by Jennie Lucas
He curled his lip. “I would never hurt a woman.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully.
“A captive has the right to defend herself,” she said stiffly.
He looked down at her. “I would expect no less of you.”
He wasn’t staring at her with that hot light of hatred anymore. And yet there was still an undercurrent between them that she didn’t understand.
She missed Lars, who was so charmingly predictable, who though he didn’t always listen to her words, always gave her endless compliments. It had made her feel a bit uncomfortable, actually, the way he always stared at her so hungrily, telling her over and over that she was perfect. She knew she wasn’t perfect. But she’d told herself he had many years to understand her better after she became his wife.
If she even was his wife.
No! Rose pushed away the gnawing fear growing inside her. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow Xerxes to make her doubt Lars! She couldn’t trust this brutal, powerful man who’d kidnapped her, her husband’s enemy who’d just kissed her against her will.
Xerxes’s words were lies. They had to be.
She would have faith. Lars would save her and prove she was his true and legal wife. She wouldn’t allow Xerxes to make her doubt everything she believed in—not even for an instant!
Slowly, she rose to her feet, holding the torn bodice of her wedding gown tightly together over her chest. “As long as I have your word you won’t harm me.”
He gently brushed hair from her cheek. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “I will not harm you.”
He drew back, looking down at her. Then he held out his hand, steady and strong and confident.
She stared at it. Then, not touching him, she brushed past him regally, as if she still wore a tiara on her head. A baroness in exile.
Her gown still covered her body decently well, as long as she held together the bodice at the jagged, gaping rip over her heart. But she had to hold it tightly. The tulle skirts were heavy and wide, pulling behind her like a train as she went down the steps to the tarmac.
Several cars were waiting, including a black Bentley. As she approached, a uniformed driver opened the passenger door.
“If you please,” Xerxes said quietly, pressing his hand gently against her back. She shivered at his touch, then jumped forward as if he’d burned her.
Silently, he followed her.
The black car drove through the dark night along the edge of a coastal road. She looked out and saw moonlight shimmering across black water. Strange, she thought, to think it was that exact same moonlight shining down on Trollshelm Castle right now.
“Are we near Athens?” she asked to break the silence.
“On an island in the Aegean.”
“Which island?”
“Mine.”
Shocked, she turned to face him. “Your island?”
He shrugged.
“You own the whole island?”
“I own several.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why on earth would you own several islands? Or even one, for that matter!”
“I loan the others out to friends who want to relax without the glare of media attention.”
“So your friends can be alone with their mistresses or something?”
He shrugged.
Grinding her teeth, Rose folded her arms. What else would she expect from a man completely without morals? “How many islands do you have? Or have you lost count?”
“Three now. I recently sold the fourth in exchange for a palace in Istanbul.”
A palace in Istanbul?
“Oh,” she said faintly, trying to act as if that were a normal sort of trade.
“Officially,” he amended, “our trade was an office building in Paris for a few hundred million euros.” He shrugged. “The palace, and then the island, were just tossed in later as extras.”
“Right. Extras.” She swallowed, thinking of her own recent trade of a box of homemade chocolates to an upstairs neighbor in her apartment building in exchange for a macaroni-and-cheese casserole. “Um. Your friend must have really wanted a private place to hide his mistress.”
Xerxes snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call Rafael Cruz a friend.” He looked away and added softly, “Anyway, I was glad to be rid of that island.”
“Sure.” Rose held up her hand airily. “Owning private Greek islands gets so very dull. I’ve sold all mine recently for Japanese tea houses.”
His lips quirked, then he shook his head. “I grew up on that particular island. My grandfather was a fisherman. Even after my grandparents were dead and I replaced the old shack with a villa, I never wanted to go back there.”
Xerxes had once been poor? For a moment, sympathy threatened to prey on Rose, weakening her. Then she hardened her heart and glared at him.
“It sucks to be you,” she said acidly. “Owning too many private islands, forced to travel all over the world in your jet. Kidnapping married women. You’re clearly a hard case.” She glanced out the car window. “So why are we here and not at your shiny new Turkish palace?”
He turned to look out the window, blocking her view of his face. “I brought you here because this is my home.”
Rose’s jaw dropped.
“You brought me to your home? But, but…” She faltered, then said, “Lars will know exactly where to find you!”
He turned back to her. “Exactly.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of kidnapping is this?”
“I told you. It’s not a kidnapping. It’s a trade.”
The car stopped and the driver opened the door. Xerxes climbed out, then held out his hand back to her.
Careful not to touch his hand, she tripped and stumbled out of the car. She glanced back at him, blushing.
He pulled back his hand, tucking it behind his back.
“Come,” he said, regaining his low, mocking voice. “I’m sure you’re eager to see the inside of your prison. Baroness.”
But he didn’t try to touch her again. She was relieved. After his electric kiss earlier, after feeling the strength of his body and the heat of his embrace that had made her surrender against her will, she was afraid to let him so much as brush his fingertip against her skin.
Following him toward the house, she looked up. Her footsteps faltered.
She’d once dreamed of traveling to Greece, but she’d never imagined anything like this.
The enormous white villa sat on the edge of a sharp cliff, iced with moonlight. The cold, classical architecture made it look like a fortress, and suddenly reminded her of another island closer to home. The prison of Alcatraz.
She caught up with him inside the tall doorway. She only dimly saw the servants awaiting them, greeting Xerxes in low, respectful voices before they disappeared down dark hallways.
He pulled her into a high-ceilinged library edged with leather-bound books. When he opened the French doors to the veranda, a cool breeze blew off the sea, curling up her spine. Rose shivered.
Xerxes turned back to her. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” she whispered, then closed her eyes, trying not to cry. “I just want to call my family.”
“Your family?” he queried, his lips curving sardonically. “Not your precious boyfriend?”
She blinked. She’d actually forgotten about Lars for a moment. But it was only natural, she told herself. She’d known Lars only a few months, while she’d loved her family for her whole life! But still, the thought brought her up short. Shouldn’t she have wanted to speak to Lars above all others?
Pushing the disquieting thought aside, she glared at him. “My husband is my family.”
Xerxes pulled out his phone, dialed a number and handed it to her. “Here.”
She stared up at him in surprise, her mouth gaping as she held the phone in her hand. “Is this a trick?”
“It’s ringing,” he pointed out.
With a gasp, she pushed the phone to her ear. When she heard Lars’s voice at the other en
d, she nearly wept with relief. “Lars!”
“Rose?” he said, his voice more high-pitched that usual. “Where are you? One of my groundskeepers found the tiara smashed in the road. Your family is worried sick. Why did you leave?” His voice wavered. “Did you hear something that made you angry? Whatever it was, I can explain—”
“I’ve been kidnapped,” she sobbed. “I’m in Greece.”
There was silence on the other end. Then Lars spoke grimly.
“Novros,” he said. “Novros took you, didn’t he?”
How had he known that?
“Yes,” she choked out. “And he—”
“What did he tell you?”
She turned away so Xerxes couldn’t see her tearful face as she whispered into the phone, “He’s told me all kinds of lies. Oh, Lars. He said you were already married, that the tiara was fake, that our wedding was fake! Ridiculous lies that no one would believe!”
Sniffling, she waited for Lars to tell her that of course it was a lie, that of course she was his legal wife and that he’d be calling Interpol immediately.
Instead, there was silence.
“It’s complicated,” he said weakly.
The word was a stab to her heart. “Complicated?”
“I pawned my grandmother’s tiara a few years ago, but the glass version looks almost the same,” he said defensively. “I intended to buy it back, but never got around to it. Your engagement ring is real though!”
Why was he talking about jewelry? Who cared about that? She choked out, “But the other things—”
“Well, technically I suppose you could say that I was already married, but my so-called wife has been comatose for a year. She’s a vegetable. I never loved her, Rose, but I needed money, don’t you understand? I have an image to uphold. And I swear to you,” he said urgently, “Laetitia is nothing to me.”
“You’re married,” Rose whispered numbly, feeling like she was in a nightmare. She felt Xerxes move behind her, felt the warmth emanating off his strong body. “Our wedding today was really fake.”
“I had no choice. You wouldn’t let me touch you!” Lars said. “I hired an actor to lead the vows. It was easy. None of my friends knew about Laetitia. The day after we eloped, my stupid, brainless wife drove her car into a telephone pole.”
Rose sucked in her breath.
As if sensing he’d gone too far, Lars changed his tone. “You’re the one I love, petal, my perfect bride. You are the one I truly want as my wife. I always intended to renew our vows, legally, as soon as Laetitia died. The doctors say she’s fading fast,” he added eagerly. “She could die any day.”
“You…” Her throat closed. It took her a minute to force out the words. “You want her to die?”
“Of course I do!” he said. “I need you, my beautiful Rose. Please, petal, you have to believe…”
But Rose heard no more. The phone fell from her numb hands, clattering to the marble floor.
She stared dimly at the sparkling diamond ring on her hand. She’d pledged her faith to a man who was not free. And worse than that, a man devious enough to twist Rose’s innocent words into the justification for his deception. A man heartless enough to want his comatose wife to die.
Rose had believed in him. She’d thought she’d truly married him. And in a few hours more, she would have given him her virginity.
How could she have been such a fool?
The entire fairy tale had been a lie.
Her knees collapsed. Peeling the diamond ring off her finger, she threw it across the room, where it ricocheted off the bookcase. Covering her face with her hands as she wept, she sank to the white marble floor.
Xerxes picked up the ring from the floor, along with the dropped phone. He put the phone to his ear.
“So,” he said coolly. “Shall we trade?”
She dimly heard Lars’s furious shouting in response.
“This is my last offer,” Xerxes said carelessly. “I will allow you to keep your castle, even to keep the car you bought with her money. But you will give her up, along with the rest of her fortune. You will complete the divorce within the week. Or you will regret it.”
More shouting.
Xerxes’s gaze was dark as he looked down at Rose. “We both know you will agree. And Växborg? Do it as soon as you can. Your mistress is a beautiful woman.” His lips curved into a cruel, sensual smile. “Any man would commit crimes to possess her.”
Chapter Six
AFTER he ended the call, the library was silent. Rose heard only low, soft snuffles that she realized were her own sobs.
Her captor stood over her, and she felt his silent, considering gaze upon her. She tried to stifle her weeping but could not.
All she could think about was that Xerxes had been right. Lars had betrayed her. Tricked her. He’d used her own idealistic nature, her belief in loyalty and love, against her.
He’d never loved Rose at all. He’d only wanted her body. He was already married, and he’d been waiting…waiting for…
“He’s waiting for his wife to die,” she whispered aloud.
She felt Xerxes touch her arm. “I know.”
She looked up. His dark eyes were surprisingly gentle.
“Come,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve had a rough day. I’ll take you to bed.”
She was unable to resist as he took her hand in his larger one, lifting her to her feet. She trembled at his touch, barely feeling strong enough to hold the bodice of her wedding gown closed with her other hand. She pressed her fingers against her heart. She felt faint, her knees weak as she tried to walk. Stopped.
She looked up at him in the dark, shadowy hallway. She saw the roughness in his expression. He was everything Lars was not: brutal, ruthless, vengeful. Truthful.
Abruptly, Xerxes lifted her into his strong arms, holding her against his chest. She felt the rush of electricity, the overwhelming awareness sizzling through her just as it had when he’d first touched her, when he’d kissed her on the plane.
He didn’t know that it had been her first kiss. And that her whole body trembled now with all the desire and yearning of twenty-nine years of loneliness.
He carried her down the shadowed hallway and up a sweeping flight of stairs. The rhythm of his footsteps was heavy against the marble floor, mingling like percussion against the music of the roaring surf outside.
She glanced up at his face. His expression was brutal, even cruel. And yet he held her so gently. She’d thought him some kind of malevolent demon, but perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he was a dark angel, who’d unexpectedly come to save her.
At the end of the hall, he used his shoulder to push open a door with a low creak. Supporting Rose’s body with one arm as if she weighed nothing at all—which she probably did, compared to him—he switched on a small lamp with his free hand.
She dimly saw a large, Spartan bedroom, utterly masculine, devoid of color. The walls were white. The bed was black. The wide windows had a balcony overlooking the moonlit sea.
He set her down on the bed. Looking down at her, his eyes were dark as night. Dark—and full of hunger.
He was going to kiss her again. She knew it. He was going to kiss her, despite his promise. Promises meant nothing to men. They’d meant nothing to Lars. Now Xerxes would ruthlessly possess her. He would take everything she had once hoped to give her husband in innocence and faith.
Rose no longer had the strength to fight.
He pushed her back against the enormous bed. Slowly, he pulled the fabric of the bodice from her clenched fingers, leaving her silken bra and the bare skin of her belly in clear view. She felt the magnetic force of his body over her own, his powerful strength and size as he stared down at her, pinning her with his dark gaze.
She stared at him numbly. She had to fight. Why couldn’t she fight? She breathed, “I…I hate you.”
His sensual mouth curved as he looked down at her. “I don’t need you to love me. I just need you to obey.”
Rose closed her eyes, waiting for him to rip the wedding dress down her legs and throw his body over hers. Waiting for him to ravish her without hesitation, to ruthlessly and brutally seduce her naked body.
She almost didn’t care. She’d lost herself completely. Just a few hours ago, she’d been idealistic, romantic. Now, she felt—nothing.
Then he touched her.
His fingertips were feather-light, running along her bare collarbone to her shoulder. Strange sensations coursed through her body, an odd tumble of emotions that frightened her. Fear? Yes. But also…something more than fear. Something greater than fear that made her tremble deep inside.
His hands moved slowly down the naked valley between her breasts, causing prickles to spread all over her body. His hands sizzled everywhere he touched. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tightening to aching points beneath the silky white bralette that Lars had insisted on ordering for her from Paris. She’d blushed when he’d given it to her. Now, she was wearing it in front of his enemy.
His fingers moved down her bare belly to the tattered wedding gown pulled down around her waist. He gently pulled the layers of lace and tulle down her legs, then dropped it to the floor in a crumpled heap.
“I knew I’d get that off you eventually,” he whispered.
She started to reply, then saw that he’d fallen to his knees at the foot of the bed. The image of him kneeling before her half-naked body was so shocking that she squeezed her eyes shut.
But if anything, the sensation only grew more intense as she felt his hands on her thigh, unhooking a lace garter that held up her white silk stocking. The warmth of his breath curled against her naked belly, and she gasped with the sweet agony of forbidden desire. She shouldn’t feel like this—not for a stranger!
He slowly pulled the stocking down her leg, his fingers brushing her skin from her thigh to her knee. The sensual silk slid slowly down her calf, down her ankle to the sensitive hollow of her foot. And suddenly her leg was bare.
He moved on the mattress, moving up between her legs. With a gasp, she opened her eyes.
He was looking down at her, his dark eyes hungry. Holding her gaze with his own, he tossed the stocking to the floor. Reaching for her other thigh, he unclasped the garter and moved the second stocking down her leg, sliding the silk down her skin like the whisper of a caress.
