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  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 cu
rves. 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.

  Chapter Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Drawing back her hand, she slapped his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Don’t touch me again.”

  “I won’t.”

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

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

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

  “You are threatening me?” He sounded amused.

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

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

  “All…all right?”

  “I won’t kiss you again.”

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

  Her eyes flew open. Disoriented, she sat up.

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

  Disappointment flashed through her.

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

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

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

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

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

  He snorted. “You are a stubborn woman.”

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