“I ruined your wedding night.”

When she didn’t take the champagne flute he pressed it into her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. She could barely breathe as she looked up at him, feeling his large hand wrapped around her smaller one. He said in a low voice, “I am going to make it up to you tonight.”

“H-How?” she stammered.

He stepped back, his gaze still intensely upon her. She felt butterflies in her stomach and nervously drank the rest of the delicious raspberry-infused champagne. But the butterflies only increased. Xerxes silently refilled her champagne, with a sensual promise in his dark gaze.

The Virgin’s Choice

by

Jennie Lucas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIE LUCAS grew up dreaming about faraway lands. At fifteen, hungry for experience beyond the borders of her small Idaho city, she went to a Connecticut boarding school on scholarship. She took her first solo trip to Europe at sixteen, then put off college and travelled around the US, supporting herself with jobs as diverse as gas station cashier and newspaper advertising assistant.

At twenty-two she met the man who would be her husband. After their marriage, she graduated from Kent State with a degree in English. Seven years after she started writing, she got the magical call from London that turned her into a published author. Since then life has been hectic, with a new writing career and a sexy husband and two small children, but she’s having a wonderful (albeit sleepless) time. She loves immersing herself in dramatic, glamorous, passionate stories. Maybe she can’t physically travel to Morocco or Spain right now, but for a few hours a day, while her children are sleeping, she can be there in her books.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her website at www.jennielucas.com, or drop her a note at jennie@jennielucas.com

Recent titles by the same author:

SENSIBLE HOUSEKEEPER, SCANDALOUSLY PREGNANT

TAMED: THE BARBARIAN KING*

BOUGHT: THE GREEK’S BABY

*part of the Dark-Hearted Desert Men series

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To my wonderful agent, Jennifer Schober, with gratitude.

Chapter One

IT WAS a fairy tale come true.

Three months ago, Rose Linden had been struggling to pay her bills. Today, she no longer worked two jobs in San Francisco, scraping frozen rain off the window of the broken-down car she jump-started each night. As of an hour ago, she’d become a baroness, with the world at her manicured fingertips.

And Lars Växborg was her husband.

Rose glanced at her new husband across the enormous gilded ballroom of his castle in northern Sweden. The slender, blond baron looked sleek in his tuxedo, sipping champagne as he was deep in discussion with several young women.

She was his wife now. She should have been ecstatic. And yet, staring at Lars across the room, she suddenly found she couldn’t breathe.

“Very fancy wedding, Baroness,” her father teased, then frowned. “But why are you so skinny these days, peanut? You been sick or something?”

Her mother elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s her wedding day,” she hissed. “Rose looks beautiful!”

He looked her up and down accusingly. “She’s skin and bone!”

Her mother patted her own full cheeks. “I dieted before my wedding to you, Albert. But of course—” she sighed “—that was five children ago. For heaven’s sake, let Rose enjoy being thin, because it won’t last!”

But Rose didn’t laugh, as she normally would have while being teased by her large, loving family. Nor did she tell them that she hadn’t lost weight on purpose. She just never felt like she could relax around Lars, even though—or perhaps because—he constantly assured her she was perfect in every way.

She’d told herself it was wedding day jitters, but though she’d already spoken her vows she was still feeling queasier by the minute. Was it because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday? Or because the corset boning of the bodice of her wedding gown was laced too tightly, causing her breasts to spill over the top?

She should have felt like the perfect Cinderella bride, in full white skirts and with a diamond tiara sparkling above her long lace veil. But she still felt small and out-of-place in the castle. And her mother was a bloodhound where her children’s emotions were concerned. She could already see Vera starting to frown. In a minute, she’d ask questions, questions Rose couldn’t answer—not even to herself.

Trembling, Rose set down her crystal flute on the tray of a passing waiter. “I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“We’ll come with you.”

“No. Please, I just need a minute. Alone—”

Turning, she fled the ballroom. She ran through the empty hallways of the castle and out into the dark winter’s night. Once she was outside, she fell back heavily against the medieval door. It scraped against the stone before finally slamming shut with a sonorous bang that echoed into the white, ghostlike garden.

Rose closed her eyes, taking a deep breath that burned her lungs in the frozen February air.

She was married now.

She’d thought she would feel…different.

At twenty-nine, she’d long been an object of pity to her friends and siblings, all of whom were married except her youngest brother. Every time they’d said, “You’re too picky” or “Who are you waiting for, Rose—Prince Charming?” Rose had cried in private, in her lonely single apartment, but she’d still kept faith. She was determined not to settle. She would wait for true love, even if it took forever.

Then Lars had walked into the San Francisco diner where she worked the morning shift. He’d sat down at the counter and ordered coffee and the breakfast plate special.

San Francisco was a cosmopolitan, colorful city, far more populated than the tiny coastal village to the south where Rose had grown up; but even for San Francisco, a man like Lars was unusual. He was a wealthy, handsome aristocrat who’d gone to Oxford, who had his own ancestral castle in Sweden. From the moment they’d met, he’d pursued Rose with reckless abandon.

Men had pursued her before, and she’d never been interested. But Lars’s incredibly romantic, complimentary charm had swept her off her feet. A week ago, he’d proposed marriage. “Let’s elope today,” he’d begged. “I can’t wait to have you as my wife.” After she’d accepted, he’d only grudgingly agreed to wait a week, long enough for her family to be able to attend. When she’d asked for a small wedding in her hometown, he’d arranged instead for her entire family—her grandmother, parents and her five siblings and their families—to fly to northern Sweden.

They’d had a magical wedding. And tonight, they’d make love for the first time.

Was that why Rose felt this sinking feeling inside, like the cratering of her soul? She was nervous. That had to be the reason she felt so ill. She had nothing to be scared about, she told herself fiercely. Nothing.

Still, the enormity of what she’d promised—pledging her life to Lars forever—made her skin feel cold in a way that had nothing to do with the ice and frost. She’d just married the man of her dreams, so why was her body still shaking as if preparing to flee? What was wrong with her?

Pushing away from the medieval door of the castle, she crossed the bridge over the frozen moat and walked into the silent, decorative garden with its ghostly cover of snow. Her white tulle skirts trailed lightly behind her, scattering powdery flakes that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

The night was dark and clear. Looking up, she nearly gasped when she saw violent streaks of pale green light suddenly whip across the sky. Northern lights. She’d never seen anything so beautiful or so strange. Their magic caught at her soul. She closed her eyes.

“Please,” she prayed softly, “let me have a happy marriage.”

But when she opened her eyes, the northern lights were gone, leaving only a dark, empty sky behind.

“So,” a deep voice said behind her, “you are the bride.”

Rose whirled to face him, her skirts sweeping the snow.

A man, dark as shadow, stood in front of three black SUVs on the edge of the graveled courtyard. His black hair and long, black coat were illuminated in the moonlight, where he stood beside a pale, solitary rowan tree that was thick with frost and half-strangled in mistletoe.

Rose trembled as if she’d seen a ghost. She whispered, “Who are you?”

Without a word, he started walking toward her.

Something about his malevolent stare and the shadows of his face frightened her. Rose suddenly realized how far she’d wandered from the castle, and how alone she was. In the warm, glowing castle, she knew the ballroom was full of noise, with a chamber string orchestra and hundreds of laughing, tipsy guests. Would anyone even hear her if she screamed?

Oh, she was being silly. She was in Sweden, for heaven’s sake! There was no safer, friendlier place than this!

Ignoring the instincts that told her to turn and run, Rose folded her arms over her white, corseted bodice. Lifting her chin, she waited for his answer.

The stranger stopped directly in front of her, his body inches away from hers. He was so muscular and broad-shouldered he had to be almost twice her weight. He was so tall that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

His black eyes gleamed down at her. “Are you alone out here, little one?”

A chill crept across the skin of her arms, bare beneath the white lace sleeves. She shook her head. “There are hundreds of people inside the ballroom.”

His cruel, sensual lips curved upward.

“Ah, but you’re not in the ballroom. You’re alone. And do you not know,” he said softly, “how cold a winter night can be?”

Cold. A shiver went through her. No matter how high the thermostat was set in the aging castle or how many sweaters she’d worn, no matter how many times Lars had assured her that she was perfect—that she could be nothing but perfect—she’d never once felt warm in the sparkling, exquisite beauty of his northern palace surrounded by ice. But she wasn’t going to say that to a stranger. “I’m not afraid of a little snow.”

“Such bravery.” The stranger’s black eyes traced over her body, burning her wherever they touched. “And yet you know why I’ve come.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, bewildered.

“But you do not run away?”

She blinked, even as her feet inched backward of their own volition, and said, “Why would I run?”

His black eyes searched hers as if sifting through her soul. “You actually take responsibility for your crime?”

His face was too brutal, his body too muscular to be handsome. But it was hard to get a good look at his face. In the shadows of the moonlit night, he was like a vampire sucking up every bit of light despite the illumination from the snow. And his darkness was more than the black of his hair, his eyes and his long coat. There was something in his posture that frightened her. A danger. A threat.

And yet she forced herself to hold still. She glanced back at the castle to reassure herself. Her husband and family were near. She had no reason to be afraid. She was so overwrought she was imagining things!

“By ‘crime’ do you mean the wedding?” she replied lightly. “It was perhaps a bit overdone but that’s hardly a crime.”

But the man didn’t even smile. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t joke. You must have traveled a long distance for our wedding, only to arrive an hour too late. That would make anyone upset.”

“Upset?” he ground out.

“I’ll get you some champagne inside,” she urged. Her feet started inching back again toward the castle. “Lars will be so happy to see you.”

The man barked a sudden laugh. “Is that another joke?”

Rose stopped. “Aren’t you one of his friends?”

The man drew closer to her.

“No,” he said. “I am not a friend.”

His body towered over hers without touching her, leaving her in shadow. She felt his physical strength like a threat.

And suddenly, she knew that her instincts had been right all along.

She had to flee for safety—now.

“Excuse me,” she choked out, stumbling back. “My husband’s waiting for me. Hundreds of people—security guards, policemen—are waiting for our first dance as a married couple…”

The man’s hand flew out to grab her upper arm over her translucent lace sleeve, gripping her tight, preventing her escape.

“Married?” he repeated in cold fury.

Why was he looking as if he might kill her for saying something so innocent and so obvious? “Yes, it’s our—You’re hurting me!”

His hand had tightened, gripping painfully into her arm. His black eyes stared down at her with deep, fathomless rage as he slowly looked from her breasts, which were pushed up by the tight bodice, to the enormous diamond ring sparkling on her left hand.

Finally, his eyes met hers, and it was like a blast of fire as he said in a low voice, “You both deserve to burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

She gaped at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

With a brutal jerk, he pulled her so close to him that her wide tulle skirts whirled around his muscular legs.

“You know,” he said in a low, grim voice. “And you know why I’ve come.”

“I don’t!” she panted, struggling in his brutal grip. “Are you insane? Let me go!”

An icy breeze lifted her veil above her blond chignon, up into the air, swirling around them both in the dark frozen night. She felt the latent power and hostility emanating off the stranger’s strong body, and for a moment, she felt lost in a medieval nightmare of ice, fire and Vikings.

But this wasn’t a dream! He held her tight, crushing her fruitless struggles.

“You are a liar, just as I knew you’d be,” he hissed in her ear. She saw the ice crystals of their joined breath swirl like mist and smoke around them, before he pulled back to look down at her with hard eyes. “What I did not realize was that you would also be so beautiful.”

“You’ve…you’ve made some kind of mistake.” She licked her dry lips. His dark eyes fell to her mouth, tracing the movement of her tongue.

Her lips burned beneath his gaze, causing a scorching trail of fire to spread down her body, sizzling from her lips to her earlobes. To her breasts. To her core, coiling low in her belly.

“No mistake,” he said roughly, his grip tightening on her shoulders. “You’ve committed a crime. Now you will pay.”

“You’re drunk—or crazy!”

Kicking his shins, she wrenched away from his grasp. Desperately, she fled toward the bright, warm castle, with its music and free-flowing champagne. She ran for safety. Ran for her life. Toward her family and her new husband and the crowds of beautiful, laughing, celebrating Swedes.

But the stranger caught up with her. She felt his hands roughly grab her and she screamed.

With a savage growl, he seized her, lifting her up in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all. Her white, translucent veil flew behind them as he carried her across the snowy garden.

“What are you doing? Stop!” she cried, kicking and struggling in his arms. “Let me go! Help! Someone help me!”

But no one came. No one could hear her screams inside the castle, over the noise of the orchestra.

Holding her, the man grimly waded through the snow toward the three black SUVs parked in the dark courtyard. She heard the three engines start. She screamed and twisted against him, fighting with all her strength, but her abductor barely seemed to notice.

And why should he? What was Rose’s strength, compared to his?

He pushed her inside the back door of the last SUV, then slid in beside her, closing the door behind them.

“Go,” he said.

The driver stomped on the gas, scattering rocks and gravel as the back tires slid on a patch of ice. The other two cars roared ahead of them, as they sped into the dark forested mountains of the countryside.

The dark stranger released Rose’s wrist, glowering down at her.

Rubbing her wrist, she turned to look through the back window in time to see the castle disappear behind her. Her family, her new husband, everything that was rational and civilized and known—gone.

With a choked gasp, Rose looked at the madman beside her, the dark stranger who’d just stolen her away from everyone she loved. “You kidnapped me,” she whispered. “From my own wedding reception.”

The man stared back at her with dead eyes. His jaw clenched.

She moved away from him to the edge of her seat, her body pressing against the far door, her white tulle skirts spread all around her. “What do you want with me? Why have you taken me?”

The man’s lips curved into a sinister smile as he leaned against the seat. His dark eyes bored into her soul with malevolence and dislike.

Then he reached for her. For a single moment she thought he meant to strike her, so she flinched, closing her eyes. Instead, she felt the tiara and veil ripped from her hair.

Her eyes flew open and she saw his window rolling down as he gripped her diamond tiara and the white gauzy veil in one hand.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

He didn’t reply. He just flung the tiara and veil out onto the road. The window slid noiselessly back up.

Rose stared out the back window. For an instant, she saw the diamonds sparkle and ghostly white veil wave across the snow behind them like a flag of surrender in a sliver of moonlight.

Then the SUV turned a corner, and it was gone.

Rose turned back, shaking in new fury. “How dare you?”

“It was a fake,” the man replied coldly.

“It’s a priceless heirloom. It has belonged to my husband’s family for generations—”

“Fake,” he cut her off. He turned away, adding in a low voice, “As fake as your so-called marriage.”

“What?” she whispered.

“You heard me.”

“You’re mad.”

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer that, either. Then his jaw twitched. “You know your marriage is fake. Just as you know who I am.”

“I don’t!”

“My name is Xerxes Novros,” he bit out, watching her.

Xerxes Novros.

She’d heard Lars shouting out the name in a rage in a Swedish diatribe to his assistants and bodyguards. Now her husband’s apparent enemy had kidnapped her.

Xerxes Novros.

Rose suddenly couldn’t breathe. That name meant this wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t a dream. She’d been kidnapped by her husband’s enemy. And from what she’d seen, he was a remorseless, vicious villain with a heart of ice.

“What are you going to do with me?” she whispered.

Xerxes gave her a chilling smile. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

She didn’t believe him for an instant. She had to get out of here, before he tossed her out the window next! She grabbed at her door handle, but it was locked.

Grimly, he shackled her wrists with his hands, pushing her back against the seat, his body crushing hers. “You cannot escape.”

“Help!” she screamed, though she knew it was hopeless. “Somebody help me!”

“No help is coming for you, Rose Linden.” He looked down at her with hatred in his black eyes. “You…are mine.”

Chapter Two

HE HADN’T expected her to be so beautiful.

As the SUV flew down the road through the snowy night, Xerxes Novros stared down at the petite blonde beneath him, her slender wrists shackled in his hands. The instant she’d tried to escape, he’d instinctively covered her with his body, pressing her into the soft leather of the backseat.

Xerxes could hear the soft pleading pant of her breath, smell the scent of fresh linen and tea roses that clung to her skin. Her every gasp lifted her full breasts higher above the tightly corseted satin bodice, until he thought the fabric could not contain her for much longer.

His body tightened, and he forced himself to look away.

He wasn’t supposed to want Rose Linden. Despise her, yes. Use her? Certainly.

So how to explain this sudden rush of desire?

Xerxes generally had one requirement before he bedded a woman: he had to want her. That was it. He had no interest in learning about her character, her so-called soul. What would be the purpose of such an exercise? He’d be done with her by morning.

It wasn’t as if his mistresses were innocent virgins. They could take care of themselves. They had agendas of their own, usually lusting for his body, his money, his power or all three. Anyone could be bought, he knew. Everyone had a price.

But wanting this particular woman was a new low, even for him. Rose Linden was amoral and mercenary, devious and ruthless and cunning. He’d known that, but somehow, he hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful. Now, he could almost understand why Lars Växborg had risked so much to take her as his pretend wife.

Any man would want to possess a woman like this.

She looked up at him, still panting, her eyes flashing. Her honey-blond hair had tumbled loose from the elegantly smooth chignon when he’d ripped the tiara off her head. Long blond tendrils now fell against her heart-shaped face, against skin like cream, smooth and fine with bright roses in her cheeks. Her eyes were the vivid turquoise of the Aegean, edged with thick black lashes. Her lips were full and pink and parted—her face flushed with passion and fury.

She looked, Xerxes thought, like a woman who’d just made love in the heat of explosive fire.

He wanted her. And that made him angry.

She must be luring him deliberately, he thought, teasing him like a coquette. Turning her feminine charms on him in hopes of evading punishment, in hope of winning his heart to her side.

Too bad for her that he had no heart.

His men had been watching Trollshelm Castle for days, since Xerxes had first heard about this so-called wedding. Xerxes had planned to kidnap the baron, and make him reveal Laetitia’s location by force. But Lars Växborg was too cagey for that. He’d never come out of his castle alone.

Xerxes couldn’t wait any longer. After a year, he was no longer sure of Laetitia’s condition. She could be dying. In desperation, he had nearly stormed into the castle with all his men, guns blazing, even knowing it could only end in disaster.

Then he’d seen the man’s new bride leave the castle in the dark, moonlit garden. When Xerxes saw her illuminated by the eerie northern lights, he’d known it for the miracle it was. And he’d seized the opportunity.

Xerxes knew all about Rose Linden, the American waitress who squandered Laetitia’s fortune on jewels and furs and designer clothes. The little gold digger had just lied her way through the most sacred vows of a marriage ceremony in order to become a rich baroness in the eyes of the world. Rather than escape her poverty through hard work, she had lied for it.

That was all Xerxes needed to know. He felt no pity. He felt nothing for her except scorn and cold anger.

Except that was no longer true. He now also felt lust.

Holding her down in the backseat of his Rolls-Royce, as he gripped her wrists in his hands and heard the pant of her breath, he hated her. And he desired her.

“You won’t get away with this,” she gasped.

“No?” He had to force himself to stay focused only on her eyes and not on her breasts, which were rising and falling rapidly with every breath. He gritted his teeth, focusing his gaze only on her face by an act of pure will.

“My husband will—”

“You have no husband.”

“Oh, my God,” she whimpered, growing still with shock and horror. “What have you done?”

“You know what I mean,” he said grimly.

Her face grew white, her body absolutely motionless.

“Did you—did you hurt him?”

He’d been tempted to do just that, as recently as an hour ago; but killing Växborg, while personally satisfying, would have had negative repercussions. Xerxes could hardly take care of Laetitia from a jail cell. Especially since he could tell no one about their connection after he’d given his word.

“Take me back,” Rose Linden whispered. “And I—I promise I’ll never tell anyone what you did. I promise!”

“You promise?” he said scornfully. “We both know your promise is worthless.”

“How can you say that?” Her voice trembled, choked with tears. “You don’t even know me!”

Manufactured tears, he told himself, created by a cunning little actress. “I know enough,” he replied harshly. “And now you and your lover will both pay—”

But at that, she began to struggle wildly, kicking at him with her high-heeled shoes. Her wide skirts flew over the backseat in waves of white lace and tulle. The driver in front nearly spun off the road as her knee hit the back of the seat. She kicked the window so hard that Xerxes had to grab her ankle to keep her from breaking the glass.

“Stop!” he commanded, using his body to compel her to obey. But to his amazement, though she was so much smaller, even though she had no chance of winning, she continued to fight.

“You bastard! You coward! You criminal!” she panted. “My husband will find you. He’ll stop you. You’ll never get away with this!”

All of her struggling only increased his desire for her. As she writhed beneath him, and he saw the spark of furious challenge in her eyes, the intensity of his need hit him like a wave. But why did she fight him, when it had to be clear that she had no chance of winning—that she’d already lost?

“Be still!” he demanded.

She stopped struggling, staring at him with dark rage, glaring her hatred and defiance. But it sparked a response in him that was even worse than lust. It was the last thing he wanted to feel for her.

A grudging respect.

As the convoy slowed down, he abruptly released her. Ahead in the moonlight, his largest jet was waiting for them on a deserted landing strip. Amid the whirl of softly shimmering snowflakes lifted from the ground by the wind, the runway had been swept clear of snow and looked like a black river, as dark as the sky above.

When Rose saw the jet, her whole body sagged with sudden despair. The SUV stopped, and she turned to him. A single tear streamed slowly down her cheek.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please…whatever quarrel you have with Lars, don’t force me on that plane. Please, whoever you are—let me go back to the people I love!”

Love. As if this venal woman knew anything about love!

“Let me go back to my husband,” she continued tearfully.

Xerxes’s lip curled. “I told you. You have no husband.”

She gasped, looking terrified.

He stared back at her as the driver opened his door. She knew perfectly well what he meant. It was an act. It had to be!

“I’m begging you,” she whimpered, her blue eyes luminous with the light of unshed tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roughly, he grabbed her arm.

“And the reason you have no husband,” he bit out, “is because Lars Växborg already has a wife.”

Chapter Three

ROSE went numb with shock. As Xerxes pulled her from the SUV, leading her across the dark tarmac to the waiting plane, she did not resist.

“But he can’t have a wife,” she said numbly, looking up at him with bewildered confusion. “I’m Lars’s wife!”

“The wedding was fake,” he said coldly. “The vows were fake. The minister was fake. And most of all, Miss Linden—” he glanced down at her with glittering dark eyes as they reached the bottom of the steps “—you are fake.”

He pushed her up the stairs into the cabin of the plane, where they were greeted by two flight attendants, the captain and the copilot. Bodyguards poured in behind them before they disappeared into the back of the jet.

The captain gave Xerxes a respectful nod. “We are ready for takeoff at your order, sir.”

A brunette flight attendant took Xerxes’s coat, while the other one, a redhead, greeted him with a silver tray holding drinks. Rose heard the cabin door close behind her with a loud bang.

“Thank you.” Taking a flute of champagne from the tray, Xerxes sat down on a white leather seat in the front cabin of the jet. He turned carelessly back to Rose. “Champagne, Miss Linden? No?”

When Rose just stared at him in shock without replying, Xerxes gave a small, private smile and nodded at the captain. “You may proceed.”

The captain and copilot disappeared to the front of the cabin to complete their takeoff preparations, and the flight attendants left for the back of the plane. Alone with Rose in the front cabin, Xerxes stretched out his arm on the back of the white leather seat. As he took a sip of his champagne, he seemed relaxed. Contented.

Rose stared at the crystal flute in that large, rough hand. Just an hour ago, she herself had been sipping champagne in the gilded ballroom of her husband’s castle at her gorgeous wedding reception. Lars had looked up and smiled at her across the crowd.

Was it possible it had all been a lie?

A crack of pain went through her heart. No. It couldn’t be true. Couldn’t!

“You’re wrong about Lars,” Rose choked out. “He wouldn’t have done this awful thing you’re accusing him of—”

“Bigamy.”

She flinched. “Don’t use that horrible word!”

“You’re right,” he said coolly, finishing off his flute of champagne and setting it down. “It wasn’t bigamy, because his wedding to you was a sham from start to finish.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Did you ever sign any paperwork?”

Rose sucked in her breath as she realized for the first time that she’d never signed any papers. No marriage license. No forms. Nothing.

He watched her. “Växborg hasn’t visited Sweden for years. None of his friends here know about his first marriage. But the minister who conducted your ceremony was an out-of-work actor from Stockholm.”

“No,” she said automatically. But she remembered how the minister had been strangely young and handsome. She’d been so nervous, almost sick, as she stood in the ruined shell of the ancient stone church and waited to speak her vows. She’d shrugged off the minister’s soap-opera-star good looks, deciding all Swedish men must be as blond and handsome as Lars. But was it possible that what Xerxes Novros was telling her held some shred of truth…?

No! Rose shook her head fiercely. “Lars wouldn’t have pursued me if he were already married. He wouldn’t have even noticed me pouring his coffee in San Francisco!”

“He wouldn’t?”

“No! He wouldn’t! Marriage lasts forever. It is the friendship and passion that lasts your whole life. Loyalty and love are the foundation of everything!”

He stared at her sardonically. “And where did you hear that, princess?”

“I didn’t have to hear it from anyone,” she snapped. “My parents have been married for nearly forty years. My grandparents were married for sixty before my granddad died. All my brothers and sisters are married except for one. All married. Happily. Forever.”

Xerxes looked at her for a long time, then pressed the intercom. When the flight attendant came through the door, he turned to her, pushing the empty champagne flute back into her hands. His voice was almost surly as he said, “Scotch. Rocks.”

As she left, Xerxes turned back to Rose. “I can see marriage means a great deal to you.” He gave a hard look at the ostentatious diamond on her left hand. “So much that you didn’t mind speaking a few false vows in order to get your hands on that.”

He thought she cared about this huge diamond ring? She clasped her hands together tightly. Rose didn’t care about jewelry, only what it symbolized! “You think I would have let Lars even flirt with me if I’d thought he was married? Never!”

“Everything is for sale in this world. Everyone has a price. And clearly—” he looked with scorn from her ring to her designer wedding gown “—that was yours.”

“The lace was hand-stitched by nuns in France,” Lars had told her proudly when he’d presented it to her. He’d laughed at Rose’s desire to wear her mother’s simple 1960s-era wedding gown to a simple ceremony in her California hometown. “I will plan everything, petal. All you will need to do is be beautiful—and be ready for our honeymoon!”

Shaking the memory from her mind, Rose took a steadying breath.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “Either you’ve made a mistake, or…or…”

Or you’re lying, she wanted to say, but didn’t have the courage, faced with his wrathful gaze.

Rising to his feet, her captor crossed two steps to her. His eyes were like black fire. He towered over her,

and she had to force herself not to cower, but to stand straight and tall, to stand her ground.

“Växborg has no money of his own. His money comes from his wife’s inheritance, from her wealthy mother.” His lips twisted as he scornfully touched the exquisite lace of her sleeve. “That’s her money you’re wearing on your back right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Keep on telling yourself that, princess.”

“If any of this were true, if he were as bad as you say, why wouldn’t his wife just divorce him?”

Xerxes looked away, his jaw clenching. “She can’t.”

“Why?”

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her. “They were in an accident. She’s in a coma. Not that you would care.”

His tone made it clear he thought Rose was a greedy, heartless brat. She—who’d worked two jobs to pay her own way through college, to help her parents survive since the family business went bankrupt!

Rose blinked fast. At that moment, the engine grew louder as the jet started to move down the runway. She nearly stumbled as it jolted forward.

“Sit down,” he said.

Ignoring the lump in her throat, she braced her arm against the ceiling and lifted her chin. “Don’t you dare tell me—”

“Sit down,” he barked.

Her knees failed beneath her and she fell onto the white leather couch with a whomp. She realized to her shock that her body had obeyed him, even when her mind had refused.

The plane accelerated down the runway as he sat beside her. She gripped the armrest. He calmly reached for his laptop.

Once they were airborne, Rose glanced out the tiny window. All she could see was endless darkness with eerie moonlit clouds.

No one could help her now. She was on her own. She took several deep breaths, trying to keep herself from panicking. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer. He stared at the screen on his laptop and typed rapidly, then took a sip of the Scotch that the smiling stewardess brought him on a tray. Rose waited until they were left alone again before she spoke.

“Where are you taking me?” she repeated more forcefully.

“It’s irrelevant.”

“Tell me where.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to make demands.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“Such a melodramatic word.”

“How else would you describe it?”

“Justice,” he said coldly.

“You don’t have my passport.”

“That’s all been arranged.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “As everything else is. For a price.”

Watching beads of water condense on the outside of his glass tumbler, she clenched her hands into fists. “Tell me where we’re going right now,” she raged. “Or else…or else…”

He looked at her, his dark eyes amused. “Or else?”

Oh, how she wished she had her brother’s old baseball bat, or even a heavy handbag to threaten him with! She tried to look very mean as she thundered, “You will tell me where we’re going or I will make this flight your own private hell!”

Xerxes stared at her for a long instant. “Now that I believe,” he said mildly as his lips quirked. Typing a few last words on his computer, he turned back to face her and said, “I am taking you to Greece.”

“Why?”

“To force Växborg to give me what I want.”

“And that is?”

“If he loves you like you think,” he said the word scornfully, “he will agree to a trade.”

“Trade?” She stared at him. “What trade?”

“You. For her.” Taking another sip of Scotch, he set the tumbler down on the table and looked at her evenly. “I will use you to force him to divorce his wife. His real wife.”

Rose stared at him. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

“I am his real wife,” she said quietly. “And nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.”

Xerxes frowned. “Is it really possible—” he searched her gaze with narrowed eyes “—that you did not know?”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to know! You’ve made a horrible mistake!”

“I couldn’t understand why he would pretend to marry you like this. But if you didn’t know he already had a wife…” His eyes traced her face, her breasts, her body. He tilted his head curiously. “Did you give him some kind of ultimatum? Did he think pretending to marry you was the only way he could keep you in his bed?”

To keep her in Lars’s bed? Rose gaped at him. She’d never been in his bed—or any man’s! She was saving her virginity for her wedding night!

The thought made her suck in her breath.

Surely Lars wouldn’t have gone through such an elaborate wedding pretense just to get her into his bed…?

“I will do anything for you,” Lars had said urgently last week, his pale blue eyes boring into hers. “Anything, petal. This is torture. You must be mine.”

With a ragged breath, Rose pushed the memory aside. “Our marriage was real,” she said. “There is no other wife.”

Abruptly, Xerxes moved to the chair directly across from her. He leaned forward, and the knees of his long legs brushed the wide skirts of her wedding gown.

“I am telling you the truth, Rose,” he said quietly.

She stared up at him. His face was too brutally masculine to be conventionally handsome like Lars’s sleek blond features. Instead, Xerxes had a hard, square jawline that was already dark with shadow. He had an aquiline nose and dark eyebrows above black eyes as endless and luminous as the night. His hair was cut short, above his ear, but with a slightly mussed, wild wave.

As he leaned forward, looking into her eyes, she was aware of the warmth and strength of his body. Against her will, she was suddenly aware of the rhythm of his breath, deep and in time with hers. She was aware of his scent, the masculine combination of some kind of woodsy cologne and musk and leather.

He was so close to her. So close.

With a ragged breath, she looked away.

“Who is she, then?” Rose said in a small voice. “His supposed first wife?”

“Laetitia Van Reyn.”

“Van Reyn?”

“You know the name?”

“There’s a wealthy family in San Francisco, mentioned often in the newspapers…”

“The same,” he said grimly.

“But the parents are dead,” Rose recalled. “Their only child is barely out of high school. I read she left for college.”

“She’s in a coma,” he said brutally. “No one knows she needs help. And I can’t find her and get her to a hospital.” His black gaze traced over her. “But you are his weakness. He will trade her. For you.”

She shook her head, dazed.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Except for…that.” He frowned as his eyes narrowed. “Take that off.”

“What?”

“Your dress. Take it off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The wedding dress is an insult. To her. To me. Take it off. You are not a bride.”

“I was—am!”

“Take off that dress,” he growled. “Or I will take it off for you.”

“I have nothing else to wear!”

He gave her a cold smile. “That is not my problem.”

She rose to her feet in fury, lifting her chin. “I have the right to wear this. I am a bride, a married woman. You’re a liar!”

He swiftly rose to his feet, like a predator. “Call me that again, princess,” he said dangerously.

“Baroness,” she corrected fiercely. She tossed her hair, glaring up at him with all the fury of her five feet, four inches. Her eyes glittered as she met him toe to toe. “And you, Xerxes Novros, are a liar!”

Chapter Four

“YOU’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.

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