The Holiday Escapes Collection. Sandra Marton

so close to her again. He was freshly shaved and brutally handsome. And the smile he was giving her now was nothing short of devastating. Quickly, she looked back at the breakfast tray. “This looks delicious. I suppose now you’ll tell me you cooked it yourself?”

      “No.” His sensual mouth quirked. “But I run a full-service prison here. Room and board included.”

      “Nice.” She lifted her eyes to him suddenly. “It would be even nicer if you’d let me go.”

      He blinked, then his eyes hardened. “But we already agreed that I am not nice. I am a businessman. And you are too thin. No more diets. You will eat.”

      “I wasn’t on a diet,” she said, stung. “I wasn’t even trying to lose weight. I just couldn’t relax around Lars. I never had an appetite.”

      “You found him unappetizing? Shocking,” Xerxes said, lifting his eyebrow. “But you are in my care now. Further starvation will cause you to lose your value. You will obey me in this.”

      Rose scowled at his tyrannical tone, then looked down at the tray. The coffee smelled divine, the croissants looked flaky and buttery. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday. Or was it the day before? She hadn’t even eaten a slice of wedding cake. Cake with buttercream frosting was normally her favorite, but she hadn’t been able to eat a bite.

      Why hadn’t she listened to what her body had been trying to tell her all along?

      So rather than argue with him, she took a deep breath and placed the napkin in her lap. She took a bite of chocolate croissant, and her eyes widened. “Yum!” she breathed, and quickly ate another bite, and another.

      “That’s what I like,” he said approvingly.

      She took a big swig of orange juice. “I can relax around you, Xerxes. I don’t need to be perfect for you—” she gave him a sudden grin “—because you’re basically a terrible person.”

      “I am,” he agreed. Leaning forward, he suddenly stroked her upper lip.

      Electrified, she stared up at him in shock. “Why did you do that?”

      “Orange juice on your lip,” he said.

      She swallowed. How could he do that? How could Xerxes, with just one touch, make her completely forget who she was and what she was doing?

      “Go on,” he said. “Don’t stop now. I want you nice and healthy when I trade you.”

      Her smile faded.

      Trade. Yes. Of course he wanted her healthy, so he could trade her like a horse. Fat and sassy, like a farm cow. Maybe he’d even find a way to sell her by the pound. Biting her lip, she looked down at her tray.

      “How can you be so sure he’ll still trade me?” she said in a small voice. “Lars is married. He can’t love me. If you’re married, you can’t love anyone else.”

      Xerxes’s black eyes gleamed. “You really believe that.”

      “Of course I do!” she said fiercely, looking up. “He doesn’t love me, and I don’t…can’t…love him ever again.”

      “Why not?” he said curiously. “Växborg is still a baron. Once he’s divorced, he’ll be free to legally wed you. But he will no longer have Laetitia’s fortune. Is that the problem?”

      She choked out a laugh. “I don’t care about money. I’ve been broke for years. I know how to deal with it.”

      “So?”

      “He lied to me. And it’s more than that. Marriage is forever. Promises aren’t just words. When I marry,” she said, “it will be to a man who knows what a promise means.”

      His eyebrows lifted.

      “You surprise me,” he murmured. “I never expected any woman, let alone a woman who looks like you, to be…”

      “To be what?” she demanded.

      “Old-fashioned,” he said quietly. “A woman who believes in honor and commitment? A woman who cannot be bought?” He shook his head. “I didn’t know there were any such left in the world.”

      Rose’s cheeks went hot. Was he mocking her, calling her a fool? She already felt like enough of one for a whole lifetime.

      “It’s not so rare,” she said defensively, folding her arms. “Lots of people feel that way in my hometown. Especially in my family,” she muttered.

      Her family. She bit her lip. What had Lars told them about her? Were they worried? Scared? Angry? She unfolded her arms and looked at him pleadingly. “Won’t you let me call my mother and tell her what’s happened?”

      His eyebrows lowered as he shook his head. “Sorry. Too risky. Your mother might call the police. I know Lars will not.”

      “All right,” she whispered, looking away. “I still don’t understand how he could do such a horrible thing as pretend to marry me.”

      Xerxes cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His black eyes went through her, causing a flicker of heat against her skin, spreading down her body. He moved closer to her, so close that she felt consumed by the black fire of his gaze. “He wanted to make sure no other man could have you.”

      No other man? Try no man ever. She took a deep breath. What would he say if he knew he was actually the first man who’d ever kissed her? Would he think she was a freakish old maid?

      She covered her face with her hands. “I feel pathetic.”

      “Rose.” Xerxes’s voice was low. “I was wrong to call you naive. You…you just believe the best of people. It’s a rare quality.”

      She felt the warmth of his arms start to encircle her. No! She couldn’t let him touch her, or she might completely collapse back into his arms. She jerked back away from him on the bed, looking up at him fiercely. “If you believe that, let me call my family and tell them I’m safe!”

      He blinked. “I’m sure Lars told them that.”

      She thought of her parents, her grandparents, her brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, and choked back her tears, causing her throat to throb. “No. I need to talk to them now.”

      “I already gave you my answer. No.” He abruptly stood up from the bed. “There are a variety of new clothes in the closet for your stay. Enjoy your breakfast.”

      He left. Rose stared at the closed door.

      With a weary sigh, she rose from the bed and went to the closet. There, just as he’d promised, she found an entirely new wardrobe, laundered and pressed, in a variety of sizes.

      She ran her hands over all the hanging clothes softly, then looked at the shoes stacked neatly beneath.

      There was every style of clothing possible, everything any woman could want—from bikinis and cocktail dresses to oversized sweatpants and T-shirts. Schlubby to chic and everything in between.

      Very unlike Lars, who’d always had a very specific way he’d wished her to dress. He hadn’t even allowed her to pick out her own wedding dress. “You’re beautiful in anything, petal,” he’d said. “But I prefer you to wear the jewels and furs you deserve.”

      She’d tried to tell him that she didn’t feel comfortable in those things, but he never listened to her. So she’d worn his fancy clothing in the hope it would make her feel like she belonged in his aristocratic set.

      Grimly, she went back to the bed and poured herself some hot coffee into a pretty china teacup on the tray. Taking a sip of the steaming black coffee, she stared at herself in the vanity mirror.

      She looked awful. Like a raccoon with circles under her eyes, or maybe a Halloween ghost, pale and thin. Yesterday’s wedding makeup was still smeared on