Page 35 of Too Good to be True

I'm done. He just implied, no, not implied. He pretty much came out and called me a prostitute.

"Fuck you!" I try unsuccessfully to push Ian away.

"Was waiting for you to make the offer." He whispers in my ear causing a deep chill as tiny bumps cover my skin.

Holding me close, Ian pulls me out of the room. I look around for Tim, but I don't see him. Ian grabs a fist full of my hair close to my scalp and pulls hard. My eyes well up with tears.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. I don’t want to hurt you. Just be a good girl.” He snarls.

“No! Stop!” My voice is little more than a squeak.

My eyes frantically scan the area. I don't see anyone as Ian drags me down the hall. My heart pounds in fury as I struggle against him. My stomach rolls and turns. I think I'm going to throw up.

"You want it rough? Is that how you like it? I can do that. I tried to be a gentleman, but I guess that doesn’t work for you." Still moving me forward, he tears the front of my dress, lunges for my breast, and squeezes hard, grabbing my nipple and twisting. “Is this better? More to your liking?”

"Stop!" I yell, shoving at him and hoping, praying someone will hear me, but no one is down this hall, and the music spilling out from Francesca’s wedding is so loud, no one hears me.

"As you please."

Ian stops in front of a set of doors leading to another ballroom. I don't see light coming from under them. I know what's going to happen if he gets me in that room. I have to fight like hell to make sure that doesn't happen: kick, scream, and bite. Whatever I need to do.

"Come on!" He twists his hand in my hair and propels me into the doors. Sharp pain burns my scalp. He turns the knob.

“No!” I can't let him get me in that room. I take a deep breath and stomp my high heel on his foot.

"Bitch!" He shoves my face into the door. "We could do this here and now. Is that what you want?"

Still holding me by my hair, he uses his other hand to pull at my dress, lifting it. My body shakes and trembles so hard, I'm not sure I can control my arms and legs well enough to land a good, solid kick.

I pick my foot up and thrust it backward, hoping it lands on the knee. I hit something. He jerks down and loosens his grip. I keep kicking and twisting, working my way out of his hold.

"Help!" I find the strength to yell at the top of my lungs as I break free.

I don't have a chance to kick my heels off. I need to get away. After a few steps, I stumble and feel Ian close the short distance between us. I scream a blood-curdling scream. He's on my back, covering my mouth with his hand. With me face down to the ground, I struggle to thrash and turn and knock Ian off, but he’s too heavy.

Tears spill from my eyes as I try unsuccessfully to buck him off.

"That's right, Bailey. Keep fighting! It will only make conquering you that much better."

"Get your fucking hands off her!"

Tim!

He found me. I knew he would. I don't stop fighting, but at least I know I'm not in it alone. Now, I have a chance.

I keep squirming and trying to get away. Ian's weight is lifted off me. I can breathe again. Arms swing and fists fly between the two men as I scramble to my feet. I don't know if Ian landed any punches, but I feel safe enough with Tim running interference to turn around and watch him punch Ian in the face so hard, Ian lands on his ass.

“You nasty fucking drunk!” Tim yells.

"TJ!" a woman cries. I stay focused on the men fighting in the hall and give her nothing more than a cursory glance, but she's looking in our direction, and she's not alone. A bunch of photographers snap away and shout out questions.

“Mr. Moore, who is she?"

“Mr. Moore, does this mean the engagement is off?"

"Mr. Moore. . . Mr. Moore. . . Mr. Moore . . ." The questions are thrown out one after the other.

Tim turns around to face the swarm of paparazzi, the back of his hand wiping at the corner of his mouth. The color drains from his face.

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