Dangerous Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Ros Baxter

  “I trust your father, Ridge,” Donna said. “And that’s no small thing. Eric and I, we . . .” She trailed off, looking for the right words. “We have history. Eric is a man of his word, he makes me feel very safe, very—”

  Ridge had clearly heard enough. “Safe? Safe’s great, if you’re an old woman, or a child. But you’re still young, Donna, and you’re vital and beautiful. You and Eric have been there, tried that. I know better than anyone that sometimes we can cling too long to something because it feels safe.” His voice was dark and dangerous. “But maybe it’s time you focused on pleasure? What do you want, Donna?” His words stroked her insides, daring her to wildness. His voice spiralled down even lower, until it sounded like a dirty promise. “What do you desire?” The last word was so soft Donna could almost believe she’d imagined it.

  It was tempting, to give in to this thing Ridge seemed to be offering.

  But Donna knew better than that.

  There were so many reasons why some fling with Ridge was never going to happen, despite how appealing the notion might be right now, trapped in an elevator while he used his voice to seduce her. Firstly, he belonged to her sister, and Donna was almost certain he always would. Secondly, she was trying to make a second go of it with Eric. And thirdly . . . well, thirdly, she just didn’t like being sized up by the Big Bad Wolf like a delicious appetizer, a sweet treat he could chow down on before he moved on to something more substantial.

  “Screw you, Ridge,” she said, reaching over and banging her fist on the emergency stop button.

  Ridge stared at her, open-mouthed, as the lift began to climb again.

  *

  Ridge lay on his bed feeling hot and frustrated.

  His brain kept going over the moment in the elevator; the moment when he had been sure if he whispered low enough, if he could just find the right words, Donna might lean forward and let him touch her.

  Ridge felt the stirrings of something sweet and dark inside him as he thought about her lips. Her mouth was beautiful: full and pink with a delicate curl to her top lip. He shook his head to chase the thought away.

  What the hell was he doing, lying here thinking about Brooke’s sister, the woman who loved his father, thinking about her mouth, especially after she had told him where to go in no uncertain terms?

  He really needed to forget her, and move on.

  There were a thousand other women out there—and he had no doubt any number of them would be perfectly happy to offer him some uncomplicated company.

  Chapter Three

  Donna waited in the area her lawyer had indicated. The middle-aged woman was terrifyingly efficient—the best of the best, Eric had said when he had introduced them. And Donna believed it. Elise Hawkins had prepared Donna very well for what she would face in the courtroom. Nevertheless, the prospect still terrified her. The thought of coming face to face with her assailant again sent icy prickles across her skin. Strictly speaking, she didn’t need her own lawyer—the public prosecutor would handle it—but Eric had wanted to make sure Donna felt well prepared.

  She closed her eyes as she waited on the hard bench. She would not think about it. Not yet. Not until she had to. She would think about something else.

  Her mind searched for topics shiny enough to preoccupy her fevered mind. She tried to focus on what she needed to do to get ready for the European shoot of the new line in a week’s time. Make a list, that would help.

  But no. Her mind didn’t want to go there. It kept straying back to the one place it had wanted to go ever since that moment two nights ago. Ridge’s eyes had been dark and intense, searching but vulnerable. The way he had brushed back her curl. The way he had considered her face, and, she was sure, lingered on her lips.

  What had it all been about, and why did she care?

  She had been trying hard to put Ridge out of her mind ever since. Thank God Eric was meeting her here. He wasn’t required to come, but he still wanted to be there for her. That was vintage Eric—thoughtful, concerned. And she was glad he would be here. The thought of seeing that boy again, alone, made her feel small and frightened. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel that night all over again—the look on the assailant’s face as he had brandished the knife; the feeling of the hard pavement against her head; the slick brush of steel against her throat.

  But Eric had been there. And he would be here again today.

  Donna opened her eyes as she felt another body join her on the bench.

  “Ridge?” It was hard to pin down the emotions that warred inside her as she took him in. Firstly, there was the astonishing effect of his physical presence; it seemed to be playing havoc with her equilibrium lately. He was dressed very conservatively—dark gray suit, white shirt, carefully knotted tie. He was more closely shaved than she’d seen him in recent weeks, and his hair had been cut shorter than she was used to as well. She resisted the urge to reach up and run her fingers through it, test its length and thickness.

  There was also a degree of embarrassment at how she had left things between them the other night. In the cold light of day, her “screw you” seemed a little harsh. But she had been tired, and Ridge had been overbearing, pressing the emergency stop and demanding answers she was in no shape to provide.

  She glanced at him from under her lashes. He didn’t seem to be holding it against her.

  But none of that was the real problem. The main thing was her confusion at why he was here; and why Eric had yet to make an appearance. Like an answering echo to her excitement at the proximity of Ridge, a cold disappointment gripped her stomach at the thought that Eric might not be coming; that he might have broken his word to her.

  “Eric?” Donna tried not to sound like a sulky child.

  Sitting beside her on the bench, Ridge reached over and picked up one of the hands knotted in her lap. He gave it a strong squeeze and his eyes were soft and sympathetic. “He couldn’t come, Donna. I’m so sorry. You know he would have been here if there was any way he could. There’s been an accident at one of the factories.” He shrugged helplessly. “Not our fault, but there have been a couple of fatalities. You know how seriously he takes his responsibilities. He had to go, to be with the families.”

  Donna nodded. This would hit Eric hard. He prided himself on the quality and safety of their workplaces. She covered her eyes, feeling small and selfish. Those poor people. “Of course, he must be there.” She could hear the quiver in her voice.

  Ridge squeezed her hand again, and Donna was surprised by how comforting the gesture was, after how arrogant he had seemed the other night. “He was very worried about not being here for you. I think he tried to call?” Ridge motioned to Donna’s bag.

  Donna stared at it dumbly. “I turned it off,” she said quietly. “I had . . . a lot on my mind.”

  “Donna.” Ridge turned to face her, placing his big hands gently on her shoulders. “He is very worried about you. He asked me to come, to be with you today.”

  “Why?” None of this made any sense. Why would Eric ask Ridge to come? Why wouldn’t he have called her sister, or one of her friends?

  Ridge kept his hands on her shoulders and examined her face. “Because there was no time, after it happened. And because he knew I would make sure you were okay.” He touched the side of her face, gently. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  At Ridge’s last word, the force of Donna’s fear and loneliness rose up and hit her like a body blow. She’d been holding her breath, trying to get through this thing, this horrible thing she had to do today. She had been putting one foot in front of the other, not allowing her brain to settle for too long on the horror of what she had to do; the horror of facing the wild, cruel boy who had attacked her. All the time knowing it would be okay, because Eric would be there, just like he had been that night, just like he had always been.

  And now it was here. The moment had come. And she knew, with a sudden, clarifying certainty that she really was all alone. Eric was not coming. He had sent R
idge in his place—Ridge, whose feelings for Donna were ambiguous at best.

  Donna’s breath sawed in and out in jagged gulps. Sweat gathered on her top lip and goosepimples broke out on her arms. She dragged in a recalcitrant breath and squared her shoulders, dislodging Ridge’s hands to give herself some space from him.

  “Well, thank you, Ridge,” she said, trying to sound as sincere as she could. “I really appreciate you coming down. But really, I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. Without Eric, I mean.” She tried valiantly for a bright smile. “I have my very clever lawyer, and it’ll all be over soon.”

  Ridge watched Donna carefully and didn’t respond straight away. His face was still; his eyes hooded. Finally, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.

  “Donna,” he said, his voice very low and quiet. “You’re not okay. I can see that. You’re scared, and you have every right to be.” He picked up one of her hands and held it between his two strong, warm ones, and the memory of him doing the same thing recently almost overwhelmed her. “You may not want me here, and I understand why that might be the case, with all our history. But I’m not going anywhere.”

  He spoke very clearly, so there could be no room for doubt. And it was almost Donna’s undoing.

  But this was not a time for weakness. She was here to stand up for herself, and for all the women this boy might have victimized in the past and again in the future. She was no victim, and she would not let him make her cry now. And certainly not in front of Ridge.

  Like he could read her confusion, Ridge pulled her into his chest, and the gesture was surprisingly comforting. Even more surprising was that she let him hug her. He patted her back as she sat there, and thought through all that was going to happen. Ridge’s chest was hard and warm, and his hand at her back was soothing.

  Donna could smell that signature scent of him again, the citrus and salt. As she rested against him and started to calm, the smell seemed to overtake her. It spoke of maleness—dark, delicious man—and it was doing funny things to her in partnership with the proximity to Ridge’s body.

  But she would not wilt against him.

  She pulled away from him and looked at her hand, small and pale in his. She mustn’t make the mistake of thinking Ridge was like Eric just because he had stepped into his place today; Ridge was a whole other ball game—he had never felt safe to Donna. He had always been a powerful force, full of magnetism and beauty; drawing people to him like moths to a flame. The way she felt when he sat close or held her hand like this wasn’t secure and content, it was wild and unruly and completely dangerous. Ridge was a man you could lose yourself in; a man whose passions had defined his life.

  But somehow right now he was looking at her like he could be depended on: looking at her with concern and care.

  *

  Donna licked her lips while Ridge tried not to watch. Those lips were like a siren’s call—now that he had noticed them, he could barely tear his eyes away.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?” he offered, leaping to his feet to put some distance between them. What was he thinking? Donna was clearly nervous and he was thinking about those lips of hers again.

  “Yes, please,” she said. “I’m parched.”

  Ridge walked over to the nearby cooler and poured her a plastic cup of water before coming back to sit beside her again. As she drank, he was so close he could smell the chocolatey scent of her hair products and soft vanilla perfume from her skin. The combination was playing havoc with his senses, fuzzing his brain; making him want to lean closer. “Donna?”

  “Mmm?” She looked up at him and seemed a little dazed and confused by the effect of their closeness too. Their eyes held, and he wondered how he had never noticed the clarity of her blue eyes.

  “Can I ask you something?” Ridge’s heart pounded in his chest.

  “Mmm,” she said again, as though incapable of saying anything more.

  Why are you frightened of younger men?

  He was dying to ask the question, but he couldn’t.

  Instead, he leaned closer as he spoke, pushing away her stray blond tendril. Donna’s hair felt perfect and silky between his fingers. He wanted to bring it to his lips, taste and smell it.

  He shoved the thought away. This was ridiculous. He knew all about lust; he just needed to ignore it. “You going to be okay to go in there?” He motioned to the heavy doors of the courtroom.

  She nodded. “Of course,” she said, but her voice was soft and sad.

  “Donna,” Ridge said as she stood. “I’m going to be right there. If you feel sad, or scared, or worried, you just look right at me, and you know I’ll keep you safe. Got it?”

  She nodded again, and he wondered why it was so important to him that she was okay.

  *

  Ridge was smiling confidently at Donna as she gave her testimony, but his insides were churning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted so badly to inflict violence on someone. He was trying hard not to look over at the grinning youth on the defense table, but the young man was drawing her eyes like a magnet. As he listened to Donna recount what had happened that night—the moment she had realized she was in danger; how she had tried to run but been stopped and pulled to the ground—a cold fury settled in his bones.

  She was doing well, keeping her voice level and her body language relaxed, but he had held her moments ago and felt her shake and sob. He knew what this was doing to her. He felt her seek out his eyes and he smiled broadly at her once again—a smile that said, Perfect, you’re doing well. A smile that suggested everything was okay.

  But it was far from okay. Because he wanted to leap from his seat and attack that grinning kid. He wanted to punch the grin off his face, make the little thug understand what he had done, what he had taken from Donna; make him understand who he had hurt. At the thought, Ridge felt himself still. Who had the boy hurt, exactly? Donna, his father’s ex-wife? Donna, his own ex-wife’s sister? Donna, his old nemesis?

  Watching her now, sweet and brave and oh so beautiful up on that stand, he knew none of those answers was right. He was pissed because he no longer thought about Donna as any of those things. Somehow, over the last few weeks, she had stopped being connected only to others in his mind; he had started to see her as her own person. And a lovely one, at that. She was like Brooke in many ways, sure, but she had also matured since her marriage to his father. She had a new depth, or perhaps a depth he had only just begun to notice. She was watchful and considerate. She laughed so prettily, it lit up a room. But she often looked sad, and he kept wanting to take that sad look off her face and hear that pretty laugh some more.

  One thing was for sure, the laugh was nowhere in evidence now.

  Ridge watched the defense attorney stride up to the stand and smile at Donna like a hungry shark. The guy was all teeth, mobile hands and sharp gray suit. Ridge felt his hands ball into fists as he saw Donna take a deep breath and smile pleasantly back at him.

  “So,” the attorney began, “I want to start by thanking you for your service today, Ms. Logan, and passing on my commiserations for the attack you experienced recently.”

  Donna inclined her head slightly and graciously.

  The attorney paced to the other side on the stand, drumming his fingers on the polished blond wood. “Someone should definitely pay for what happened to you.” He paused, frowning gently at Donna before turning to include the jury. “But the real question is, should it be my client?”

  The young prosecutor leaped to her feet. “Your Honor,” she protested, rolling her eyes theatrically. “The real question is, does my friend have a real question, or is his sole interest in testifying?”

  The judge peered down from the bench, square glasses perched on her patrician nose. “Get to the point, counselor.”

  The defense attorney sighed. “Of course.” He turned back to Donna, a remorseful look arranged artfully on his face. “What time did the alleged assault take place?”

  Donna’s face rema
ined impassive, but Ridge visualized taking his fist and driving it into the attorney’s jaw.

  “Approximately ten pm,” she said, focusing on a spot slightly above the attorney’s right elbow.

  “So it was quite dark?” The attorney turned side on so his look of puzzlement was on full display for the jury.

  “Quite.” Donna assured him, continuing to look cool and relaxed. Ridge was amazed at her performance. He knew just how much the sight of the young man on the defense desk was unnerving her.

  “So . . .” The attorney drew the word out. “You testified that your assailant was my client.” He pointed back to where the young man grinned goofily at Donna.

  Donna made no response, forcing the attorney to make his point.

  “And yet how can you possibly be sure, given it was, as you have testified, ten pm and quite dark?”

  Donna cleared her throat and Ridge felt his mouth get dry as he watched her prepare her response. “There was some light ahead from a nearby restaurant,” she said. “And he came very close to me.” She cleared her throat again and Ridge trained his eyes on her, willing her to look at him. But she continued speaking, her voice betraying no sign of any discomfort. “Twice. First, when he waved the switchblade in my face. And then again, when he threw me to the ground and placed the blade against my neck. I saw his face very clearly.” Her voice rang across the courtroom, clear and full of conviction and Ridge smiled to himself as every single body in the room leaned closer to catch her next words.

  The lawyer jumped in quickly. “Yes, er, thank you. But—”

  But Donna wasn’t finished. “It focuses the mind,” she said, her voice crisp and resonant. “Having a blade against your face. You notice things. Tiny details. A small scar.” She gestured in the direction of the defendant but did not look at him. “The shape of a chin.”