Protecting Isabelle

by Arabella Kingsley

  Isabelle’s cheeks were paling making him think she was going to pass out. He shouldn’t have pushed it with her. Hell knows what else that bastard had done to her. Christian began to guide her to the bed, mindful that she should sit down, or even lie down. But she struggled like mad, neatly twisting her wrist and slipping it from his hand. Then she ran for the door. This time she made it through.

  Christian followed her out into the corridor, calling after her. Firmly he took hold of both her arms just before she walked through the open door of her room, right next door. The room he didn’t believe she was staying in. They both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw what was lying in wait.

  The grimy yellow room, identical to Christian’s, was in complete disarray. Isabelle’s clothes, suits and dresses were lying bandied across the floor. The drawers and closet were wide open and bare. The contents of her bag were strewn on top of the chest of drawers next to them. It was as though everything had been dropped in the middle of the room and a hand swept through it all looking for something. There was an odour Christian has smelt before and knew well, the smell of sex. He couldn’t help looking at her and wondering. Isabelle didn’t take too kindly to his look and started struggling in his grip. She swung a punch at him. Her fist made contact with his stomach making him let go of her. He straightened, rubbing his stomach. For small delicate hands she had a hard punch.

  He watched Isabelle stare at the bed covers on top of which whoever ransacked her room had left something. While she was occupied, he took the opportunity to find out who she was and picked up her passport laying on the floor near him. An ashen colour swept across his face as he read it. He’d just made the second biggest mistake of his life, and his best friend was going to kill him for sure. And this time he might have just cause.

  Christian hadn’t been given a photograph of the woman he had been hired to protect. Everything had been so last minute. How the hell was he supposed to know Isabelle was actually his best friend’s sister he’d been hired to guard? He hadn’t expected her to come sneaking into his room. He was just supposed to find her at the hotel tomorrow morning. Philip didn’t ring to say she’d come earlier.

  Christian joined her beside the bed, nervously wondering how he was going to tell her about his mistake and what the best way of apologising would be. Maybe if he did it right, things might just be ok. His thoughts stopped abruptly when he heard her mumbling to herself. She was pushing her hair back behind her ears over and over again in an agitated manner.

  She kept saying to herself, “But he’s never gone this far before.”

  Who are you talking about?

  Isabelle’s eyes flickered wildly up and down the bed. She was looking at a red see-through basque placed ceremoniously at the pillow to dress an invisible whore lying on the bed with a red thong opened invitingly at the crotch. Christian followed her eyes to the table next to the bed and at the bundle of Euros that lay there.

  Payment for imaginary services rendered?

  Isabelle placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of horror, her other hand at her hip in a futile attempt to seem in control of her emotions. Christian could see angry, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.

  She shook her head as though she had been defeated by something. There was a pair of handcuffs next to the display. Hesitantly, Isabelle removed her hand from her mouth, only appearing to be vaguely aware of Christian’s presence. Her head turned sharply, making him do the same. With her he saw something written on the mirror in thick red lipstick.

  “Still burning with a vagina hardened by lust she retired, exhausted by men but not yet satisfied.” A low growl of anger rumbled in Isabelle’s throat as she read it out loud. She reached for the lamp on the dressing table and was poised to throw it at the mirror. Quickly, Christian grabbed her raised wrist.

  “Don’t, I want to have finger prints taken. What is it?”

  “It’s from Juvenal Satires,” she told him with cold contempt through her tears.

  He needed to talk to her badly, to explain who he was and what he was sent to do by her brother. Also, he had to get his friend from the police down here fast to get some prints taken.

  “Come on, Isabelle, let’s get you out of here,” he told her firmly.

  She brushed away his restraining hand on her arm and ran to the other side of the bed. She moved past a small writing desk. It was the hotel owner’s attempt to smarten the room up, but it was so old it was ready to fall apart. There was a piece of paper wedged under one of its legs.

  Isabelle lowered herself to her knees next to the desk looking for something. Maybe papers. But Christian found his eyes curiously drawn to the desk again. The chair was pulled out as if someone has been sitting there, and there is a used cup and saucer on the top of the desk. Looking down at the cup he could see there were no remnants of the pretty shade of pink lipstick Isabelle was wearing.

  Christian had never known a woman who did not leave her mark on a cup before with her lipstick. Acting quickly, he picked up one of her many silk scarves off the floor.

  No doubt you use them to hide the bruises.

  He could still feel warmth permeating from the cup through the silk scarf. They had missed whoever had ransacked the room by minutes. He could even be close by, watching through the open door to see how Isabelle took the present he left for her.

  If she had been alone, he might have pounced and caught his prey. Christian felt a cold chill shiver down his spine when he thought of Isabelle in the man’s dirty hands. He lowered the cup back to the saucer and rushed out into the hallway to see if he could see anything. It was vital he knew exactly what he was up against so he could do his job and effectively protect Isabelle from the violent boyfriend who pursued her and her inheritance with such obsession. This he hadn’t expected. He knew the boyfriend well from his past and this wasn’t his style.

  Chapter 5

  Christian looked around the room again wondering if there are any more clues. The smell of sex still hung in the air. He wondered where it was coming from. From a chair near the window at the far end of the room, a creamy liquid mixture was running rivulets through a pool of white silk, dripping gently on to the floor.

  Semen.

  The man had obviously got off on what he had done and used one of Isabelle’s dresses as a substitute for her presence. Christian's anger coiled tight around his body squeezing his chest. Images of Marie entered his mind again making him clench his fists at his sides. He wanted Isabelle out of the room before she saw it.

  With purpose he walked straight towards her and pulled her up by the arm with force, refusing to answer her protests. He marched her to the door in quick time, aware that her feet were hardly touching the ground.

  Christian made sure his body was placed solidly behind her, blocking her view as he steered her body. But she struggled, stubbornly determined not to be pushed around, digging her heels into the ground and pushing back into him, shouting something about getting her bag.

  He ignored her.

  “You need to leave the room now. If you don’t, I will carry you out of here over my shoulder. Do you understand?” he threatened.

  Isabelle wrapped her fingers around the door. As he tried to prise her persistent fingers away, Isabelle saw her bag next to the writing desk and then the semen. She stopped all of her movement.

  “What’s that? What’s that on my nightdress?” her voice was barely an audible whisper. “Is that semen?”

  Her fingers slipped from the door in shock. Christian took full advantage. Spinning her around in his arms, he dipped his body and swung Isabelle up and over his shoulder. She went wild, kicking at him for all her life was worth. Christian reached up his hand and slapped her bottom twice in an effort to calm her with the quick spanking. As he carried her from the room, he found himself delivering three more strikes to her bottom before she halted her struggling. Her cursing quieted, changing to silent tears.

  Once back in his room, Christian locked th
e door behind him and put her down.

  “Stop pushing me around. It is semen, isn’t it? I’m not stupid— that was my nightdress,” she said rubbing her arms as though she were cold.

  He watched her give a violent shiver.

  “Yes it was,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you going in there again. We have to talk.” He softened his voice with effort. “And you need a drink.”

  He needed one himself. It was unnerving, calculated and cold, designed to strike fear and terror and let the victim know he was watching her every move. Christian gently took hold of her arm and guided her to the chair by the bed and made her sit down.

  Isabelle put her head in her hands and wept. It made him want to hold her and protect her.

  “Look Isabelle, there’s been a mistake.” He sounded too formal. “Philip sent me. I am here to protect you.”

  Isabelle’s head shot up. He didn’t like the way she stared at him suspiciously, or the small nervous laugh she gave him.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said sharply.

  Her head was held high making him notice how regal and beautiful she looked. But he could mentally see her working out how she could make a run for the door. Instinctively he positioned himself between the door and her chair, removing the threat.

  “Philip didn’t send you. Nobody is supposed to know anything, let alone that I am here.”

  Philip warned him it would be difficult to gain her trust. Why should she trust him after the way he’s just fucked her? He felt that pang of guilt again. It was stronger this time.

  “Declan sent you, didn’t he? This is one of his tricks. You gain my confidence and then it’s easier to bring me back. Where’s the needle? The drugs to silence me? Are they next after you’ve convinced me someone is stalking me and frightened me into coming back?”

  She stood up, revealing how much her body was shaking. Anger blazed hot in her eyes; Christian was sure she was about to explode. That need to hold her grew strong again.

  “I have nothing to do with your cousin, Isabelle,” he told her calmly. “Philip sent me. I used to be in the SAS with him. He trusts me to take care of you and so should you.”

  He was careful to keep his distance and maintain eye contact with her. Hopefully she would begin to trust him.

  “If you aren’t with Declan, you will let me go. I am walking out of this room now,” she challenged.

  “No. I am not letting you go anywhere, Isabelle,” he said softly. There was no mistaking the firm resolve in his voice to keep her in the room.

  Her pretty features turned hard and pained. It was then that he saw the mental scars from two years of beatings and being kept prisoner by her Mafia cousin while she nursed her dying Grandfather through terminal cancer.

  His face must have shown his concern and sympathy because she said, “I don’t want your pity Mr….”

  “Dalban. It’s Christian Dalban. I am here to help you, Isabelle, whether you like it or not. I am here to keep you out of that damn prison Declan Mayer keeps trying to lock you in. If you won’t trust me, then we will have to do this the hard way, and I will have to give you no choice.”

  Her flashing emerald eyes narrowed to a sharp point and her lip curled with disgust.

  “Or what? You’ll hit me? Maybe spank me like a child again?”

  “If I have to spank you again to calm you down, then yes, I will.”

  And he meant it.

  “Huh, do you think I am afraid of you, Mr. Dalban?”

  He could hear her bitterness and anger loud and clear now. She was giving it to him full throttle and he wanted to hold and soothe her all the more for it.

  “You’re nothing like Declan. He has his own special brand of terror to inflict. He’s held my head under water until I bordered on death, and it took two paramedics to revive me!” She shook with anger.

  Christian closed his eyes. Frustration warred with anger, as he imagined how frightened she must have been, nearly losing her life.

  “He’s beaten me so many times, the doctors aren’t sure I will ever be able to carry a child. They know me by first name at the hospital. Drugged me to the point I don’t even know who I am anymore, just to keep me quiet and obedient since my uncle died. He’s murdered all those who were close to me or tried to help me escape him. You can keep hitting me, Mr. Dalban, and I’ll keep standing up. I’ve been hit so many times I’m numb. You can’t hurt me.”

  He knew he looked taken aback by her cruel satisfied smile that her verbal punch had hit home.

  “I would never hit a woman. Spank her, yes, but nothing more.”

  Christian took a step towards her and tilted her chin upwards forcing her to look into his eyes.

  “You need to get used to my presence, Isabelle. From now on you are glued to my side. Your brother and I are not going to let Declan Mayer hurt you even if I have to spank your bare bottom again, strip you naked and keep you tied up in that bed to keep you safe from him and yourself,” he informed her in a dark velvet caressing whisper. “And I am a man of my word. Please remember that before you decide to test me.”

  Chapter 6

  Her statements about her life with Declan rang true. He had been the type of boy who pulled the legs off spiders and wings off bees and fought viciously with the other kids as a child. Christian remembered the summers they were forced to spend time together along with Lucien Deschanel as the future heirs of the three strongest mafia families that were heavily linked. Isabelle was some distant relative of Declan’s Christian had heard about but never met or seen a photograph of. All he knew was that at twenty-four she’d been sent away by her uncle to live with family in the North of England where she worked as a lawyer.

  The purpose of the get together was to cement the special relationship between the families. But the hate and rivalry between all three was mutual. Declan took it all too seriously, but Lucien and Christian couldn’t wait to find a way out of their oppressive roles. Both men hated the violence that surrounded them. They had their own plans to be free of the family when they got the chance.

  Everything Isabelle described was true Declan style. The man had always been handy with his fists, especially around women. It looked like he had really turned up his charm with Isabelle. All because she had inherited her uncle’s and the Mayer family’s Don’s estate and wealthy legitimate car manufacturing business. Christian couldn’t help imagining the horror on his face and his father’s; in fact all of the families’ faces when they found out Isabelle was now in charge. A woman no less! He wanted to laugh out loud. Declan was desperate to marry her so he could keep her down and control the family and the business indirectly. He hadn’t counted on Isabelle escaping and asserting her independence to run the company alone while she brought him and the rest of the families down for money laundering through the business without her uncle’s knowledge.

  But the elaborate display in Isabelle’s room was definitely not the work of Declan Mayer. There was something too personal about it. Someone else was stalking Isabelle.

  Christian walked to his leather jacket lying on the chair and pulled out a letter. He kept Isabelle in his sight the entire time. He held the letter out to her, commanding her to read. She looked at it, then back at him with contempt, then the door, all the time weighing her options.

  “Give it up, Isabelle. There is no escape from me. Remember what I said I would do if you tried to get away. I am not going to let you put your life in danger.”

  Angrily she snatched the letter out of his hand and read it, a frown developing on her features.

  “It’s his handwriting and it explains everything,” he informed.

  Christian put his hands in his pockets. It was then that he realised he hadn’t buttoned his shirt up. Hurriedly he did so, grateful for something to do in the awkward silence as she read the letter.

  “What is he doing?” he heard her mutter to herself.

  Christian frowned. “He wants to protect you. He wants me to help you get away fro
m Mayer.”

  “Why you?” she demanded a quick answer.

  “Because protecting is my business, and I’m damn good at it. He was commanding officer in the SAS and I was his best man.” He grinned. “He trusts me with his life, unlike you.”

  She gave him the once over as though she was interviewing him for the position of champion. She didn’t look convinced.

  Damn it, woman. Trust me. But then I suppose you wouldn’t if you knew who I really am and who my father is. It's a shame, it is that link to my father that I am relying on to protect you.

  “Philip says you are the only man who can protect me. I am not to leave your side at any cost. Why are you so special, compared to the others he hired to help me? They all failed, some of them at the cost of their lives.”

  Christian felt uncomfortable. “I’ve told you I’m the best,” he said with conviction because he believed it.

  “I don’t want anybody’s help. Declan will buy you just like he has done with all of the others, and if he can’t, he’ll kill you,” she said quietly with heavy resignation in her defeated tone.

  Christian wanted to laugh at the very idea. Declan Mayer wouldn’t dare.

  But I can’t tell you that or I really will never get you to trust me.

  “I am not going to let you or Philip down. At some point you are going to have to let down your guard and start trusting me. Now, enough of this. I need to call the police and get them to investigate what happened in your room.”

  “No, no you can’t tell the police anything. He will find us through them. He owns everybody.”

  Isabelle was up on her feet again and heading for the door. He was getting fed up with her refusal to accept what was going on. He caught her round the waist and pulled her close against his chest. He caught the hem of her dress and pulled it up to her waist as she struggled to free herself from his grip. He exposed her bare bottom and the curls of her sex, feeling them press against his trouser legs, still a little damp from their lovemaking. There was no point in issuing a threat if he didn’t carry it out when pushed. He undid the zip and forced the silky black dress up and over her head until the only item of clothing she wore was her bra.