Chapter 7

Emma declined Diego's offer to drive her home, not wanting to drag him further into the mess. She hailed a yellow cab alone.

At ten o'clock, the taxi pulled up to the Chaney building. A freezing mix of rain and sleet was falling over New York.

Emma pulled her coat tight and hurried through the lobby, taking the elevator straight to the penthouse.

The apartment was pitch black. The smell of alcohol in the air was suffocatingly thick, much worse than before.

She didn't turn on the lights. She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot, trying to be completely silent as she headed for the guest bedroom. As she passed the study, she heard the faint clink of ice against crystal from the shadows inside. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickened her pace.

Her fingers just brushed the cold metal of the doorknob when a massive, burning-hot hand shot out from the dark and clamped around her wrist like a vice.

Emma screamed. A terrifying force yanked her backward, slamming her hard against the hallway wall.

The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her spine throbbed with pain.

Her first thought, cutting through the panic like a blade, was the baby. Protect the baby. Her arms flew to her stomach, crossing over it as she hit the wall, absorbing as much of the impact as she could with her shoulders and back.

Denton's massive frame pressed against her, pinning her to the wall. His breath, reeking of hard liquor, ghosted over her face.

His eyes were wild, bloodshot, and completely unhinged.

"Did he touch you?" Denton snarled, his voice vibrating with raw aggression. "Did that bastard Pena put his hands on you?"

"No!" Emma shook her head frantically, twisting her wrist, but his grip was like iron.

Denton didn't believe her. He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and slammed them against the wall above her head.

With his free hand, he gripped the collar of her silk blouse and ripped it downward. The buttons popped off, scattering across the hardwood floor like bullets.

"If you won't sign the papers," he growled against her skin, "then I still have the right to exercise my duties as your husband."

He buried his face in her neck, biting and sucking roughly at her skin. There was no passion, only violent punishment.

Absolute terror seized Emma's heart. Not for herself, but for the tiny, fragile life growing inside her.

When Denton forced his knee between her legs, trying to pry them apart, maternal instinct took over completely.

Adrenaline flooded her veins. She ripped one hand free, brought her right knee up, and drove it violently into his stomach.

Denton grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

Emma twisted her body, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.

SMACK.

The sharp, explosive sound echoed through the dead silence of the hallway.

Denton's head snapped to the side. He froze completely, his chest heaving.

Emma scrambled away, pressing her back into the corner of the wall. She crossed both arms tightly over her stomach, glaring at him like a cornered wolf protecting its cub.

She was shaking violently from head to toe. "Don't touch me!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "You disgust me! You're dirty!"

Those words hit Denton like a bucket of ice water. The raw, unfiltered revulsion in her eyes completely killed his rage.

His massive ego took a catastrophic hit. He slowly stood up straight, his chest rising and falling. He adjusted his ruined collar.

His eyes turned to dead, empty voids.

He looked down at her shivering form. "I swear to God," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "I would rather touch a beggar on the street than lay one finger on you ever again."

He turned and walked away, slamming the master bedroom door so hard the walls shook.

Emma slid down the wall, gasping for air in the dark. Her hands never left her stomach.