The Bride Thief (9 page)

Instantly, he lifted his mouth from her, shoving her legs apart with his hips, positioning his hardness between her thighs. She was still gasping for breath, lost in dazed ecstasy, when she felt his hardness pressing against her wet core, demanding entrance.

With a ragged breath, he pushed himself inside her with one relentless movement.

She was unprepared for the shock of pain, unready for the enormous size of him entering her virgin body, as he pushed himself inside her. She choked back a cry.

He froze, holding himself utterly still.

Then slowly, as she exhaled, he began to move inside her. Gently, ever so gently, he swayed his hips against her, rocking back and forth as he thrust with agonizing slowness inside her. To her surprise, a new wave of pleasure begin to build, coiling low in her belly. A new shot of ecstasy swept her up almost instantly as he filled her so deeply and completely, all the way to her heart.

Deeper.
Deeper.
His force split her in two but the pain had somehow turned into hot, molten pleasure. It built so hard and fast that within minutes, she gasped out his name as she felt a second explosion, even deeper and more shattering than the first, and she screamed. His deep, low voice joined her, shouting out his pleasure with a growl of ecstasy, and she felt tears on her cheeks and realized she was weeping with joy.

After Xerxes collapsed over her sweet naked body, it took a long time before he slowly came back to his senses.

Eventually, he felt the hot sun on his back, felt the rough sand against his knees. He looked down at the beautiful woman in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her lips curved in a smile.

His heart turned over in his chest.

He’d never felt anything like this. Ever. For anyone.

He’d never even imagined lovemaking could feel like this. Was it because he’d never taken a virgin to his bed before? Was that why he felt such amazement, such tenderness?

It had nearly killed him to hold himself back as he’d made love to her. But knowing she was a virgin, he’d wanted to make it good for her. And what she’d done for him…the way she’d made him feel…

Tenderly, he rolled off her body so he wouldn’t crush her with his weight. He moved to her side, still cradling her body with his own. He’d wanted nothing more than to make love to her like this, on the white sand as the waves crashed beneath the palm trees. He’d wanted to fill her, to impale her, to make her scream out his name. But it hadn’t been like he’d imagined. It had been better. It had been the single most amazing sexual experience of his life.

Tucking his hand behind his head, he stared up at the wispy white clouds drifting over the blue sky. Then he glanced at the beautiful woman in his arms, and realized to his shock that he already wanted more of her. And it was even more shocking than that.

He realized in that moment that he didn’t want to give her up. Ever. He wanted to possess her forever.

Chapter Twelve

T
HE
next morning, Rose lay cradled against him in the large bed as she stared out the bedroom window, watching the pink streaks of sunrise cross the sky.

They’d moved into the bedroom sometime yesterday afternoon. They’d spent the rest of the night there, only leaving the bed to shower and scavenge and devour simple meals in the kitchen.

She looked at him now as he slept. His peaceful face looked younger somehow, almost boyish. Sleeping with him all night, in his arms after the many times they’d made love, was utter bliss. It was exquisite.

It was torture.

Why did she feel this way—so completely infatuated, so enamored, so connected to him in every way possible? Was it because he’d taken her virginity? Was she deluding herself, like she had with Lars, into imagining Xerxes as the fulfillment of some romantic dream?

“Don’t think I’m a good person,”
he’d told her grimly. She didn’t want to believe him. How could she when every inch of her body down to blood and bone insisted differently? And Xerxes had kept every promise he’d made to her. Even last night, when she’d practically thrown herself at him, he’d actually tried to let her go, to warn her off. She was the one who’d called him on his promise, demanding that he kiss her. Giving him her virginity had been entirely her choice.

She didn’t regret it. She couldn’t.

And yet…

She’d told herself she could just have casual sex—that she could experience sensual pleasure without falling in love. Now, she realized how foolish she had truly been to think she could ever keep her heart separate from her body. She did not have the walls of armor that men had. That Xerxes had.

“No regrets?” he said quietly beside her, as if he’d read her mind.

She turned to him with an unsteady smile. “None,” she lied, her heart in her throat. “In fact, I was just thinking I should have jumped into bed with some man a long time ago.”

He growled. “I am glad you did not.”

Leaning forward, he kissed her. His embrace was tender, making her heart yearn and twist and break beneath the pleasure.

He pulled back, his dark brows lowered in concern as he searched her gaze. “What’s wrong, Rose?” he said quietly. “Are you thinking of Växborg?”

“No.”

“You still love him.”

“No.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I don’t think I ever did.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes shining. “I am glad.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she was utterly lost. Her memory of Lars seemed like a dewdrop compared to the ocean of longing and desire she felt for Xerxes now.

But she couldn’t fall in love with Xerxes after he’d specifically warned her not to! She couldn’t be that stupid—that
gullible and naive!

Abruptly, she sat up in bed.

“Rose?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled back at him, but it took an effort. She blinked fast to hide threatening tears. “I’m great. We had a fun night together. It’s no big deal.”

“It was your first time,” he said softly, putting his hands below his head on the pillow. He smiled, his eyes caressing her. “Of course it’s a big deal.”

“Well, you needn’t worry.” She looked away. “I’m not going to pester you for an engagement ring.”

“That’s good,” he said with a snort. “We both know I am not the sort of man for you to bring home to your parents. I’m not exactly husband-and-father material.”

“Right.”

“I mean it.” He sat up beside her, his eyes suddenly serious. “You think Växborg is a selfish bastard? I am worse.”

She looked away. “So you say.”

“I’m no good to any woman,” he insisted. “Least of all a woman like you. Rose…” Reaching out, he took her hands in his larger ones. “You deserve the fairy tale. And we both know I am no white knight.”

She pulled her hands away.

“Honestly, you don’t need to explain.” Her voice cracked. “I’m fine. In a few days, you can trade me and I’ll go back home to California and find a man I can truly love. Someone who’s honorable, kind and strong. A man I can love for the rest of my life.”

Silence fell.

“And if he never comes?” Xerxes said quietly.

The thought caused pain in her throat. “Then I’ll be alone,” she whispered. “Until the day that I die.”

“That won’t happen.” He pulled her back into his arms. She tried to resist, but he was inexorable. He held her against his naked chest for long moments, as they watched the sky outside grow bluer and brighter. “You will have a happy life. You’ll see. You will. You must.”

Still cradled against his chest, she looked back at him. Their eyes locked as, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his mouth to hers.

“You deserve everything good in this world,” he whispered against her skin. She felt his hands stroking her, felt his fingers twisting in her tangled hair before he kissed her. After the intense passion of the previous night, he was gentle now, tender against her bruised lips. His kiss was so poignant and sweet that tears burned her eyes. She felt choked with emotion.

Why did her heart ache like this? Was it just the overflow of too much passion, too much joy in his arms? Or was it the pain of knowing it would not last?

His kiss deepened. Rolling back on the mattress, he lifted her over him, stroking her naked back, making her shiver in the cool dawn. Looking down at him beneath her on the bed, Rose thought she’d never seen a man at once so beautiful and brutal. His jaw was rough and unshaven, his short black hair mussed from all their hours of lovemaking. His body was tanned and muscular, from his broad shoulders to his taut belly to his thighs thick as tree trunks.

Xerxes was like no man she’d ever met. If he wasn’t a white knight, then he was the dark prince of midnight dreams.

He left her breathless. His strength. His power. Most of all, the dark heat in his eyes as he looked up at her.

His hands lifted up her hips. As if she weighed nothing at all, he lowered her with exquisite slowness, impaling her, causing them both to gasp as he filled her inch by inch. Rose tossed back her head, exposing her neck as her eyes rolled back with the pleasure. He guided her, allowing her to establish her own rhythm, teaching her to ride him. Tension coiled inside her deep and fast, and when she finally exploded, she screamed. He plunged inside her with a final deep thrust, shouting her name with a bestial growl that somehow sounded like a prayer. When she collapsed over his body, utterly spent, it took ten minutes before she stopped shaking.

Afterward, as they slept in each other’s arms, Rose opened her eyes to stare blankly at the brilliant sunlight on the ocean.

She could no longer deny her feelings.

Xerxes had seen her at her worst. And he’d accepted her, just as she was. Perhaps because he accepted himself. He knew he wasn’t perfect, so she didn’t need to be, either. They could both have faults, but still be…friends.

Friends?

Friendship did not describe the longing of her heart.

But what she felt could only bring pain. Even if Xerxes cared about her, he would still trade her for Laetitia. In a heartbeat.

“My feelings for Laetitia are more familial in nature,”
he’d said. Could she be his cousin? His niece? The daughter of an old friend? Who? Rose wished she knew.

But one thing she did know for sure: Xerxes Novros always kept his promises. And in spite of his best warnings, when she’d given him her body, she’d also given him her heart.

Outside, the sunshine was brilliant and bright, and the morning birds sang sweetly in the blue sky. And Rose silently wept in his arms as he slept.

She was in love with Xerxes. And she knew there was only one way it could end. With her own broken heart.

Xerxes was awakened from a very pleasant dream by a persistent buzzing and rattling sound against the hard tile floor. Blearily, he opened his eyes and saw his cell phone vibrating in his shorts pocket next to the bed. He glanced at Rose, hoping it hadn’t woken her. It hadn’t. A smile traced his lips at how peacefully she slept, his kittenish beauty.

Careful not to jostle her—they’d gotten so little sleep, it would be cruel to wake her for anything but sex—he climbed out of bed and carried the phone outside the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. “Novros.”

“This time we’ve found her, boss,” his chief bodyguard said tersely. “Montez is sure.”

Ten minutes later, Xerxes was shaved, showered and dressed. He returned to the bedroom filled with nervous energy. His hand reached out to shake Rose’s shoulder and awaken her, then he paused, looking down at her.

He could still hardly believe she’d been a virgin before yesterday. And that she’d deliberately chosen him, of all men on earth, to be her first lover. He shivered, remembering all the times they’d made love in the last twenty-four hours. He should have been satiated, but looking at her now, he very nearly forgot his mission and climbed back into bed.

Then he stopped himself. No. He had a lead on Laetitia and couldn’t blow it. He had to focus. If he could find Laetitia, he could save her.

And then he could keep Rose for himself.

If
he could really be that selfish to keep her, knowing she would be better off with a better man, instead of with a ruthless, heartless bastard like him.

Xerxes looked down at her, and his whole body hardened. Yes, he thought grimly. He could be that selfish. At this moment, he would kill any man who tried to take her away from him.

Reaching out, he lightly shook Rose’s shoulder. “Wake up,” he said in a low voice. “We need to go.”

“Go?” She yawned, stretching her body across the bed, from her hands to her toes. “Go where?”

The sheet had fallen from her body, leaving her upper body bare. His back broke out in a hot sweat at the sight of those lusciously full breasts, the pink tips that he’d suckled just hours before, cupping them in his hands as he…Xerxes shuddered.

Forcefully, he made himself look away from her, before he forgot such minor details like promises and honor and jumped into bed with her for another twenty-four hours. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced himself not to touch her, to have some self-control. “Mexico.”

“Mexico?” She sounded bewildered. “Why? Do you have business there?”

He cleared his throat, unwilling to explain. “In a manner of speaking. Get dressed. My assistant is already packing your bikinis. And the rest of your wardrobe.”

“What wardrobe?” she demanded. “I only have bikinis thanks to you!”

“I might have sent away for more clothes.”

“When was that?”

“A few hours after we arrived.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her furious voice ended with a squeak that made him grin. He almost turned to look at her, then stopped himself just in time before he got another image of her sprawled naked across the bed. Christ, he only had so much willpower—he was only a man! He hurried toward the door. “The suitcase is still packed beneath the bed. We leave in ten minutes.”

But once again, his foolish hopes of finding Laetitia proved destined for failure. As soon as their jet arrived in Cabo San Lucas, he dropped Rose off without explanation at a luxury gated villa in the hills. He drove with bodyguards in an open Jeep, going north on a dirt road to the little desert village in Baja California.

At a shabby little casita, he knocked on the door. Xerxes heard a woman’s low moan inside, and adrenaline ripped through his body. Shouting Laetitia’s name, he kicked open the door.

He found a woman lying on a small bed, a brunette Laetitia’s size with bandages on her face. For a moment, he’d believed that after all these months, he’d finally found her.

Then he’d heard the language the woman was shouting. German? It turned out she was a wealthy businesswoman from Berlin who’d come to recover from her face-lift in privacy and seclusion. Xerxes had only convinced her not to call the police through substantial cash compensation.

Cash that would come out of his payment to Montez, Xerxes thought, gritting his teeth, for feeding his chief bodyguard such faulty information.

But in his heart Xerxes did not blame the investigator. He blamed only himself. He was the one who’d failed Laetitia, again and again over the past year. And she was still out there somewhere. Dying. Alone.

They drove back to Cabo San Lucas in silence. Entering the villa, Xerxes felt hollowed out. He walked through the heavily embellished oak door with his shoulders hunched. Wearily, he pushed open the door, and the hinges squealed like nails on a chalkboard, the harsh noise scraping his soul.

Then at that moment, he heard a miracle that soothed the pain in his heart. Rose’s sweet, clear voice.

“I’m so glad you’re home!”

Slowly, he looked up.

Rose stood in front of the wide sunlit veranda overlooking the Pacific, looking fresh and pretty in a new sleeveless pink dress, her blond hair tumbling down her shoulders. He exhaled. Everything good in the world seemed wrapped up in her.

She saw his bleak expression and her turquoise eyes widened. She didn’t ask any questions. She just held out her arms.

Without a word, he went to her. He nearly choked out a sob when he felt her soft arms go around him, but he held it inside. A man didn’t cry. He’d learned that long ago. But there were other things a man could do.

He led her through the villa, with its soaring ceiling and colonial-style architecture. He turned on the shower, and the hot steam filled the room. Without a word, he turned to Rose and slowly unbuttoned her dress.

She did not resist. She stood before him, watching him with her heart on her expressive face. He pulled off her clothes, dropping her dress, her bra, her panties to the clay tile floor. He pulled off his own clothes. Taking her hand, he pulled her into the enormous shower.

The hot water burned him, washing off the dust and grime and sorrow. He looked down at Rose. Her petite, curvaceous body was naked, her lustrous skin pink with the heat of the steam. Tilting her head back with his hands, he washed her hair.

She submitted without a word, without complaint, without demands. Her silent sympathy healed his wounded soul as nothing else ever had. As nothing could.