Deadly Embrace

hadn’t come on to her.
‘I’m going to the ladies’ room,’ Jenna announced, getting up.
‘Don’t be long,’ Vincent said.
‘Want to come with me?’ she responded, in a challenging tone.
‘Y’know, sweetheart, a smart mouth doesn’t suit you,’ he answered, thinking it was about time he knocked his wife up, got her good and pregnant so she’d stop this nonsense.
‘So…’ Jolie said, once Jenna was out of sight ‘…what did you say to him?’
Vincent shrugged.
‘Having movie stars round is good for business,’ Jolie remarked. ‘Nando won’t be pleased if you’ve frightened Mr Dale all the way to another casino.’
‘Perhaps if your husband had joined us, this wouldn’t’ve happened,’ he said, ordering a Scotch on the rocks. ‘Where is Nando anyway?’
‘He had a business meeting,’ Jolie said, wondering if Nando had told her the truth. Perhaps ‘business meeting’ was a euphemism for assignation. Vegas was crammed with beautiful, ambitious, easy women. She should know, she used to be one of them. And Nando was a big catch.
‘Business, huh?’ Vincent said, and their eyes met for a long moment.
‘Oh dear,’ Jolie sighed, trying to decide if Vincent was in on Nando’s infidelities. ‘Sometimes I think I chose the wrong partner.’
‘Now, don’t start,’ Vincent said, fully aware of how Jolie felt about him.
‘Start what?’ she asked innocently, reaching for a cigarette.
Growing up with a brother eighteen years older had some advantages. Sofia remembered Vincent teaching her self-defence when she was a lanky eleven year old.
‘Gotta kick ’em in the balls an’ gouge their face with your nails,’ he’d informed her. ‘An’ don’t screw round. Be forceful.’
‘Where are their balls?’ she’d asked, with a puzzled expression, as if she didn’t know.
‘Here,’ he’d said, pointing between his legs.
Quick as a flash she’d kicked him hard. He’d roared in pain, and as soon as he’d recovered, he’d chased her round the house yelling that she’d ruined him for ever.
When he finally caught her, they’d rolled on the floor and he’d tickled her until she’d screamed for him to stop.
She’d never had to use the ‘kick ’em in the balls and gouge their face’ form of self-defence, but tonight was obviously the night.
Paco had a hard-on, she could feel it digging into her thigh as he pawed at her breasts. The other one was shrugging off his white jacket and unzipping his pants, preparing for action.
Yeah, Sofia thought, remembering her big brother’s advice, like you’ve got no chance, morons. One way or another I am out of here.
The front door might be locked, but the double glass doors leading to the roof terrace were wide open–she knew that, because earlier they’d all been drinking out there. And, as far as she could recall, the terrace overlooked a swimming-pool.
There was no way she was going to allow herself to be sexually abused or, even worse, raped by these two jerks. It was unthinkable. She was Sofia Castle, she could look after herself. She always had.
As Paco lunged once more, she brought her knee up, jamming it into his balls. Surprised, he gave a yelp of pain. She followed up with a swift kick in the same direction.
Startled, the other man leaped forward. Without taking a beat she raked her nails down his cheek, drawing blood, and then for good measure, kicked him too.
‘Bitch!’ he shouted. ‘American bitch!’
She was already running across the room, dashing out on to the terrace.
The penthouse was on the eighth floor. As she reached the edge and glanced over, the pool seemed further away than she’d thought. You can do it, she told herself. You can do it. Anything’s better than being trapped in this apartment with these two losers.
She could still hear the groans of the one she’d kicked in the balls. The other man was already chasing her out to the terrace.
What did she have to lose by jumping?
Only my life, she thought grimly.
Kicking off her shoes, she climbed on to the edge of the terrace railing, gauged the distance, held her breath and jumped, propelling herself as far forward as she could.
As she flew through the air a hundred thoughts raced through her head–the main ones being–Am I going to make it? Or will I be crushed to death on the concrete below?
Oh, God! she prayed. If I ever needed Your help–it’s now.
Dean escorted Dani to the downstairs lobby of her apartment building. She said good night to him with a chaste kiss on his cheek.
‘I suppose this means that you don’t want me to come up?’ he said ruefully.
‘Not tonight,’ she said, always leaving a small amount of hope lingering in the air. ‘When will you be coming back?’
‘When would you like me to come back?’
‘Call me,’ she said.
‘That’s all I ever do.’ He sighed, and left.
Her son, Vincent, had bought her a lavish apartment in a security building ten minutes away from the Strip. It had all the modern amenities–a gym, sauna, swimming-pool, restaurant. If she wanted to, she could live in great luxury and do nothing. Only she preferred to work at a job she was good at, and putting together important PR events at her son’s hotel casino appealed to her.
The three-bedroom apartment she owned was on the twelfth floor. She’d wanted an apartment large enough to accommodate grandchildren–if Vincent ever decided to procreate. The girl he’d married, Jenna, was hardly her favourite. Jenna was a pretty baby blonde with a spectacular body and absolutely no brains. Jenna was not smart enough for Vincent.
Unfortunately he’d married looks instead of brains. Wasn’t that the problem with most men?
She felt bad about dumping Dean tonight; he’d obviously expected more than just her company over dinner. The problem was that she had too much on her mind, and wasn’t in the mood to listen to Dean’s never-ending declarations of love.
She got out of the elevator and put the key into the door of her apartment and stepped inside the cool marble foyer. As she reached for the light switch, someone grabbed her from behind.
Fear coursed through her veins.
She opened her mouth to scream,