“We need to talk,” she whispered.

Julian snorted and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “Talk? Tu te fous de moi? I’ve been traveling all day; the last thing I want to do is talk.” He set his glass down on the end table and slid his hands around Allie’s waist.

“I can’t do this.” She tried wriggling out of his arms, but his hold on her tightened as his lips found her neck.

“I’ve been gone almost two weeks, ma chérie.” He was everywhere at once. His long hands roaming down her back; his wet lips moving across her skin; his hardening erection digging into her hip. She flattened her palms against his chest and pushed, but he didn’t budge.

“I’m serious, Julian. Stop.”

“Let me guess, you have a headache?” His hands slid to her backside, feeling his way over her body and holding her tight against him. “I thought those excuses started after the ceremony?” he said, letting his tongue dip into her ear.

“I can’t marry you.”

He lifted his head. She’d expected shock, even anger, but Julian’s eyes blazed with raw fury. “The hell you can’t,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t love you.” Her voice was small but firm.

“Love?” He sneered at her. “This has nothing to do with love, Alessandra.” Julian released her and she exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “It’s an arrangement. Part of the deal.”

Allie’s wide eyes darted to his. She was part of a deal? What deal?

“Don’t act so surprised.” The smile he gave her sent a chill down her spine. “You’re one hell of a trophy wife.”

And there it was, the cold truth.

Julian picked up his drink and beelined for the bottle of Grey Goose he’d left on the kitchen counter. Allie watched as he poured a hefty shot over the ice, making himself at home in her apartment just as he had in the rest of her life. She felt like such a fool. None of it had been real. The whirlwind romance, the impulsive proposal, not even the tender words whispered across a pillow. Allie’s eyes drifted shut as a wave of nausea rolled through her, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Everything had been a means to an end, all part of his plan to worm his way into Ingram Media.

Ice cubes rattled against cut glass and she opened her eyes. Julian was staring at her, his lips curled into a smirk. “You haven’t learned a damn thing from your mother, have you?”

“I’m nothing like her.” Tears of anger and frustration threatened and she wiped them quickly with her hand.

Julian’s eyes flared over the top of his glass. “Where’s your ring?” he asked, leveling his stare on her left hand. Before she could answer he slammed the glass down on the counter and stalked toward her. Allie stepped back but he grabbed her with both hands, his fingers digging into her arms to the point of pain. “What the fuck have you been doing while I was gone?”

“You’re hurting me.”

He gave her a hard shake. “Answer me. Where the fuck is my ring, Alessandra?” His nostrils flared and his face twisted with rage. Allie had never seen him like this. Angry over a botched dinner reservation? Sure. Impatient with a valet? Absolutely. But the man standing in front of her was volatile and wild, totally out of control.

“You’ll get it back.” Her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out. “Do you honestly think I’d try to keep it?”

“Peut-être,” he snarled. “Considering the money I’ve promised your father, you’re no better than the whores I pay.”

She flinched at first, then lifted her chin. What Julian was saying was ridiculous. He was just lashing out, trying to hurt her, and she’d be damned if she’d let him hurt her anymore than he already had. “My father doesn’t need your money.” She tried her best to sound unaffected, but her voice trembled, betraying her.

“Your father,” he said with utter disdain, “is losing his company one share at a time.” He let out a harsh, condescending laugh. “You didn’t think I was actually in a hurry to get married, did you?”

He paused, waiting for a reaction, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Someone’s making a play,” he continued, “buying up stock left and right.” It was obvious how much he enjoyed being the one to break the news. “He needs me, or at least my cash, to save it.”

Still gripping her tight with one hand, he ran his index finger down her throat until he reached the low neckline of her dress. He hooked the material with his finger then let it dip between her breasts. Allie’s heart rate spiked and her eyes darted toward the door. Four steps, maybe five. Thank God it was unlocked. He’d catch her if she had to struggle with the deadbolt. All she had to do was break free.

A dark glint flashed in Julian’s eyes and he slowly licked his bottom lip. “I’d say you owe me.”

Allie struggled but he tightened his grip. Fear lodged in her throat, choking her and causing her breath to come in shallow gasps. She could barely draw enough air to speak. “Let go of me, you sick bastard.”

From out of nowhere the back of his hand struck her face. The force of the blow knocked her off-balance and she fell hard, her head smacking against the coffee table with a loud crack. White light flashed behind her eyes and her head exploded with pain. She felt a gush of warm liquid flow down the side of her cheek and instinctively her hand flew to her face. When she lowered it, her fingers were bright red.

Allie looked up, her vision blurred with tears and blood, to find him coming back for more. She tried to scramble away only to feel a sharp burn in her scalp as he grabbed a fistful of her hair. The room shifted as he hauled her to her feet, and for a second she thought she might faint.

Julian yanked her back against his chest. “You fucking bitch,” he growled in her ear. “All you had to do was play the damn part, stand up and say I-fucking-do.” With a hard shove he bent her over the back of the couch. The blow to her ribs knocked the breath from her lungs in a powerful gust.

“I held up my end. Right now my dick’s hard, you’re here, and I’m just drunk enough.” He kicked her legs apart with his feet, one hand still in her hair, pushing her face into the cushions while the other unzipped his fly.

Panic gripped her. She tried to cry, to scream, but unable to catch her breath, managed nothing more than a silent plea.

No . . . please no. . . .

Chapter Thirty-seven

Hudson heard the guttural snarls of a man’s voice funneling down the broad stairwell as he entered the foyer of Allie’s brownstone. Panic washed through him and turned his blood to ice.

Without breaking stride, he bolted up the stairs two at a time. His heart started beating hard and fast.

Oh God, please let her be okay.

He burst through the door and the scene in front of him was instantly burned into his retinas. Allie bent over the couch, her legs kicked wide and blood running down the side of her face. Julian postured behind her, holding her down with one hand and working his fly with the other.

And he lost it.

Hudson’s body went on autopilot, all action and very little thought. He launched himself forward, grabbing Julian by the back of the neck and throwing him off Allie. Julian slammed into an end table, taking a lamp with him as he crash-landed onto the floor. The porcelain base shattered beneath him and the shards dispersed like marbles across the hardwood.

Staggering to his feet, Julian turned to face Hudson. His hand was bleeding from a deep gash in his palm, and when he clenched his fist, blood oozed between his fingers. The guy was definitely juiced up on something that was interfering with his pain receptors.

A calm menace vibrated around Hudson while he waited for the French import to get upright. “You just going to stand there, or are we going to do this?” His glare narrowed. “I’ve wanted to sack the shit out of you since day one.”