She glanced around as they walked beneath an arch into a courtyard, and through tall wooden doors that looked sturdy enough and old enough to have been around in the days of the conquistadors.
Inside, the walls were a soft ivory, the furnishings dark and massively proportioned. Warm-colored Saltillo tiles covered the floors. They walked through the entryway, then down a long, wide hallway to a door near the end. Turning, he bumped her up gently against the door, reached beneath her for the handle, and pushed open the door.
Once inside, he strode to the bed and set her on the edge of a soft comforter.
The urge to bolt upward to keep from soiling the fabric was in her, but he hovered over her, and suddenly her stomach dove to her toes. Was this, after all, what he’d been after?
His gaze raked her face and glanced away, sucking in a deep breath before raking a hand through his hair and aiming a glare her way. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“So says every rapist.”
“No, they don’t.” He closed his jaw and shook his head. “Look, we’re both tired and cranky. And you need to soak those feet. There’s Epsom salts under the sink. Use them. I’ll be back for you at dinnertime.” He turned on his heels, seemingly all too eager to escape her. “Help yourself to the clothes in the closet.”
After the door slammed behind him, she jerked up, striding to it and placing her ear against the door. The sound of his footsteps stomping away, echoed from down the hall. Her shoulders sagged and she turned, leaning against the cool wood for support.
His anger hadn’t frightened her one bit. It had reassured her as no amount of spoken assurances would have. He didn’t mean her any harm. She was safe. For now. And at last, alone.
Kara glanced down at her body, and her lips drew away from her teeth in a feral snarl. Stepping away from the door, she stripped the shirt over her head, shoved down her skimpy shorts, and then stood still. Her own body was so dirty, her scent made her stomach roil.
She’d been kidnapped, drugged, forced into unbearable conditions without a single explanation as to why, but with one bit of knowledge that left her trembling where she stood. She couldn’t go home. Ever.
* * *
Serge headed straight to the security room where he knew Alejandro would be waiting for him. Flinging open the door, he held up a hand. “Don’t. Not now.” Then he glanced at the monitor with the feed from the camera inside the woman’s room. The expression on her face as she tore off her clothes was that of a woman who’d reached the very end of her rope. She snarled, whipping off her clothing and grinding it into the floor with her heels. Then she stood perfectly still, her expression shifting from feral anger to abject dejection, the corners of her mouth turning downward and fat tears slipping down her cheeks. In moments, she was sobbing, her arms wrapped around her middle for comfort.
“You did the right thing,” Alejandro said softly. “She needs to be here. With us.”
Serge was incapable of answering, he was so struck. His fists curled at his sides. His heart squeezing, his body taut, he continued to watch, listening as she sobbed. The longer he stood there, sharing her pain, his determination grew. Her beauty wasn’t the thing that drew him, though he’d never seen a lovelier woman. Her face was a perfect oval, her mouth soft and plump. Her gray eyes were changeable, shifting from cold flint to a deep, moody storm-cloud gray. Her long hair, though tangled, was thick and soft, and curled to hug her shoulders. Her slender curves and neat, round breasts were also attractive, but not the reason he was ensnared.
Instead, he recalled how she’d fought him, how even when she’d been so frightened a pulse drummed at the side her throat, she’d kept her chin high. Her pride, even in the face of an immovable object—him—had been just as palpable. As frightened and vulnerable as she was, her spirit was a glorious thing he wanted to protect.
The realization of just how determined he was to save her, no matter what kind of trouble she might be in, made his skin prickle and his heart thud slowly in his chest. He’d earn her trust, learn her secrets, keep her safe.
His mission, now, was her.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
A Preview of His Every Fantasy
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Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Delilah Devlin
Excerpt from His Every Fantasy copyright © 2014 by Delilah Devlin
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner
Cover copyright © 2014 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without th
e permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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ISBN: 978-1-4555-2835-6 (ebook edition)
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