Guardian to the Heiress Read Free Page B

“Yah gotta be joking.”
    “Not at all.” Damon stared him down. “Step away from the door, please. I want to see Ms Emmett and her friend, Tracey. Do I take it you’re the boyfriend?”
    The young man fired up. “Get outta here. You’re not the cops.” He went to slam the door, only Damon shoved him out of the way and drove the door forward. At the same time he sighted a young dark-haired woman slumped in a chair. The cheekbone nearest him was heavily bruised, the eye almost closed. That upset him; he had seen too many incidences of abuse of women by their partners. The worst part was the victims often backed up for more. The damage was as much psychological as physical. Some women actually believed they had been asking for punishment.
    Another young woman, who had to be Carol Emmett, was hurrying from the direction of the kitchen, clutching an icepack like a weapon. His immediate impression was she was infinitely lovelier in the flesh. He took in the tousled mane of ruby hair, her glowing skin—he had never seen skin glow like that—and her beautiful eyes of an intense sparkling blue. She was dressed in a short silk tunic, turquoise with a broad band of amethyst at the hem. It showed off her slender legs to perfection. There wasn’t a hint of a generous curve. She was built like a ballerina. She even had a ballerina’s trick of appearing to be in motion when she wasn’t.
    “What’s going on here?” she demanded in that clear voice that gave notice she would soon find out. So, an imperious bantam weight! She could only be five-three at most. “Who are you?” She gave Damon a sharp, questioning look.
    He darn near laughed, only the boyfriend took advantage of the distraction. He made a fist around the set of keys he quickly yanked out of the door, and then came at Damon in a bullocking rush, swearing and snarling.
    Two things happened at once. Carol Emmett, blue eyes blazing, hurled the icepack like a missile at the boyfriend’s head. It missed, but only because Damon, using his height and speed advantage, had his assailant in a deftly imposed arm-lock. The violent boyfriend was on his knees, his left arm twisted high behind his back, his right arm anchored to the floor with Damon’s shoe pressed down hard on his hand.
    “You’re dead, mate.” The boyfriend made the threat, straining unsuccessfully to free himself.
    “Gosh, I won’t sleep at night.” Damon got a grip on the guy’s shirt collar before heaving him up into a chair which the enterprising Ms Emmett pushed into position.
    “This is called instant bonding.” She met his eyes, her lovely mouth upturned in a smile.
    “You’re shaping up as a pretty good offsider. I’m your new solicitor, by the way. I’m quite prepared to act for Tracey. This is the guy who assaulted her?”
    A denial came on a burst of genuine outrage. “Come on! I just smacked her around a little. She likes it.”
    Tracey didn’t say anything, but Carol Emmett exploded. “It’s a good thing I got here when I did.” She looked directly at Damon, her face filled with disgust. “God knows what might have happened. This isn’t the first time, is it, Tarik?” she said with searing contempt.
    “You’re no pal of Tracey’s,” he yelled over his shoulder, clenching every muscle. “This is all your fault! Why don’t you mind your own business? I’ll get square. Don’t you worry about that.”
    Angered by the threat, Damon exerted ever-increasing pressure.
    “You’ll break my bloody arm, mate.” Tarik, the abuser, was full of self-pity.
    “It is possible,” Damon said, the voice of dispassion, knowing the point to stop. “Call the police, Carol.” He looked to her, not absolutely sure she wasn’t planning to hit the boyfriend with the glass paperweight near to hand.
    “No, no!” Tracey finally found her voice. The note in her voice sent a shiver down Damon’s spine. Hadn’t he heard that note before?
    Carol rounded on her friend, looking dismayed.