Fury and desire
He stopped his car in the middle of the road and jumped out.
With a startled cry, Elena spun and sprinted back into the long, straight rows of his vineyard. Grimly, he went after her. Every step hammered with the memory of how she'd fooled him—how she'd betrayed him. Everything she'd said, everything she'd done, had been a lie. He'd known she wasn't trustworthy. And still, while he'd been asking for her forgiveness, stupidly thinking he'd found something pure, she'd only been working toward the secret door.
"Stop!" he shouted.
But she only ran faster, weaving between the rows, ducking beneath the heavy clusters of palomino grapes. In the pale early light he saw streaks of red smearing across the white, chalky albariza soil.
Her blood.
Her feet were bare, bleeding.
The sight only fueled his rage. How had a single girl—armed with nothing but beauty and raw nerve—managed to slip through his guards, outsmart his security, and escape him?
She was barefoot. But she was fast.
He cursed and pushed himself harder, breaking into a full run. At last he caught her in a thicket of overgrown trees. Grabbing her shoulder, he swung her around, breath coming hard, fury vibrating through him.
"What do I have to do?" he demanded. "Lock you up and throw away the key?"
"Try it!" she panted. "I would still escape!"
Her breasts rose and fell beneath the thin, soaked cotton, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes blazing. Every part of her trembled with defiance.
"You can't hold me!"
Even in the cold dawn he could see her nipples tight through the fabric. Desire and fury tangled in his chest.
"Why are you so determined to marry Richard?"
"Maybe I miss his touch," she shot back, breathless, "after wasting my time with a man like you—ah!"
He slammed her against an orange tree. A shower of ripe oranges fell to the ground around them.
"A man like me?" he growled. "What kind of man is that?"
"You're just like the others," she gasped, her soft curves pressed against him, driving him half-mad. "You don't care who you hurt, as long as you get what you want. If you had any heart at all, you'd let me go!"
"Heart?" he snapped. "You handed me your virginity on a silver platter. You seduced me just to escape—made me think I could trust you. You cold-hearted, mercenary little liar—"
"I had no choice!" she cried, her gaze flicking helplessly to his mouth. "You forced me—"
Forced her?
That was too much.
"Call it whatever you like," he said harshly. "I'm a selfish bastard who took what wasn't mine. I took your virginity. I took my pleasure. And I intend to take it again whenever I choose."
He crushed his mouth to hers. She gasped, struggling, but he was stronger. She tried to keep her lips closed, but he forced them open, claiming her with a fierce, consuming kiss.
Then suddenly—she melted.
Her small hands fisted in his shoulders, a low moan rising from deep in her chest. The kiss softened, deepened, turning into something hot and hungry. His hands slid along her waist, her hips, then cupped her backside. He lifted her, pressing her back against the tree, pulling her nightgown up to her thighs—
And then he stopped.
They were too close to the road. Richard and his men could be anywhere. He drew a sharp breath.
What was it about this girl that drove him past reason?
"We'll finish this later," he growled.
She blinked up at him, dazed and breathless.
Before she could speak, he lifted her into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"Wait—no!" she protested, kicking weakly.
He didn't slow.
He'd caught her.
Ruthlessly, he hauled her through the trees toward the road.
"Please!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a sob.
"You have to let me go!"
"Why should I?" he shot back.
"Let me go or my sister could die!"
That stopped him cold. His car was already visible through the branches, but he set her down instantly.
"Explain," he ordered.
When he saw the flicker in her eyes, his jaw tightened.
"Another trick. I knew it," he snapped, reaching for her again.
"It's not a trick!" Her eyes filled with tears—real tears. "You were right when you asked if I was marrying Richard against my will. My brother is forcing me. I don't have a choice!"
"What hold does he have over you?"
"My sister," she whispered. "She's only ten. I found out my brother starves her. His wife mistreats her. She's suffering—she's dying. I have to get back to her." She was still speaking when a loud slam cut through the air.
He spun toward the road.
A battered van had screeched to a stop. Four hard-faced guards poured out, guns in hand. Richard stepped out from the passenger side in a perfect black suit, as if arriving at a celebration.
He was—Damian's funeral.
Damian dragged her back toward the cluster of young orange trees, where lavender and wild rock rose provided what little cover they could.
Not that it mattered. His Ferrari sat on the roadside, a blazing red target in the pale dawn.
Maldito sea.
He cursed himself for a fool.
He had only two choices.
Fight.
Or run.
He watched as two guards swept the vineyard in a slow, practiced search, while the other two advanced toward the grove where he hid.