If Only

by Lisa M. Owens

  “Next time, I won’t miss,” he threatened as his foot hovered directly in front of her stomach. “How much do you know?”

  Bryan felt like rubbing his hands together with glee. She was trapped; he knew it, and she knew it. He purposefully stepped away from her long enough to walk over to his desk. Without a second thought, he flung his hands out, sending everything on his desk onto the floor in one swift motion. He didn’t care about all of his important papers, all of his financial and sales reports for the past year, which were now scattered throughout the room, or the expensive crystal paperweight from Tiffany’s that was now shattered at his feet.

  He was thinking about one thing and one thing only; he was going to rip off Bree Weston’s clothing, leaving it as nothing but tatters on the floor, and force his aching cock into her. Whether she enjoyed it or not was of no consequence to him. He wanted her, so he would have her. End of story.

  Bryan recognized the anger in her voice as she retorted, “Why don’t you just tell me what you want to hear?”

  He watched in amusement as her green eyes quickly scanned his office, looking everywhere and at everything except him. It dawned on him at that moment that she was trying to find a way out. He couldn’t help himself; he laughed.

  *

  She shifted uncomfortably when his icy blue gaze followed along the slopes of her breasts and down the length of her body. His eyes finally rested on the slight curve of her abdomen, his eyebrows lifting in a silent question.

  Bree was suddenly repelled when she realized he was trying to envision what she looked like naked. Just thinking about his hands on her body made her stomach churn with distaste.

  With a cruel chuckle, he reached down and grasped her by the hand. Pulling her to her feet, he yanked her body violently against his. One of his hands tightened around Bree’s jaw as he forced her lips to meet his, his tongue plunging into her unyielding mouth.

  He reminded Bree of a lion on the prowl. There was danger in his eyes, a swagger in his step. He had conveniently separated her from her husband, so now she was completely and totally on her own. It was her job, her duty, to protect her unborn child.

  She was torn. She knew this man, and she knew the evil he was capable of. He would kill her without the slightest hesitation; she could see it in his eyes. As of this minute, he viewed her as a threat. She knew his history; she knew what he had done and what was in his past. He wanted her body, he desired her, but he was also beginning to realize that she could destroy everything he had fought for.

  She almost gagged at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth. He had trapped her body against his own, forcing her to submit to him. So she did the only thing she could think of.

  Bree bit Bryan’s tongue.

  Hard.

  “You bitch!” he spat out angrily as his hand came up to slap one side of her face. Then he brought his hand back up to slap the other side.

  Bryan grabbed her roughly by her auburn tresses, wrapping her hair around his closed fist, causing her to cry out with pain. He pulled her head back with one hand, and the other came up to grab her left breast, giving the oversensitive nipple a painful twist.

  She bit her lip as tears began welling in her eyes, reminding herself that she must submit to him. For the safety of her baby, she would allow him to do whatever he wanted.

  “You’re not going to fight me, are you?” he growled into her ear.

  “No,” she choked, struggling to find the words, while her body was already screaming out with pain.

  He released her in that instant, shoving her forcefully onto the floor.

  Bree couldn’t help but cry out as her exposed shin came into contact with the shattered paperweight at their feet.

  “Shut up, you bitch!” Bryan screamed as he brought one hand up to smack her in the face. He grinned with masculine satisfaction as a slow and steady trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her mouth.

  His manicured hands reached for the sleeves of her emerald green blazer. Bree flinched when she heard the delicate fabric rip beneath his forceful hands. He laughed cruelly, his blue eyes crazed, as his hands traveled up her creamy thigh, tracing a slow path up the expanse of her bare leg.

  Flinching at the touch of his unfamiliar hands on her body, she pleaded, “Please stop.” She reached one hand up to touch her stinging cheek. “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I promise. Please just let me go.”

  She shivered beneath his touch, and she could tell by his sudden swagger that his ego was large enough to assume that it was because she longed for his touch, not because she was repelled by it.

  He tossed the remnants of her expensive blazer aside, not knowing or caring that it had been damaged beyond repair.

  Bree stared, horrified, at the powerful size of his erection, and she knew without a doubt that he would make this as painful for her as he possibly could. He was going to punish her; he wanted to punish her.

  *

  Not able to control himself any longer, his manicured hands snaked around her waist, and then he tossed her carelessly onto the expanse of his nearly-empty desk. She screamed as his hands reached for the split in the back of her black pencil skirt, and he pulled it, grinning with satisfaction when he heard the fabric rip all the way up to her waist. He continued to tear the black material until even the waistband was ripped, causing the fabric to drop into a dark puddle onto the floor.

  His blue eyes widened at the sensual sight lying before him, for his sexual pleasure alone. Bree Weston held against her will, his captive. And what a sight she was.

  A triangle of red lace covered the core of her femininity, leaving very little to Bryan’s imagination and causing his member to swell uncomfortably in his custom-tailored slacks. Honey-colored thigh-highs caressed her milky-white skin, showing off long and slender legs that seemed to go on forever. She was wearing black high heels that begged to be removed, slowly, and one at a time. Then the same procedure would be used on her stockings, rolling each one down with teasing and taunting precision, his hands touching her smooth and sensitive skin as he slowly removed first one and then the other.

  A crimson curtain of unruly curls tumbled down the expanse of her back, her emerald green gaze frightened and slightly defiant. His fingertips stroked her baby-soft skin as one hand traced down the bare length of her arm, her body trembling underneath his touch.

  She cried out as his hands reached inside her lace thong and roughly cupped her backside, his fingertips cutting into her sensitive flesh as he forced her body forward, shoving her against his obvious arousal.

  He released her, slamming her back against the jagged corner of his desk. His motions were frenzied as he attacked her, his bare hands ripping her black camisole from her body.

  Bryan backed away slowly as his gaze feasted on the image of Bree Weston wearing a bra that matched her red lace thong, his body hardening in immediate response. Her auburn curls were unkempt, her makeup was smeared, and due to her inability to cooperate, she had a bruise forming in contrast against her creamy white skin.

  *

  Bree’s breathing quickened with fear as she watched Bryan undress himself.

  His eyes blazed with midnight blue fire as he removed his high-priced, dark-colored suit jacket and aimed it at the solid oak coat rack beside the black leather sofa, shrugging his broad shoulders when he missed his target and the jacket landed in a pile on the floor.

  She held her breath in apprehension when she heard the unmistakable jingle of his keys hitting the carpeting.

  Bree watched with bated breath as he stalked the length of his office, her eyes following his each and every move as he unbuckled his black leather belt and wound it wordlessly around his clenched fist.

  Bryan approached her, his face a thundercloud as he began popping his belt, the sound exploding like a gunshot. Bree flinched as he grabbed her by the chin and stared into her eyes, his dark blue gaze dark and menacing.

  One of his fingernails trailed down her bare neck.
His voice was gruff as he whispered into her ear, and yet his threat was crystal clear. “No one finds out about what happens here today, do you understand? I could cancel your and your husband’s writing contract, like that,” he snapped his fingers for emphasis.

  He stepped away from her and laughed cruelly as he spread his arms open wide. “Just imagine, you and your husband with no jobs, no steady paycheck. And with a baby on the way.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  Bree saw her opportunity to escape. She didn’t even manage to clear the desk before he grabbed her and pushed her backward against the front of the desk, with her back facing the drawers.

  “Not that I don’t trust you, my dear,” he spoke smoothly as he removed the silk tie that had been knotted around his throat. Reaching around Bree, he clasped her by her right hand and knotted the tie around her wrist, and when she turned her head, she could see him tying the loose end around the drawer handle of his desk. He stared at her pointedly as he tightened her restraints. “But I don’t.”

  Bryan ran his hand along the delicate column of her throat and down the expanse of her chest, clutching her breasts painfully with both hands. He grinned when she cried out with pain.

  “You have the most delicious body,” he murmured as his hand trailed along the slight roundness of her stomach. His fingers outlined the inner curve of her belly button. “You might want to consider getting this pierced,” he commented, and then he dipped his tongue into her navel. “If you actually manage to get this delectable body back after the baby is born.”

  What Bree wanted to do was to give this chauvinistic pig a piece of her mind. What she did, however, was something entirely different.

  “I have a confession to make,” she admitted, leaning her lithe body back against the desk and pursing her lips into a sexy pout. Adding a sexual huskiness to her voice, she sighed, “Even though I shouldn’t, I find myself completely and totally attracted to you.”

  “Of course you do,” he bragged arrogantly. “All women are attracted to me.”

  She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “I have a tiny problem…I am more than a little uncomfortable. Would you mind dreadfully loosening the restraint around my wrist?”

  At Bryan’s surprised expression, she continued with an irritated sigh. “The elastic is digging into my skin,” she whined.

  Practically strutting like a peacock, he reached for the fabric of his tie. When his broad body leaned over hers, his hands releasing the tight vise around her wrist, Bree decided to make her move. Without even the slightest hesitation, she swiftly brought up her right knee, connecting with Bryan’s groin.

  He released her instantly, and then his hands reached for his throbbing manhood, his voice cursing his predicament and women in general.

  His body seemed to refuse to function as he rolled off the desk and onto the floor.

  After using her left hand to unfasten the tie knotted around her right wrist, Bree scrambled off the desk only to discover that except for her thigh highs and her heels, her wardrobe was unwearable. Bryan had literally torn all of her clothes into shreds.

  A red haze blurred her vision as she looked down at him, writhing on the floor in agony. Her voice laced with hatred, she spat out forcefully, “You destroyed all of my clothes, you bastard!” The toe of her high heel connected with his groin, and she grinned as he groaned.

  Then Bree had a flash of inspiration. Luckily, there might be one or two perks of formerly being married to Bryan Sexton. She knew his habits, his hang-ups. One thing that Bryan had always done, for what reason she had never understood, was to keep at least one spare change of clothing in his office.

  She shrieked triumphantly when she discovered the closet and opened the door. Sure enough, she found a complete business suit, ironed and hanging neatly on the wooden hanger with the dry-cleaning ticket still attached to the cuff of the jacket.

  Shrugging into the oversized gray blazer, she grinned when she realized that the cuffs hung off her wrists. Quickly, she rolled them up, watching to make sure he was still preoccupied. With the suit jacket nearly hanging down to her knees, Bree slammed the closet door shut, and her gaze roamed around the office.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of an expensive gold-plated mirror hanging on one wall. Finding the temptation too strong to resist, she walked over and removed the mirror. Smashing the mirror over Bryan’s head, the sound of breaking glass was music to her ears.

  She never stopped to look behind her as she walked toward the door, leaning down only long enough to scoop up the key ring lying on the floor. After unlocking the door and letting herself out, she set the door to bolt once again, locking Bryan Sexton in his own office.

  Still clutching his key ring in one hand, Bree dropped it into the nearest trash bin. A smile spread across her face when she realized that now he would have to remain in his office until he was able to get up under his own steam and open the door himself, giving her plenty of time to make her escape.

  Chapter 11

  Bree darted for the safety of the slightly lopsided snowman she and Scott had constructed earlier. The oddly-shaped snowman succeeded in blocking her from her husband’s view as she struggled to catch her breath.

  She giggled from her self-designated post as a snowball whizzed past her ear. She couldn’t help herself. She rose onto her tiptoes, barely clearing the top of the snowman’s head. She used this opportunity to sneak a peek over at her husband, who was too busy building up his arsenal to notice her. Or so she thought.

  *

  Scott continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye. He struggled to contain a smile as he watched her stick out her tongue at him childishly from behind her post. He was simply biding his time, waiting until she was least expecting his assault.

  He was happy to see that today his wife was acting like her old self. After she had left work so abruptly, he had come home to find her moody and unresponsive. He had been afraid he had done something wrong or perhaps done something to anger her.

  She had even had one of her nightmares last night and it concerned him, although she had shrugged it off as unimportant.

  He examined their attempt at a snowman with a grin. The main thing wrong with it was that it was lopsided, and the head was larger than the middle section. The bottom portion was several times larger than the head, which was more than slightly askew.

  Bree had practically turned their house upside-down trying to find decorations for their snowman. In the end, she had used a carrot for the nose, black marbles for the eyes, and a strand of red licorice for the mouth, which Scott was betting the neighborhood children or a wandering animal would eat as a snack. She had ransacked their walk-in closet, searching his clothes for ideas on how to dress it. She had been excited to discover some old clothes in a trash bag they had been meaning to give away to charity. Borrowing them temporarily, she snatched one of his old baseball caps to place on the snowman’s head, and an old leather jacket that had seen better days, which she held in place by using two sticks of kindling as arms. She had even managed to find an old pair of his work gloves, the once-smooth leather rough in several spots. It was a funny looking snowman to say the least.

  *

  She watched as her husband approached her, his steps slow and purposeful. She could see the playful glint in his eyes as his rock-hard body treaded toward her. Squealing, she ducked down behind the snow, trying to hide herself from his view. She plunged her gloved hands into the packed snow, struggling to form it into a tight ball. Her hands ached from the cold, momentarily numbing her fingers. She tossed the snowball, holding her breath as it flew through the air, aimed directly at her husband’s head.

  To Bree’s dismay, he quickly sidestepped, moving out of the snowball’s path. He grinned as he rolled his dark eyes in his wife’s direction.

  Her sharp protest could be heard across the snow-covered lawn.

  She shrieked as he approached her, his long and muscular legs quickly shortening the distanc
e between them. He reached for her, his strong hands wrapping around her waist. His large chiseled body pushed against hers, the force knocking her backward onto the freshly fallen snow. Her head came up, her lips sputtering snow.

  His rich laughter reached her ears, and she longed to slug him. She bit down on her lower lip to prevent herself from laughing out loud. When his lips came down to meet hers, she surprised him by wrapping her slender legs around his muscled back. Catching him off guard, she rolled over, forcing her body to land directly on top of his. Her gaze met his chocolate brown stare. She was amused to see he wasn’t laughing anymore. She could see a flash of sexual hunger in his eyes, and she could feel the cause of his excitement pressing against her thighs.

  Scott’s fingers gently brushed a wayward curl out of her eyes, the palm of his hand pressing against the coolness of her cheek. She could feel his hot breath blowing against her skin. She could smell the strong and musky scent of his cologne. Closing her eyes, she relished the safe and protected feeling of being held in his strong arms. All was right in her world. Nothing could hurt her now.

  She sighed as she burrowed her head against his well-defined chest. In this moment, she was content. Her life had gone from being an absolute nightmare to becoming an extraordinary dream. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why; all she knew was she had been given a chance most people could only dream of. She had the opportunity to go back and make things right, and she didn’t intend to let this opportunity pass her by.

  *

  He felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. Shaking his head absently, he took this time to observe his wife. Her eyes were closed, her luscious lips slightly parted.

  Scott wasn’t sure exactly what was going on with her. Even though he couldn’t really believe the outrageous story she had told him, Bree had definitely been a different person these past few days. She lacked the confidence she had once had. She now needed constant reassurance he still loved her. She was suddenly self-conscious, especially now that she had discovered she was pregnant. For some reason, she seemed to be terrified that if she gained too much weight, he wouldn’t love her anymore. She craved to be loved and to feel needed. It was as though she had been deprived of love; she seemed to simply ache for it.