Public Secrets Part 208

people out of here, and I won't have them coming back."

"Won't you?" he said quietly.

"Doesn't it matter to you? Doesn't it matter at all? This is our

bedroom. Christ, Drew, look at my things. They've been in my closet."

Enraged, she picked up a heap of silk and linen. "G.o.d knows what

they've stolen or broken this time, but that's not the worst. I don't

even know those people and they're in my bedroom doing drugs. I won't

have drugs in my house."

She saw him swing back, but the movement didn't register. The back of

his hand connected hard enough with her face to send her sprawling. She

tasted blood. Dazed, she lifted a hand to her split lip.

"Your house?" He dragged her to her feet. Her s.h.i.+rt tore as he heaved

her away. She landed hard against the bedside table. Her beloved

Tiffany lamp crashed to the floor. "Spoiled little b.i.t.c.h. It's your

house?"

Too stunned to fight back, she cringed when he advanced on her. The roar

of the music drowned out her scream as he picked her up again and threw

her on the bed.

"Our house. You b.l.o.o.d.y well remember that. It's as much mine as yours.

It's all as much mine as yours. Don't you ever think you can tell me

what to do. Do you think you can humiliate me that way and get away

with it?"

"I wasn't-" She broke off, drawing her shoulders up as he lifted his

hand.

"That's better. I'll let you know when I want to bear you whine. Always

get your way, don't you, Emma? Well, we won't let tonight be any

exception. You want to sit up here all alone. That's fine." He picked

up the phone and ripped it out of the wall. "You just sit up here." He

threw the phone up against the wall before he strode out, slamming and

locking the door behind him.

She sat curled on the bed, breathing hard, too numb to ache from the

cuts and bruises. It was a nightmare, she thought. She'd had other

nightmares. Painfully, she remembered the slaps and shouts she'd lived

with for the first three years of her life.

Spoiled little b.i.t.c.h.

Was that Jane's voice, or Drew's?

s.h.i.+vering, she reached out. The little black dog from her childhood sat

on the pillow. Curling her arm around him, she cried herself to sleep.

WHEN HE UNLOCKED THE DOOR the next morning, she was asleep. Standing in

the doorway, Drew studied her dispa.s.sionately. The side of her face was

swollen. He'd have to make sure she didn't go out in public for a

couple of days.

Stupid to have lost his temper, he thought, rubbing his palms on his

thighs. Satisfying, but stupid. But then, she was always pus.h.i.+ng him.

He was doing his best, wasn't he? And it wasn't easy. A man might as

well take a dead fish to bed as sleep with her. And she was always

talking about her G.o.dd.a.m.n show, sneaking off for hours in the darkroom

instead of taking care of him.

It was his work, his needs, that came first. It was time she understood

that.