The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

“It wasn’t a performance!”

“And then, because you’re so very clever, so very good at this, you thought, yes, but if I say it first, if I tell him I want to leave, it will probably make him anxious to keep me.”

“You’re wrong! I never—”

She cried out as he caught hold of her and lifted her to her toes.

“The stakes are higher now, neh? Whatever Kay promised you as payment for your role in this ugly scheme—”

“She didn’t promise me anything!”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps you thought to wait until my son was in my arms before you asked f

or money.” His fingers bit into her flesh. “But fate dealt you a better card.”

“Can’t you get it through your thick skull that not everything is about you?”

“You’re wrong. This is all about me. My fortune. My title.” His mouth twisted. “And the sweetener you keep dangling in front of my nose.”

Before she could pull away, he kissed her, savaging her mouth, forcing her head back. Ivy stood immobile. Then memory and fear overwhelmed her and she sank her teeth into his lip.

He jerked back, tasting blood.

Slowly, deliberately, he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Be careful, glyka mou. My patience is wearing thin.”

“You can’t do this!”

“You are in my country. I can do anything I damned well please.”

He let go of her, picked up the nearest telephone and punched a key.

“Esias. I want Ms. Madison’s things moved to my rooms. Yes. Immediately.”

Damian broke the connection and looked at Ivy. She stood straight and tall, head up, eyes steady on his even though they blazed with rage.

She was magnificent, so beautiful the sight of her made the blood roar in his ears.

He could take her now. Teach her that she belonged to him. Turn all that frost to flame.

But he wouldn’t. The longer he waited, the sweeter her submission would be.

Damian strolled into the huge master bath. Turned on the shower, toed off his mocs, unbuckled his belt, pulled his cotton sweater over his head as if he were alone.

A priceless vase whistled past his ear and shattered on the tile a couple of feet away.

He swung around and looked at Ivy. She glared back, head high, hands on hips, her eyes telling him how she despised him…

And then her gaze dropped to his broad shoulders, swept over his muscled chest and hard abs.

“Want to see more?” he said, very softly, and brought his hand to his zipper.

His Ivy was brave but she wasn’t stupid. Cheeks blazing, she turned and fled.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TRAPPED.