The Virgin's Choice. Jennie Lucas
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sat down and reached for the tumbler, finishing the Scotch in one easy swallow. “Now that we have that settled…” He pressed the intercom. When a flight attendant entered, he told her abruptly, “Miss Linden is tired. Escort her to the bedroom.”
Rose whirled on him. “Your bedroom! I should have known it was a trick—”
“I will stay here,” he interrupted. He gave Rose one last glance with his inscrutable black eyes. “You have nothing to be afraid of now. Go rest. We will land in a few hours.”
Tucked in a tiny private bedroom at the back of the plane, Rose spent the remainder of the flight sitting in a hard chair beside the window, clutching her tattered wedding dress to her chest beneath a blanket, and staring out at the dark night.
Remembering the dark power of his embrace was like fire through her limbs. She still felt the hard heat of his mouth against hers, forcing her lips apart as he took her at his will.
The shock of pleasure had been beyond words. Beyond reason. And she hated him for it.
She stared out the tiny round window into the darkness. She tried to think of something else. Was her family terrified, waiting anxiously for news of her? Was Lars weeping, combing the bottom of his moat for her drowned body?
Please, let him have called the police, she prayed. Closing her eyes, she hoped feverishly that when they landed in Greece, they’d be met by a whole squadron who would cart Xerxes Novros off to prison like he deserved! Curling up in the chair, she imagined progressively more painful punishments for her kidnapper, until she must have fallen asleep to the enjoyable dreams before she felt his hand shaking her awake.
Her eyes flew open. Disoriented, she sat up.
Xerxes stood before her by the bed. She saw the plane had landed. Outside, the night was still dark, she saw a small, desolate airstrip by the sea. No flashing lights. No policemen.
Disappointment flashed through her.
Narrowing her eyes, she looked away. “I’m not leaving this jet.”
Xerxes held out his hand. “You will be far more comfortable in the house.”
She folded her arms coolly. “I’ll stay here, thank you.”
“Don’t you wish to speak with your boyfriend on the phone?”
His use of the word boyfriend made her fury spark. “You mean my husband.”
He snorted. “You are a stubborn woman.”
She rubbed her eyes wearily. Just thinking about how worried her family must all be about her made her need that phone call more than anything on earth. She glared up at her captor.
“Do you give your word that you do not intend to harm me?”
He curled his lip. “I would never hurt a woman.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully.
“A captive has the right to defend herself,” she said stiffly.
He looked down at her. “I would expect no less of you.”
He wasn’t staring at her with that hot light of hatred anymore. And yet there was still an undercurrent between them that she didn’t understand.
She missed Lars, who was so charmingly predictable, who though he didn’t always listen to her words, always gave her endless compliments. It had made her feel a bit uncomfortable, actually, the way he always stared at her so hungrily, telling her over and over that she was perfect. She knew she wasn’t perfect. But she’d told herself he had many years to understand her better after she became his wife.
If she even was his wife.
No! Rose pushed away the gnawing fear growing inside her. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow Xerxes to make her doubt Lars! She couldn’t trust this brutal, powerful man who’d kidnapped her, her husband’s enemy who’d just kissed her against her will.
Xerxes’s words were lies. They had to be.
She would have faith. Lars would save her and prove she was his true and legal wife. She wouldn’t allow Xerxes to make her doubt everything she believed in—not even for an instant!
Slowly, she rose to her feet, holding the torn bodice of her wedding gown tightly together over her chest. “As long as I have your word you won’t harm me.”
He gently brushed hair from her cheek. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “I will not harm you.”
He drew back, looking down at her. Then he held out his hand, steady and strong and confident.
She stared at it. Then, not touching him, she brushed past him regally, as if she still wore a tiara on her head. A baroness in exile.
Her gown still covered her body decently well, as long as she held together the bodice at the jagged, gaping rip over her heart. But she had to hold it tightly. The tulle skirts were heavy and wide, pulling behind her like a train as she went down the steps to the tarmac.
Several cars were waiting, including a black Bentley. As she approached, a uniformed driver opened the passenger door.
“If you please,” Xerxes said quietly, pressing his hand gently against her back. She shivered at his touch, then jumped forward as if he’d burned her.
Silently, he followed her.
The black car drove through the dark night along the edge of a coastal road. She looked out and saw moonlight shimmering across black water. Strange, she thought, to think it was that exact same moonlight shining down on Trollshelm Castle right now.
“Are we near Athens?” she asked to break the silence.
“On an island in the Aegean.”
“Which island?”
“Mine.”
Shocked, she turned to face him. “Your island?”
He shrugged.
“You own the whole island?”
“I own several.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why on earth would you own several islands? Or even one, for that matter!”
“I loan the others out to friends who want to relax without the glare of media attention.”
“So your friends can be alone with their mistresses or something?”
He shrugged.
Grinding her teeth, Rose folded her arms. What else would she expect from a man completely without morals? “How many islands do you have? Or have you lost count?”
“Three now. I recently sold the fourth in exchange for a palace in Istanbul.”
A palace in Istanbul?
“Oh,” she said faintly, trying to act as if that were a normal sort of trade.
“Officially,” he amended, “our trade was an office building in Paris for a few hundred million euros.” He shrugged. “The palace, and then the island, were just tossed in later as extras.”
“Right. Extras.” She swallowed, thinking of her own recent trade of a box of homemade chocolates to an upstairs neighbor in her apartment building in exchange for a macaroni-and-cheese casserole. “Um. Your friend must have really wanted a private place to hide his mistress.”
Xerxes snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call Rafael Cruz a friend.” He looked away and added softly, “Anyway, I was glad to be rid of that island.”
“Sure.” Rose held up her hand airily. “Owning private Greek islands gets so very dull. I’ve sold all mine recently for Japanese tea houses.”
His lips quirked, then he shook his head. “I grew up on that particular island. My grandfather was a fisherman. Even after my grandparents were dead and I replaced the