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He turned back to her. “Exactly.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of kidnapping is this?”
“I told you. It’s not a kidnapping. It’s a trade.”
The car stopped and the driver opened the door. Xerxes climbed out, then held out his hand back to her.
Careful not to touch his hand, she tripped and stumbled out of the car. She glanced back at him, blushing.
He pulled back his hand, tucking it behind his back.
“Come,” he said, regaining his low, mocking voice. “I’m sure you’re eager to see the inside of your prison. Baroness.”
But he didn’t try to touch her again. She was relieved. After his electric kiss earlier, after feeling the strength of his body and the heat of his embrace that had made her surrender against her will, she was afraid to let him so much as brush his fingertip against her skin.
Following him toward the house, she looked up. Her footsteps faltered.
She’d once dreamed of traveling to Greece, but she’d never imagined anything like this.
The enormous white villa sat on the edge of a sharp cliff, iced with moonlight. The cold, classical architecture made it look like a fortress, and suddenly reminded her of another island closer to home. The prison of Alcatraz.
She caught up with him inside the tall doorway. She only dimly saw the servants awaiting them, greeting Xerxes in low, respectful voices before they disappeared down dark hallways.
He pulled her into a high-ceilinged library edged with leather-bound books. When he opened the French doors to the veranda, a cool breeze blew off the sea, curling up her spine. Rose shivered.
Xerxes turned back to her. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” she whispered, then closed her eyes, trying not to cry. “I just want to call my family.”
“Your family?” he queried, his lips curving sardonically. “Not your precious boyfriend?”
She blinked. She’d actually forgotten about Lars for a moment. But it was only natural, she told herself. She’d known Lars only a few months, while she’d loved her family for her whole life! But still, the thought brought her up short. Shouldn’t she have wanted to speak to Lars above all others?
Pushing the disquieting thought aside, she glared at him. “My husband is my family.”
Xerxes pulled out his phone, dialed a number and handed it to her. “Here.”
She stared up at him in surprise, her mouth gaping as she held the phone in her hand. “Is this a trick?”
“It’s ringing,” he pointed out.
With a gasp, she pushed the phone to her ear. When she heard Lars’s voice at the other en
d, she nearly wept with relief. “Lars!”
“Rose?” he said, his voice more high-pitched that usual. “Where are you? One of my groundskeepers found the tiara smashed in the road. Your family is worried sick. Why did you leave?” His voice wavered. “Did you hear something that made you angry? Whatever it was, I can explain—”
“I’ve been kidnapped,” she sobbed. “I’m in Greece.”
There was silence on the other end. Then Lars spoke grimly.
“Novros,” he said. “Novros took you, didn’t he?”
How had he known that?
“Yes,” she choked out. “And he—”
“What did he tell you?”
