The Virgin's Choice Page 5

  Heat built inside her, coursing through her body, sizzling her with his every look and every touch. Tension tightened her nipples to aching points, coiling low in her belly. Her breaths came in increasingly quick gasps.

  She shouldn’t do this. He was her captor, a criminal, a stranger to her! She shouldn’t let him touch her!

  But even as her mind screamed for her to push away, she couldn’t move. She just lay there on the soft cotton sheets, feeling the breeze from the open window, seeing it wave through white translucent curtains. In the distance, she heard the plaintive call of seagulls and her own hoarse breath. Biting her lip until it bruised, she looked up at his brutal face.

  But he did not look brutal anymore. He stroked her concave belly with concern. “So thin,” he murmured. “Why so thin?”

  It broke the spell. She sat up abruptly.

  “Gullible. Clumsy. Skinny,” Rose said bitterly, as her fingers gripped the cotton sheets, pulling them up. “You are cruel. Lars always said I was the most beautiful girl in the world—”

  Then her throat choked as she remembered that Lars was a heartless, soulless liar.

  Xerxes’s fingers stilled. “Växborg did not lie,” he said quietly. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Rose Linden.”

  He pushed her down firmly with his rough hands, and she did not resist. She closed her eyes. When she felt a soft sheet cover her body, she looked at him in shock.

  From beside the bed, Xerxes looked down at her with a crooked smile. His rugged face was impossibly handsome in the circle of lamplight. He lifted a white goose-down comforter over the sheet. And suddenly, she realized what he was doing. He wasn’t trying to seduce her.

  He was tucking her in for the night.

  “You’re leaving me?” she whispered as he turned away. “Just like that?”

  He paused at the door, his expression half-hidden by shadow. The dim golden light illuminated the edges of his muscular body as he spoke to her without turning around. “Good night.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a gentleman. Like…like a good person.”

  Abruptly, he clicked off the light, and the room fell into darkness. “Don’t think I’m a good person,” he said in a low voice. “If you do, you’ll regret it. ’Til the day you die.”

  And he left, closing the door heavily behind him, locking her in—alone.

  Chapter Seven

  ROSE woke up the next morning to find sunshine flooding her with white, almost blinding clarity. It refreshed her, washing away the dark nightmares that had troubled her all night.

  Yawning, she blinked sleepily. It was a dream, she thought. Thank heaven it was all a dream. She was back in her solitary bedroom at Trollshelm Castle. Today was her wedding day, the day she would pledge herself as Lars’s wife for the rest of her life…

  Rose blinked.

  She sat up abruptly. Her blankets fell to her waist as she stared around her. This was not her bedroom.

  She glanced down at the white silk bra and panties that she’d slept in. A blush heated her cheeks as she remembered Xerxes moving over her on the bed last night, his body so close to hers as he slowly undid her garters and pulled her silk stockings off her legs. She could still feel the intensity of his mouth on hers when he’d kissed her on the plane. She touched her lips as she recalled how his lips had seared her, how he’d crushed her to his chest and taken her in a hard, hungry embrace, his tongue sweeping her own as he—

  “Good morning.”

  She looked up from the bed with a gasp, yanking her sheets back up to her neck.

  Xerxes leaned in the doorway, dressed casually in khaki shorts and a black tank top that revealed his tanned, muscular arms.

  “Good morning,” she choked out in reply.

  “I hope you slept well.” He gave her a darkly sensual look. “I unlocked your door. I’m here now to give you what you need.”

  Had he somehow guessed what she’d just been thinking?

  “What?” she said in a strangled voice.

  He sat down on the bed beside her. “Here.”

  He placed a silver tray in her lap that held a silver coffeepot, chocolate croissants, fresh fruit, fried potatoes and orange juice. Staring down at it, her mouth watered. “You brought me breakfast?” she said numbly.

  “You looked hungry last night.”

  She was. But something else caught her eye. Surprised, she reached across the tray to a bud vase that held a tiny pink rose. She breathed in the delicate scent of the bloom. “And this? Am I supposed to eat this?”

  He shrugged. “It reminded me of you.”

  “You picked a flower?”

  “I do know how,” he said dryly. “I have my gardener grow them in our greenhouse in winter.” He paused. “My grandmother grew polyantha rose bushes, fairy roses. They were the only bit of beauty we had then—her weeping rose tree.” He looked at the tiny flower. “It’s so delicate, the bloom’s barely bigger than my thumb, and yet it’s stronger than it looks. It resists disease, poor soil. Even men.” He gave a slight smile. “The thorns are vicious.”

  She looked at the flower, then him, still shocked.

  “It’s my way of saying I’m sorry for the way I kidnapped you,” he said with a sigh. “If I’d known you were innocent, that you hadn’t deliberately set out to replace Laetitia, I would have…” Leaning back, he raked the back of his dark hair with his hand, then gave her a crooked grin. “Well, I would still have kidnapped you, but I’d have been more courteous about it.”

  “Oh,” she said faintly. It made her nervous to have him so close to her again. He was freshly shaved and brutally handsome. And the smile he was giving her now was nothing short of devastating. Quickly, she looked back at the breakfast tray. “This looks delicious. I suppose now you’ll tell me you cooked it yourself?”

  “No.” His sensual mouth quirked. “But I run a full-service prison here. Room and board included.”

  “Nice.” She lifted her eyes to him suddenly. “It would be even nicer if you’d let me go.”

  He blinked, then his eyes hardened. “But we already agreed that I am not nice. I am a businessman. And you are too thin. No more diets. You will eat.”

  “I wasn’t on a diet,” she said, stung. “I wasn’t even trying to lose weight. I just couldn’t relax around Lars. I never had an appetite.”

  “You found him unappetizing? Shocking,” Xerxes said, lifting his eyebrow. “But you are in my care now. Further starvation will cause you to lose your value. You will obey me in this.”

  Rose scowled at his tyrannical tone, then looked down at the tray. The coffee smelled divine, the croissants looked flaky and buttery. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday. Or was it the day before? She hadn’t even eaten a slice of wedding cake. Cake with buttercream frosting was normally her favorite, but she hadn’t been able to eat a bite.

  Why hadn’t she listened to what her body had been trying to tell her all along?

  So rather than argue with him, she took a deep breath and placed the napkin in her lap. She took a bite of chocolate croissant, and her eyes widened. “Yum!” she breathed, and quickly ate another bite, and another.

  “That’s what I like,” he said approvingly.

  She took a big swig of orange juice. “I can relax around you, Xerxes. I don’t need to be perfect for you—” she gave him a sudden grin “—because you’re basically a terrible person.”

  “I am,” he agreed. Leaning forward, he suddenly stroked her upper lip.

  Electrified, she stared up at him in shock. “Why did you do that?”

  “Orange juice on your lip,” he said.

  She swallowed. How could he do that? How could Xerxes, with just one touch, make her completely forget who she was and what she was doing?

  “Go on,” he said. “Don’t stop now. I want you nice and healthy when I trade you.”

  Her
smile faded.

  Trade. Yes. Of course he wanted her healthy, so he could trade her like a horse. Fat and sassy, like a farm cow. Maybe he’d even find a way to sell her by the pound. Biting her lip, she looked down at her tray.

  “How can you be so sure he’ll still trade me?” she said in a small voice. “Lars is married. He can’t love me. If you’re married, you can’t love anyone else.”

  Xerxes’s black eyes gleamed. “You really believe that.”

  “Of course I do!” she said fiercely, looking up. “He doesn’t love me, and I don’t…can’t…love him ever again.”

  “Why not?” he said curiously. “Växborg is still a baron. Once he’s divorced, he’ll be free to legally wed you. But he will no longer have Laetitia’s fortune. Is that the problem?”

  She choked out a laugh. “I don’t care about money. I’ve been broke for years. I know how to deal with it.”

  “So?”

  “He lied to me. And it’s more than that. Marriage is forever. Promises aren’t just words. When I marry,” she said, “it will be to a man who knows what a promise means.”

  His eyebrows lifted.

  “You surprise me,” he murmured. “I never expected any woman, let alone a woman who looks like you, to be…”

  “To be what?” she demanded.

  “Old-fashioned,” he said quietly. “A woman who believes in honor and commitment? A woman who cannot be bought?” He shook his head. “I didn’t know there were any such left in the world.”

  Rose’s cheeks went hot. Was he mocking her, calling her a fool? She already felt like enough of one for a whole lifetime.

  “It’s not so rare,” she said defensively, folding her arms. “Lots of people feel that way in my hometown. Especially in my family,” she muttered.

  Her family. She bit her lip. What had Lars told them about her? Were they worried? Scared? Angry? She unfolded her arms and looked at him pleadingly. “Won’t you let me call my mother and tell her what’s happened?”

  His eyebrows lowered as he shook his head. “Sorry. Too risky. Your mother might call the police. I know Lars will not.”

  “All right,” she whispered, looking away. “I still don’t understand how he could do such a horrible thing as pretend to marry me.”

  Xerxes cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His black eyes went through her, causing a flicker of heat against her skin, spreading down her body. He moved closer to her, so close that she felt consumed by the black fire of his gaze. “He wanted to make sure no other man could have you.”

  No other man? Try no man ever. She took a deep breath. What would he say if he knew he was actually the first man who’d ever kissed her? Would he think she was a freakish old maid?

  She covered her face with her hands. “I feel pathetic.”

  “Rose.” Xerxes’s voice was low. “I was wrong to call you naive. You…you just believe the best of people. It’s a rare quality.”

  She felt the warmth of his arms start to encircle her. No! She couldn’t let him touch her, or she might completely collapse back into his arms. She jerked back away from him on the bed, looking up at him fiercely. “If you believe that, let me call my family and tell them I’m safe!”

  He blinked. “I’m sure Lars told them that.”

  She thought of her parents, her grandparents, her brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, and choked back her tears, causing her throat to throb. “No. I need to talk to them now.”

  “I already gave you my answer. No.” He abruptly stood up from the bed. “There are a variety of new clothes in the closet for your stay. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  He left. Rose stared at the closed door.

  With a weary sigh, she rose from the bed and went to the closet. There, just as he’d promised, she found an entirely new wardrobe, laundered and pressed, in a variety of sizes.

  She ran her hands over all the hanging clothes softly, then looked at the shoes stacked neatly beneath.

  There was every style of clothing possible, everything any woman could want—from bikinis and cocktail dresses to oversized sweatpants and T-shirts. Schlubby to chic and everything in between.

  Very unlike Lars, who’d always had a very specific way he’d wished her to dress. He hadn’t even allowed her to pick out her own wedding dress. “You’re beautiful in anything, petal,” he’d said. “But I prefer you to wear the jewels and furs you deserve.”

  She’d tried to tell him that she didn’t feel comfortable in those things, but he never listened to her. So she’d worn his fancy clothing in the hope it would make her feel like she belonged in his aristocratic set.

  Grimly, she went back to the bed and poured herself some hot coffee into a pretty china teacup on the tray. Taking a sip of the steaming black coffee, she stared at herself in the vanity mirror.

  She looked awful. Like a raccoon with circles under her eyes, or maybe a Halloween ghost, pale and thin. Yesterday’s wedding makeup was still smeared on her face, black mascara dark beneath her eyes from weeping.

  With Lars constantly telling her she was perfect, when she knew she wasn’t, she’d been afraid to stick up for herself or even, heaven forbid, start a fight. She’d told herself she was just inexperienced at dealing with relationships. Couples were supposed to compromise, weren’t they?

  But instead of compromise, she’d given herself up completely—when all he’d offered her in return were lies.

  Rose choked down another sip of black coffee. Her eyes fell upon the wedding dress, still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where Xerxes had dropped it the night before. Crossing the room in her bare feet, she picked up the couture gown with two fingers and dragged it into the trash.

  There. It was gone. Brushing off her hands, she turned her back on it and felt immediately better. And then—she was hungry.

  Going back to the breakfast tray, she dumped three heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, followed by copious amounts of real cream. She took a long drink of the hot, fragrant coffee and it was so sweet and creamy that she gasped with pleasure. She reached back for the buttery, freshly made chocolate croissant and polished it off in three bites.

  Carrying the tray to the vanity table, she ate a big bite of sweet roll. Still chewing vigorously, she pulled Lars’s expensively tarty lingerie off her body and dropped it onto the floor. She stared at it for a moment, then kicked it into the trash as well.

  Going into the ensuite bathroom, she turned on the shower. Beneath the hot water, she scrubbed her face clean with a rough washcloth, washing off all the old smeared makeup from yesterday, rubbing at her skin until it was half-raw.

  Toweling herself off afterward, she automatically looked around for a hair dryer. Then she stopped herself. No. No more hair dryer. No flatiron. No more fuss.

  Going back into the bedroom, she flung open a drawer and found a wireless bra and comfortable white cotton panties that would actually cover her backside. Looking through the closet, she bypassed the fancy satin cocktail gowns and reached for a soft cotton skirt and a tissue-thin knit top. After getting dressed, she looked at herself again in the vanity mirror and took a deep breath.

  She looked like her old self again. Regular old Rose Linden from California, the waitress who was working toward a college degree, the loving daughter who brought her parents homemade candy on weekends, who babysat for her nieces and nephews on Friday nights. No jewels, no furs, no tiara. Just her.

  But her eyes had changed. They were exhausted and puffy from weeping, but it was more than that. Though still a virgin and no longer a bride, Rose knew she would never completely return to the idealistic girl she’d been.

  But without all the makeup and confining clothes, letting her long blond hair air dry into its natural wave rather than wasting a precious hour of her life with the flatiron, she felt a new freedom. She went out to the chair and table by the window. Opening the screen door, she looked out at the view as she ate the rest of her breakfast, devouring the fresh fruit, potatoes and
buttery pastries with equal relish.

  She felt light. Freedom coursed in waves against her skin, as cool and refreshing as the soft sea breeze blowing through the window. Setting down her coffee cup beside her empty plate, she wandered outside on the balcony and looked out at the blue Aegean. The air was warm and smelled of salt and flowers and freshly exotic scents from faraway lands.

  Last night, she’d been overwrought and exhausted and afraid. This villa had seemed full of darkness and shadows. But today, in the sunshine, she saw that it was beautiful. Bright pink flowers laced over white stucco on the edge of the bright blue sea.

  As the cool morning wind blew against the bare skin of her legs and the tissue-thin cotton of her T-shirt, she closed her eyes in pleasure, turning her face toward the sun like a flower that had been deprived of it too long. For the first time in three months, she didn’t feel jittery or stressed. She felt…happy.

  “Buy it then.” Xerxes’s low voice floated up from below. “But not until the price hits forty. By then their shareholders will be screaming and they’ll have no choice but to sell.”

  Looking down with an intake of breath, Rose saw him pacing by the shaded grove near the pool as he spoke into his cell phone.

  Khaki shorts revealed the strength of his thighs. The black tank top showed his broad shoulders and taut waistline as sunlight glistened off well-muscled arms.

  He looked different to her today, too. The sunlight, now moving against the gray clouds, softened the hard lines of his face. He no longer seemed so fearsome and brutal. He just looked ruggedly handsome. And strong.

  Was it because she no longer feared him? She no longer hated him, either. How could she? If Xerxes hadn’t kidnapped her from the castle last night, she would have given herself to Lars in bed, believing she was his wife. She would have made the biggest mistake of her life.

  All along, her body had told her something was wrong with Lars. The more often he’d insisted to Rose that she was absolutely perfect in every way, the more imperfect she’d felt. Rose knew she was a goofball, impulsive, and all kinds of other silly things, not perfect at all. Besides, what did love—real love, the kind that lasted a lifetime—have to do with sterile, frozen perfection?