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FRANCESCA’S LIPS RIPE with a smile, she added a couple of logs onto the fire glowing in the hearth. She was looking forward to spending the night telling Tommy everything she knew. She couldn’t wait to recount the story of how they’d met, revisiting their first date and their first kiss.
How right Lily was—about everything. She’d projected Tommy’s recovery, shown Francesca how to navigate her way around him to help uproot his repressed memories. There was still much more to Tommy’s recovery than repressed memories, but Francesca trusted Lily to help him heal. Lily had graduated top of her class not because, as the daughter of a wealthy oil magnate-slash-politician, she’d had everything handed to her, but because she was smart.
Lily would use her honed medical skills to find out what had caused Tommy to shut off his memories. Regardless, having Tommy ask Francesca to tell him everything she knew was a great start. Better than that was Tommy telling her he loved her with no memory of their past. What were the chances of falling in love all over again with your first love? Francesca let that sink in and a moment of complete understanding of how much Tommy truly loved her made her heart bloom inside her like a red rose in spring.
As warm as the living room was, Francesca suddenly felt a shiver creep up her spine. Wrapping arms around herself, she turned to head to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate. Francesca saw him then. Arched in the doorway, heat flashed in James’ eyes. Francesca’s breath caught, and her throat constricted. She dug her fingers into the back of the chair to keep herself steady.
Recognizing the shock and fear in Francesca’s eyes, James’ lips curved. “Hello, Frankie.”
At his long, slow stare, a look of utter horror paled Francesca’s face. “How did you get in?”
James held up the key. “You change the locks, but leave a key beneath the planter. How stupid is that?”
“What are you doing here, James?” Francesca’s voice, in direct contrast to the river of fear flowing through her, was calm.
“I came to collect you.”
Francesca swallowed hard. “Collect me? I’m not furniture, James.”
James spurned the comment. “And to my surprise, I find you locking lips with your priest. I’m sure the archbishop will be pleased to know how he’s been spiritually advising you.” The muscles in James’ jaws quivered when her eyes darted away. “Look at me, goddamnit. Look at me, you whore,” he repeated when she didn’t. “Has he gotten you into bed already? He does have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Francesca reached for the poker to push logs around the fire.
“Is he a better fuck than I am?”
You can clean it up, dress it up, but rubbish was always rubbish, Francesca thought. “Don’t be so crude.”
“You’re a whore who gets it on with a priest.”
Francesca found her courage and set hard, unwavering eyes on James. “I want you to leave. Tom ... Father Matthew will be back soon.”
“You can call him Tommy, and I’m not leaving you with your lover to make a bigger idiot of me than you already have in court.” Crossing to the bar, James’ gaze whipped up, two heated dark points that managed to infuse fear in Francesca.
“He’s ... he’s not my lover.” The muscles of her stomach clutched into a tight knot of nerves. If she could make it to the patio doors, she could outrun James and catch up with Tommy.
“Don’t even think about it,” James warned when he saw her plotting. “You do take me for a fool.” Pouring himself a whiskey, he took it in in one swallow.
“I don’t,” Francesca said, doing her best to tuck away the sharp claws of angst tearing at her stomach.
“I heard your entire conversation. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you all over again.’ ‘I never stopped loving you. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’” James mimicked, flinging his glass into the fireplace. “You fucking slut. Your father told me he was dead, but you’ve fooled everyone, haven’t you? You’ve kept him hidden away as sideline entertainment. He’s been fucking you the entire time we’ve been married, hasn’t he?”
Francesca tightened her grip on the poker. “I want you to leave. Now, James.”
“You spread your legs for a priest, and suddenly, you think you can tell me what to do.” James drained a second whiskey, flung the empty glass into the fire with more force. The half-empty bottle of Crown Royal followed, scattering a shower of glass and whiskey everywhere.
A wave of panic sweeping through Francesca, she gripped the poker tighter and rounded the chair to put it between James and her. The cutting smile creasing one corner of James’ mouth made the hair prickle on Francesca’s neck, and fear had her feet cemented to the floor.
“He can’t help you. We’re alone, my dear wife,” James said when Francesca’s eyes darted to the patio doors.
Before Francesca knew, James came at her. Francesca swung the poker with all her strength, aiming for James’ head, but she was inches shorter, and she struck his upper arm.
“You fucking bitch.” The dizzying pain shot through James’ shoulder.
Francesca took a blind step back and fell into the chair. Fighting back the panic, Francesca pulled herself to her feet in an attempt to get away from James, but he snagged her arm, gripped hard enough, his fingers dug to the bone. She tried to free her arm, but James was too strong.
“You fucking bitch, you leak information to make me look like a fool during the trial.” The back of James’ hand came at her fast and hard across her face. “You whore around behind my back with your lover.” His fisted hand landed a punch on her face, splitting her lip and making her taste blood.
Francesca cried out in shock, and her lungs hitched for breath. “I would never leak information or cheat on you.” She blinked to clear her vision back.
“You’re like all of them, a lying, whoring bitch.” Cold fury burnt in James. “I should kill you right now.”
“Is that what you did to Jasmine?” The words, which burst out of Francesca, caught him off guard. For a long moment, poker-faced, he stared at her, but Francesca saw the admission of guilt in his eyes. “Oh, my God! You killed her.”
James gave Francesca a hard push, and she fell back into the chair. Clamping his hands on the arms of the chair, he pushed the weight of his body to cage her in. “The bitch deserved it. She dates me for years, then when I propose, she tells me I deserved better than her. As if I’m going to fall for that lame-ass excuse. What she meant was that she deserved better than me. The whore thought she deserved better than me, James Templeton III.” His blood raging, he punched Francesca over and over. She lifted hands to block him, but all she managed to do was make him angrier. “You’re all the same. Teasing, lying, whores.” Landing punches where they fell, James berated, called Francesca Jasmine as his fists became more forceful with each blow.
Francesca was sure she was going to die tonight.
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WALKING UP THE TERRACE STEPS BEAR’S ears pricked. The flash in his eyes, the throaty snarls, was a clear reaction to impending danger. In reaction to Bear, Tommy listened, intently. Through the cold blowing wind, he heard the man’s menacing shouts and Francesca’s curdling pleas for him to stop hurting her.
Bear lunged toward the door, and Tommy propelled himself across the slippery, snow-covered slate. Flinging the patio door open, in one long stride, he and Bear were in the living room. The smell of alcohol and blood slapped Tommy. Shards of crystal scattered around the hearth and floor glinted like diamonds under the dancing flames from the fireplace.
Then Tommy saw Francesca. Her face was streaked red with blood, and one eye was shut closed. There was a cut on her cheek, and her lip was split open. Crouching over Francesca, James’ eyes looked wild like a rabid dog’s. Shouting oaths, insults, and threats, James spat in her face.
Tommy’s heart bumped, and anger, so much anger pressed down against his chest as if someone had taken a hammer to it when Francesca’s head shot up, pleading for help. Adrenalin, along with his military training kicked in when Tommy saw James swinging a fisted hand toward Francesca’s face, and he charged at him.
Latching onto James’ arm mid-air, Tommy’s voice roared, “Take your hands off her, you bastard.” The fury simmering, the adrenalin pumping, Tommy pulled James off Francesca and tossed him aside like a rag doll.
“You’re going to pay for that.” James pushed himself off the floor to his feet.
It was then Bear who leaped at James, fangs gleaming, to latch onto his arm. As James fought Bear, Tommy bent down to scoop Francesca into his arms. The blood on her face looked bright against the pale skin that seemed almost translucent. Anger melted into compassion. “I’m getting you out of here?”
“Get off me, you flea-infested beast.” James snarled punching at Bear, but a growling Bear dug his fangs deeper, latched on harder. With his free hand, James reached for the silver candleholder on the coffee table to strike Bear. “I should have run you over when I had the chance,” James barked, raising the candleholder over Bear’s head.
“He’s going to hurt Bear,” Francesca screamed.
Tommy whirled around in one quick motion, lunged at James, and knocked the candleholder out of his hand. The thump of silver on wood followed.
“Release, Bear, go to the kitchen,” Tommy ordered, but it wasn’t until Francesca’s weak voice repeated the command that Bear let go of James’ arm. With one last fierce growl, Bear scrambled out the room.
Wincing in pain, James dragged himself off the floor. “You too can be on your way. My wife will not be entertaining you anymore, and you can be sure I’ll be calling the archbishop.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Standing tall and fierce, Tommy shielded Francesca’s limp body on the chair. “I’m not leaving Francesca alone with you.” Tommy’s eyes glared in defiance straight into James’ eyes.
“This doesn’t concern you. She’s my wife.” James spat.
“It does when you lay a hand on Francesca. And it stops now.” The cold, withering look Tommy aimed at James could have extinguished the fires of hell.
James saw past the temper in Tommy’s eyes to love, deep and strong for Francesca. “You sonofabitch. How long have you been screwing my wife?” James snapped. Refusing to dignify the question with a response, Tommy set hard, unwavering eyes on James. “That long, eh?”
“You need to leave now.” Tommy’s eyes hard, lethal, mingled with posturing.
“Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do in my home?” The resentment at being barked at by the man screwing his wife smothered James, and he lunged a tight-fisted punch at Tommy.
Tommy dodged the blow aimed to his face, but he wasn’t expecting the head-butt to the stomach that knocked him back and off his feet. Tommy’s head bounced against the edge of the coffee table, blurring his vision and knocking him out.
Tommy out of the way, James turned to Francesca. Snatching her breath, she sprang up, tried to escape. Before she could run away, James latched onto the end of her ponytail and yanked hard. Francesca’s head snapped back, and for a moment, the clutch of death clawed at her.
Francesca’s pulse drummed to the beat of fear. Kicking and screaming, she called out for Tommy, but her cries went unheard. All they did was cut the smothering silence in the room.
James brought his face within inches from Francesca’s. “Your priest is a pussy. He’s out cold. There’s no one here to help you.”
“Tommy. Tommy.” Francesca called out.
“Call out for him all you want. Your lover’s unconscious. That little boo-boo on his head did it.” James taunted, shoving her face inches from a passed out Tommy. “Where’s your boyfriend when you need him, eh?” James drove a fist into her ribs that made Francesca’s lungs chock up.
The air searing in and out of Francesca’s lungs, she fell to her knees next to Tommy. On all fours, Francesca gulped air to fill her lungs. Her lungs filled, she moaned out Tommy’s name one last time.
Nothing.
Francesca raised her arms to block James’s next blows. “Please stop, James. I’ll do whatever you want.”
That time, Francesca’s petrified voice pierced Tommy’s ears, and her face swam into his eyes. Through blurred vision, Tommy saw Francesca fighting for air as James’ hands closed around her throat. With one blind burst of adrenalin, Tommy pushed himself off the floor.
“Let her go,” Tommy shouted. When James refused, Tommy reached for the candleholder on the floor, brought it down on James’ back.
The pain radiating down his spine, James’ eyes gleamed with fury. Releasing his chokehold on Francesca, James turned, charged at Tommy, and mowed him to the floor. Both men rolled on the ground, but James outweighed Tommy by thirty pounds, and he pinned him under him. As James drove his fists into Tommy’s face, Tommy struggled to reach the candleholder inches from him.
The punches to Tommy’s head came for what felt like an eternity. The vicious roaring in her ears became louder, and his lungs snatched what air it could. His vision dimmed to a hazy blur, with some effort, Tommy felt his way around for the candleholder.
The candleholder was the only thing between salvation and death.
Next thing Tommy heard was James taking one last struggled breath that to James felt like jagged knives slicing his throat on the inhale before he collapsed on the floor.
