Accidental Seduction: The Priceless Pregnant Prey

Christal Clay fought to keep her heavy eyelids open.

The dim wall sconces in the top-floor hallway of the Zephyr Royal Hotel seemed to melt, the light stretching into distorted, glowing lines. A sudden, unnatural heat flared in her veins. Her knees buckled. She hit the thick, expensive carpet hard, the impact jarring her bones.

She dragged herself up, leaning her weight against the silk-lined wallpaper. Her trembling fingers brushed against a cold metal door plaque. Her vision swam, but the brass numbers were unmistakable. Room 809. This was the exact suite Kellie had texted her. This was it.

She gritted her teeth and pressed the keycard against the sensor.

A soft click echoed in the silence.

Before she could push the handle, the door was violently yanked open from the inside. A massive force grabbed her arm, dragging her into a pitch-black space.

Christal gasped.

A calloused, burning hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her scream. The heavy scent of cedar wood, mixed with the faint, metallic tang of blood, invaded her lungs. It was a purely masculine scent, raw and terrifying.

She kicked out wildly. Her heel connected with solid muscle.

The man didn't even flinch. He shifted his weight, driving his knee forward to pin both of her ankles against the heavy oak door. The sheer difference in physical strength paralyzed her.

His ragged breathing brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck. The heat radiating from his body seeped through her thin silk dress. He was burning up. This was not normal.

Desperate, Christal dug her fingernails into the thick muscle of his forearm. Her nails caught on a raised, jagged scar.

The man let out a low, guttural grunt of pain.

But the pain didn't make him pull back. It triggered something primal. He dipped his head in the dark, his mouth crashing down on her trembling lips with devastating accuracy.

Tears spilled over her eyelashes.

Her sister Kellie's voice echoed in her mind. Just go to the room, Christal. Vice President Kurtis Kramer is waiting for your audition. The image of Kramer's greasy, sweating face flashed in her head. Her stomach violently contracted with nausea.

She opened her jaw, trying to bite his lip to make him stop.

The man was faster. His large fingers pinched her jaw, forcing her mouth open. He deepened the kiss, turning it into a ruthless, predatory invasion.

The drug in her bloodstream ignited like gasoline. Her muscles turned to water. The frantic struggling slowed, her rational mind crumbling under the crushing weight of the darkness and his burning touch.

He scooped her up into his arms.

The sudden weightlessness made her gasp. Pure survival instinct forced her to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. He stumbled through the dark suite, his heavy footsteps eating up the distance to the bedroom.

They crashed onto a massive, soft mattress.

Christal scrambled backward, her fingers clawing at the sheets, trying to reach the edge of the bed. A large hand clamped around her ankle. He yanked her back to the center of the mattress with zero effort.

The sound of tearing fabric ripped through the quiet room.

Cold air hit her bare skin, sending a violent shiver down her spine. A second later, his heavy, burning body covered her completely.

Sharp pain sliced through her, followed instantly by a terrifying, drug-induced rush of heat. Christal squeezed her eyes shut. She lost her grip on reality, her tears soaking into the velvet pillow beneath her head.

Time lost its meaning.

When the violent storm finally ended, the heavy weight shifted off her. The man rolled to his side. His breathing slowed, dropping into a deep, steady rhythm.

Christal woke up with a violent jolt.

The freezing air conditioning bit into her bare skin. Every muscle in her body ached. The dull pain between her thighs was a brutal reminder of what had just happened. She clamped both hands over her mouth to trap the sob tearing at her throat.

A thin sliver of moonlight slipped through the heavy curtains.

She turned her head, desperate to see the monster's face. But the thick shadows of the bed canopy swallowed his upper body completely.

Fear overrode her need to know. She slid off the edge of the mattress, her bare feet hitting the freezing hardwood floor.

She crawled on her hands and knees, feeling around in the dark for her clothes. Her fingers brushed against a heavy fabric. It was a men's suit jacket. The silk lining felt ridiculously expensive. It wasn't hers.

She abandoned it and found her torn dress. She pulled the ruined fabric over her head, grabbed her high heels from the floor, and ran toward the suite's entrance.

Near the door, her foot clipped a tall floor vase.

It tilted and hit the wall with a dull thud. Christal froze, her lungs burning as she stopped breathing.

Fabric rustled in the bedroom. The man was shifting. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard it hurt. She waited in the suffocating silence until his breathing leveled out again.

Her shaking hand found the doorknob. She pressed it down.

The bright light of the hallway stabbed her eyes. She squeezed them shut and sprinted into the empty corridor like a hunted animal.

She didn't stop until she hit the elevator buttons, smashing the down arrow over and over. The polished metal doors reflected her reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess. Dark red marks covered her neck. She looked broken.

The doors slid open. She stumbled inside and curled into the corner, shivering violently.

She ran out of the lobby doors. The freezing morning wind hit her face. She raised a shaking arm and flagged down a yellow cab.

She collapsed into the backseat. The driver stared at her ruined state through the rearview mirror.

Christal wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to hold herself together. She gave him the address to the Upper East Side townhouse.

As the cab pulled into traffic, her fingers twitched. She reached up to touch her earlobe, a nervous habit she had developed over the years.

Her breath hitched.

The pearl earring-the only gift her adoptive father had ever given her-was gone.

Back in the dark, silent penthouse suite, the sleeping man frowned. His long, powerful fingers curled inward, trapping the warm pearl earring against his palm.

The yellow cab jerked to a stop outside the massive iron gates of the Finley estate.

Christal dug into her cheap purse with shaking fingers. She shoved a few crumpled bills through the partition and pushed the door open before the driver could even count it.

The morning sun was blinding. It felt like a physical attack. She pulled her coat tighter across her chest, trying to hide the torn silk of her dress. Her fingers were stiff and numb as she punched the security code into the keypad.

The heavy gates swung open.

She expected the house to be dead quiet. Instead, the massive crystal chandelier in the foyer was blazing. The air inside the house was thick, heavy, and suffocating.

She froze in the entryway.

Sitting on the expensive leather sofas were her adoptive mother, Esther, and her sister, Kellie. Standing near the fireplace, with his back to her, was Ethan. Her boyfriend.

Ethan heard her footsteps. He whipped around.

His usually warm, handsome face was twisted into an ugly mask of rage. His eyes locked onto her messy hair, dropping instantly to the dark red bruises scattered across her neck.

Christal's stomach plummeted.

She took a step toward him, her instinct screaming for him to hold her, to protect her.

Ethan took a sharp step back. The absolute disgust in his eyes nailed her feet to the marble floor.

Kellie let out a loud, theatrical gasp. She rushed forward and grabbed the lapels of Christal's coat, ripping it open. The ruined, stained dress and the violent marks on her skin were exposed to the bright lights.

Christal screamed, trying to snatch the coat back.

Kellie shoved her hard in the chest. Christal's weak legs gave out. She crashed onto the hard marble floor, pain shooting up her spine.

Esther stood up. She looked down at Christal like she was looking at a dead rat.

"You disgusting little tramp," Esther spat. "You actually sold your body to Kurtis Kramer for a pathetic TV role."

Christal's eyes widened in horror. She shook her head frantically.

"No," her voice was a broken rasp. "You... you told me to go to that room. You said it was an interview."

Kellie wiped a fake tear from her eye. She looked at Ethan. "We set up a normal reading in the lobby. She couldn't handle the competition. She went up to his room on her own."

Ethan's jaw ticked violently. He grabbed a stack of glossy photos from the coffee table and hurled them directly at Christal's face.

The sharp edges of the paper cut her cheek as they fluttered to the floor.

Christal looked down. The photos showed her walking into the Zephyr Hotel. The next photo showed Kurtis Kramer walking through the exact same doors minutes later.

It was a perfect, manufactured lie.

She looked up at Ethan, desperate to find a single ounce of trust in his eyes. There was nothing but cold, hard contempt.

"You make me sick," Ethan sneered. "You threw away our future for a cheap role. You dragged my name through the dirt."

Christal crawled forward, grabbing the fabric of his trousers. "Ethan, please. I was drugged. They set me up. You have to believe me."

Ethan kicked his leg out, violently shaking off her grip. His heavy shoe caught her on the thigh, right over a dark purple bruise.

Christal gasped, curling into herself. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ice spreading through her chest. The man she loved was looking at her like she was garbage.

Esther crossed her arms. "The Finley family will not be dragged into your whoreish scandal. As of this morning, your shares in the family trust are revoked."

Kellie sighed softly. "Mom, don't be too harsh. She's just... ambitious."

But Kellie's eyes met Christal's. There was a sick, victorious gleam in them.

Christal stared at that look. A memory slammed into her brain. Kellie smiling as she handed her a glass of champagne last night. The bitter taste. The sudden dizziness.

The truth hit her like a physical blow.

She stopped crying. She placed her hands flat on the cold marble and pushed herself up. She wiped the drop of blood from her cut cheek.

Her eyes locked onto Kellie. They were dead and cold.

"How long?" Christal asked, her voice eerily calm. "How long have you been planning this just to steal him?"

Kellie's fake sad expression slipped. Panic flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by furious arrogance. She raised her hand high, aiming a vicious slap at Christal's face.

Christal's hand shot up. She caught Kellie's wrist mid-air, her grip tight enough to bruise.

She threw Kellie's arm away in disgust. She turned to Ethan.

"Were you sleeping with her the whole time?" Christal asked. "Is this just your convenient way out?"

Ethan's face drained of color, then flushed dark red. He adjusted his tie, his movements jerky and panicked.

"The engagement is over," Ethan shouted, his voice echoing in the large room. He turned his back on her and marched toward the front door.

Christal didn't move. She didn't beg. The love she had for him burned down to ash in a matter of seconds.

Ethan stopped with his hand on the brass doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder. His eyes were dark, obsessive, and terrifying.

"Don't think you can just walk away from me," he warned softly.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Esther pointed a shaking finger at the stairs. "Get your trash out of my house. Now."

Christal straightened her spine. A maid stepped forward to grab her arm. Christal slapped the maid's hand away.

"Don't touch me," Christal said. "I won't take a single thing your family bought."

She turned and walked up the grand staircase. Her legs shook, but she kept her head high. Behind her, Kellie let out a sharp, high-pitched laugh.

Christal heard Kellie dialing her phone. "Yes, TMZ? I have an exclusive on Christal Clay."

Christal walked into her small bedroom and closed the door. She looked at her ruined, bruised reflection in the mirror. Her hands curled into tight fists.

She was going to make them pay. All of them.

Blinding morning sunlight sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains.

Abraham Bush opened his eyes. There was no confusion. Only the cold, calculated stare of an apex predator waking up.

He pushed himself up on one arm. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes, and his muscles felt unnaturally tight. He looked down at his bare chest. Deep, angry red scratch marks tracked across his skin.

The fragmented memories of last night crashed into his brain.

He threw the heavy duvet back. His eyes instantly locked onto a dark, dried smear of blood on the pristine white sheets.

His pupils dilated. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet sinking into the carpet. The room was empty, but the air was thick with her. It was a cheap, floral perfume mixed with the undeniable scent of salt and fear.

He walked toward the entryway. Near a toppled floor vase, a small, white object caught the light.

Abraham bent down and picked it up. It was a cheap pearl earring. He rolled his thumb slowly over his index knuckle, trapping the pearl in his palm. A dark, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He walked into the marble bathroom and turned the shower handle all the way to cold.

The freezing water hit his broad shoulders, washing away the lingering heat of the drug. By the time he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist, his mind was a steel trap again.

The doorbell chimed.

His executive assistant, Avery Shaw, stood in the hallway holding a garment bag.

Avery stepped inside. His sharp eyes immediately caught the shattered vase, the smell of sex, and the blood on the bed. Avery's face remained perfectly blank.

"Sir," Avery said, keeping his eyes on the wall. "Hotel security reported an anomaly. The cameras on this floor were hit with a localized signal jammer for exactly ten minutes last night."

Abraham pulled a crisp white shirt from the garment bag. He shoved his arms into the sleeves.

"Pull the street cameras," Abraham ordered, his voice like grinding stones. "Every traffic light, every ATM within a five-mile radius. Find the woman who ran out of this building."

The suite door suddenly swung open.

Gwendolyn Vasquez rushed in, flanked by two massive bodyguards. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless.

She gasped when she saw Abraham. She put a trembling hand over her mouth and ran toward him, throwing her arms out to hug his waist.

Abraham took a smooth half-step back.

Gwendolyn stumbled, her hands grasping empty air. She caught her balance, her face flushing with embarrassment. The bodyguards quickly backed out of the room and shut the door.

"Abraham," Gwendolyn cried, her voice trembling perfectly. "I was so worried. I got so drunk last night, someone took me to the wrong room. I woke up alone."

Abraham slowly buttoned his cuffs. He didn't say a word. He just stared at her. The crushing, suffocating weight of his gaze made Gwendolyn's breath hitch.

He walked over to the wet bar. He picked up the crystal whiskey glass from last night. A tiny amount of amber liquid remained at the bottom.

He swirled the glass. He let out a low, terrifying laugh.

He slammed the glass down on the marble counter. The crystal shattered into a hundred pieces. Gwendolyn jumped, letting out a real scream this time.

"Rohypnol," Abraham said softly. "You put it in my drink."

Gwendolyn's face turned the color of chalk. She touched her perfect manicured nails, a nervous tell she could never hide.

"How dare you!" she yelled, trying to use her Vasquez family pride as a shield. "You think I would drug my own fiancé?"

Abraham closed the distance between them in two massive strides. He backed her into the wall.

"You thought you could force the marriage," he whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "You thought you could trap me with a pregnancy."

Gwendolyn's defensive wall crumbled. Tears ruined her mascara. "You never touch me! We've been engaged for a year and you look at me like I'm a piece of furniture! I just wanted to be your real wife!"

Disgust flashed in Abraham's dark eyes.

"This engagement is a business merger," he stated coldly. "If you ever try a pathetic stunt like this again, I will dismantle the Vasquez empire piece by piece."

Gwendolyn bit her lip so hard it bled. She looked away, humiliated.

Her eyes landed on the bed. She saw the dark red bloodstain on the sheets.

Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. The drug had worked. But she wasn't the one in his bed. Some random bitch had walked in and taken the one thing Gwendolyn had been begging for. Toxic, burning jealousy clawed at her throat.

Abraham saw where she was looking. He stepped sideways, blocking her view of the bed with his massive frame.

"Avery," Abraham said without looking away from her. "Escort my fiancée out."

Avery stepped forward, gesturing to the door. Gwendolyn practically ran out of the room.

Standing in the hallway, Gwendolyn dug her nails so hard into her palms that the skin broke. She was going to find the bitch who stole her night. And she was going to destroy her.

Inside the room, Abraham walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the Manhattan traffic, rolling the pearl earring between his fingers.

Avery walked back in. He handed Abraham a tablet.

"Sir, the morning gossip alerts. There's a scandal trending."

Abraham glanced at the screen. The headline read: Aspiring Actress Caught in Hotel Sex Trade.

He didn't care about Hollywood trash. He tossed the tablet onto the sofa, completely missing the blurry photo of Christal's back.

He looked at Avery. "Use every resource we have. Tear Manhattan apart if you have to. Find her."

Miles away, sitting in the back of a stretch limo, Gwendolyn's phone rang. It was her mother.

"Darling," her mother said. "I'm having the chef make those European pastries you loved so much as a little girl."

Gwendolyn touched her nails again. A flash of panic crossed her face. "I hate those pastries, Mother. I've always hated them. Stop making them."

She hung up, her chest heaving. She stared out the window, terrified of the secret she carried.