The Virgin's Choice

His cruel, sensual lips curved upward.

“Ah, but you’re not in the ballroom. You’re alone. And do you not know,” he said softly, “how cold a winter night can be?”

Cold. A shiver went through her. No matter how high the thermostat was set in the aging castle or how many sweaters she’d worn, no matter how many times Lars had assured her that she was perfect—that she could be nothing but perfect—she’d never once felt warm in the sparkling, exquisite beauty of his northern palace surrounded by ice. But she wasn’t going to say that to a stranger. “I’m not afraid of a little snow.”

“Such bravery.” The stranger’s black eyes traced over her body, burning her wherever they touched. “And yet you know why I’ve come.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, bewildered.

“But you do not run away?”

She blinked, even as her feet inched backward of their own volition, and said, “Why would I run?”

His black eyes searched hers as if sifting through her soul. “You actually take responsibility for your crime?”

His face was too brutal, his body too muscular to be handsome. But it was hard to get a good look at his face. In the shadows of the moonlit night, he was like a vampire sucking up every bit of light despite the illumination from the snow. And his darkness was more than the black of his hair, his eyes and his long coat. There was something in his posture that frightened her. A danger. A threat.

And yet she forced herself to hold still. She glanced back at the castle to reassure herself. Her husband and family were near. She had no reason to be afraid. She was so overwrought she was imagining things!

“By ‘crime’ do you mean the wedding?” she replied lightly. “It was perhaps a bit overdone but that’s hardly a crime.”

But the man didn’t even smile. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t joke. You must have traveled a long distance for our wedding, only to arrive an hour too late. That would make anyone upset.”

“Upset?” he ground out.

“I’ll get you some champagne inside,” she urged. Her feet started inching back again toward the castle. “Lars will be so happy to see you.”

The man barked a sudden laugh. “Is that another joke?”

Rose stopped. “Aren’t you one of his friends?”

The man drew closer to her.

“No,” he said. “I am not a friend.”

His body towered over hers without touching her, leaving her in shadow. She felt his physical strength like a threat.

And suddenly, she knew that her instincts had been right all along.

She had to flee for safety—now.

“Excuse me,” she choked out, stumbling back. “My husband’s waiting for me. Hundreds of people—security guards, policemen—are waiting for our first dance as a married couple…”

The man’s hand flew out to grab her upper arm over her translucent lace sleeve, gripping her tight, preventing her escape.

“Married?” he repeated in cold fury.

Why was he looking as if he might kill her for saying something so innocent and so obvious? “Yes, it’s our—You’re hurting me!”

His hand had tightened, gripping painfully into her arm. His black eyes stared down at her with deep, fathomless rage as he slowly looked from her breasts, which were pushed up by the tight bodice, to the enormous diamond ring sparkling on her left hand.

Finally, his eyes met hers, and it was like a blast of fire as he said in a low voice, “You both deserve to burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

She gaped at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

With a brutal jerk, he pulled her so close to him that her wide tulle skirts whirled around his muscular legs.