The Billionaire's Heart

The guard grunted, trying to stifle the tears that were welling up in his eyes. Two down... Ivan glanced around for Samira, and saw that Jeremy had his arms around her from behind and was trying to drag her back inside. She was putting up a good fight, struggling and trying to headbutt him with the back of her head. But she was tiring, too.

“I told you to leave her alone!” Ivan shouted.

Jeremy glanced over and realised that both his bouncers had been floored, so he quickly let go of Samira and held up his hands to try to placate Ivan. “I was just joking, come on, you can take a joke, can’t you?”

Ivan strode over, Terminator-like, and grabbed him by the shirt, then he turned him around and twisted his arm up his back, forcing him to buckle at the knees. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. I don’t care who your daddy is or how much you rate yourself, there’s a rule decent guys follow and it’s called ‘consent’, you got me?”

Jeremy nodded frantically. “I know, I know… let go, you’re hurting me.”

“Yeah, I know I am. This is how you make women feel when you try to force yourself on them. See? It’s not nice, is it?”

Jeremy frantically shook his head. “No, no, it’s not.”

Ivan glanced up at Samira who was watching with an impressed smirk.

“You see,” Ivan said. “I get the feeling that you’re the type of sleazebag who thinks the length of a woman’s dress implies something about how much you’re allowed to touch her. But that logic’s no different to saying I couldn’t stop myself from breaking your arm for coming on to my girlfriend. It’s all about self-restraint. Which I’m currently choosing not to employ. You see what I’m saying?”

“Yes, yes, I do!”

“Now apologise to Samira and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

Jeremy glanced up. “I’m… I’m sorry!”

Ivan threw him to the ground, where he landed on his knees.

“Come on, sweet lady.” He wrapped his arms around Samira, and they climbed into the waiting cab.

Ivan asked the driver to take them back to his hotel, hoping he didn’t look too much of a mess. But he probably did. His muscles relaxed into the leather seat, waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slow. He realised Samira was staring at him, so he turned his head and smiled into her eyes.

“You okay?” He caressed her face. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. I can’t believe that guy. Who the hell did he think he was?”

“A f**king as**shole.”

Samira rummaged in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding. Here.”

“Thanks, it’s alright.” He dabbed his nose and mopped up the blood.

Samira reached out and squeezed his arm. “Um, you said I was your girlfriend.”

He grinned. “I did. You wanna be?”

She laughed. “I’d love to! At least until you go back to New York.”

“Let’s just enjoy our time together.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and they chatted about how disrespectful some guys could be. Samira reminded him that she came from Iran and that she’d heard it all before, but he still couldn’t bear for guys to think they could treat her badly. It was one thing playing the dominant guy in the bedroom, or even being as**sertive in reality. But being an as**shole was never acceptable.

When they arrived at his hotel, Ivan realised he looked a disaster. But the well-dressed woman at the reception desk welcomed him back politely, because his platinum credit card spoke louder than his blood-stained face.

He led Samira up to the penthouse where all the best suites were located, feeling as if they could be on their honeymoon. He picked her up with a romantic flourish and carried her into the room, taking care not to bash his bruised ribs. But he needed to feel her against him now and always.

The suite was bright and stylish, with lovely big windows and brand new furniture. The king-sized bed looked welcoming and comfortable.

“Lie down,” she said. “Let nurse Samira tend to your wounds.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her hard. “Sounds great to me.”

He got comfortable on the bed, as Samira filled up a bowl with warm water in the bathroom, then she came back and dabbed his face, cleaning off the blood and soothing Ivan’s mood like a mother cat licking a youngster. He put his arm around her as she gently tended to his cuts. He couldn’t keep his hands off her anymore. He needed to touch her; to have her nearby.

“You’d better take your shirt off,” she said. “So I can see if there’s any damage on your lovely toned chest...”

? Also By Julie Farrell

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