The Virgin's Choice (3 page)

“Y
OU’RE
a liar!”

Young and dark-haired, Laetitia Van Reyn had gripped the gilded arms of her chair as she stared at Xerxes in her family’s mansion with views of the Golden Gate Bridge. She’d remained home from boarding school after her father’s death to support her fragile mother, who had collapsed at his funeral.
“No!”
Laetitia had jumped to her feet at Xerxes’s news. Her hands flew to her ears as she backed away.
“You’re a liar! Get out of my house! Never come back!”

Xerxes blinked. Liar. Same accusation. Very different woman.

He stared now at the young blonde who stood before him in the cabin of his private jet. Rose Linden was magnificent. A little too thin, perhaps, but it was hard to notice that when her full breasts swelled up against the bodice with every angry breath. Her waist was tiny, the perfect span for a man’s hands. Her honey-blond hair fell back in waves as she tossed her head, her chignon now completely collapsed, exposing her swanlike throat. Her aquamarine eyes glittered at him in fury.

“You are a liar,” Rose cried. “I don’t believe a word you say!”

A liar.
To Xerxes, the integrity of a man’s promise equaled his worth as a man. It was the one accusation he could not endure. In cold rage, he gripped her shoulders.

“I’m selfish,” he ground out. “Ruthless. Even cruel. But not a liar. Never that.”

His gaze fell to her mouth, where she was chewing on her lower lip. He saw her lick her lips with her wet pink tongue, and his body tightened.

He wanted her. And in this moment, the layers of her wedding dress were all that separated them.

The wedding dress.

She was continuing to defiantly wear it, as a visual, physical insult both to Xerxes and to Växborg’s real wife. As if Laetitia were already forgotten. As if she were already dead!

Xerxes’s hands slowly moved down her arms, against the see-through lace of her sleeves. His lips turned down grimly.

“I told you to take that dress off.”

He felt her shiver, even as she stuck out her chin and glared at him with her beautiful turquoise eyes.

“No.”

“Then I will take it off for you.”

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare to—”

With a rough motion, he ripped apart the shoulders of her wedding dress, tearing through the layers of white lace and popping the line of tiny white buttons off the back. He yanked the sleeves down her arms with such force that she staggered forward, nearly falling to her knees.

He discarded the haute couture gown, with its
elaborate layers of white lace and tulle, to the floor of the airplane cabin. He started to press the intercom button to call one of the attendants for a robe. Then he froze.

Rose stood before him, the wedding dress crumpled like a tablecloth at her feet. All she wore was the white silk lingerie intended for her wedding night, a tiny white bra, lacy thong panties and white stockings attached with a garter belt.

He could not look away from the vision of her half-naked body, of her creamy skin and perfect curves. He gaped at the perfect hourglass shape of her petite body, at her full breasts and hips, at her tiny waist, and nearly gasped aloud.

Insult or not, he’d been a fool to take the wedding gown off of her. The image of her beauty was dangerous.
To him.

He should have known she’d be wearing tarty white lingerie for her wedding night to the baron. Pretending to be a virgin—just
pretending,
because he’d obviously been bedding her for some time. No man would resist Rose’s charms, her soft blond beauty, her lush body. They must have been lovers from the moment the man had plucked her from that restaurant in San Francisco.

Växborg was guilty. But was Rose? Had she known about Laetitia?

It doesn’t matter,
he told himself harshly. Whether or not Rose had known about his marriage, she’d been eager enough to marry the baron for the sake of his money, his title and his snakelike charm. Everyone had their price. Xerxes learned that long ago. Feelings were a commodity like everything else.

And yet Xerxes’s eyes traced unwillingly over her beautiful, near-naked body.

Rose’s cheeks were red as she looked down, breathing rapidly. She started to cover herself with her slender arms. Then she stopped, gripping her hands into fists at her sides. Slowly, she lifted her chin, her eyes glittering at him in fury.

What a woman,
he thought in amazement. Even now, completely in his power, when any other woman might have been prostrate with fear, Rose defied him.

“You owe Lars a wedding dress now,” she said in a low voice. “As well as a diamond tiara. And a bride.”

With dignity, she bent to pick up the dress, then used the tattered remnants to cover herself.

Why did he want her like this? How could this mere girl, this waitress, have such an overwhelming effect on his body?

Setting his jaw, he reached for her. She looked up with an intake of breath, but instead of ripping the dress from her hands, he helped her cover herself with it. He slowly moved his fingers up her naked arms. Her skin was smooth and warm.

She looked up at him in bewilderment. Her lips parted. Her full, delectable pink lips, so ripe for a man’s plunder.

Suddenly, Xerxes knew what he had to do. He knew just the way to learn the truth about her innocence or guilt.

He would kiss her.

If she were truly the heartless gold digger he’d first believed, she would not only allow his kiss, she would try to lure him into a full-scale seduction. To evade
punishment, she would change allegiance, wanting to win him over to her side.

If not…

Well. Xerxes would put her to the test.

The fact that he could think of nothing but kissing her had nothing to do with this. It was a scientific experiment. Satiating his desire would be just a fortunate bonus.

After he’d replaced the torn dress over her shoulders, Rose gripped the gaping front bodice together with her hand and glared as him with hostility.

“Don’t think that you can bully me into being afraid of you, because I will never—”

Her words ended in a gasp as Xerxes seized her in his arms. Lowering his mouth to hers, he brutally kissed her.

H
IS
lips were hard and hot against hers, overwhelming Rose’s senses in a ruthless assault.

She stiffened, pressing her hands instinctively against his chest. He leaned her back, deepening the kiss, forcibly pressing her lips apart. As he plundered her mouth with his tongue, she felt a shock of sudden pleasure so sharp and raw that she gasped. As his lips moved against hers, forcing her to respond, she was swept beneath the waves of sensation. He held her tightly and she felt the world swirl and twist around them, lost in a spinning current of desire she’d never experienced before.

She tasted the sweetness of his breath, the taste of Scotch on his tongue. She felt the roughness of his jaw against her skin, the heat of him against her body.

Overpowered by her captor’s strength and the intensity of his commanding embrace, she surrendered. She’d never been kissed before, truly kissed, and her brain shut off abruptly. She was briefly lost in the stroking touch of his fingers against her bare back, in the feeling of his muscular thighs straining against hers. He held her in his strong arms, keeping her from falling to the floor.

Without her mind’s permission, her lips moved against his. She had no idea what she was doing, but
pleasure such as she’d never felt before ripped through her body with sweet agony, making her tremble and shake. She reached her arms around his neck, as if to pull him closer, as if she knew that he and only he could provide the air she needed to breathe…

Then she realized what she was doing. With a choked gasp, she ripped herself away from him. Staring up at him in horror, she sucked in her breath.

Drawing back her hand, she slapped his face.

Xerxes stared at her with surprise, his hand on his reddening cheek.

“How dare you kiss me!” she shouted, her hand still throbbing with pain from the strength of her blow. “I am a married woman!”

His lips twisted lazily as he suddenly relaxed. “You are not,” he said calmly, lifting a dark eyebrow. “And I weary of this discussion. But I’m finished. The kiss was merely to obtain the answer to a question.”

Which made no sense at all! “What question?”

He shrugged. “You did not know Växborg was married, or you would have tried to seduce me, to win me to your side. Which, with that clumsy kiss, you assuredly did not.”

Clumsy?
Her cheeks became red as she sucked in her breath. She was clumsy?

It had been her first kiss. As a teenager, she’d been determined to wait for her idealistic vision of love’s first kiss; later, in her twenties, she’d felt too awkward to force it. A twenty-nine-year-old virgin was bad enough, but a woman that age who’d never even been kissed?

She had absolutely no intention of explaining that
to Xerxes Novros, however, leaving herself open to his mockery!

“I see now that you’re not guilty of any crime,” he said carelessly, “except being gullible and naive.”

Gullible and naive.
Rose stared at him. Well, maybe she was. Her lips still felt bruised where he’d kissed her. What was wrong with her? How could she have kissed him back, even for an instant? How could she have let her body utterly overrule her brain—and her heart?

“Don’t touch me again.”

“I won’t.”

Swallowing, she looked away. The electricity that had coursed through her body when he’d kissed her had been nothing like she’d ever felt before. She’d certainly never felt that way with Lars, not even when she’d allowed him to give her a single brief peck as the minister pronounced them man and wife!

She hated her captor, but not half so much as she hated herself at that moment.

“I mean it. If you try to kiss me again,” she said in a low voice, “I will kill you.”

“You are threatening me?” He sounded amused.

“Yes,” she snapped. It was no doubt stupid to threaten to kill a ruthless millionaire while trapped on his jet, but she was so angry and humiliated—and so overwhelmed still by the force of his kiss, the kiss he’d called
clumsy
—that she was beyond good sense.

His lips twisted into an amused half smile as he considered her. “All right.”

“All…all right?”

“I won’t kiss you again.”

She frowned, wondering if it was a trick. “You won’t?”

“I give you my word,” he said carelessly. “I won’t kiss you again. Not unless you beg me.”

“Perfect,” she said, wrapping her arms around her shivering body. “Because I will never, ever ask you to kiss me.”

Turning away, he sat down and reached for the tumbler, finishing the Scotch in one easy swallow. “Now that we have that settled…” He pressed the intercom. When a flight attendant entered, he told her abruptly, “Miss Linden is tired. Escort her to the bedroom.”

Rose whirled on him. “Your bedroom! I should have known it was a trick—”

“I will stay here,” he interrupted. He gave Rose one last glance with his inscrutable black eyes. “You have nothing to be afraid of now. Go rest. We will land in a few hours.”

Tucked in a tiny private bedroom at the back of the plane, Rose spent the remainder of the flight sitting in a hard chair beside the window, clutching her tattered wedding dress to her chest beneath a blanket, and staring out at the dark night.

Remembering the dark power of his embrace was like fire through her limbs. She still felt the hard heat of his mouth against hers, forcing her lips apart as he took her at his will.

The shock of pleasure had been beyond words. Beyond reason. And she hated him for it.

She stared out the tiny round window into the darkness. She tried to think of something else. Was her family terrified, waiting anxiously for news of her? Was
Lars weeping, combing the bottom of his moat for her drowned body?

Please, let him have called the police, she prayed. Closing her eyes, she hoped feverishly that when they landed in Greece, they’d be met by a whole squadron who would cart Xerxes Novros off to prison like he deserved! Curling up in the chair, she imagined progressively more painful punishments for her kidnapper, until she must have fallen asleep to the enjoyable dreams before she felt his hand shaking her awake.

Her eyes flew open. Disoriented, she sat up.

Xerxes stood before her by the bed. She saw the plane had landed. Outside, the night was still dark, she saw a small, desolate airstrip by the sea. No flashing lights. No policemen.

Disappointment flashed through her.

Narrowing her eyes, she looked away. “I’m not leaving this jet.”

Xerxes held out his hand. “You will be far more comfortable in the house.”

She folded her arms coolly. “I’ll stay here, thank you.”

“Don’t you wish to speak with your boyfriend on the phone?”

His use of the word
boyfriend
made her fury spark. “You mean my
husband.
”

He snorted. “You are a stubborn woman.”

She rubbed her eyes wearily. Just thinking about how worried her family must all be about her made her need that phone call more than anything on earth. She glared up at her captor.

“Do you give your word that you do not intend to harm me?”

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.”