E-Book, Englisch, Band 2, 260 Seiten
Reihe: Colours of Love
ISBN: 978-3-7325-0418-3
Verlag: Bastei Lübbe
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
If you love E.L. James' 'Fifty Shades of Grey' and Silvia Day's 'Crossfire' series, then COLOURS OF LOVE will thrill your desire for sensual romance.
Even as a little girl, Kathryn Taylor wanted to write. She published her first story at age 11. After a few detours in life, she found her own happily ever after. Her first novel, UNBOUND: COLOURS OF LOVE was a success with readers and critics alike. She has continued the series with UNCOVERED and UNLEASHED. Two more novels, SEDUCED and SURRENDERED are slated for publication in 2017.
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Yuuto stumbles backward. The attack took him completely by surprise. The expression on his face is hard to interpret. He touches his lip, where Jonathan’s punch hit him. His bottom lip is split and blood is dripping onto his white shirt. When he sees that, his eyes narrow. “You hit me? Because of that little slag?” “Leave her alone now,” Jonathan barks. His face is contorted with rage — I’ve never seen him like this before. He turns around and reaches for my hand, about to walk with me to the car, but Yuuto suddenly lunges at him from behind, hitting him in the ribs so hard that he doubles over, panting. “Do you think I’m just going to let you humiliate me like that?” Yuuto’s face is white. His bloody lip and the bloodstains on his shirt make him look really scary, like something out of a horror movie. He hits out again, punching Jonathan in the ribs once more. “Stop!” I shout, pulling on the Japanese man’s arm, because I’m suddenly afraid for Jonathan. And it works, because Yuuto leaves him alone and turns his attention back to me. Good, I think. But when I see the expression on his face I change my mind. No, it’s not good. Not good at all. This guy is completely out of his mind. He hisses something nasty in Japanese and, before I can react, the back of his hand hits my cheek. He hits me so hard my head is thrown to one side and for a moment I see stars. The pain is so acute and so sudden that it takes my breath away and tears rush to my eyes. Yuuto takes another swing at me, but this time Jonathan is faster than him. He blocks the Japanese’s guy arm and pushes him away from me, and then lunges at him. They both fall to the ground, struggling fiercely and hitting each other. Steven comes to join us. He rushes over from the car, but then he just stands there helplessly, staring at the two men as they fight. They’re moving so fast and changing positions so abruptly that it looks impossible to separate them. Besides, Steven’s hesitant — he clearly feels he shouldn’t interfere. Suddenly, I hear hurried steps and when I turn around I see people coming out of the club. Two of the uniformed attendants who work there are running hurriedly through the entranceway toward us, followed by the blonde woman from reception. “What’s going on?” she shouts agitatedly as she reaches us. She doesn’t seem as cool and unapproachable as she did when she let us in. In fact, she seems utterly furious. “Go on then, separate them,” she instructs the men with her. Unlike Steven, the club attendants intervene without hesitation and after a short time they really do manage to pull Jonathan and Yuuto apart. Grudgingly at first, the two of them leave each other alone and manage to calm down. They’re both breathing heavily and visibly fired up. If I had to decide who won that fight, then I’d definitely say that Jonathan did. There’s a swelling over his right cheekbone, his lower lip is bleeding slightly, and there’s obviously something wrong with his ribs, but he looks great compared to the Japanese man, whose nose is bleeding heavily and who can hardly stay upright. He’s swaying and the blonde woman has to help support him so he doesn’t fall over again. With a gesture of annoyance, Jonathan frees himself from the other uniformed attendants and Steven, who’ve been holding him. He’s shaky on his legs, too. He leans forward, placing a hand on his ribs, his face contorted with pain. I go over to him, concerned, and support him so he can straighten up again. When he sees that it’s me, he lets me help him. The man from the club gives Steven a nod and then goes back to his colleague and the woman, who are both looking after Yuuto. The Japanese man looks pretty bad: the entire lower half of his face is now covered in blood. But although he’s obviously quite injured, it seems to be the humiliation that gets to him the most. His cold eyes are looking at us, full of pure hatred. “You’ll regret this, Huntington,” he says, in a voice trembling with rage. “You’ll pay for this.” “Go ahead and send me a bill,” Jonathan replies, breathing heavily, but full of scorn. “On behalf of the club, I have to ask you to refrain from visiting us again for the time being,” the blonde explains to Jonathan, in a voice which now sounds completely cool once more. “We will come to a decision on whether or not to continue your membership later.” “You can take me off your books,” Jonathan says. I stare at him in surprise. He’s leaving the club? Because of me? Or is he just angry because they threatened to throw him out, and he doesn’t want to give them the opportunity? The woman is visibly annoyed by his response, but she nods briefly. Then she turns around and, with Yuuto between them, the men follow her back to the wrought iron gate. It’s still open, but closes directly behind them. No a one looks back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this,” I stammer, still deeply confused by what just happened. Jonathan, leaning heavily against my shoulder, shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” He examines me. “Are you OK?” I nod, although my cheek is stinging like hell. But it’s nothing compared to what he’s got to deal with. I can still see the images of the fight in my head, and I suddenly realise just how much this explosion of violence shocked me. And it wasn’t just Yuuto’s behaviour that shocked me, it was Jonathan’s too. I’ve never seen him like that before, so out of control. My feelings are awhirl. It scared me, yes, but I’m also really happy that he defended me so fiercely. “Can you walk?,” I ask, and when he nods, we walk carefully back to the limousine. Steven’s there too, he supports Jonathan from the other side, and together we help him into the car. “Is there a first aid kit in the car?,” I ask. Steven nods and goes to the trunk. I sit at the back with Jonathan and take the first aid kit he hands me a moment later. Jonathan is leaning his head back and has his eyes closed. But when I carefully dab at his lower lip with a disinfectant-soaked cloth he sits up with a start and looks at me. I’m about to say something but Steven, who’s gotten into the front, lowers the glass partition between the driver’s cab and the interior of the limo and is the first one to speak. “Where to, Sir?” “Home,” Jonathan says shortly, letting me dab at his lips again while the long car starts up and merges into the traffic. His lip wound is small, nothing compared to Yuuto’s, but the spot is slightly swollen nevertheless, as is Jonathan’s cheek where Yuuto’s fist struck him. Any higher and he would have an impressive black eye now. I fetch ice from the car’s little minibar — riding in a fancy car like this one can come in handy sometimes. I place a few ice cubes in a handkerchief and give it to him, so that he can ice the injured places. “Thanks.” He touches my reddened cheek with his free hand. “That bloody animal. Does it hurt a lot?” I shake my head silently, because his unusually tender gesture has just made me completely forgotten the pain I was feeling a moment ago. Besides, I don’t want him to worry. He’s got enough to worry about on his own. Jonathan lets his hand fall and leans his head back against the cushions while I go on examining him. When I carefully feel the red patch on his rib cage, he cringes and groans. “He really got you there.” I’m familiar with this kind of thing. My sister and I used to go riding a lot, on our grandparents’ farm in downstate Illinois — and we fell off a lot, too, until we got the hang of it. I spent half my childhood bruised somewhere or other, so I know how much it must be hurting him now — and how little we can do about it, except wait for it to get better. Unless one of his ribs is broken, I think, alarmed. “Perhaps you should get a doctor to look at that.” “No, it’s not that bad. And I’m definitely not showing up at any hospital like this,” he tells me, pointing down at himself. I suddenly remember that he’s only wearing pants, nothing else. “OK,” I concede. It probably wouldn’t be such a good idea if he turned up at the ER half-dressed and with his face mashed up. He’s too well known for that. I sigh deeply. “Well, at least you weren’t snapped by a paparazzo this time.” I remember what happened after the last photos of him and me appeared in an English tabloid. I’d hate to imagine what might go down if the press got wind of the fact that Jonathan was in a fight, right out on the street, in the ritzy neighbourhood of Primrose Hill. This would give the media a feeding frenzy. “No, at least there’s that.” Jonathan smiles for the first time since we left the club. My heart skips a beat and restarts at a faster pace, just as it always does when he smiles unexpectedly like that. With his dark, long hair, which is now gleaming wet, and the blue eyes that contrast so strikingly with his olive skin tone, he’s just so breathtakingly attractive that the butterflies in my stomach never let up. Besides, when he smiles you can see the tiny missing corner of his canine tooth, his one little blemish,...
