Wrong Room: The Ruthless CEO's Captive

palm, but her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out. Three glasses of champagne. Maybe four. She couldn'

pu

nk into it, muffling every step. She blinked, trying to clear the swimming darkness at the edges of her vision. Wrong floor. She knew it the

Her voice sounded wrong

thing expensive that felt like money under her nails. One step. Two. Her left ankl

hi

Her shoulder hit a hard, flat surface. A door. It swung inward with a weight that spoke of

icked shut

he dark with her own ragged breathing and the d

knee under her, then the other. The room smelled like cedar and something else. Something wa

ch

fr

d Joanna felt herself being shoved backward with a force that

the h

na's drunk brain processed the sound in

Her tongue felt thic

g, anything, and her fingers closed around an arm. Muscle.

ng warm and firm, the texture of fabric over muscle. A shoulder. She breathed in

e clipped. Controlled.

er body wouldn't cooperate. She was so tired. So warm. The wall behind her was cold, but the bod

It was closer to a whimper. A prote

dy wen

een them feel charged, electric. She tilted her head back, trying to see his face, but the darkness was abs

s brush

She felt it jump against her mouth-once, tw

on

ation, in the warmth, in the strange safety of this stranger's body. She pressed closer. H

mov

His hands found her shoulders and pressed her into the silk wallpaper with a force that should have hurt. That did hurt. But the pain wa

st her ear. His breath was hot. His teeth gra

h. She was burning up. The wall was cold against her back, but his chest was fire against he

g in, felt the pressure of individual bones. He was going to

was asking for. Water. Mercy. Something else. Some

art surrender. Then his mouth was on

pulled, released. His tongue pushed into her mouth without invitation, tasting her, claiming her. Joanna gasped into the kiss, her hands flying u

consumption. Annihilation. His hands left her shoulders to slide down her sides, thumbs brushing the

elt the wall disappear from her back, felt the vertigo of being moved through da

mouth. The sound vibr

cool slide of expensive sheets against her overheated skin. He came down on top of her, his we

elt the fabric tear-heard the rip of lace-and then his fingers were there, touching her in a place no

inst her collarbone. His voice was different n

he way her body was responding to him with a hunger that terrified her. She tried to close her

. Then his hands were on her knees, pushing them wider, and Joanna realized with a jolt o

to sit u

ard enough to leave a mark, and Joanna's protest died in her throat. His hand slid bac

ned out by the wave of sensation that followed, the way her body clamped down on his f

rs moved, curling, finding a spot that made Joanna's vis

seeking more. More pressure. More friction. More of the building tension that was co

otest, but then she heard the rustle of fabric, the tear of

l, after he'd already torn her underwear and left marks on her skin-but then h

e sheets. He caught her hips, held her still, and pushed again. Deeper. Harder. The pain expanded, becam

fro

and held. He was inside her-she could feel the stretch, the burn, the impo

ain. His voice was barely recogn

laced by a strange ache that wasn't quite pleasure but was heading in that direction. She sh

t now. Less pain. More something else. Joanna's fingers found his shoulders, dug

clearer this time. Like he

rted to mov

ching, before driving back in. Joanna's body learned his pace, began to meet him, and the ache built into somet

he cried out, loud and unrestrained, and he made a sound of triumph and did it again. And again. Until she was sobbing with i

waves that seemed to go on forever. She heard him curse, felt him swell even larger inside her, and then he was coming too, his hips jerking again

arms came up around him without her conscious decision, holding him, a

lt him withdraw, felt the loss and the sudden wetness between her thighs, but she was

sl

-

ght wa

ion. Too bright. Too sharp. Manhattan morning sun, streaming throug

er, to bury her face in the pillow, but something was wrong. The pillow was too

her with the force

eyes fl

s. A ceiling so high it disappeared into architectural details

s mussed from sleep and her own fingers. The sheet was pulled low on hi

atc

ing down his left shoulder blade. Fresh.

she'd clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world. She re

omach

derwear was-she didn't want to think about what had happened to her underwear. She was naked in a strange man's bed, in what was clearly a ho

d, but the pain between her legs was the worst. A deep, throbbing

rmor. The movement made the man beside her shift. His hand-the same hand that had been inside her, th

topped b

oment of recognition. The accusations. The awkward morning-after convers

ed. His brow furrowed

that wanted to escape when her weight settled on abused muscles. Her feet found the carpet-thick, pl

She needed

er. Her bra was tangled in the sheets. Her shoes-one under the nightstand, one near the do

ike acid, she could see it. The sharp line of his jaw. The dark stubble on his cheeks. The way his

be real. It would be something that had happened to Joanna Santana, twenty-three years old, gal

ard. The ordinary objects felt alien in her hands, like they belonged to someone el

xpensive, too red. She didn't bother with the bra-she couldn't figure out the clasps with her fingers tre

on the doorframe.

she didn't want to identify. And in the center of the destruction, the man slept on. His

d. To the place where she'd bee

was

inst the white cotton. But it was unmistakable.

y constructed life, built on caution an

against her palm, and she pulled. The door opened without a sound-well-oiled hinges, mon

sed to her stomach, the other gripping her purse like a weapon. She found the elevator, stabbed the

Twenty-five.

mirrored wall as the elevator began its descent. Her reflection stared back at her-hair tangled, ma

d to shower. She had to pre

rning light, and Joanna walked through it without seeing any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the

re of a hurried limp, a desperate shuffle. She reached the tax

gasped. "Pleas

n her disheveled appearance, on the dress that was clearly last nigh

r you sa

lass of the window and watched the Plaza Hotel shrink in the distance, its elegant

t look ba

losed on empty sheets, searching, finding nothing but cooling cotton. His

empty. The wo

stinging now in the morning air. At the red silk bra that had been

nd closed into a fist, kn

d given him, gasped into his mouth in the dark. He reached for

is Joanna. She was at the gallery opening on