Sean Blair stared out the window at the sloping green lawn beyond. He swirled a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and the ice cubes clinked softly against the glass. He swallowed the remaining liquid, hoping the fiery heat would calm him, but his heart continued to beat violently against his chest.

Why had Catherine run away from him? He looked at the sweeping expanse of his estate and shook his head. He had money, power, and everything that he was willing to give it all to her. Hell, he had been willing to give a lot more than that to her. So why had she run away with nobody like Marco Jacobs? What could have possibly made her so desperate to escape?

​​

"Am I really that disgusting to her?" he asked himself.

A knock sounded at the door, and his butler, Levi's familiar voice, said, "Excuse me, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Blair wants to see you."

"Ignore her," Sean said, pouring himself another whiskey. "Surely she just wants to beg for my mercy with Marco."

"Very well," Levi said.

"I'm going to lie down," Sean said. "Don disturb me no matter what happened, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Levi said. "But wait, sir—"

Sean ignored Levi and strode down the hall to his bedroom. He threw open the door and froze in shock. The curtains had been drawn shut, but thousands of candles in small glass jars bathed the room in glowing, golden light. Red rose petals were scattered across the floor, covering the carpet and filling the room with a heady, floral aroma.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"The wedding night decorations you asked for," Levi said, jogging up behind him.

"Well, take it all down," Sean roared.

"Right away, sir," Levi said.

A team of men and cleaners rushed into the room and began to sweep and vacuum up the petals. They blew out the candles and swept the jars into giant black trash bags. The smell of smoke mixed with the rose petals and gave Sean a headache.

"Prepare another room for me," he said to Levi.

"Of course, sir," Levi said. The butler paused nervously and then added, "Mrs. Blair continues to ask for you. I don't think she's going to stop until you see her."

***

The door burst open, and Sean strode into the room. His suit was rumpled, and his hair was messy, but his icy eyes flashed. He marched to the side of her bed, bringing a chilly air with him. Catherine shivered, but she met his eye.

"Sean, we need to talk," she said, hating the way her voice trembled. "Can we have a real conversation?"

Sean's jaw twitched, but he didn't say a word. He stood next to her, cold and still as a statue, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake. Maybe Marco really was the lesser of two evils.

She patted the soft mattress and said, "Sit down."

Sean raised his eyebrow and sat down wordlessly. A strong, warm smell of whiskey hung around him, and she flinched. In her last years with Marco, he had taken to drinking a lot, and the days he drank were always worse than the days he didn't.

***

Sean sat at the edge of the bed and watched as Catherine backed away from him.

Ever since his men had captured her and brought her back, he'd noticed the way she moved around him. When he leaned closer, she leaned back. When he moved toward her, she scooted away.

She wasn't like that around other people. When he'd seen her before, she was always surrounded by a group of friends and admirers—the center of attention. She laughed and smiled, and her bright green eyes twinkled and shone. Why couldn't she be like that with him? Why did she look at him the way a rabbit looks at a wolf?

He stared down at her bright green eyes. There was something instinctually appealing about the way they widened when she looked at him, the way her mouth opened slightly in a silent gasp, the way the floral smell of her perfume rose from her hair each time she moved. She was so vulnerable, so delicate.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Her body went rigid, but her lips were soft and yielding. He forced them open and pulled her slight body against his. She flailed and struggled, and he finally let her pull away.

"What the hell was that," she asked. "I said I wanted to talk."

The thin, white T-shirt she wore had slipped to the side, revealing the creamy top of her shoulder. He wanted to press his lips to that shoulder, to tear the shirt and expose the rest of her, to press himself into her softness until she yielded. He closed his eyes and shook his head—the whiskey was clouding his thoughts.

"Okay," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About us," she whispered.

Sean's heart thudded in his chest—us? He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was staring down at her hands, twisting the fine sheets around and around until they were wrinkled and ropy.

Without thinking, he pulled her onto his lap and jerked her head down to his. He claimed her lips, kissing her as hard as he could. With a slight groan, she opened her mouth and let him enter it, shifting forward on his lap. He tugged her closer, feeling her warmth against him.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed the neckline of her shirt and tore the thin fabric. His fingertips found the clasp of her bra, and he unhooked it with a flick of his wrist. She pulled away, breaking the kiss.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, holding the bra in place.

"It's my wedding night," he said. "And I intend to enjoy it."

***

Catherine panted for breath and stared at the man in front of her. He looked at her as if he was going to destroy her, and she shivered with a strange mixture of fear and desire. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Catherine fumbled with the straps of her lacy bra, trying to push them back up her shoulders and redo the clasp at the back.

"I will have you, Catherine," Sean groaned. "One way or another."

He pushed her back, and she collapsed onto the pile of down pillows at the head of the bed. In a second, he was on top of her, tugging her pants from her legs. He moved up her body, pulling her hands away from her chest and pinning them above her head with his left hand. With his free hand, he tugged her bra away and threw it across the room.

She shivered as the cool air touched her bare breasts, and he laughed, taking one in his large hand. He squeezed it roughly and moved up to bite her neck. She groaned as his teeth sank into the sensitive skin, arching herself up into him. He growled and released her hands, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to tug it open. Buttons popped off, and the shirt fell open, revealing a chiseled chest.

Sean growled low in his throat and grabbed her hand, guiding it to the front of his trousers. The strength of his desire strained against the front of his pants, hot and urgent. Shocked back to her senses, Catherine pulled her hand away.

She felt her face flush and turned her head to the side, escaping Sean's passionate gaze. Hot embarrassment flooded through her—she'd wanted to talk to him but ended up tearing at his clothes and pressing herself into him like an animal in heat.

A firm but gentle hand closed around her wrist and guided her hand back to the front of his pants. She looked at her small pale hand next to his large tanned fingers and let him press her palm into him.

It would be easy to let him take her, easy to submit to him. She wanted it. She wanted to feel his large hands on every inch of her body. She wanted his heat against her. She wanted him.

"Wait," she gasped. "We have to stop. This isn't talking."

"It's better than talking," he said, pressing his lips to her neck.

"No, we need to talk," she said. "Get off me, let me put my clothes on."

"You can't make love with clothes on," he said, biting her earlobe.

"Listen to me," she said. "I'm trying to be serious, okay? I know I shouldn't have run away."

He pulled away and looked down at her. His face became impassive and cool, and he narrowed his eyes as if trying to read her. His hand tightened, but the grip felt more deadly than passionate. She squirmed uncomfortably as his fingers dug into her ribs.

"What is this about?" he asked.

"I just want to work things out," she said.

Disgust flitted across his face and his mouth curled down, "I see what's happening. You think I'll forget about your betrayal if you let me fuck you.

"No," she said. "It's not that at all. I'm trying to tell you that I don't want to be with Marco anymore. I want to be with you."

"Don't lie to me," he snarled.

"I meant it," she said. "I'm not lying."

"Then prove it," he said, roughly pinching her breast.

She winced with the pain, and her head swam. How could she explain it all to him? His moods changed as unpredictable as the wind, and he never reacted the way she thought. Would letting him make love to her change his mind, or would he hate her for it?

She groaned and tried to push his hand away, "No, we can't."

"Why not?" he asked. "It's our wedding night, isn't it?"

"I—I—" she stammered, trying to think of an excuse. "I have my period."

Sean's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed her breast again.

"I'm serious," she said. "I don't want to like this—it's unclean and gross."

"I don't believe you," he said.

His right hand skimmed down to her legs, and he pried them open. Pulling her underwear aside, he dipped one long finger into her most intimate place. It was stained red when he pulled it away. Without saying a word, he climbed off the bed and crossed the room for a tissue.

Catherine exhaled a sigh of relief and wrapped herself up in the sheets, but she didn't relax fully until the door slammed shut behind him. She's almost forgotten that she had her period. Her cousin Madison Stewart had convinced her to get a progesterone injection to trigger her period to come early in case she didn't get away from Sean in time.

Catherine rolled her eyes at how foolish she'd been. It should have been obvious that Madison was just trying to get Sean for herself. That's why she'd encouraged Catherine to run away with Marco, and that's why she'd been so helpful with arranging everything, and that's why she'd agreed to dress up as Catherine!

"Damn," Catherine whispered. "If Sean caught me, then what happened to Madison?"