Chapter 2 - The Catch
Time seemed to fracture into jagged, slow-motion fragments.
As Clara’s body tumbled down the second flight of curved marble steps, a tall silhouette blurred through the double mahogany doors at the base of the foyer.
Julian Sterling moved with the terrifying speed of a man whose world was ending. He was in his late thirties, possessing the broad-shouldered, rugged build of a classic film star, with dark, thick hair silvered at the temples and a face carved from sharp, unforgiving granite. Dressed in a dark, tailored black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, he leapt across the polished obsidian floor, ignoring the sharp crash of breaking glass as his boots struck a decorative marble pedestal.
He reached the base of the staircase just as Clara’s body cleared the sixth step.
Plunging forward, Julian dropped to one knee, throwing his powerful arms upward into the air. He caught her mid-fall.
The impact drove the breath from his chest in a heavy, brutal grunt, the sheer momentum dragging his knee across the hard stone floor. But his grip was ironclad. One thick arm wrapped firmly around Clara’s upper back, supporting her head, while his other arm locked under her knees, cradling her pregnant body against his broad chest.
The scattered white papers settled around them like winter snow, covering the black floor in sheets of marked evidence.
Clara gasped, her fingers digging frantically into the thick black cotton of Julian’s shirt, her face buried into the crook of his neck. Her body shook with violent, uncontrollable tremors, her skin cold and clammy with shock.
Julian collapsed backward against the bottom step, breathing heavily, his dark eyes wide with adrenaline as he pulled her closer, burying his face in her red hair.
"I'm here," Julian rasped, his voice raw and gravelly, vibrating against her cheek. "I've got you. I've got you, Clara."
Clara lifted her tear-stained face, her wide, terrified blue eyes searching his. Her mouth trembled, her hands sliding down to press frantically against the round curve of her stomach beneath the pink satin dress.
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"Our baby..." Clara choked out, a fresh torrent of tears spilling over her lashes as a ragged sob ripped from her throat. "Julian... our baby..."
Julian’s hand slid down to cover hers over their unborn child, feeling the small, distinct flutter of life stirring beneath the fabric. The baby was alive.
