As the SUV flew down the road through the snowy night, Xerxes Novros stared down at the petite blonde beneath him, her slender wrists shackled in his hands. The instant she’d tried to escape, he’d instinctively covered her with his body, pressing her into the soft leather of the backseat. Xerxes could hear the soft pleading pant of her breath, smell the scent of fresh linen and tea roses that clung to her skin. Her every gasp lifted her full breasts higher above the tightly corseted satin bodice, until he thought the fabric could not contain her for much longer. His body tightened, and he forced himself to look away. He wasn’t supposed to want Rose Linden. Despise her, yes. Use her? Certainly. So how to explain this sudden rush of desire? Xerxes generally had one requirement before he bedded a woman: he had to want her. That was it. He had no interest in learning about her character, her so-called soul. What would be the purpose of such an exercise? He’d be done with her by morning.
