Ash swore. “You let him into your apartment?”
She pushed up and off him, turning so she could look him in the eye. “Why wouldn’t I have? Ash, we were lovers. He never gave me any reason to believe he’d hurt me. He never lost his temper. Not once. I never even saw him angry. He’s always been very calm and restrained. He came to see me because he didn’t believe I was serious about ending our relationship. He brought the collar back, apologizing, saying that it evidently meant something to me and that he would be aware of that going forward.”
Ash frowned but didn’t interrupt her.
“When I told him it was over, he demanded to know why.”
She broke off, glancing away, folding her hands in her lap as she presented her profile to him. He pulled her tighter against him, molding her to his body. He could feel her pulse, how agitated she’d become.
“What happened then?” he asked softly.
“I told him that he couldn’t give me the things another man had promised me,” she whispered.
Ash’s hold tightened further. “Go on.”
“He freaked. I mean completely lost it. The words were barely out of my mouth when he slapped me. I was so shocked that I didn’t even know what to do. And then he was standing over me, where I’d fallen, and he hit me again. He wrapped his hands in my hair and accused me of cheating on him. Told me that he’d handled me far too gently. That if he’d been the way he should have with me this would have never happened, that I would have never cheated.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ash ground out. “I’ll kill him for this.”
She shook her head violently. “No! Ash, leave it alone. It’s done with. It’s over.”
“The hell it is!”
He calmed his breathing and forced the rage from his mind and eased his grip on her arm where his fingers had dug into her skin. She would wear no marks from him. None that weren’t given in passion and tenderness. None that she wouldn’t want to wear.
“I should have gone to the police,” she said in a low voice. “I should have pressed charges. Had him arrested. But God, I was just in shock. And then I felt so . . . stupid. How could I not have seen this in him? That capacity for violence? How could I have had sex with him and never known what lay underneath his fa?ade? When I think of what could have happened. I trusted him. Implicitly. I gave him full access to my body. He could have done anything to me. It’s why . . .”
She broke off, going silent against him. He pushed her hair from her battered cheek and then pressed a kiss to the bruised flesh.
“Why what?” he asked gently.
She closed her eyes. “It’s why I didn’t call you. Why I didn’t come to you. Why I didn’t accept what you offered. I was . . . afraid.”
He tensed, his gaze focusing intently on her. “Afraid of me?”
She nodded miserably.
He sucked in his breath. He understood. He didn’t like hearing it, but he understood.
“I get it,” he said, stroking his hand up her arm. “You thought because you misjudged him so badly that you couldn’t trust your judgment of me and my intentions.”
She nodded again.
“I understand, but Josie, you need to get this. I am not Michael.”
She glanced back up at him, hope stirring in her eyes. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust herself and her instincts where he was concerned.
“I will never hurt you,” he said, the vow coming solemnly from his lips. “If we have issues, we work them out. And it does not involve me raising my hand to you. Ever.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Come here,” he murmured, stretching his other arm to her.
She didn’t hesitate and promptly buried herself against his chest. He wrapped both arms around her and held her close, breathing in her scent.
“Pisses me off that you’ll wear those bruises for several more days. I don’t like seeing them, but more than me not liking to see them is you having to see them and remember him hurting you.”