Page 43 of Game of Love
I must have looked so stupid to him. I must have looked so helpless.
I’d had several little encounters with this man over this past week and each one of them saw me as helpless as shit.
The club, the warehouse, the meeting room, just now, and right now.
Not one scenario had me exhibiting one ounce of strength or showing who I really was. He’d seen me cry at least twice and look at me now, breaking down with the angst that took me out.
Warm hands smoothed over mine and I turned to face him. In my tear-filled mess, the warmth in his eyes reached out to me and soothed me when he undid the seat belt and pulled me right over to him so I could cry on his shoulder while he held me.
God knows how long I must have cried for, or how hard, but the tears fell and it felt like it was for everything.
When people looked at me they probably thought I was a spoilt brat who had it all. Nothing was further from the truth. Not a damn thing could have been further from the fact that my father was a monster and he just threatened to put me in a cage after he hit me.
Something was happening and I didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was though, it just made me wish harder for some form of escape.
Anything.
Even death.
I couldn’t live like this. He’d been right to call me an animal because that was what I felt like, an animal.
I never doubted either that Pa would put me in a cage.
Xander waited until I stopped crying before he pulled back to look at my face.
The ache in my heart was so strong it actually numbed the sting on my cheek. It did hurt though. It literally stung on the surface then felt numb on the apple of my cheekbone.
“I don’t think it will bruise too badly,” he assessed my face. It was the first time he’d spoken since he spoke to Pa. “There’s a little swelling. Does it hurt?”
I met his eyes and found myself gazing into the depths of the bright blue hue.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you feel it?”
“Yes, but it’s everywhere. He’s never hit me before.” I didn’t know why I said that, as if it meant something. Maybe on a subconscious level I was trying to explain my association with my father.
“No?”
I shook my head. “Never. He looked so angry at me.”
“Anger, no matter how it comes, is never an excuse to hit a woman.”
I was glad to hear him say that, but still embarrassed.
“I know.” I lowered my gaze to my lap.
When he shuffled and reached out to cup my face so he could inspect me further, I looked at him again. The touch of his fingers on my cheek was far too distracting.
Just like I told Anya, he was a nice distraction and this was the longest I’d ever spent with him. We’d been sitting in the car at Lake Mead for about an hour and the drive here had been forty minutes.
He stopped looking at the swelling and focused on me and I swear the lines blurred between him holding my face to check for bruising and him just touching my face. I wouldn’t complain about either.
“Where were you going Jia?”
“Europe. Somewhere in Europe would have been the ideal. Truthfully I didn’t have a plan, but in the sketchy draft of things I knew I had to get away. Anywhere.”
Anywhere was the short answer.
