After Midnight (39 page)

He skimmed the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “You were trembling. I thought you were frightened of me.”

“I was,” she whispered. “Frightened of how you made me feel. All I could think about was getting you out of there. You needed to get away from me so I could breathe. It never occurred to me that you would come back.”

His mouth skimmed her temple. “I did come back.”

“And I tried to fight it. I tried not to be drawn to you because you wanted something from me I couldn’t give you. It was never about performing, Noah. I never enjoyed that. The joy was always in playing. After John, I couldn’t even do that without throwing up.”

“Yet I forced you to do it, anyway.” He bent close then kissed her, deeply, thoroughly, his fingers furrowing through her hair. “I’m sorry for that,” he said, and kissed her again. “I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you needed to play in order to have my affection.”

Drained, she rested against him, relying on his strength now that hers was gone. Slowly, the chill left her body as his warmth began to penetrate. Her eyes drifted shut.

“Isabeau?” One of his hands cupped her throat, tipped her head up.

“Hmm,” she asked, forcing her eyes open. Discovering a look in his eyes she’d never seen before, she tilted her chin. “What’s the matter, what is it?”

His thumb stroked the hollow of her throat as he continued to gaze at her. The look faded, a smile curved his lips. “It’ll keep,” he said softly. “Right now you look like you’re going to fall over. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Chapter Nineteen

Isabeau stood over the bathroom sink, drying her hair with the hotel-supplied hair dryer. With nothing else to wear, she’d pulled on the scrub bottoms, but traded the uncomfortable top for one of Noah’s older, softer T-shirts. Her ears rang, her body ached like someone who’d fallen down a flight of stairs, and showering without getting her gauze-wrapped forearm wet had been interesting, to say the least.

Her reflection in the mirror confirmed she looked as bad as she felt. The stark white of the butterfly bandage on her forehead stood out against the dark purple bruise that had formed around it. A long, thin scratch graced her right cheek. And even cold compresses hadn’t been enough to help her eyes. Already swollen and irritated from smoke, her crying jag last night had puffed them up even more.

She looked bad, she felt even worse, and because she still couldn’t speak above a raspy whisper, she hadn’t been able to order breakfast and a bottle of aspirin from room service the way she wanted to.

If she could keep her concentration focused on what she was doing, her hair would be dry and she could sneak down to the lobby gift shop and settle for whatever she could find. But her mind kept wandering to Noah, wondering when he was going to tell her that they’d gotten their record deal.

He was at the studio now, a sure sign that things had gone well in California. He never went into the studio this early, not before noon. And he never shut off his mobile phone, as he’d done last night, before taking her to bed. Put those things together and she only came up with one thing.

He didn’t fear missing a call about a contract offer because one was already on the table.

She tried to be happy for him. Okay, she
was
happy for him. But tangled up with it was also the harsh reality that he was leaving. Soon.

There was nothing to keep him in New York.

Emotion welled in her throat, settled into a knot. She turned off the hair dryer, closed her eyes, and curled her arms around her middle.

The light click of the room door closing had her snapping her eyes open. She glanced over her shoulder, out into the part of the room someone would have to pass through upon entering. It was empty.

“Noah?” she called, then shook her head when his name came out more of a croak than anything. Slipping out of the bathroom, she stepped into the main room. She froze.

A man stood at the foot of the bed, muttering under his breath as he rifled through her leather tote. Confused she watched as he popped the snap on the back section, reached in and pulled out the sheet music she kept there—her music. The expression on his face shifted from frustration to rage as he clenched the papers so tightly they wrinkled. Then he turned and looked directly at her.

Icy fear washed over her in waves as she noted the madness in the hardened green eyes that locked with hers. Not Noah’s eyes, but Gregory Howard’s.

“You bitch! I knew you were at it again.”

In the seconds it took to get her terrified body to turn for the door, Gregory was on her. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled, stopping her forward momentum and knocking her off balance. Her back slammed into his chest with enough force she cried out.

His fingers twisted in her hair, tightened and she froze as memories of past abuse slammed into her like a fist. Gregory cupped his free hand around her throat, under her chin and pulled her head back painfully.

“Don’t have much of a voice left after that fire, do you? That’s good.”

His voice was lowered, his mouth pressed against her temple in such a sick facsimile of intimacy that she shuddered with revulsion as much as fear. A whimper crawled up the back of her throat, struggled to break free.

Don’t give him the satisfaction. Never give them the satisfaction of knowing you’re scared.

“You couldn’t stay dead, could you?”

“What—” His fingers tightened around her throat, cutting off her words. She grabbed his wrist and pulled, but to no avail. His hold didn’t loosen. The ringing in her ears grew louder.

“You always thought you were so much better than the rest of us, didn’t you?”

He clenched his fingers tighter in her hair and yanked viciously. Her stomach rolled. The door. The door was so close, yet so far away. John Whitehorse’s insults swam through her mind, coalescing with Gregory’s.

“Momma’s little girl, so perfect, the child prodigy. The world loved you, the stuck-up little bitch. You loved to make the rest of us look bad, didn’t you?”

What?

Gasping, she shifted her fingers from his wrist to his hand. She couldn’t breathe, she wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and it was starting to affect her ability to process speech. That had to be it; otherwise Gregory wanted her dead because she was a better pianist than he? It was so ridiculous that she started to laugh.

Then, she began to cry.

“I got rid of you once. Cutting off that taxi was a stroke of genius. Your mother wasn’t supposed to die, you were, but it worked anyway. It shut you up.”

Her body bucked from the shock of his admission.

“It was fate that brought you to me that night. I knew I had to get rid of you, I just didn’t know how. I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself. My fame, usurped by a child. A spoiled little brat. Then while sitting at the red light I glanced over, and like an answer to my prayers, there you were, in that taxi.”

Bastard! She’d lost everything because of his petty jealousy?

Lungs heaving, she began the struggle to break free. Her fingernails dug into his hand, clawing, tearing at his flesh. Her legs kicked at his shins, his knees, whatever she could hit even as pain shot up her heels.

“Bitch!” His hand tightened on her neck purposefully, cutting off the rest of her air. “You’ve been lucky so far. Somehow, you survived the car accident and the fire. Well you won’t survive this. I can’t have you composing and performing again. I can’t have you taking the attention off me. I won’t.”

And she wasn’t going to die without a fight. She was no longer a child, she didn’t have to stand there quietly and take the abuse. She had to do something. She had to get away from Gregory. He was insane. He wanted her dead because he was afraid she would begin performing again and take away his success? Because of some twisted obsession to be the best?

Working her fingers beneath his, she pulled. She fisted her hand around two of his fingers and she pulled as hard as she could. Bending. Forcing them back at the knuckle. His scream was followed by the sickening snap of his fingers breaking.

His hand fell away from her throat, his grip on her hair eased. She sucked air greedily into her lungs and took two stumbling steps toward the door.

A heartbeat later pain exploded in her back as cursing and swearing, Gregory kicked her. She pitched forward, landed hard on her palms and knees. Gasping, whimpering, she reached for the door. Her fingers brushed the handle at the same moment he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.

“You’ll pay for that,” he spat out, bracing himself with his legs apart, his feet alongside her knees. “You’ll pay, and no one will hear you scream.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back the panic, struggling to formulate her next move. Weak and exhausted, she slumped, dropping her hands back to the floor. When he refused to release her and instead followed her movement, bending down to spit obscenities in her ear, she reacted.

Bucking, she drove her head back and smashed it into his face. Stars burst in front of her eyes and the room spun.

Gregory groaned. His grip loosened.

She drove her head back again, then once more. Another crack, this one not as loud and a little wetter, and she lurched out of his hold. Frantic, desperate to get away, she yanked open the door and bolted down the hall, her bare feet soundless against the carpet.

She didn’t take the time to glance behind her until she was in front of the elevator, stabbing the call button over and over with her thumb. Air heaved in and out of her lungs. Terror clawed at her, and pain washed over her in waves.

The stairs were off to her left, but she was too shaky. The chance of stumbling, falling down another flight of steps was too great. Unless he came out of that room, she was choosing the safer route. The one where his longer legs didn’t give him the advantage. Where she could face both the door and the threat, instead of risking it sneaking up behind her.

The elevator chimed, marking its arrival. Eyes still on the room down the hall, she jumped for the doors. With no room to spare, she slipped through and collided with someone waiting to step out. Hands settled on her shoulders, and she screamed. She screamed louder when she realized she could barely hear herself over the pounding sound of her blood in her ears.

“Bloody hell,” a familiar voice exclaimed.

“Isa? Isabeau, what happened, what’s the matter?”

Noah. Noah was holding her, his eyes full of confusion and fear. Dominic stood behind him.

“In the room,” she croaked. “He’s in the room.”

“I’ll go,” Dominic stated, his long strides carrying him down the hall. “You ring the police.”

“Did he hurt you?” Noah asked. He pulled the phone off his belt and punched in the numbers. “Are you injured?”

She pressed against him, buried her face in his neck as he cupped the back of her head with his free hand and held her tight. Her stomach turned. Her legs wobbled. And no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t able to catch her breath.

“Send an ambulance,” he barked into the phone after giving their location to the emergency dispatcher on the other end of the line.

“No. I don’t need one.”

“You’re bleeding.”

The waver in his voice brought her head up. There was blood on his hand, the hand he’d been stroking her hair with. “It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it?” he asked, still holding the phone to his ear. “Who did this to you?”