"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-defense 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 around. 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 an' as
soon as he'd recovered, he'd chased her around the house yelling that
she'd ruined him forever.
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 before had to use the "kick 'em in the balls an' gouge
their face" form of self-defense; however, 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 onto the
terrace.
The penthouse was on the eighth floor. As she reached the edge and
glanced over, the pool seemed farther 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 onto 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 one 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 building
with gates and guards, ten minutes away from the Strip. It had all
the modern amenities—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
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-defense 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 around. 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 an' as
soon as he'd recovered, he'd chased her around the house yelling that
she'd ruined him forever.
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 before had to use the "kick 'em in the balls an' gouge
their face" form of self-defense; however, 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 onto the
terrace.
The penthouse was on the eighth floor. As she reached the edge and
glanced over, the pool seemed farther 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 onto 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 one 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 building
with gates and guards, ten minutes away from the Strip. It had all
the modern amenities—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
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