula was dialing Missy or Teri or, if she was at a phone that had the option, she was conferencing.

Shit.

I pulled in a soft breath as I flipped my phone shut, tucking it into my bag when Luci unsurprisingly immediately offered, “Tomorrow, when you wake up, you can use my computer.”

God, seriously, it would be a lot better if she was a haughty uber-bitch like all supermodels were supposed to be and not hyper-friendly.

I looked at her and noticed that Sam’s arms hadn’t moved, nor had his body, which was right in my space.

Still, even so, I ignored both.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“Prego,” she said softly back.

“Luci, give us a minute, yeah?” Sam said, not softly but firmly and there was only one answer to his “yeah?” which Luci gave him after throwing him a radiant, happy, certain she was going to have quasi nieces and nephews imminently as supplied by Sam and me smile before she melted away.

My mind was stuck on giving Luci nieces and nephews as supplied on me by Sam when Sam called me.

“Baby.”

Reluctantly, I tipped my head back to look up at him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“If I say yes, will you ask me repeatedly until I tell you the truth?” I asked back and he grinned.

Then he answered, “Yeah.”

“Then, no.”

“Talk to me,” he ordered gently.

I shook my head, put my hands to his biceps and pushed back as I started, “Sam, I –”

His arms got tight and it was proved positive I was totally clueless because he was not a small man, he was a tall man, he was definitely a muscular man and thus I should have cottoned onto the fact that he was a very strong man and I knew this in that instant because his arms separated, one going low at my waist, one going up to rest under my shoulder blades. They got tight in a way I knew there was no escape even without trying and suddenly I found myself chest to chest, h*ps to h*ps and thighs to thighs, pressed deep to Sam Cooper.

Then his neck bent and his face was an inch from mine.

My stomach pitched, my knees wobbled and my mouth clamped shut.

When he had my undivided attention, he said in a firm, unrelenting but still somehow gentle voice, “That was not a request.”

“I need some space, Sam,” I whispered and it was breathy mostly because I was breathing so hard I was close to panting.

“You’re not going to get it.”

Say what?

“Sam!” I snapped.

“Talk,” he returned.

“I get to decide when I want to talk, not you,” I retorted and that was when it happened.

Right then.

Right there (nearly).

Within maybe ten minutes of showing up at his dead, best friend’s wealthy, gorgeous, famous wife’s fabulous villa on Lago di Como, it happened.

Sam released me with one arm but only to twist, taking me with him and putting the champagne flute on a table within his reach and he repeated this maneuver when he divested me of my bag. Then he shuffled me backwards out the door. Once there, he turned me to his side, his arm clamped around my waist and he pulled me to the very end corner of the terrace balustrade, alone, no one close. There, he twisted me into the corner and caged me in.

And through this, I lost it. Completely. I forgot who he was but I didn’t forget who I was. I didn’t forget what I learned at the hands of my husband. It had been months but I remembered it in excruciating detail.

And Sam’s actions brought back Cooter’s lessons and fear gripped me, extreme and paralyzing.

So when his hands came to either side of my neck, his thumbs at my jaws forced my head back to look at him and I did, his head jerked with his flinch so violently, it was like I struck him and I knew it was written all over my face.

“Baby,” he whispered and his voice was not rough-as-velvet. It was just rough.

“Step back,” I whispered and there was no way to miss the plea.

“Kia.”

“Step back.”

“Kia.”

“Step back.”

There it was.

A whimper.

Weak. Exposed.

Humiliated, I closed my eyes tight, tried to turn my face away and Sam allowed this, his thumbs gliding from my jaws but he kept me pinned and he kept his hands at my neck.

Then he ground out, “He hurt you.”

Oh man.

Oh God.

How did this happen?

Why couldn’t I keep anything secret?

I kept my eyes closed and my face averted.

Sam kept going.

“He did it often.”

I couldn’t escape him so I did the only thing I could. I twisted my neck deeper to turn my face further away in hopes he couldn’t see it.

“He didn’t check it, not once, not f**kin’ once,” Sam kept speaking, his voice now abrasive.

He wasn’t pissed. He was angry.