The Virgin's Choice

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.