Drugged, Seduced, And Married To His Brother

Gemma Gonzales woke up feeling like her body had been dismantled and put back together with rusted screws.

A dull, unfamiliar ache throbbed between her legs.

She gasped, her eyes flying open. The ceiling above her was a sprawling canvas of dark, expensive velvet.

She turned her head. The space beside her on the massive king-sized bed was empty.

The sheets were tangled, carrying the lingering heat of another human body.

Fragments of last night slammed into her skull like a freight train.

The charity gala. The single glass of champagne. The sudden, terrifying dizziness that made the room spin.

A strange woman had gripped her arm, steering her toward the elevators. Gemma had realized, with a spike of pure adrenaline, that she had been drugged.

She remembered fighting the woman off, stumbling down a dimly lit hallway, and frantically dialing her best friend's number.

Then, the dark room.

She had pushed open a heavy door, seeking refuge. The room was pitch black. The sound of ice clinking against a glass had echoed in the silence.

She thought it was the male escort her friend Armida had jokingly promised to send if Gemma ever decided to rebel against her miserable marriage.

She had stumbled forward. A pair of strong, unrelenting hands had gripped her waist.

A heavy scent of bergamot and cedarwood had washed over her.

A deep voice had warned her she was in the wrong room.

But the drug in her veins had already ignited. She remembered losing her mind, pressing her lips against the man's throat.

She felt his muscles turn to solid rock beneath her touch.

He had cursed under his breath, a rough sound in the dark, before flipping her onto the sofa. His breathing was heavy, ragged.

Then he carried her to the bed. He came down on her with a punishing, consuming weight.

When he broke past her physical barrier, a sharp, tearing pain made her arch her back. Her fingernails had dug deep into the skin of his broad shoulders.

The man had frozen instantly.

"A virgin?" his voice had rasped, thick with disbelief.

But she couldn't form words. She could only cry and pull him closer, drowning in the chemical fire.

Now, the drug was gone. The cold reality of the morning light filtered through the heavy blackout curtains.

Gemma's stomach churned with nausea.

She didn't dare look at the bathroom door, terrified the man might walk out. She slid off the mattress, her legs trembling so violently she almost collapsed.

Her expensive evening gown lay on the floor, torn at the seams. She pulled it over her head with shaking hands.

She needed to leave. Now.

She grabbed her clutch from the floor. Thinking of Armida's supposed "arrangement," she pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills.

She placed the cash under the base of the bedside lamp. A pathetic payment for the complete destruction of her vows.

Grabbing her heels, Gemma ran out of the penthouse door like a fugitive.

The moment the elevator doors slid shut behind her, the man in the bed slowly opened his eyes.

Jakob Fuentes sat up.

The morning light caught the sharp angles of his bare chest. Several deep, red scratch marks trailed down his skin.

His dark eyes landed on the bedside table.

He stared at the five hundred-dollar bills sticking out from under the lamp.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest.

He reached out and picked up the cash, his long fingers brushing against the paper.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around his face as an image of the woman flashed in his mind.

It was his sister-in-law. Gemma Gonzales.

His college rival. The woman who was supposed to be a boring, submissive housewife.

He remembered her frantic movements in the dark. He remembered the undeniable physical resistance when he took her.

Married for two years, and still untouched?

Jakob took a slow drag of his cigarette. Joseph, his useless half-brother, was truly a pathetic excuse for a man.

He picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed his assistant's number.

"Pull the security footage from last night's charity gala," Jakob ordered, his voice a low gravel. "Specifically, find out who drugged Gemma Gonzales."

He hung up and looked down at the cash in his hand.

His lips curled into a dangerous, predatory smirk.

Five hundred dollars.

He was going to make her beg him to take it back.

The morning sun hit the Manhattan skyline. The hunt had officially begun.