Free A Chance in the Night by Kimberly Van Meter Page A

almost sounded like regret and she couldn’t help but stare. “It is difficult for her…the child. I will speak with her,” he added with a sigh. “But in the meantime, do not borrow trouble.”
    She murmured something appropriately dutiful yet she was the farthest from compliant in her mind. She felt the pressure of time weighing on her. Her escape route had been effectively cut off and as soon as Belleni felt she was well enough for sex, he’d return. Or he’d take Nico from her. She felt the threat hovering in the air, filling the corners with malice even if he hadn’t actually uttered the words. She knew how he operated. Belleni took what mattered most in the world for leverage. And Belleni knew nothing mattered more to her than her precious boy.
    As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he smiled and said, “Bring the boy back to me tomorrow.”
    She gritted her teeth but nodded. “Of course.”
    Approval gleamed in his stare but he wasn’t quite finished. He cocked his head at her. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good-night, perhaps thank me for my generosity?” She swallowed the bile that rose and pasted a benign smile on her lips. As she crossed to him, he pulled her in tight, until her breasts rubbed against his chest and his breath mingled with hers. She forced herself to relax, to appear consensual. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Now tell me how happy and grateful you are.”
    “Belleni,” she protested softly, eager to get this over with. But his grip tightened and she inhaled sharply. Her cheeks burned as she repeated, “I’m happy and grateful.”
    “As you should be. Don’t forget it.”
    And then he released her, nearly pushing her away, as he turned and let himself out.





CHAPTER SEVEN
    C HRISTIAN KEPT ROLLING Skye’s name on his tongue from the time he returned Mathias to the group home and entered his loft.
    Skye…what a perfect name for her, he mused until he realized with a start that he was beginning to think a little too much about her. He wanted to help her but he couldn’t start thinking of anything else with her. She was a fine woman, no doubt, hell, a woman like her went beyond the term “trophy wife” if she were of a mind to walk away from the sordid business that was her life but, the fact remained that he’d never be able to look beyond the actions of her past. At least he was straight up about it, he thought. Other men might string her along for the sex and the pleasure of her company until they tired of the game. He’d never do that to her. He’d never do that to anyone but he knew men who did and would.
    She hadn’t called. He wasn’t surprised. He went to his computer and searched her name on Google just to see what popped up. He found a few playbills with her name and a picture or two of her dressed in her tutu. She had that rare quality that seemed to blossom with maturity rather than fade. He clicked on an old bio and read it with interest. Small town girl moved to the big city when she was only eighteen, made prima ballerina at nineteen and her career was over by twenty. He drew back, a furrow in his forehead. Man, that must’ve sucked. By the looks of it her star had shot into the sky only to plummet a short time later. He imagined that had to sting even to this day. Making a living in the arts was a tough gig. He knew the odds were against most people from the moment they started. Still, he wished Skye’s story had ended differently.
    He clicked past a few more links and found an agent contact for the ballerina Skye D’Lane. He drew back in his chair, cocking his head in thought. What if the agent still had a number for her? The chances were beyond slim but hey, weirder things had happened lately. He grabbed his cell and dialed the number.
    “Barry Friedman,” the guy on the other line said in a distinctive New Yorker accent.
    “My name is Christian Holt. You don’t know me but I’m looking for a former client of yours, Skye