Page 1 of Fighting for Mallory

CHAPTER ONE

Bentley hooked the clasp of a blood-red ruby and diamond necklace around Mallory’s throat. It lay heavily against her skin, searing it with its cold, hard stones. She imagined her heart frozen with the same cold hardness searing her soul. Her husband’s hands moved from the clasp and kneaded her bare shoulders. A pink tinge flushed her skin. It crawled from his touch, and she wanted to recoil from it. Mallory met Bentley’s eyes in the vanity mirror. She hid her disgust behind a soft smile.

“It suits you well.” He leaned down and kissed her neck. “The color flashes like fire.”

Mallory hated the necklace, and the matching-colored dress Bentley insisted she wear to the fundraiser to support his bid for governor. The private affair, hosted by Senator Keane at his beachfront home in the hills of Malibu, cost guests upward of fifty thousand a plate. After tonight, Bentley would have enough money to buy his way into the governor’s mansion. His political aspirations and agenda were at odds with her position as Orange County’s district attorney. She loathed being on display like a high-priced call girl. And she despised him. She’d be dead inside if…

Luca.

She forced the Laguna Beach detective out of her mind. Bentley expected a response.

“It’s exquisite.”

Bentley’s gaze traveled downward from the necklace and settled on her cleavage exposed by the plunging bodice of the strapless dress. “Tonight, Mallory. No more excuses.”

I’d rather die than sleep with you again.

“You know I haven’t been feeling well. This case I just prosecuted took all my time and energy. I’ve barely eaten in days.”

Bentley slipped a finger in the deep, shadowed valley between her breasts. A shiver shook her. Not from desire but from disgust. “Perhaps you’re finally pregnant.”

God forbid. She’d been secretly taking birth control pills. Since Bentley searched her purse and her laptop bag every day, Mallory hid her contraceptives behind an oil painting of Orange County’s first D.A., William C. Ferrell, elected in 1850. Bentley’s power stained her office. Spies routinely searched her office, though her husband had no idea that she knew this. They weren’t diligent enough to check behind the art decorating the walls.

To obtain birth control pills, Mallory used her sister’s address in San Francisco when she went for her monthly appointment at the health department. Sometimes Bentley traveled with her, so Marianna would arrange for the sisters to enjoy a spa day. Aware that Bentley would check the time of their arrival at the spa, they covered the time Mallory was at the health department by telling him they were eating at their favorite breakfast café. He never questioned their story, but Mallory feared the day he would follow them. After her appointment, Mallory emptied the package of pills inside a tin of breath mints.

She rose from the vanity table. “No, I’m not.” Eye to eye now, Mallory injected sadness into her voice and facial expression.

Bentley frowned. “I thought we timed it perfectly. A pregnant wife will cement my image as a family man. Of course, when I’m elected, you’ll have to resign. I want you by my side.”

“You’re putting too much pressure on me. Stress impacts a woman’s ability to conceive.”

He moved closer and took cruel possession of her lips. She’d learned to relax and tolerate his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, learned to accept Bentley staking his claim on her. Recalling Luca’s hot, stolen kisses made this easier to bear.

“I’ll relieve your stress tonight after the fundraiser, Mallory. In ways you can’t begin to imagine. It’ll be a night to remember, darling.”

Bentley sickened her.

Their walk-in closet, the size of a small bedroom, lay open to Mallory’s view, and she glided toward it to find her white faux fur wrap. Bentley draped it across her shoulders and nibbled on her neck.

“Tonight, I want you naked wearing only my jewelry.”

Please stop. I don’t think I can take any more of this nightmare.

Mallory couldn’t think of a reply. Bentley placed a possessive hand on the small of her back and guided her out of their spacious, elegant master suite and down the hall toward the marble staircase that split the house into two wings. They had purchased the expansive estate three years ago from a former actor who’d relocated to Miami. When Mallory questioned Bentley about the source of the 2.7 million dollars he’d offered in cash, he gave a vague answer regarding his investments.

She hated the estate. It created an illusion of pretentiousness she wanted to avoid. Mallory fought for justice, yet living in a mansion in Bel-Air gave the impression to some, mainly those who would like to see her out of office, that she couldn’t be taken seriously. She prayed Bentley would lose the coming election in the fall so she wouldn’t have to resign but expected her worst fears to come true.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mallory stepped with caution onto the slick black and white marbled floor. Its geometric pattern formed Bentley’s initials. The cold and sterile grand entrance to the mansion reflected the state of their marriage. After twelve long years of married life, Mallory wondered why she’d traded passion with Luca for whatever she now shared with Bentley.

Their housekeeper waited by the massive set of ornate doors. “Your driver has arrived, sir.” She never spoke to Mallory directly unless they were alone.

“Thank you, Mrs. Licht.”

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Hayes. Mrs. Hayes.” She pulled open one of the heavy doors.

A sleek white limousine sat at the bottom of a dozen steps in the shape of a half circle. The driver stood next to an open passenger’s door. His hat partially hid his face, but Mallory glimpsed his dark, fathomless eyes. Bentley stiffened beside her.

“You’re not my usual driver. Where’s Andre?”

---