HER SWEET BLOOD

Thousands of years ago, in a land of ancient vampires and sorcerers, there was an evil leader. A man with great power, the Master of vampire hunters, desired the only power that forbade him: the privilege to rule the Kingdom of Nork.

The Master knew that it was important, when killing a pure-blood vampire, to ensure that they brought an army of sufficient size. For the king and the queen, he brought five hundred hunters, equipped with enchanted, potent poisonous swords to kill the undead royals and their people.

From the front of the castle they saw both the northern snow and the southern, but the finer view was out across the plains and over the narrow territories.

At some point in an achingly long history, a powerful vampire, now lost to knowledge, had built one thousand pillars out on the plateau: onyx giants thicker than a thousand-year oak, taller than a long pine. A forest of dark stone without order or pattern, covering the level ground from flank to flank.

The hunters began to spread out between the towers. The queen could neither see nor hear her enemies approaching, but she knew their disposition. She had watched earlier as they snaked up the west trail from Nork Valley.

Vampire hunters, mercenaries from the northern borders, with snow furs bearing scraps of chainmail about them, old and young, carried destructive spears. Their Master in the midst, silver-haired sorcerers, their beards long and braided, the women with lines of yellow paint across their cheeks and foreheads like the rays of a cold sun.

The sorcerer and his wicked hunters attacked the pure-blood vampire royal castle, assassinated the beloved king and queen, and followed to do the same to James Gregori, the pure-bred vampire crown prince, as well as his siblings.

The Master sorcerer and his warriors accomplished all but the latter. He had not counted on the vampire king's thirst for revenge and a mother's love for her sons.

Just before expelling his final breath, the great king used his blood and energy to fill his offspring with an indestructible desire for retribution, ensuring they would fight for eternity to claim their superiority. At the same time, the queen used her last enchantment to send her children away, saving them before the Master hunter could kill them all.

And so, the vampire warriors were now bound to destroy the Master and his hunters forever.

Oh, wait, about the vampires? Those magnificent, phenomenal undead? They were the embodiment of perfection, but not as pale as those who sparkle in the sun-sort-of-vampire. Nork vampires were the epitome of superbness. They were like some hot male leads in a romantic novel where the handsome man was over six feet tall, had dark hair, tattoos, and so much testosterone-inflated muscle that he had to walk through doors sideways and who talked less. Not to mention that Nork vampire was superior to any of those romantic heroes who fulfilled the Princess Fantasy that Disney infected half of all women in modern times.

But of course, Nork vampires were powerful and skilled in bed-yes in bed, but they are not fun to be with because they talk more, which vampire women at this time appreciated, but not one thousand years later. Women in the future didn't want a partner that could communicate feelings or sympathize with emotions; they just wanted someone who could bench press twice their body weight, and that was a fact. Thanks to Hollywood's romantic Christmas movies.

However, Nork's bloodsucker hotties never brood over something women in the future would think to be cute. They were the ideal lover, a perfect life mate, and not only were they like cavemen here, but they were also passionate, yes, impressive partners because when vampire women laid eyes on their beast of a male? Their va-jay-jay world turned into the river Nile.

And so here comes the prince. James Gregori, the Shadow Lover, as his people called him, was a gallant warrior, elegant and captivating. With dark beautiful blue-green eyes. He was alluring and, of course, sensuous and had been in bed all the time, but not alone. He was never alone. He was a man known for the ferocity of his anger and temper as well as the lusciousness of his touch and passion, and after another failed attempt to track down the hunters, he'd retired to his private chamber to savor his recent conquest. His own harems of beautiful vampire females.

That's when the twofold essence of the enchantments hit him. Powerful and great dark magic that wouldn't let him behold or recognize his life mate, forever. A curse far beyond anything else.

But then, when he next opened his eyes, he'd found himself on another mattress-and not with his chosen harem. He was bare still, only now he was bound, a slave to the very thirst he'd elicited in his lover. Desires that had merged with the dark enchantment and sent him straight to the Slave Market, where he was shortly sold to a wicked princess, his will no longer his own, his pleasure no longer his own, his magical ring stolen and his memories wiped from his mind.

But two things could not be seized from him, no matter how fervently the princess attempted. The raw anger in his chest and the blistering need for retaliation in his veins.

The first, he would unleash. The second, he would savour forever until his very last breath.

First with the hideous princess and her hunters and then with a sorcerer, he could not entirely remember, but a Master hunter he understood he loathed all the same.

Very soon. They would pay for something he couldn't remember. But soon.

*Present time*

Grace Lim was naked. That was the first thing that hit her as she slowly opened her eyes: that she was bare, her body ached from everywhere, particularly the lower region. She was in bed. But it wasn't her bed.

She squinted hard, and then unexpectedly, the next thing hit her, and it hit her like a ton of bricks to the head. It was fruition that she had been so intoxicated last night that she ended up giving herself to some hot stranger. She cringed, the pain piercing through her temples and her belly twirling with queasiness.

This was not happening. No! This could not be happening.

Why?

How?

Alright, so this was a hangover. She whined, scraping her eyes shut and seeing stars explode across her brain. Oh, this was surely a hangover alright. Her first one. Unhurriedly, Grace opened her eyes to thin slits, peeking around the room. Okay, not her small bed. Absolutely not her bed. Not her room either. No, this one was massive, remarkable, and... strangely familiar as her brain battled to piece together the vague reminiscences of what had occurred last-

And then abruptly, the third thing hit her. She wasn't alone in the bed.

A gorgeous man! Strong, muscled arms held her closed, hugging her against an overwhelming, chiselled, large, warm body.

Yeah, she freaked out and closed her mouth, trying not to scream.

Grace had never been in this kind of unnerving predicament before, in her 23-year-old boring life. Never.

However, last night, her office mates invited her to a celebration or maybe it was a farewell party. After all, their hotel would soon be bankrupt, and it wouldn't take long before they all lost their jobs. And yes, being a friendly, reasonable and hard-working secretary with no-boyfriend-since-birth, she was the prodigy of the Hudson Hotel executive department, working there since she was twenty years old and having very good secretarial skills. But of course, because she was faithful and naive at the same time, she agreed to go to a pub nearby and get herself wasted.

Now, what did it get her?

"Oh, my God," she groaned under her breath and sprung from the bed like she'd been hit by lightning, lunging away from the mattress and staring at the man still lying on it, half of his face buried in a pillow. She shuddered, her hands were holding the other side of the silky blanket.

She attempted to swallow the dryness in her mouth as her eyes peeked over his muscled body, her heart battering as she eyed at the bizarre runic swirls and lines of unusual dark and red tattoos crisscrossing his back. Her head spun and hurt, her bleary eyes fluttering as her brain tried to piece it all together.

What the heck happened?

She was in a strange, enormous, elegant hotel room. In bed with a gorgeous, shirtless stranger. She was bare, and she honestly recalled nothing. Her pulse thumped through her, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she slowly shook her head.

Please tell her she hadn't just done what every hint suggested to her having done. Please tell her this wasn't true. Please tell her she hadn't just slept with a stranger while thoroughly drunk for the first time. Please tell her she hasn't lost her innocence to him.

Grace turned, her breath coming in tight, quick little gasps as her spirit sank into her stomach. She felt the terror rising, her head swirling as she pushed her fingers through her hair. She froze, her eyes unexpectedly locking on her left shoulder in the reflection of the mirror-that was currently coated in clear tape.

What on earth?

She felt the dread explode through her as she scraped at the tape, scraping it off and pulling as the panic lanced through her. She got her fingers under it, and without waiting for another second, she jerked the thing off of her.

Her eyes widened.

Oh, bloody hell.

She didn't know what she'd anticipated finding - an injury? Had she been in an accident? Had she been assaulted? Whatever the horrible case scenario her brain had been diving into, when she pulled off that clear tape, she knew one thing: the truth was much awful.

Her eyes concentrated on the brilliant, rosy, fresh vampire fang tattoo inked just above her cleavage, while a dark sort or vein crossed it to her shoulder and unexpectedly, everything came running back to her.

At the pub, meeting the gorgeous stranger. It came back to her like a series of lightning bolts flickering through her mind. The liquors, and then more alcohols, and then so many more that she lost track.

The man - the very same man - was still lying asleep in the bed. She thought of that look in his eyes and that smirk that encouraged all sorts of poor consequences. She recalled his touch and his whispered beautiful phrases that promise a night of passion and sex.

And the dare.

He enticed her to come with him and do foolish things, which involved going to a very weird, gloomy place with dark-hooded strangers he called his brothers and sisters. Then, in the middle scene, a beautiful semi-dark stage with a massive throne-like seat, his hands on her, his lips so close to her. Grace thought of the kiss, and for one second, she remembered the way the entire freaking world had just halted when his lips touched hers. It was like she had been transferred to a different realm where only the two of them existed.

And then she recalled the rest of it, the ceremonious tattooing, and this time, the hotel room really did spin when she tried to remember the rest of it. She thought back to their rituals, their weird matrimonial sort of procession, and the old man who looked like a priest but she knew wasn't. She remembered saying certain words and the hot stranger kissed her on the neck; then the pin-prick extraordinary pain that followed; then the otherworldly feeling of climax or seizure she couldn't quite remember.

Weird. Those memories were fogged by some unusual cloudy mist on her brain, like it was there but weren't like it was just a mere dream. Or was it not?

Oh, holy fucking shit. It wasn't real, right? No cult sort of thing happened to her last night. It was just her imagination, or perhaps a nightmare.

But why does it feel like it was real? Like it really occurred?

Goodness, who the hell was this man?

Some sort of Illuminati or a cult leader? That doesn't make sense. She shook her head at the silly idea. This wasn't a medieval era. The thought was as ridiculous as the tattoo on her left shoulder that crisscrossed her cleavage in such an intricate and beautiful way.

She whirled, blinded, reaching for anything as she felt dizzy. Because right there, she remembered something else.

She recalled getting married or something related to it. She remembered saying something, a promise of some kind. Slowly, she turned, her hands covering her mouth as her wide eyes glared at the tattooed stranger lying naked in the same bed she'd just been lying in with him. No, not a stranger, she thought as it all came back to her in a horrendous coil. Not a stranger at all. The man lying in bed-the one with the muscled, glorious body draped in elegant tattoos-the one with the cocky, pulse-quickening smile, the piercing blue eyes, and the hot, panty-meltingly filthy mouth-wasn't a stranger at all.

The man in the mattress was the famous billionaire playboy. The most tabloid-infamous rich bad boy in the elite world. The sort of man her grandmother warned her about. The kind she doesn't want to wake up naked next to. The wicked billionaire with a bad stature as massive as his dick. The one who allegedly owned a legion of bodyguards and was rumoured to have his own brotherhood of gigantic, ex-military, strong and beautiful men and women in entire Europe.

The man lying in the silky bed was all of those things.

Heck! All that and one more thing...

It wasn't a real marriage ceremony, right? She was not married to this man? It was just a thing that those cultists desperado-kind of commemorate, right?

"Christ! What the hell did I do?" groaning to herself, she began pacing around.

This man was an influential, distinguished billionaire who had probably already forgotten her name. But damn! She gave her virginity to this stranger? Her grandmother would kill her, that was for sure.

Grace's pulse thumped in her ears. Her gut was tied into knots, and her heart felt like it was sinking into her chest. She'd gotten intoxicated once... one freaking time... She'd woken up with all of this: nude, enormous hottie, in bed with, and possibly married to, the biggest bad boy in entire Europe.

Wait! One more thing hit her again, as she looked at her finger and found nothing in there. No ring! Thank God. It wasn't a real marriage ceremony. At least she could breathe in now. No ring. No marriage. No huge mistake. It's not that giving her virginity was no big deal, but at least she wasn't married to a stranger.

She sucked in a breath of air, still feeling the room whirl as she slid her hands up her face and pushed her fingers into her hair. She took a deep breath, attempting to stop the spots wobbling across her vision as she bent over and sucked in another breath.

"Now that's a spectacle a man could get used to waking up to."

Grace wailed, her hands yanking to cover herself as she turned and suddenly locked eyes with him.

"Fuck!" She whimpered.

The man smirked, "We already did sweetheart, so many times I lost count."

Grace's eyes broadened.

The man was unbelievably disrespectful!

James Grayson III was awfully much awake, smirking at her, and very much letting his eyes drift over every single inch of her.

"You filthy -!"

"And a decent morning to you too, sweetheart! Fancy a morning sex?"

Her hand shot out and pulled the silky blanket, grabbing it off the bed against her body as she backed away, glaring at him at the same time

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"Nope, my sweet..."James Grayson just cracked up, sitting up and then tilting back against the headboard with his hands intertwined behind his head. His glamorous, perfect, muscles flexed, his abs rippling as he smirked that alluring, arrogant smile at her. Grace's eyes lowered, and when she saw the flimsy coveringet tenting over an enormous swell between his legs, she felt her cheeks flush as she instantly stared at the floor and clasped the blanket tighter.

"Nothing I haven't beheld or tasted before, sweetie."

Her eyes flickered back to him, waning as she glared. Grace felt her skin itch under that stare, a quiver taunting through her as his gazes deliberately dragged over her, as if he was peeking right through the blanket.

He smirked and mumbled, "Breakfast?" He stretched, cringing slightly as his fingers hurried to rub his temples. "I could go for some fresh blood,"

Her eyes widened.

"I mean, a bloody coffee. Let's call some-"

"Wait, um- did we..."

The words rolled from her mouth, her cheeks going glossy pink as she gulped thickly. She took a weak breath.

"Did we, uh, you know-" she bit her lips.

"Did we what, little human?"

Jerk!

Grace's cheeks charred as she nibbled her lip. "Did we, you know, um-do it?"

Grayson's grin grew broader, until a deep laughter broke out his sinfully excellent mouth.

"Do it? Did we do it?" He beamed at her, his dark eyes glinting a wicked excitement. "You mean, did we fuck?" He grinned and winked at her.

The obvious answer, of course, was yes, because Grace could feel the little sweet pain down there, but she wanted to know. To know how dumb she was. Giving her most prized possession to a bad boy billionaire.

"Just answer the question, will you?" She blurted out, her clasp tight on the blanket.

"Oh sweet, we did more than that."

With a flutter, Grace heaved her thick tangle of lashes, revealing the big brown eyes that were still clouded by sleep, confusion, or maybe it was anger.

"Oh God," she grumbled under her breath. Like it was the end of the world.

James Grayson didn't answer her right away. He just leaned back, one hand behind his head and the other lazily and very distractingly wonderful to look at over his muscled abs. Grace bit her lip as she imagined how those beautiful hands had pleased her in the right places.

Last night, after the ritual, James brought her here to his own suite. At the time, he'd told himself it was for her safety because he'd promised to take care of her. He had made a promise to find her father's killer, and by the gods, that's what he would do.

But no matter how he attempted to twist his reasoning, he knew it wasn't just a sheer need to protect Louie's daughter that led him to tenderly nestle her in his arms or to awaken well before sunset just so he could study her pale, polished, beautiful face. And to make his guilt worse was that when he had her last night, he found out that she was pure. He took her innocence. Louie might want to awaken from his slumber in hell just to kick the heck out of him for taking his daughter's purity.

His eyes locked with the innocent mortal, and when he felt that heated gaze burns right into him, James shivered, his muscles tightening as the woman's face flushed with passion, or anger.

"Yes, sweetheart, we made love and you liked it. Oh! you begged," James winked, thinking about how his busy days ended up so fucked up when one of his most trusted friends and a warrior died few days ago from an ambush. He sighed and closed his eyes. Louie was a dear friend. They'd been to many wars, many countries, and centuries upon centuries, but he died in the hands of vicious rat-infested-heart hunters. Soon, those fools would beg for their lives. He promised

Reading the human thoughts earlier, her many questions and her vague recollection of what happened yesterday, James wondered why she had totally forgotten it. After all, he had enticed her and erased her memory, yet something emerged in her cloudy mind that he could almost taste.

Unbeknownst to Grace, what happened last night was no ordinary ceremony, but rather one of the oldest and most important nights in the undead's lives. Where one ancient vampire would select a bride to mate for all eternity. And yes, he did choose her, without a doubt, just to protect her, to protect his best friend's hybrid daughter. He was a man of words. After all, he was James Grayson III, a billionaire, the most powerful pure-bred vampire and the leader of the secret brotherhood of the undead, and for centuries he had a deadly score to settle with the hunters who killed his family and his people many centuries ago. But unforeseen chaos occurred and one of his trusted warriors, a few days ago, his best friend died from an unexpected ambush, leaving his orphaned hybrid daughter in his care, who unfortunately doesn't have any idea about their world and her true origins.

With no choice but to accept the responsibility, he arranged for someone to search for the said daughter and found that she was working in a hotel rumoured to be owned by a vampire hunter. So when he saw her getting wasted in the pub last night, he grabbed the opportunity and brought her to the ancient rites and made her his bride, which offered the woman full protection against everyone that was after him. Now, every vampire in his brotherhood would protect her no matter what.

His thought was halted when the woman raised a brow.

Grace's mouth turned wide as if she couldn't believe his audacity to tease her.

She grumbled some profanities before asking him again, "What about those... I mean, those dark-hooded people? In the underground?" She finally growled.

"Sweetheart, we didn't go anywhere; from the pub straight to here and we made love the whole night," he smirked, "Does it answer your question?" He said that looking at her eyes felt like heaven. But he knew better than to give in to her allure.

He mentally shook his head. He'd lived for centuries. Gorgeous women had wandered in and out of his life with dependable regularity. But none had acquired the shining purity of this mortal, an innocence that the tortured sadness in him yearned for. It was like her innocence could soothe away the festering darkness of his boring life. It was only her, and James only wished he could feel the mate-blood bond that every vampire desired for the rest of their lives.

Regardless, he felt nothing. He was cursed to feel nothing but the pulse of his dick and never the pulse of love and affection that blossomed in the blood bond.

Clearly, he shouldn't have been smug. As if he had found a fortune that he hadn't expected and didn't even know he needed, but losing Louie was way worse than losing his wealth. He was his best friend.

However, an unusual hint of warning murmured in his heart. A spontaneous understanding of his attitude since knowing the existence of this woman... was uncharacteristic.

He wanted to ignore the emotions. He doesn't trust her, he doesn't trust any mortal. They were vicious and traitors, but she was the only one who could eventually make him feel better. His guilt was eating him alive. If he hadn't told Luie to make a detour, he wouldn't be dead.

The grim control and cool reasoning that had sanctioned him for centuries were being weakened by the little woman currently snuggled against the very thin silky blanket.

She blushed.

The breath she was holding came out in a whoosh, though there was a very confusing part of her that felt, well, disappointed before she shut that part of her up.

"Oh, Gracy dear, trust me," James grinned, winking at her. "You liked it."

"Can you stop that?!" Grace blushed, her eyes quickly dropping to the floor.

"Stop what, sweetheart?"

She growled.

"OK, we did it once, but you sure did beg for more, but I'm a gentleman, of course, so I politely decline your offer even if it hurts me more than the sun hurts my beautiful skin."

What a jerk! She thought as her eyes darted up to his, her face burning hot as she glared at him.

"You're disgusting. I most certainly did not."

"Trust me. One of us can hold our liquor slightly better than the other one."

She blushed again, glaring at him.

"I didn't beg for anything, you jerk, bloody no."

"No?" He grinned. "Then riddle me this, mortal, how come one of us is buck-naked and the other one isn't?"

She gaped, as her face flushed with embarrassment.

Before she could leash her anger, James moved so much that Grace didn't even see him scooping her from the floor to the bed. Then his head was dipping down to capture her mouth in a silencing kiss. How else could he halt the furious rant without bodily harm? A distinguished purpose that was swiftly thwarted by the intoxicating excitement that flashed through his body. This kiss had nothing to do with hushing Grace and everything to do with the insatiable craving that flared through him with an unbearable force.

He wanted this woman. Oh, so help him. It was like needing to taste her blood.

He needed to stroke his lips over every inch of her pure, ivory skin. He wanted to kiss, taste, and nibble on every delicious curve. He craved to be buried deep inside her as he sank his werewolf fangs into her neck and drank her powerful blood.

More than anything, he wanted to hear those low, husky moans as she attained her ecstasy.

Her fingers dug into his chest as he heightened the kiss, her lips softening. The scent of arousal flowered on her skin, expanding his fangs and making his enormous erection twitch in eagerness.

This was right.

She fit flawlessly beneath him, her feminine body soft and yet strong enough to handle the ancient excitement. Now her foul smell is gone. Her scent was exactly blended to stir his deepest hunger.

James knotted his fingers in the satin smoothness of her hair, saturating himself in sensations that were both familiar and foreign in their vigour.

This was like... heaven. There was no other phrase. He teased at her lips, lightly nipping and stroking before examining the stubborn line of her jaw. Her nails dug through the thin shirt, causing sharp darts of delightful discomfort, but his senses were too eager to lose the little whimper of pain that was jerked from her throat.

"How dare you!" Grace groaned.

Stubborn, but delectable.

Grace's body might have conceded to the intoxicating necessity of his touch, but her mind didn't trust him.

At this point, she wanted to scream or slap him, or maybe to kiss him back again, until...

Wait no! She wanted to kick the hell out of him. But he was like a wall of bricks! Damn! The man was stronger than John Cena.

Reading her thoughts, James smiled but questioned whether she was capable of trusting anyone.

And the answer was no!

He lifted his head to heed her with a frigid composure that masked the frustration howling through his body.

"I won't hurt you, sweetheart. Stop wiggling around," he muttered.

Her face glowed with a mixture of humiliation and anger at having conceded so readily to his touch.

"How dare-"

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "My mistake, I thought you were asking for morning sex." He winked at her.

She scowled at him for a long moment, enraged at her incapacity to throw aside his huge body and flee as she wished. Then, with a noticeable feat, she wrapped herself in a brittle dignity. "I want to go now!"

James' smile faded. "Later, you need breakfast."

Arrogant but caring, not bad for a bad boy billionaire.

But she thought, wasn't it enough that he'd pinned her to the bed and kissed her until she'd melted into an uncomfortable pool of willing flesh? How pathetic, she was supposed to get mad or scream for help. But yeah, of course, she bloody moans. Oh, how pathetic Grace.

But why not? The man was hard and amazing, and hot and... OK! Enough!

"I'm late... I'm going to work," she muttered under her breath. The man's heavy fresh earthy scent was intoxicating, clouding her already dizzy senses. She hadn't asked for his approval and pushed him harder. And she most clearly hadn't inquired about his mighty toe-curling, stomach-churning, wonderful kisses.

She stood and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes shifting around the room-everywhere but him. More of the night was coming back in flashes-the shots of God knows what. The champagne in the limousine later. Jumping into that bed with him and all, holding his hand.

James raised his brows at her silly thought, and a smile curved his lips. "Want to see something, dear?"

Suddenly, he grabbed the sheet covering him and yanked it away. Grace shrieked, quickly jerking her head to the side and staring at the wall.

James Grayson's deep laugh filled the room.

"I'm dressed, woman."

Slowly, she turned back, only to gasp and quickly look away again. Oh, he was dressed all right-if you call a pair of white, skin-tight, moulding to every single thick, big inch of his erection boxer briefs "dressed."

"Do you mind?" He hissed, staring at the floor as the heat burned through her face.

"I could take them off if you're that bent out of shape."

She swears, she didn't imagine him doing just that in her head. She swears.

Oh, hell, how on earth could that massive thing go inside her? Oh fuck, that's why she was still hurting. His thing was so gigantic that it bulged and she wanted to see it again and... oh hell, she was a pathetic sex-deprived human being. No one could blame her, right?

"Could you put some pants on please?" Grace muttered and blushed at the same time.

"Could you?" He chuckled again. "Actually, don't. I think I much prefer you naked."

Somehow, her face got even hotter as her eyes burned a hole in the floor next to the bed. She ran to the bathroom... or she attempted to run.

She had barely reached the bathroom door when James draped an arm around her waist to haul her against his hard chest, murmuring promptly into her ear.

"You didn't seem to mind while I was deep inside you last night, sweetheart,"

Grace wasn't sure what enraged her more. Being mauled by the gigantic man or enjoying the pleasant warmth that washed through her body at being manhandled.

"One more word about that...um-sex- and you're g-oing to get a lot more up c-close and personal with those b-blades you had in the b-bedside table," she shrieked.

His lips brushed over the curve of her ear, making her pulse leap and proving his complete lack of fear of her threat. She shivered as his teeth lightly scraped down the curve of her neck, swallowing a moan as a thousand pinpricks of emotion she was so familiar with tingled through her.

"A fighter? The more I like it..."

She ignored him and bit her lips instead, which earned James a sweet animalistic growl.

She shivered.

"Scared, little one?"

"Um-"

"You can get up close and emotional with anything you want, sweetheart, but I know you like it when I'm inside you," he muttered, his lips teasing at her skin.

The nerve! "How dare you!"

Yanking free of his grip, Grace seethed into the dark inside of the room, heading toward the semi-lit elegant bathroom.

What was wrong with her? The man was nothing more than a giant, over-smug, obnoxiously jerk pain in her ass. So why did she keep letting him get under her skin?

Because she was a fool.

Gritting her teeth, Grace compelled herself to resist his enormous form leaning against the doorjamb, watching her every move with that too sharp watch. Hell, this was her first, and probably only, chance to definitely enjoy what most women take for granted. She'd be damned if the warden from Hades was going to wreck the moment. The bathroom was pure heaven with a gigantic bathtub that seemed to be calling for her.