Innocent in the beast’s bed!

When Belle Chamberlain offers to take her father’s place as his prisoner, Prince Adam Katsaros strikes a deal. Deeply scarred by the accident that claimed his wife, Adam isolated himself in his forbidding castle. But Belle’s innocent beauty could redeem his reputation as he reclaims his throne... He’ll release her father if Belle poses as his mistress!

Belle can neither deny nor resist her brooding captor! Adam’s burning gaze awakens a newfound desire, and every touch brands Belle as his. His ruthlessness is legendary, unless Belle can tame the beast inside...

“You really are kind of a beast,” Belle said, standing up.

Adam caught her wrist, stopped her from leaving. “And what bothers you most about that? The fact that you would like to reform me? Or is it the fact that you don’t want to reform me at all and that you rather like me this way?”

He caught up to her, pivoting so that he was in front of her. She took a step backward, then to the side, butting up against the wall. Then he caged her between his arms, staring down at her. Her blue eyes were glittering, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

“This is the only thing worth exploring. Not what could be, but what you have. The fire that burns between you and another person. For all you know in the days since you’ve been here the entire world has fallen away. And if we were all that was left… Would you not regret missing out on the chance to see how hot we could burn?”

Three innocents encounter forbidden temptation in this enticing new fairy-tale trilogy by New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates…

Once Upon a Seduction…

Belle, Briar and Charlotte have lived sheltered lives, far from temptation—but three billionaires are determined to claim them!

Belle has traded herself for her father’s freedom—but the dark-hearted Prince keeping her prisoner threatens to unleash an unknown sensuality…

Meanwhile Briar awakens to find herself abducted by Prince Felipe—who blackmails her into becoming his royal bride…

And Charlotte is reunited with the billionaire who once climbed a tower to steal her innocence—and Rafe is about to discover the secret consequences!

Find out if these young women can tame their powerful men—and have their happily-ever-after!

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

June 2017

The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

August 2017

Rafe and Charlotte’s story

October 2017

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Books by Maisey Yates

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Carides’s Forgotten Wife

Bound to the Warrior King

His Diamond of Convenience

To Defy a Sheikh

One Night to Risk It All

The Billionaire’s Legacy

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

Heirs Before Vows

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

One Night With Consequences

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption

Married for Amari’s Heir

Princes of Petras

A Christmas Vow of Seduction

The Queen’s New Year Secret

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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To my dad. Remember when you took me to see Beauty and the Beast when I was seven? I think all of this is your fault. And I love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Once Upon a Seduction...

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Once upon a time...

BELLE LOOKED UP at the imposing castle and tightened her coat more firmly around her petite frame. It was surprisingly chilly tonight on the small island country nestled in the Aegean Sea between Greece and Turkey.

Of course, when she had first heard of Olympios she had been put in mind of the Mediterranean. Bright white homes and searing blue skies and seas. And perhaps, in the daytime, that was what it was. But here at night, with the velvet darkness settled low around her and that damp air blowing in from the ocean, it felt like something completely unexpected.

The fortress in front of her, on the other hand, was almost far too expected. It was medieval, and nothing but the lights flickering in the window gave any indication that it might be part of the modern era. Of course, she could expect nothing less from a man who had gone to such great lengths to seek revenge on a photographer.

A man who had captured her father in the act of taking pictures and imprisoned him to get revenge for something as innocuous as photographs that were set to be published without his permission.

Belle supposed that she should be afraid. After all, Prince Adam Katsaros had proven to be unreasonable. He had proven to be inhumane. But she was bolstered by the same rage that had infused her veins from the moment she had first heard of her father’s fate, even now.

It seemed that she was insulated from fear, which was strange considering she’d spent a lot of her life feeling afraid of almost everything. Of losing her father and the haven she’d found with him after her mother had abandoned her when she was four years old. Of the potential inside herself to become a tempestuous, selfish creature driven by passions of the flesh, as her mother had been and probably still was.

All that fear was gone now. Had been from the moment she had first boarded her plane in LA, all the way through her layover in Greece, and through the flight that carried her here to Olympios.

She could only hope that her bravado lasted.

Tony was going to be so mad when he found out she’d done this. Her boyfriend of nearly eight months had always wanted to be more involved in her life. But she resisted. Just like she’d been resisting serious physical intimacy. That was part of all her fear stuff.

She’d never had a boyfriend before, and she was accustomed to her space and her independence. Surrendering any of it just didn’t sit well with her.

Which was an ironic thought, considering what she was prepared to do here today.

She was surprised to find that the palace was more or less unguarded. There was no one about as she walked up the steps that led to a rough-hewn double door. She was tempted—not for the first time since her arrival on the island—to check and see if her phone calendar had been set back into the last century. Or, perhaps, a few centuries ago.

She lifted her hand, unsure as to whether or not one knocked on doors like this. In the end, she decided to grasp hold of the iron ring and pull it open. It creaked and groaned with the effort, as though no one had dared enter the large, imposing building in quite some time. However, she knew that they had. Because only a few days ago her father had been brought here. And—if rumor was to be believed—he was being imprisoned on the property.

She took a cautious step inside, surprised by the warmth that greeted her. It was dark, except for some wall sconces that were lit across the room. The great stone antechamber possessed nothing like the sort of comforts she would have expected from a palace. Not that she was in the habit of being admitted into palaces.

No, the little seaside home she and her father lived in in Southern California was as far from a palace as it was possible to get. It wasn’t even Rodeo Drive.

But this wasn’t exactly what she had expected from royalty. In spite of her lack of experience, she did have expectations. She might never have been admitted into the lavish homes and parties that celebrities threw in Beverly Hills, but her father’s business was photographing those events. So she had a visual familiarity with them, even if it wasn’t based in experience.

“Hello?” she called out into the dim chamber, vaguely aware that that might not have been the best idea the moment the word left her mouth and ricocheted off the stone walls. But, that adrenaline that had wrapped itself around her like an impenetrable suit of armor remained. She had a mission, and she was not going to be frightened out of carrying it out.

Once the prince understood, he would be more than happy to return her father to her custody. She was certain. Once he understood about her father’s health.

“Hello?” she called again. Still nothing.

She heard a soft sound, footsteps on the flagstone floor, and she turned toward a corridor that was at the far left of the room, just in time to see a tall, slender man walking toward her. “Are you lost, kyria?”

His tone was soft and kind, faintly accented and nothing like the harsh, brutal surroundings that she found herself in. Nothing at all like she had imagined finding here in this medieval keep.

“No,” she said, “I’m not lost. My name is Belle Chamberlain and I looking for my father. Mark Chamberlain. He’s being held here by the Prince...and I... I don’t think he understands.”

The servant—at least, that’s what she assumed he was—took a step closer to her, his expression becoming clearer as he moved nearer. He looked...concerned. “Yes. I know about that. It is, perhaps, best if you go, Kyria Chamberlain.”

“No. You don’t understand. My father is ill, and he was supposed to start treatment back home in the States. He can’t be here. He can’t be...imprisoned, just because he took some photographs that the Prince doesn’t like.”

“There is a lot here that protects the Prince’s privacy,” the man said, as though she hadn’t spoken. As though he were simply reciting from a well-memorized book. “And whatever the Prince says is...well, it is law.”

“I’m not leaving without my father. I’m not leaving until I speak to the Prince. Also, your security is shockingly lax.” She looked around. “Nobody stopped me from entering. I imagine it was far too easy for my father to gain access to him. If he wants to keep his life private, then he should work harder at it.” The celebrities her father photographed went to great lengths to avoid his telephoto lens. She was not impressed with the setup the Prince had here.

Perhaps it was a little bit callous of her to look at things that way. But, she had been raised the daughter of a paparazzo, and that was just the way things were. Celebrities capitalized on their images, and relied on the fact that they were public commodities. Her father was simply a part of that economy.

“Believe me,” the man said. “You don’t want to speak to the Prince.”

She drew up to her full height, which, admittedly at five-three was not terribly impressive. “Believe me,” she countered. “I most certainly do want to speak to the Prince. I want to tell him that his tyrannical tactics, seizing an American citizen, all in the name of his precious vanity, are not the least bit impressive to me. In fact, if he has issues with his presumably weak chin, subtly rounded jawline and hollow chest, perhaps he could take some of the money he has saved by not renovating this palace and invest in a good plastic surgeon, rather than imprisoning a man for taking a few photographs.”

“Weak chin?” Another voice sounded in the darkness. Much different from the voice of the servant. It was deep; it resonated there in the stone room, resonated inside Belle. And then, for the first time, she knew fear. An intense, trembling kind that skated down her spine and reverberated in her stomach. “That is a new accusation, I have to say. However, suggestions that I go visit a plastic surgeon are not. I find that I have lost patience with going under the knife, though.”

“Prince Adam,” the servant said, his tone clearly intended to placate.

“You may leave us, Fos.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“Don’t bow and scrape,” the Prince said, his tone hard as the stone walls all around them. “It is embarrassing. For you.”

“Yes,” the man said, “of course.”

And then, the one person who she felt might be her ally shuffled back off into the darkness. And she was left with a disembodied voice that was still shrouded in the inky blackness.

“So,” he said, “you have come to see about your father.”

“Yes,” she said, her tone unsteady. She took a deep breath, tried to get a grip on herself. She was not easily intimidated. She never had been. She had spent her childhood going to private schools that she was far too poor to have gained admittance to, if not for a trust fund previously established by her long-deceased grandfather.

Everyone there knew she was there on charity, and she had been forced to grow a spine early. Everyone was always teasing her. For being poor. For always having her head in the clouds—well, she had her nose firmly planted in a book. But, those stories, those fictional worlds, were her armor. They allowed her to insulate herself. Allowed her to ignore the taunting happening around her.

She had survived a childhood surrounded by the mocking glances and cruel words of the children of Hollywood royalty. Surely she could face down the Prince of a country that was the size of a postage stamp.

She heard a heavy footfall, an indication that he had moved deeper into the room, but she still couldn’t see him. “I arrested your father,” he said.

“I know that,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone steady. “And I think it was a mistake.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. It lay flat in the room, making it feel as though the temperature had dropped. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Coming to my country, my home, and insulting me.”

“I’m not sure that I’m either. I’m just a girl who’s concerned about her father. Surely you can understand that.”

“Perhaps,” he returned. “Though, I find it difficult to remember. I have not worried about my father in quite some time. The cemetery keeps him in good comfort.”

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. If she was supposed to say that she was sorry that his father was dead. In the end, she imagined that he probably didn’t want her sympathy.

“That’s what I’m afraid will happen to my father,” she said. “He’s sick. He needs treatment. That was why he got the pictures of you in the first place. He needed money to cover the cost of the treatment that the insurance wouldn’t. This is his job. He’s a photographer. He’s—”

“I have absolutely no interest in paparazzi scum. That kind of thing is forbidden in my country.”

“No freedom of the press, then,” she said, crossing her arms and planting her feet more firmly against the stone floor.

“No freedom to hunt people down as though they are animals simply because you wish to collect photographs.”

She huffed. “I doubt you were hunted down. I was able to gain admittance to the palace easily enough. My father is an experienced photographer, and I bet it was even easier for him.”

“He was also caught. Unfortunately, he had also already sent the photographs off to his boss in the United States. And, as his boss is unwilling to negotiate with me—”

“I know. The photographs are planned to go out in an exclusive later this week. I spoke to the Daily Star.”

“But they are so invested in the fact my interim leader’s tenure has now come up, they want the monopoly on these photographs for when I make my decision about my rule.”

“If I had been able to negotiate with them,” Belle continued, “I wouldn’t have come myself. But, I imagined that they didn’t explain to you about my father’s illness.”

“Am I supposed to care? He does not care about my afflictions.”

Rage poured through her. “Are your afflictions going to kill you? Because his will. If he doesn’t get back to the US and get himself into treatment, he is going to die. And I won’t let that happen. I can’t. You want him sitting here wasting away in a jail cell? For what? Your pride? He can be of no use to you.”

She heard him as he began to pace, his footsteps echoing off the walls. She could just make out a dark shape, movement. He was large, but that was all she could gather.

“Perhaps you have a point. Perhaps he is of no use to me. Beyond the fact that I feel the need to make him an example.”

“An example to who?”

“Anyone who might dare to do similar. Is it not enough, what was done to my family already? The press feel the need to come back and add insult to injury near the third anniversary of the accident? I will not allow it.”

“So, you’ll let a dying man rot away in your palace then. Haven’t you ever heard that two wrongs don’t make a right?”

“You mistake me,” he said, his tone suddenly fierce. “I am not trying to make anything right. What has been done to me can never be made right. I want a pound of flesh.”

She heard his footsteps, and, she realized, he had turned away from her. That he was beginning to walk away. “No!”

“I am finished with you,” he said. “My servant will show you out.”

“Take me.” The words left her trembling lips before she had a chance to think them through. “Instead of my father. Let me take his place.”

“Why would you want to do that?” She heard his footsteps drawing nearer to her again. She blinked hard, cursing her inability to see through the thick darkness.

“Want is a strong word. But, I’m not currently in need of medical treatment. If I stay here in your palace for however long the sentence might be... I’ll be fine.” There was the matter of her scholarship, of the fact that she was supposed to be getting her master’s in literature. But, for her father’s life, she would easily sacrifice a piece of paper.

“And what good will that do?”

“Just tell everybody that I’m the one who took the pictures. That I am the one who caused all this trouble. Use me as your example.” He said nothing. It was so still and silent in the room that she thought he might have left. “Please.”

“If we do this, I am not simply letting you off with such a bland public story. No.”

“I thought you wanted to make an example of him.”

“I did,” he said, his tone hard. “However... I think there are more creative uses for you.”

A shiver ran through her. Fear. “I don’t think you want me for...for that.”

“You mistake me. If I wanted a whore, I could have one summoned easily enough. You...you’re beautiful. Uncommonly so. And I find myself in an interesting position.”

“What?”

“Your father didn’t decide to get my photograph on a whim. In the last three years, an interim ruler has been governing in my stead. But that...that period has ended. His term has ended. And I have a choice to make. Whether or not I abdicate for good, or take control of what is mine.”

The air rushed from her lungs, a strange metallic taste on her tongue. “And...and you’ve decided?”

“I will not hide away forever,” he said. “I will reclaim my throne. And in that I will make my example. I and my country will not remain broken. And I will not be kept under siege by the press.”

“Well I... I don’t know anything about ruling a country. I can’t help you with that.”

“Silly girl. I don’t need your brain. I need what I myself no longer possess. I need your beauty.”

She could scarcely understand the words he was saying.

“So, you have a deal,” he said.

He’d given her no time to react to his previous statement. The swift proclamation stunned her. She nearly stumbled, nearly fell down to her knees.

“I... I do?” She still wasn’t sure what she’d agreed to. Helping him somehow with this reclamation of his kingdom. But she had no clue what that actually meant.

“Of course. I will have Fos go and tell your father that he’s free to go.”

“I...” She didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t feel anything like triumph. Instead, she was terrified, a bitter cold spreading through her midsection. She was a prisoner now. She had agreed to take her father’s place in this madman’s castle. “Can I...can I see him before he goes?”

“No,” he said, “that would only cause unnecessary tears. And I find myself low on patience this evening.”

“I don’t...what do you want me to do?”

“You have heard it said, I imagine, that behind every successful man is a woman? You will be that woman. Something to help soften my...image.”

He turned away again, his footsteps indicating that he was walking away, and panic gripped her. “Wait!”

He stopped. “A servant will come and show you to your room.”

She imagined by “room” he meant “dungeon.” Another shiver wound through her, fear spiking her blood, making her feel like she had been drugged. “At least let me see you.” She refused to think of him as a monster looming around in the darkness. That would only give him more power. He was just a man. As she had been ranting earlier, he was probably a man with a weak chin.

A man who was afraid to show himself because he was cowardly. Because he was the kind of tyrant who wouldn’t allow anyone to say anything about him that wasn’t expressly approved by him. She had nothing to fear from this man. And when she saw his face, she would know that for sure.

“If you insist.” Footsteps moved toward her, and his shape became clearer as he drew closer. Then one foot moved into the pool of light at the center of the room. Followed by the rest of him.

She had been right in her assessment of him as large. He was almost monstrous in stature, broad and impossibly tall. But if his height weren’t enough to make her shiver in fear, his face would have accomplished it.

She had been wrong. He did not have a weak chin. Neither did he have a rounded jaw. No, there was something utterly perfect about his bone structure, which made the damage done to his features seem like a blasphemy shouted in a church.

His skin was golden brown, and it was ruined. Deep grooves taken from his face, a deep slash cutting through one eye. Deep enough that she wondered if he had vision on the side. He might have smiled, but it was difficult to say. The scar tissue at his mouth, so heavy on the one side, kept his lips from tipping up fully.

In that moment, she was certain that she had not been taken captive by a man. No, she had been taken captive by a beast.

CHAPTER TWO

PRINCE ADAM KATSAROS was no longer a handsome man. The accident that had stolen his wife from him had also stolen his face. But, he found it of little concern. He was not a good man anymore, either. And that made it seem slightly more poetic, his outsides matching what remained within.

Though, taking a woman captive was a bit much, even for him. Still, he was not inclined to change his mind now. When she had put the offer on the table, he had accepted it gladly. Mostly because he knew that he could use her. That he would be able to use her much more sufficiently than her father.

If what she said was true, if the old man was in fact dying, he had no interest in keeping him here to do just that. Yes, he wanted to make him an example. Yes, he wanted to reinforce his power, his hard line that he drew against all forms of entertainment media and the low, crawling worms who harassed and tormented their subjects simply for being famous, for being royal.

But, he had no interest in causing anyone’s death. Additionally, he had a feeling that this woman could be infinitely more useful. His seclusion was coming to an end, and while he would happily stay in the darkness forever, it could not be so.

The agreement he had signed with the viceroy had very definitive terms. And if Adam didn’t step in, an election would take place in the fall. So would go his bloodline, which had ruled Olympios for hundreds of years.

And, lost in his grief and pain though he’d been, he was not so lost that he would abandon all that his family line had built over the centuries.

But he needed another headline. One that extended beyond his scars, and a beautiful woman coming into public view by his side would add another dimension, another story, to the mix.

It was exactly what he needed, though he had not known it.

He would simply need the proper venue in which to use her.

He curled his hand into a fist and looked down at his marred skin. Sometimes, he was tempted to ask himself if he was overreacting. But then he was reminded. It was easy to be reminded. The reminders were all over his body.

At that moment, his phone rang, and he cursed. Because it was his friend—if that was the appropriate word—Prince Felipe Carrión de la Viña Cortez.

He punched the answer button on the phone and lifted it to his ear. “What do you want, Felipe?”

“And hello to you too,” came his friend’s lazy response. “I have Rafe on the line, as well, just so you know.”

“A conference call?” Adam asked. “What sort of trouble are you in?”

His hot-blooded friend had a reputation for causing international incidents, and it wouldn’t surprise Adam if he was involved in yet another scandal.

Truly, he, Felipe and Rafe could not be more different. Were it not for their friendships formed at a particularly strict boarding school, he doubted they would have two words to say to each other now.

But, Felipe and Rafe had kept him from receding completely into darkness over the past few years. And for that, he owed them. Or, at least, for that he didn’t growl at them every time one of them made contact.

“No trouble,” Felipe said. “However, I am planning a party. You see, it is the fiftieth anniversary of my father’s rule. And, likely the last he will see. Of course, I should like to invite you both.”

For the first time since getting on the line, Rafe spoke. “And are you allowing service animals at your event?”

Felipe laughed. “Perhaps, Rafe, it is time you found yourself a lovely partner to help lead you around.”

“As appealing as that is, I have yet to find a woman keen on playing the part of guide dog.”

Five years earlier Rafe had been blinded in an accident, and though Adam didn’t know the details, he suspected that a woman had been involved somehow. But, Rafe wasn’t the type to share the details of his life. Unlike Felipe and himself, Rafe was not royalty. He had not been born with money. Instead, he had become the protégé of an Italian businessman at a very young age.

That man had paid for Rafe’s schooling, and had gotten him a position at his company. Until Rafe’s accident. But, it was that accident that had propelled Rafe to the next level of his success. Now he was unquestionably one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Europe—royal blood or not.

But, whatever had happened, his friend had been completely changed by it. Adam understood.

Growing up, he and Felipe had been hellions. Utterly unconcerned with the state of their education, where Rafe had taken everything seriously. He had been there on borrowed money, and he had been incredibly conscious of that.

Adam and Felipe had spent most of their time pursuing women; Rafe had studied.

Now here they were. All a bit battle worn, except perhaps Felipe. Though, Adam always wondered about his seemingly carefree friend. In his experience, few people were actually carefree, and those that seemed the most dedicated to such facades often had the most structural damage beneath the surface.

“Now,” Felipe said, “I’m sure that isn’t true. Once a woman gets a look at the size of your...bank account, certainly she’s more than willing to fulfill whatever duties you might require.”

“Your confidence in me is astounding,” Rafe said.

“Well,” he continued, “you certainly possess more charm than our friend Adam.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “Regretfully, I doubt I will be able to attend your ball.”

“That,” Felipe said, “is expected. But unacceptable. The fact of the matter is I’m going to be ascending the throne of my country soon. My father might have walled us off, made us insular, but I don’t intend to keep it that way. I want to align myself with you, Adam, with your country, and with you, Rafe, and the industry that you could bring to Santa Milagro.

“I know you have been in exile for the past few years, Adam, but with your viceroy’s tenure coming to an end, and the recent sale of those photographs of yours to the tabloids, I think it’s time you took matters into your own hands. Your visage—such as it is—is going to filter out into the public soon enough. You might as well make an appearance along with it, Adam. Prove that you are not a coward.”

“I’m not,” he said, quickly losing patience with Felipe. “However, exposing myself in the public arena holds no appeal.”

“Certainly understandable. I’m sure if Rafe could hide away, he would do so, as well.”

Rafe laughed, but the sound held no humor. “I’m not disfigured. Only blind.”

“Mostly blind,” Felipe countered. “And anyway, what better way to take back the control. I know you despise the paparazzi for what they did to you. For what they did to your family. Are you going to let them have control of the story? Publish photographs of the Beast of Olympios and whatever headlines they wish to accompany it? No, come now, Adam. The man I knew in school would not allow such a thing.”

“And the man you used to know had a soul. Not to mention a face.”

“If not for yourself, do it for Ianthe.”

Had his friend been standing in front of him, Adam would have hit him for bringing his wife’s name into this. But, at the same time, he couldn’t deny he had a point. A point he had come to for himself already, but Felipe didn’t know that.

“Take your control back,” Felipe said. “Make this unveiling of your own making. Make Olympios yours again.”

This was it, he realized. His moment. The power play.

The precise way and place to use his beautiful captive.

“When is this party?”

“In just over a month,” Felipe said. “We can only hope my father holds on until then.”

Adam could tell that Felipe didn’t particularly hope any such thing. He knew that the two men had a complicated relationship, though he didn’t know the details. The three of them talked details as little as possible.

“I’ll be there,” Rafe said. “I have no reason not to go.”

“And you’ll bring a date?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I will,” Adam said, his voice soft.

“You?” Felipe asked, not bothering to disguise the surprise in his voice at all.

“Yes. I have a recent acquisition that I look very much forward to showing off.”

“Adam,” Felipe said, “what have you done?”

“Just the kind of thing that suits a beast.”

* * *

Belle was surprised when she was shown not to a dungeon but to an elegantly appointed bedroom with a four-poster bed covered by brocade curtains and festooned with pillows.

“I thought I was a prisoner?” She turned to ask the servant.

She’d been made to surrender her phone, but otherwise, everyone was being...nice to her. Well, everyone except the Prince himself. She doubted nice was a thing he did.

“There are enough rooms in the palace to keep even a prisoner comfortable,” the man said drily.

“You don’t approve of him,” she said. “Do you?”

He lifted a shoulder. “He does not require my approval. Neither does he take any heed of my disapproval.”

“Is he...is he crazy?” The disfigured man who had sought such destructive revenge on her father, and who had accepted her in trade could hardly be sane. Still, she felt like she needed to figure out exactly what she was dealing with.

He seemed to have a plan. A way he wanted to...use her to come back into the spotlight. She could only hope that plan meant there was a finite end to her sentence.

“He is not unaffected by the accident that caused those scars,” the man said carefully. “That is about all I can tell you.”

“Okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering, because suddenly she felt cold. She turned to face the window, the small, narrow notch giving her a slight view of city lights reflecting on the sea. “Has my father gone already?” She turned again, to find her companion gone.

For some reason, the withdrawal of the servant made her feel isolated. Utterly alone. A chill swept over her, bone deep and intense. She had agreed to stay here, with a potential madman, for an unknown amount of time. There was no one here to protect her. Her father was likely long gone, and really, there was nothing he could do for her. He had to go and seek out his treatment; he couldn’t stay behind.

She wondered if the Prince had even told him that she had traded places with him.

That thought made her stomach tighten. The thought that it was entirely possible no one would know she was here. She hadn’t told Tony where she was going, because she’d known he would try to stop her.

No, no one would have any idea she was locked up in a medieval castle. What if nobody ever looked for her?

No. She wouldn’t think of it like that. The way he had talked...he’d made it sound like he very much intended to be seen in public with her. Which meant her being here wouldn’t be a secret. But...

What would her father think? What would he do?

What would Tony do if he knew she was being held at some strange man’s castle? She tried to imagine Tony taking on Adam. Her boyfriend’s more...refined frame would be no match for Adam’s monstrous form.

Adam was...

She thought back to that moment when he’d stepped into the light. That hard, scarred face. His incredibly muscular body. She shivered.

Thinking of him made her heart pound, made her skin tingle. It was a strange sort of fear. One that coursed through her veins like fire.

One that felt almost not like fear at all.

She heard heavy footfalls, and realized she had left the door open, had left herself exposed. She moved quickly toward the entrance, intent on closing it tightly, on giving herself some security. But, she didn’t move quick enough.

There he was.

He was...she wasn’t sure she had ever seen a man so large. Six foot six, at least, broad and muscular. His face was even more shocking in the bright light of her bedchamber.

His dark eyes were watchful, and yet again, a window into how beautiful he might have been before he had been altered like this.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked.

“Isn’t that your intention?”

“Not specifically.”

He didn’t elaborate, though. Didn’t give her any idea of what he might be doing specifically. “So, do I go before a judge and jury? Or are you basically it?”

“This is my land. And I am the law of it.”

“In other words, you can do whatever you want.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. In other words.”

She drew herself up to her full height, ignoring the shiver that wound through her. “What exactly do you intend to do with me?” It took a lot of courage to ask that question, especially considering she didn’t know if she wanted the answer.

“I intend to make you pay,” he said, the promise on those dark words licking down her spine. “But first, I should like you to join me for dinner.”

“No,” she said, the denial moving quickly from her lips, before she had a chance to think better of it. “I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my jailer. Because I find you uncivilized.”

“And hideous,” he said, flashing her a slight smile, a brief glimpse of straight, white teeth, “I imagine.”

There was no good way to answer that. He was...hideous wasn’t the right word. Damaged. Terrifying. Compelling. But certainly not hideous.

“Show me anybody who wants to have dinner with the person keeping them captive,” she said, rather than responding to his previous statement.

“That’s the thing about being a captive,” he said, his tone dry. “Choice is typically quite limited.”

“What are you going to do if I refuse to go with you?” She planted her hands on her hips and took a step forward. She had to do this. She had to test him. Maybe he was a madman. Maybe he was going to go full Henry VIII on her. Off with her head, and all of that. Maybe he would do something even worse. But, until she tested the boundary, she wouldn’t know what manner of man she was dealing with.

“I will pick you up, put you over my shoulder and carry you down to dinner whether you want to go or not.”

“I don’t want to.”

Without missing a beat, he closed the distance between them, curved his arms around her waist and pulled her up off the ground, laying her over his shoulder. She was stunned. By his strength. By the ease at which he held her. By the heat of his body.

He was just...so very hot. And it burned her all over, even in places where they didn’t touch. He moved, and she wobbled, grabbing hold of his shoulder to keep from falling. Then he turned and carried her from the room.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WAS LIKE fire in his arms. That was all he could think as he strode out of her chamber, her lithe body wiggling over his shoulder as he carried her down the hall.

He braced one hand on her lower back, gripping her calf with the other. It had been three years since he’d had his hands on a woman. And suddenly, he was conscious of every one of those years. He had been far too lost in the bleakness of it all to think of it in those terms until this moment.

He had not thought of being with a woman. Hadn’t thought of touching one. He had only been conscious of his bed being empty as far as it being empty of his wife. Not being empty in a way that meant it might need to be filled by someone else.

But now she was hot beneath his fingertips, smooth, and very much alive. So different from the last time he had touched a woman and found her cold, icy and lifeless.

He gritted his teeth, clipping his jaw down tight as he continued to cart his protesting captive down the stairs and toward the dining room.

“How dare you?” she shrieked, pounding one fist against his back.

“How dare I feed you?” He laughed. “I truly am a monster.”

“You could have sent me a crust of bread up to my room,” she continued to protest.

“Yes, but alternatively you can sit and eat with me, and you can have lamb.”

“Maybe I don’t want to eat a baby animal!”

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“No,” she said, sounding small, and slightly defeated in her response. “But still.”

“If you have serious issues eating small, fuzzy things, you can always indulge in the vegetables and the couscous. Plus, there will be cake.”

“I could have eaten that in my room,” she said, wiggling, that movement of her body against his sending a jolt of sensation through him. He ignored it.

“No, agape, you could not have, because it is not on offer.”

He stepped into the dining room, and set her down neatly in the chair next to his own. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She truly was beautiful. Her dark hair was captured in a low ponytail, her blue eyes glittering in the dim light, distrustful, but nonetheless lovely. She had full lips, the kind he could vaguely remember enjoying back in the days when he had indulged in such pleasures.

Then, there was her body, which was pleasingly round in all the right places, as he had observed while carrying her from her room.

“What do you want from me?”

“I would like for you to eat. With the dramatics kept to a minimum.”

She frowned, her expression stormy. “You did not allow me to trade places with my father so that you could feed me.”

“No,” he said, “perhaps not. I allowed you to trade with your father because you asked me to allow it. And as I mentioned before, I thought, that just maybe you might be of more use to me than a dying man.”

She recoiled. So completely that it was nearly comical. “What sort of use?”

There was a time when a woman would have leaned in at such a suggestion, touched his hand, touched his arm, perhaps made things even more intimate by placing her hand on his thigh. But, those days had long since passed.

He let his eyes wander back to those beautiful rosy lips. And just for a moment, he imagined crushing his ruined mouth right up against them. Yes, she would most certainly take offense at that.

“Oh, anything I can think of. Propping up a wobbly desk, perhaps?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Be serious for a moment.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m always serious.” At least, he had been for the past few years. Until these past few moments.

But, other than his friends, who he communicated with primarily over the phone, he only ever talked to his stripped-down staff. To Fos, the man who had been his father’s right hand for as long as Adam could remember. And to Athena, his cook. Otherwise, the staff tended to rotate, and they kept out of his way.

Belle was one of the first new people he had spent any time with in longer than he could remember.

“Seriously deranged.” She sniffed.

A few moments later, Athena appeared, along with kitchen staff carrying trays. “Tonight,” she said, casting a swift glance over to Belle, “we have lamb with mint and yogurt, couscous and assorted vegetables. For dessert there is baklava.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Athena lingered.

Adam sighed heavily. “Have you something to say, Athena?”

“I don’t approve,” she said, her tone stiff.

“And I don’t care,” he returned. “Leave us.”

Athena cast him a sad glance, and then turned the same look onto Belle. Then she shook her head and walked out of the room.

“Neither of your servants approve of you,” Belle said, looking the food over critically.

“And my captive doesn’t seem to fear me,” he said. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I came all the way from California to face you down and get my father out of your dungeon. If I was going to freak out, I would have done it already.” She tilted her chin upward, her expression mutinous. And a little bit too committed to defiance.

“We shall see. Eat.”

He took his own command, digging into the food with relish. He picked up one of the lamb shanks, gnawing it close to the bone. He became aware a moment later of Belle’s watchful gaze on him.

“What?” he asked.

“I assumed that... I assumed that royalty would have some sort of exemplary table manners. But, unless your customs are different here...”

He set the meat down onto his plate. “Are you determined to insult me at every turn? I served you dinner. I installed you in a very nice room. All things considered, I find you ungrateful.”

“I’m sorry—am I not expressing adequate gratitude for my imprisonment?”

“You are a prisoner of your own design. You could have left your father here.”

“Right. I could have left my father here to die.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Plenty of people would have. A great many people possess more self-interest than that.”

“My father raised me,” she said, conviction in her tone. “He’s all I have. And it might be easy for you to dismiss him as nothing more than a paparazzo, but he’s everything to me. And you didn’t even let me say goodbye to him.”

“I’m hardly going to keep you captive for the rest of your life,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“He’s sick,” she insisted. “He might die while I’m away.”

Adam felt an uncomfortable stab of conscience. He was not in the market for his conscience to make any kind of resurgence. Not now. “I truly hope that isn’t the case. However, he was well enough to sneak into my palace and collect photographs of me only a few weeks ago. Then he sold those photos and would do nothing to reclaim them. Tell me,” he said, “since you are so well versed in matters of popular culture, do you know exactly how I got my scars?”

She looked down, shaking her head.

“All it took was a relentless photographer harassing my driver on a night with poor driving conditions,” he said, his tone hard. “And in the end, damage was done that could not be undone.”

He didn’t see the point in bringing up Ianthe. If she didn’t know, he wasn’t going to discuss it. Not something so intensely personal. Not pain that belonged to him, and him alone, so unquestionably.

“I...” She looked away from him, and she had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t. But, my father didn’t endanger you.”

“No,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “He only broke into my home and invaded my privacy.”

“He’s harmless,” she said. “I mean, I know that a lot of people don’t understand the paparazzi thing. And I guess it can be a little bit...intense.”

“They are nothing but leeches. Bottom-feeders who leech off the fame of those who have either talent or power.”

“Fine. But my father isn’t a leech. When my mother decided she didn’t want me he took care of me. He’s always taken care of me. And yes, he did it by taking pictures of celebrities. That’s what fed me, all of my life. But nobody else was going to feed me,” she said, her voice vibrating with conviction.

“There are plenty of other lines of work to be in.”

“Says the Prince who was born with his job. Other people have to work. And not only that, they have to work hard to get work in the first place.”

“Are you lecturing me on how hard life can be?” He sat back in his chair. “Excuse me while I get a pen and paper so that I can take notes.”

“I’m sorry about your accident. My father didn’t do that to you.”

“But he was intending to use my personal tragedy for his gain.” He laughed. “In fact, he has succeeded.”

“Yes,” she said, sputtering. “But it isn’t that simple. He isn’t doing it to hurt you. He needs help. He needed to be able to afford his treatments.”

“Your justifications are hardly going to impress me. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than the press. Particularly the kind of fake press your father is a part of. But, it is of no matter to me. There is nothing I can do to prevent the publication of those photographs. Believe me—I have tried. But, I have figured out a way to take control of the situation.”

“What’s that?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

“I have not appeared in public since my accident. That’s why those photographs are so valuable, you know. Because everybody’s curious. How badly am I disfigured?”

She blinked. “You haven’t been in public...at all.”

“No. I think I mentioned when we first met—”

“When you took me captive.”

“If you prefer. I think I mentioned that I have someone ruling in my stead. However, the time frame on our agreement is running out, and if I do not regain control of the country, a general election will result. And so it will be the end of the monarchy as we know it.” He looked at the little woman sitting across from him and twisting her hands in her lap. “I would have thought you would have done a bit of cursory research on me before you tore off to my kingdom and offered to become my prisoner.”

“There wasn’t time. Whatever you think about my father, I hope that you can understand that I love him.”

“Love doesn’t matter except to the people it is between,” he said, thinking of his wife. The press certainly hadn’t cared that he’d loved her. They were always tormenting her, always working to dig up a scandal. “It is precious to no one else,” he finished, the words bitter.

“Tell me. Tell me your plans. Since I clearly factor into them.”

“I intend to keep you here with me, and then I intend to present you to the world as my mistress.”

* * *

Belle felt as though she had been slapped. “Your...what?”

“My mistress. As I said, I have not been seen in the public eye since the accident. But, now those photographs are going to be published, and it is forcing me out of my seclusion. I suppose it had to happen eventually. I dislike greatly having my hand forced, but the timing coincides with an event that is politically expedient for me to attend.”

He began to eat again, just as he had done earlier. There was something feral in the way that he handled his food. In his posture. He wasn’t at all the way she imagined a prince might be. Though, when he talked about how long he had been away from the public eye, it all made a bit more sense. He had been here, she assumed. Nearly alone in this castle, answering to no one but himself. Clearly, performing for no one at all.

His manner was rough, his manners nonexistent.

Of course, she could expect little else from someone who had taken her prisoner over some photographs. Well, as a trade for a prisoner who was imprisoned for photographs.

And he had said he needed her for her beauty. So she supposed she shouldn’t be shocked that this was where it was leading.

But a mistress. Such an old-fashioned word, and certainly not one that had ever been applied to her.

She wasn’t sure anyone would believe it. She didn’t know how to act the part of a vixen. Or even someone mildly flirtatious.

She’d met Tony at school, and if not for him coming into the university library every day around the time she was studying, asking her what she was reading, the two of them would never have started dating. She’d been oblivious, and only his persistence had brought about the first date.

Oh. Tony. He would be...

“I can’t do that.”

“You don’t have a choice. You agreed to be my prisoner, and so, here you are.”

“But...but... I can’t have the whole world thinking I’m with you!”

He lifted his hand, drawing his fingertips across her cheekbone, leaving a trail of strange fire in his wake. “Yes,” he said, his tone dry. “I can see how that would be a grave humiliation for you.”

He’d misunderstood, but she saw no point in correcting him. The why didn’t matter. Not to him.

She looked down. “I don’t suppose you would have a hard time finding somebody else who wanted to go with you.”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m very wealthy, and very powerful. But, a great many men are. And very few of them have my ill humor or destroyed features.”

“So,” she said, “you just want me to be your date?” Spoken plainly like that, it scared her slightly less.

“Oh, it is a bit more than that. I shall present you to the world as my lover, and with that there will be certain expectations. You will be required to keep up the farce or... I will continue to pursue action against your father.”

She felt helpless. And she felt...well she felt like a prisoner. “I have a boyfriend.” As if bringing Tony into the mix would discourage him.

“Not anymore.”

Her heart twisted. “You can’t just do that. I mean, you can’t force me to break up with him.”

“You don’t need to do anything half so dramatic as that. But you will not be allowed to speak with him. In fact, I think I like this scenario even better. I hope he comes forward and complains to the media about the woman who jilted him for this.” He gestured to himself.

“Why do you want this?” she asked. “Just to hurt me? Because of my father?”

“No,” he said, hard and firm. “I need to return to the spotlight as I left.” He laughed then, dark and merciless. “Which is difficult enough. And I will be damned if I allowed myself to be an object of pity. Of scorn. When I walk into that ballroom, in front of the world, it will be as though I never left. Yes, I am scarred now, but I will have a woman on my arm, and there will be no doubt that as easily as I stepped into your bed, I will step back into the throne room.”

“And when...and when the party is over?”

He lifted a shoulder. “You will be free, of course. And we will concoct a story about our drifting apart. I could hardly settle down so quickly, after all. Someday, yes. But after a suitable succession of women such as yourself.”

The arrogance, the confidence inherent in that statement should have enraged her. Instead she felt...hot.

“I need my phone back,” she insisted, thinking again of Tony. Forcing her thoughts back to him.

“No.”

“But, I have agreed to your terms.”

“And yet, you are not a guest. You are my captive. I cannot have you making contact with the outside world that I don’t approve of. You are the daughter of the lowest form of life that I can think of on this planet, and I have no guarantee that you are not also a photographer, or that you wouldn’t also act as one if the opportunity presented itself. In fact, it would be rather a clever ploy, don’t you think?”

She supposed it would be, but she honestly hadn’t thought of it. “Well, I’m not. I’m getting my master’s in literature.”

“What do you do with a degree like that?”

“Teach mainly. But, my point is I don’t move in that world. I don’t condemn my father, but I’m not following in his footsteps either.”

He spread his arms wide. “And yet, here you are. You followed in his footsteps close enough.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, looking at her barely touched food.

“I still am.”

“I want to go to my room.”

He waved a hand. “You will go when I’m finished. I suggest you eat, because there will be nothing served to you after.”

“I’m done.”

“It is not in my best interest to have you show up at our big debut looking half-starved. I should like your curves to be able to fill out a ball gown.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I don’t care what you want my curves to do. They aren’t yours. I’ll put on a show for you, but you don’t get access to my body.”

The air between them suddenly seemed to freeze; then it heated again. He stood from his chair, moving over to where she was sitting. He leaned in and he reached out slowly, drawing his fingertip across her cheek. She was mesmerized, held captive by his face. By every groove and imperfection in his skin, by the twist at the corner of his mouth and that slash that ran over his right eye. With him this close, she could see that it didn’t impact his vision. No, he saw. She had a feeling he saw so deeply into her that he could see just how fast her blood was rushing. How hard her heart was pounding.

“I will have access to whatever I like,” he said, his tone soft. “And you would do well to remember that.”

“I already told you—”

“You have a boyfriend. Yes. But, I have taken you prisoner in my castle, Belle. Ask yourself, do I seem like the sort of man who is concerned about whether or not someone has a boyfriend?”

“Given that...” She swallowed hard, trying to fight the fluttering in her stomach. “Given the fact that you have taken two people prisoner in the space of forty-eight hours, I imagine you don’t care about things like boyfriends, no.”

“You are correct.” He settled back into his chair, and a wave of relief washed over her. But, she also felt a lingering chill from his withdrawal. “You see, it is an interesting thing, having everything taken from you. When you shrink your world down to a palace, to the grounds, it gives you a lot of time to reflect.”

“Yes,” she said, “clearly, you had your own Eat, Pray, Love moment and emerged extremely enlightened.”

“Not entirely. Instead, I had a lot of time to think about what matters. And what doesn’t.”

“What matters to a man like you?”

“Survival. That’s all that matters. That’s the beginning and end of it. There are no rewards given for the manner in which you live, Belle. It would do you well to remember that.”

“You have the audacity to comment on what my father does for a living while you say morality doesn’t matter?”

“Because it hindered my survival. And, as previously stated, that is the only thing that matters to me. When you have nothing else, the elemental need to breathe is all that keeps you going. Yes, survival is the beginning and end of everything. When everything else falls away, the only thing that remains is that indrawn breath, and the seconds that stretch between it and the next. Sometimes, it is simply all you have to live for.” He took another bite of his dinner. “The living. Not the manner in which you live, not anything you possess. We are all creatures driven by that need.”

She shook her head. “Not me. I like books. And I like the ocean. The sun on the sand, and how warm it feels against my skin.” She saw something flicker in his dark eyes, and for some reason she felt her cheeks heat. “Those things are deeper than survival. And they matter. Because they’re what make survival matter.”

He laughed, but the sound carried no humor. “You would be surprised. There was a point in my existence when I looked around, and there was nothing. Nothing but an empty palace, dark, void of life. When every part of my body hurt, when I could barely get out of bed. And I would ask myself why I was still breathing. The answer was not books or the sun on the sand.”

“What was the answer, then?” she asked, in spite of herself.

“Because I’m simply too stubborn to allow death to win. Sometimes, that’s all the reason you have. So it is the reason that suffices.” He stood then. “I am finished. Come. I will show you back to your room.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice uncompromising, “you do. Because, I need to establish a few...ground rules.”

She bristled. She wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do. That simply wasn’t the way her father had raised her. No, her father had seemed perpetually out of his element with a small child. But, he had loved her, and Belle had given him as little trouble as possible because she could see how hard he tried. Because from what she could remember of her life with her mother, she was much better off with her father.

He kept her on a very long leash. He had never imposed much in the way of strictures. She fixed her own dinner, chose her own clothes, decided when she would go out at night and when she would stay in.

Having this man suggest that she would be following anything like rules burrowed underneath her skin and prodded her.

Not that she’d ever done much with that freedom. But it was the principle.

Somehow, she managed to bite her lip and keep from saying something. But, the minute she did that fear crept back over her. A reminder that she didn’t know who he was, not really. And didn’t know what he was capable of.

It was so hard to take it all in; it kept hitting her in fits and starts, in little snatches. Probably because if it all landed on her at once, like a ton of extremely archaic bricks, she would lose her mind completely.

“If ever you are hungry, just let Athena know. She will feed you.”

“I can’t just...get my own food?”

“I never do,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “that is not particularly surprising.”

She followed him down the long corridor, back to the stairs. “There is an exit that way,” he said, gesturing to the left. “It will take you out to the gardens. You’re welcome to explore anyplace you want on the grounds. Also, the ballroom, the libraries, all of that is open to you. But my quarters are not.”

“Okay,” she said, feeling a strange sense of relief. Really, she did not want to go to his quarters. Just the thought made her stomach clench up tight.

“My chambers encompass the east quadrant of the palace.”

“An entire quadrant?”

He arched a brow, pausing midstride. “I take up a lot of space.” Then he turned away from her and continued walking. That simple statement was truer than he probably realized. He most definitely took up a lot of space. And all the air in whatever room he was in.

“Can I at least...?” She took a breath. “You won’t give me my phone. I need something. I need some way to get in touch with people.”

“That is impossible. Not at the moment. I have my own agenda, and my concern is that you have your own, as well. I cannot have them conflicting.”

He didn’t sound the least bit regretful. “So you just intend to keep me cut off from the world?”

“It isn’t so bad.”

It was dawning on her, creeping up over her like a chill, that she was committed to staying here with a man who had not been outside palace walls in several years. A man who clearly didn’t understand why anybody would have an issue being so isolated. It wasn’t even an issue of him lacking sympathy or humanity.

He had no understanding. For why she might want more. For why she might need more.

A person could shrivel up into a husk and die here, and the master of the manor would never even have had the slightest inclination she was in danger of doing so.

“I don’t...” It suddenly dawned on her when they approached her bedroom door that she had nothing with her. No clothes. “I don’t have anything to wear.” She had been wearing the same jeans and jacket since she had embarked on her journey yesterday.

“I can have something procured for you. You will get it tomorrow. Tonight, however, there is nothing I can do for you.”

“But... I... I have nothing to sleep in.”

He looked at her, his coal-black eyes burning through her skin, leaving her feeling hot, restless. “Then sleep in nothing. It is what I do.”

For some reason, those words forced an image of him with acres of golden skin exposed. She wondered where his scars extended to. If all of him was so rough and tragically torn, or if parts of him were still whole.

And once more that strange sensation overwhelmed her. Made her scalp prickle, made her heart beat faster.

She gasped and jerked away from him.

He regarded her closely for a moment, and she sensed a strange current arcing between them; for some reason she was incredibly conscious and aware of the amount of restraint and strength it was taking for him to hold himself there, still and steady. She had no idea just what he was restraining himself from doing, or why she was so confident in her assessment of him.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to either thing.

“I will leave you,” he said, his tone hard.

Then he turned away to go, and she found herself strangely wanting to stop him. To prolong the moment.

So she took another step away from him, holding her hands down at her sides and keeping herself resolutely still.

He walked away from the room, and back down the corridor. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. And then she sprang into action. She forced the door shut, and locked it, hoping that it would hold. Then thinking it was probably silly because if anybody had the key to the door, it was her captor.

Her heart began to thunder hard, and she placed her hand against her breast, trying to catch her breath. She was shaking, shaking and trying not to cry. But then she wondered why she was bothering.

She let out a gasping sob, one tear trailing down her cheek. She turned and threw herself on the bed. She was alone. Really alone. Her father didn’t know where she was, Tony didn’t know where she was.

She had no way to reach them. She had no way to get help if she needed it. She simply had to trust the man holding her here.

Her wounded, strangely beautiful captor, who seemed to bring ice with him whenever he entered a room.

She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her. And as her thoughts began to swirl around in a confusing circle, she kept picturing his dark eyes. Dark eyes, set in a ravaged face, that were windows to an even more ravaged soul.

Thoughts of him made her restless. Made it impossible for her to breathe.

I will present you to the world as my mistress.

Memories of those words, of that voice, set off a quiver low in her belly. And her final thought before drifting to sleep was that if this was fear...if it was anger, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before in her life.

With those words still resonating inside her, she was forced to recognize, as sleep claimed her utterly, that she felt neither fear nor anger toward him.

But she refused to name the things she did feel. Which were far more monstrous than he could ever be.

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