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  Tomorrow, she'd return to Lyon and do the right thing. Explain to him she couldn't possibly go through with this absurd stunt. He'd understand. If not, she'd make him understand.

  Deep inside, she knew he wouldn't. To plead for money was her idea in the first place. What would happen now if she reneged on their agreement? Not only would she still be in debt, but also, more importantly, her father would be hurt. She'd never let that happen. She'd keep her word and adhere to their verbal contract. Taking several deep breaths, she calmed enough to think back on the outrageous bargain she'd just struck with the man. Lyon Sauvage had grown more handsome in the past five years, if you could call his scarred face handsome. Something about him had always reminded her of a fallen angel, from his dark clothes to his ink black hair worn long and a little unkempt in a sexy sort of way. Lyon possessed a daring gaze capable of rendering any woman helpless, especially when filled with passion. Combined with his tall, fit body, strong hands, large enough to hurt, and, at the same time, skilled enough to bring ecstasy, Lyon Sauvage stood a devastating, imposing figure of a man. She'd reacted to his kiss in a way she'd never experienced. The warmth of his lips had forced her mouth open, and she'd allowed his tongue to mate with hers. He'd brought her body to life. His touch had burned through the silk, causing her nipples to tingle and her pussy to weep with heat. Even his scent, a mix of forbidden dark secrets, had weakened her knees and turned her legs to jelly.

  Oh God, what am I going to do?

  First, she'd go home, take a cold shower, and figure this out rationally with the mind and control of an adult. Yet Lyon's proposal had been anything but rational. She'd gone on exactly four dates in the past five years. Those few men had all attempted to ply her with expensive dinners and seductive words, complimenting her beauty. Each encounter had turned out disastrous. Isabella knew she was pretty. Her father called her his 'beauty' many times. Did every man think she wanted to hear that drivel? Why didn't they look deeper, into her soul?

  She thought she'd finally found a soul mate in David—fair-haired, tall, and movie star handsome. Isabella had made the mistake of believing she and David were alike in so many ways. David, like Isabella, knew the pitfalls of physical beauty. Neither of them had a problem ignoring their looks and probing each other's hearts. For over two years, she'd been so happy. Then David had proposed and given her a beautiful engagement ring with a promise to love her forever.

  Forever didn't last. Neither did their engagement.

  In the end, Lyon had been there for her. He'd remained by her side both day and night, offering his shoulder to cry on. Lyon, her dear friend, who made sure she ate, dried her tears, held her in his arms, and listened to her cries of grief, never saying a word, never judging her.

  Lyon had confessed his love to her, wanted to take care of her forever if she wished. But Isabella had just had her heart broken by the love of her life. No room remained in her heart for anyone, not even Lyon. She had taken advantage of him long enough. Though she'd cherished Lyon's friendship, David's betrayal had left her body and soul nothing but an empty shell. So, she'd severed all ties to Lyon, and moved away, leaving no forwarding address.

  Is it any wonder he detests you?

  Maybe their confrontation was a good thing. He didn't love her, so neither of their feelings would be hurt.

  She had to find a way out of this predicament though, and fast. She had less than twenty-four hours.

  Don't think about anything else until tomorrow.

  Finally, turning into her parking space, she exhaled a sigh of relief. The only way out of this mess was to do Lyon's bidding. But she couldn't be what he wanted—submissive, bending to his will. Could she? She took a breath, got out of the car, and made her way into her condo. Throwing her bag on the couch, she pulled her hair from the elastic restraint, and then fell into the soft cushions.

  "I can do this," she said to no one but herself. "I can survive seventy-two hours with him, can't I? In the end, the shop will be saved, my father will be safe, and then Lyon and I will go our separate ways."

  He'd acted like a beast, but as long as she kept control of the situation, and allowed him to use her body only, never her mind—and God forbid, her soul—she'd survive. Wouldn't she?

  That sexy accent of his complimented his French heritage, and his classical European education lent to his Old World style of speech. Isabella often thought of Lyon as a throwback to another time and place, who spoke more like a Victorian era gentleman than a modern day man. He adored Shakespeare and Dickens, could recite Blake, Lord Byron, and Yeats like the days of the week. Classical and opera music was the norm for him, and he was as comfortable with Homer and Socrates as she was reading a romance novel.

  As a result of a car accident suffered as a teen, his nose set a bit off center and two pencil thin scars pierced the flesh over his right eye, causing the skin to droop just a touch. Another zigzag wound had marked his chin. His lips were a slash of arrogance whose kisses hypnotized as if possessed by demons in a dark place. Because of damaged vocal cords, Lyon's voice emitted nothing more than sandpapery whispers. And beneath all that fire and brimstone, his deep sense of loneliness was all too evident. Her thoughts brought her back to her present predicament. Lyon had backed her into a brick wall.

  Face it. Lyon is your only hope.

  Chapter Three

  After all these years, she would finally belong to him.

  Lyon sat behind his desk, the echo of her stormy exit adding agony to his pounding headache. Isabella left behind a trail of sultry, seductive scents that hardened him like stone.

  Still as beautiful as the day they met, Isabella possessed a fiery personality, a sensual nature, and a body so alluring and quietly sexual, a man would gladly brave the depths of hell to touch her.

  Tomorrow, his plan to possess her would become reality. Lyon's methods may have been a bit unorthodox, yet he didn't mistake the way her eyes heated when his cock ground into the silk of her skirt. Her moan of arousal awakened a longing deep inside him, and he sensed a spark of something that even in her denial, still remained. Isabella needed help to realize who and what she wanted. Would the long weekend provide her with the proof she needed to realize they belonged together? He would not force her to stay. At the end of the weekend, if she insisted on leaving him, he'd let her go.

  As for tomorrow, she would be true to her word. If she wanted to save her precious father and his business, she would come to him.

  Whether she'd been gone five years or fifty, Lyon had never forgotten her. Hell, he thought he'd die when she ended their friendship. Yes, he knew she'd been in love with David. But since the day they'd met, Lyon felt a connection between them, a deep sensation that he couldn’t explain away. He wanted her then. Truth be told, he wanted and would welcome her now.

  In the empty years without her in his life, meaningless sex with many lovely women of his acquaintance satisfied his body, but no woman had ever captured his heart as had Isabella.

  Now, the beautiful Isabella would be his, and he would show her what possessing a woman really meant. He'd teach her things, the likes of which she'd never dreamed.

  He ached, recalling the vision she made when she walked into his office wearing that stunning grey suit combined with impossibly high heels. The combination brought out the curve of her calves and her slender figure. Smoky eyes revealed a passion that barely tapped the surface. Porcelain skin, soft and smooth, highlighted a face of untold loveliness, intelligence, and hidden secrets. He hungered to cup the fullness of her breasts, to taste her nipples, and to suck them until she came apart in his arms. He wished to tear her clothes from her soft flesh, to trail his tongue down her flat tummy until he reached her warm, wet channel, and to sip from her sweetness. His cock had cried for mercy as his gaze had rested on her thick hair pinned up in a severe twist. Lyon looked forward to pulling those thick tresses out of their tight wrapping and looping that long rope around his cock, while she took him in her mouth. He looked forw
ard to spending every precious minute with her in his bed, under him, riding him, begging to be taken, again and again, screaming his name. Pushing back from the misty fog of his fantasy, he forced himself to steady his racing heart, calm his aching cock. He reached across his desk, picked up his iPhone, and tapped the screen. Business was business, after all. His assistant answered on the other end.

  "Gerard, this is Sauvage. I need you to handle something for me . . . ." His business with Gerard completed moments later, he pressed a button to end the connection with a slight grunt of satisfaction. Assured his instructions would be carried out to the letter, he leaned back in his butter-soft leather chair, steepled fingers pressed against his lips. He puffed out a breath and allowed his thoughts to drift back to Isabella, and the weekend ahead.

  * * * * *

  Aching for a shower, Isabella padded toward the bedroom, peeling her clothes off along the way. She stood in front of her full-length bedroom mirror. Standing a hair over five feet three, her long auburn waves framed a face that housed large grey eyes and a nose a tad too small. Her full mouth had not known botox as many thought, and her generous breasts had been inherited from her mother's side of the family, not the products of a surgeon's scalpel and a glob of saline. Several days a week at the gym had certainly been to her advantage. She wasn’t, as a rule, vain, but she liked to take care of her body.

  She sighed. If she were going to be Lyon's sex toy, at least she looked presentable.

  Moments later, she stepped into the shower, letting the beaded silver streams beat down on her. She stood there for endless moments, trying to steady the unusual rhythm of her heart. Her mind raced in an attempt to wash Lyon from her thoughts. But her body had other ideas.

  As though possessing a mind of their own, her fingers slid down to her breasts, while warm water spilled over them. With both nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, Isabella closed her eyes, threw her head back, and pinched them. The arousal between her legs intensified until an orgasm cried to escape her aching body. Skimming one palm past her navel, she found her swollen clit and squeezed the hardened nub between two fingers. A vision of Lyon appeared behind her closed eyelids and she exploded. Coming hard, she braced her back against the cool tiles to steady herself against the onslaught of her climax.

  Out of breath, Isabella turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, crossed the room, and dropped to her bed. Who was she kidding? Though she'd seen Lyon no more than ten minutes and masturbated in the shower amidst carnal thoughts, she harbored reservations about going with him. Not because she still loved David. She was done with that story years ago. In truth, she'd sold herself. Even if the money saved her father's life, bartering her body troubled her more than she could say.

  Caught in a trap she alone was responsible for, she'd go to him, head held high, but she would never give him anything more than her body. Never.

  * * * * *

  The sight of her made him smile when she approached him the next morning. Right on time, he thought. He leaned against the door of his car, his legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest.

  Casually dressed in well-worn jeans, she wore a rose design encrusted t-shirt, bearing the name of her florist shop. The top appeared older than he was and molded to her body like a second skin. Damn. She also wore no make-up, which suited him fine. Isabella possessed a natural beauty he'd always admired, yet she seemed unaware and unconcerned by her own allure. The Nikes on her small feet had seen better days. Her gorgeous auburn waves were swept up in a haphazard ponytail.

  Suddenly, he wanted her naked, tied to his bed, her thighs spread wide so his tongue could suck her swollen clit and slick channel and bring her to orgasm. He couldn't wait to have those lips of hers suck him until he cried out in ecstasy. Calm down, there's plenty of time to relish all of her.

  Shaking his thoughts away, he mentally reinforced his agenda. A deal was a deal.

  He curbed his arousal as she walked toward him, moving fluidly and putting all his senses on alert. What was it about this woman that turned him inside out and made his body betray him? Everything about her seemed to hold him captive, from her natural beauty to her sexual allure. Even now, the smell of her shampoo, a tempting floral fragrance, made his cock twitch. Damn her.

  Her shirt displayed the outline of her nipples. His mouth watered at the sight of her tight jeans, pressing into the V between her legs, and the defiance evident in each step she took.

  Did she have any idea how she affected him? How his flesh heated and cock hardened as she approached? Obviously, she'd become more insolent since her broken engagement to David. Lyon had been there for support. Wanting but never touching, knowing she loved someone else, he'd held her as she cried in pain and later, exhausted, while she slept in his arms. He'd even been tempted to kill her fiancée with his bare hands, but he'd tamped his rage for Isabella's sake. Why in the hell he chose this way of getting her wasn't important right now. She belonged to him for the time being and that’s all that mattered. He deserved her disgust and repulsion for forcing her to make this kind of deal. But first, he would taste and touch her. He would be the one to bring her to her knees as she surrendered to him.

  She gave a slight look of defiant surprise. "What, no shackles?"

  "You have a fresh mouth, Isabella. Try using those lips for something other than spouting sarcastic remarks."

  Before she took another step, his hand swept out and turned her, pushing her against the hood of the car. He grabbed her ponytail and pulled back to gain full access to those enticing lips.

  Chapter Four

  Isabella's breasts tingled and her nipples ached against the thin cotton of her tshirt. Her core throbbed when he pressed her against the door of his black Mercedes sports car. As he ravished her mouth, her lips, she recognized this as a prelude of things to come.

  She hated to admit her panties moistened as his kisses took and took with relentless strength. Before Isabella could draw a breath, he ended his onslaught, leaving her wanting. How was she supposed to survive a weekend of Lyon Sauvage when his kisses alone held such lethal power over her?

  "Let's get going." His voice strained with unfulfilled passion. His eyes grew dark and his nostrils flared. And his long, hard bulge protruding from the front of his pants told her what she already knew.

  He held open the car door for her. From the passenger seat, she looked at him, searching for any hint of compassion, but found only an expression devoid of emotion. He made his way quickly to the driver's side, settled in, and turned the key in the ignition. "Buckle up," he rasped. "I'm in a hurry." She clasped her hands in her lap, as he pulled out of her driveway and into traffic.

  "May I at least ask where we're going?"

  "Showing some interest, Isabella? I'm impressed." He stopped at a red light and turned to face her. "I have a house in the mountains. And stop acting like a wounded rabbit." When the light turned green, he smirked before redirecting his attention to the road and hitting the gas. "It's not as if we're strangers."

  "Oh yes, Lyon, we are. I don't know this man you've become. Don't know why we couldn't have solved any problem between us without you degrading me or demanding I become your sex slave for the weekend. I'll hold to my promise. But never, ever think you can control me."

  He drove onto the highway, and the car picked up speed. "I will collect what is mine."

  Her cheeks grew warm. "I am not yours, Lyon. No one treats me this way."

  "And what way is that?"

  He smiled; she didn't. "Having fun at my expense?"

  "I will be."

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. Sparring with him turned out to be a waste of time. "There is one thing I have to say."

  "Only one?" he asked with a chuckle.

  "If you try anything kinky or weird, deal or no deal, I'll leave. Understand?" His smile faded. "Good God, Isabella, I would never hurt you. What I have in mind will only bring pleasure, I promise
you that."

  For the moment, she was rendered speechless. She peered out the window, electing to spend this time to collect her thoughts.

  He drove off the highway and approached a tollbooth, paid the fare, then exited to the east. From there, he proceeded until he approached a long, tree-lined drive. About a mile in, Isabella's gaze rested on an incredible sight. Her mouth dropped open. The man lived in a damned castle.

  Imagine. A castle set in the Hudson Valley. Funny, as a child she'd always dreamed of marrying her Prince Charming and living in a place just as magnificent as this. With the sobering thought, she shivered. What if he had a dungeon and planned to keep her tied up with rats and—

  "You look like you're about to faint, Isabella. This is my home, not a prison."

  "Easy for you to say."

  She swallowed hard and stared in amazement as he approached a circular driveway and stopped the car.

  He shut off the engine, turned to her. "Welcome to Castle de la Sauvage." Castle of the savage. Appropriate.

  He left the car and approached her side. Opening her door, he held out his hand.

  "My home is your home, Isabella."

  She managed a tight nod.

  "Shall we?"

  Instead of taking his hand, she shoved her fingers in her pockets and allowed him to lead her to the huge front door. A handsome young man appeared, greeted them, and faded away into the house like a wraith.

  "That was my assistant, Gerard. He will not bother us while you are here." Of course not. In spite of his words to the contrary, she was a prisoner. I guess that makes Lyon my jailer, she thought. What on earth does he have planned?

  "I've tried to make my home as comfortable as I could for you, Isabella. What do you think?"

  She turned toward the sound of his voice, and immediately her sense of smell kicked in. On the cherry wood table in the center of the large, marble-floored vestibule, stood an elaborate wide-cut crystal vase holding several dozen incredible lavender roses.