The Holiday Escapes Collection. Sandra Marton

      Her gown still covered her body decently well, as long as she held together the bodice at the jagged, gaping rip over her heart. But she had to hold it tightly. The tulle skirts were heavy and wide, pulling behind her like a train as she went down the steps to the tarmac.

      Several cars were waiting, including a black Bentley. As she approached, a uniformed driver opened the passenger door.

      “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.”

      “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 end, 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?”

      She turned away so Xerxes couldn’t see her tearful face as she whispered into the phone, “He’s told me all kinds of lies. Oh, Lars. He said you were already married, that the tiara was fake, that our wedding