The Virgin's Choice

“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 old shack with a villa, I never wanted to go back there.”

Xerxes had once been poor? For a moment, sympathy threatened to prey on Rose, weakening her. Then she hardened her heart and glared at him.

“It sucks to be you,” she said acidly. “Owning too many private islands, forced to travel all over the world in your jet. Kidnapping married women. You’re clearly a hard case.” She glanced out the car window. “So why are we here and not at your shiny new Turkish palace?”

He turned to look out the window, blocking her view of his face. “I brought you here because this is my home.”

Rose’s jaw dropped.

“You brought me to your home? But, but…” She faltered, then said, “Lars will know exactly where to find you!”

He turned back to her. “Exactly.”