Jericho (Dance with the Devil 4) by Carole Mortimer

Author:Carole Mortimer [Mortimer, Carole & Mortimer, Carole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910597958
Publisher: Carole Mortimer
Published: 2021-06-24T18:30:00+00:00

Marisha wasn’t sure where Jericho’s thoughts had taken him, but wherever it was they were making him frown. “Is this the way you usually carrying out interrogations?”

He blinked, his brow clearing as he brought himself out of whatever memories had caused his scowl of unhappiness. “Can’t say I’d want to question Artur while in this position, no,” he drawled.

Marisha laughed.

It was the first time she’d found anything humorous in days, she realized. Being kidnapped and thrown down basement stairs, told her friend Toly was dead, and then to have been flown out of Russia and not even know if Boris was looking for her wasn’t conducive to humor of any kind.

Once Marisha started laughing, she couldn’t seem to stop. She laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks and she was no longer laughing but crying. Deep, body-shaking sobs that tore through the last of her defenses.

She buried her face against Jericho’s hot and comforting chest as she once again sobbed for the loss of Toly and the days and nights of not knowing if she was going to live or die.

Her sobs deepened as she realized she still didn’t know the answer to that.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jericho’s strong arms gathered her up and held her tightly against his chest as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so that she was now the one lying on top of him.

It was the first indication Marisha had that he was no longer constraining her hands on the pillow above her head. She instantly moved her arms down and about Jericho’s shoulders to cling to his solidness as someone would hold on to a rock at the side of a heaving river to stop themselves from being swept away and drowning.

She felt as if that was what she’d been doing since Federov’s men took her. Except, until now, there hadn’t been any rock she could cling to.

She wasn’t a coward. She’d learned to survive after her mother and sister died and she was placed with her foster parents. Galina and Pavel Agapov had been kind enough to her, but never allowed themselves to become too emotionally close to her.

Boris had entered her life when she was sixteen and put Toly in place as her bodyguard, separating her from others of her age group.

University in England had been Marisha’s first taste of freedom. A freedom that, if she’d known what would happen at the end of those three years, she would have taken full advantage of by never returning to Russia.

“You’re safe here with me,” Jericho now soothed, one of his large hands caressing reassuringly up and down her back, the other cradling the back of her head to hold her close against his chest. “No one is going to hurt you on my watch. Not again,” he added.

She drew in a ragged breath “What if Leon orders otherwise?”

Jericho’s arms tightened. “He won’t.”

“You can’t know that—” She broke off as his hand curled about her chin and lifted her face until she was looking directly at him.

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