would be just as miserable, but also worried out of her mind on those occasions when Malcolm was allowed to take Daisy out. It simply couldn’t be allowed to happen.
She looked up at Xander. ‘Would you please release me?’
Xander looked down at her searchingly, totally unsettled by the look of pained resolve in her eyes. As if she had come to a decision she didn’t like. A decision she hated, if the grey tinge to her cheeks was any indication.
His mouth thinned. ‘Answer my question, Samantha.’
‘Release me now, Xander.’ She challenged him as she pulled out of his arms.
Leaving Xander with no choice but to reach out and grasp hold of the breakfast bar in an effort to stop himself from overbalancing and toppling over, at the same time as he reached out with the other hand to fold the length of his fingers about Samantha’s wrist to prevent her from moving any further away from him.
Samantha’s gasp of pain was the last reaction Xander was expecting to so light a physical touch. ‘What’s wrong?’ He scowled darkly as he lifted her arm and saw the bandage wrapped about her wrist, previously concealed beneath the long-sleeved red shirt she had changed into after taking Daisy to school. ‘What happened to your wrist?’ he demanded. ‘Did you cut yourself? Sprain your wrist? Tell me how you did this, Samantha.’
‘Or what? Will you make me tell you, Xander?’ she added scornfully. ‘Refuse to release me until I do?’
All of the above, as far as Xander was concerned, because he was not allowing Samantha to leave this kitchen until he knew exactly what was going on with her. Because something most certainly was!
Except...
He could see by Samantha’s almost resigned expression that she was expecting him to bully her into giving him an answer.
Xander might be guilty of a lot of things—might now be living in fear of his temper allowing him to do even worse things—but bullying a woman, in any way, certainly wasn’t one of them.
He maintained a light hold on Samantha’s arm as his thoughts drifted back to this morning. She had seemed quiet but cheerful enough when she’d made them all breakfast. Her mood had only changed to one of complete introspection after she’d returned from taking Daisy to school. The same time that she had changed into the long-sleeved shirt.
Xander’s eyes narrowed purposefully as he lifted that wrist before folding back some of the elasticated bandage to reveal the multicoloured bruising beneath.
Samantha immediately attempted to snatch her wrist out of his grasp. ‘Don’t!’
‘Who did this?’ Xander demanded with icy intensity, a red tide of anger washing over him as he recognised the bruises about the delicacy of Samantha’s wrist as being in the pattern of fingerprints. A man’s larger fingerprints, if he wasn’t mistaken. ‘Who did this to you, Samantha?’ he demanded harshly.
Tears glistened in her eyes, her lashes blinking, and her bottom lip trembling as she attempted to prevent those tears from falling. ‘I caught it on—’
‘Don’t even attempt to lie to me about this,’ he advised softly. ‘I assure you that you won’t like me when I’m angry,’ he added as he felt that red tide threatening to overwhelm and control him.
Samantha’s eyes were wide, her throat moving convulsively as she swallowed. As clear evidence that she also saw and recognised that anger? That it frightened her?
Well, damn it, it frightened Xander too!
It was exactly what he had been running away from facing these past few weeks. The reason he had begun to avoid other people. The reason he had distanced himself from his family. And hadn’t taken a woman to his bed. The very reason he had been so against Samantha and Daisy coming to live here with him in the first place.
Xander released Samantha abruptly before stepping away from her. ‘Who hurt you, Samantha?’ His gaze sharpened as a thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? Your ex-husband,’ he stated flatly. ‘You saw him again this morning when you took Daisy to school. Did you arrange to meet him?’
‘No! Absolutely not. Never,’ Sam instantly denied the accusation, giving a shudder of distaste at the mere suggestion she would deliberately spend time with Malcolm ever again.
Except it was what she was thinking of doing now, wasn’t it? By giving in to Malcolm’s demands?
She dropped down onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Before her knees buckled beneath her and she fell down.
‘Samantha?’
‘Just give me a minute or two.’ She waved a hand dismissively in front of her face, head bent as she breathed in deeply.
‘Do you still love him?’
Sam’s gaze flew incredulously to the grimness of Xander’s face. ‘I absolutely do not!’
‘Obviously.’ Xander winced as he both heard and saw her obvious vehemence to the idea. ‘So why would you—?’ He paused, breathing softly. ‘You were obviously upset after seeing him again on Saturday evening. He physically hurt you this morning, as well as upset you again. You’re almost in tears now just talking about him.’ He studied Sam intently. ‘What hold does he have over you that you don’t just tell him to go to—? Daisy.’ Xander’s brow cleared as realisation dawned. ‘The bastard is threatening Daisy in some way.’
That red tide of anger rose even further at the thought of Samantha’s ex-husband daring to threaten Daisey’s happiness. In any way.
Bad enough that Samantha’s ex-husband had physically hurt her today, the man deserved to be horse-whipped for that alone, but the thought that he might also have threatened Daisy in some way was totally unacceptable.
Xander came to a decision.
‘Samantha.’
‘Yes?’ She raised her head to look up at him uncertainly.
‘Samantha, I—’ Xander drew in a deep breath, knowing he was about to take a huge leap of faith, but also knowing that he had no choice if he was to persuade Samantha into trusting him again.
He never talked about his abusive childhood to anyone, but if he wanted Samantha to talk to him now then he knew he had to tell her what had happened to him. That he now had to trust her, to confide in her, if he wanted her to trust and confide in him.
And he did want that. He wanted more than anything for Samantha to trust him.
He drew in a deep and ragged breath. ‘Samantha, until I was twelve years old I lived with a father who enjoyed beating the hell out of me.’
She blinked, and then blinked again, as if she were having difficulty taking in what Xander had just told her. As no doubt she was. His childhood hardly fitted in with that charming billionaire playboy image the media were so fond of portraying.
An image that hid the vulnerability beneath.
A vulnerability Xander found himself surprisingly willing to share with Samantha.
‘Darius,
