The Billionaire's Fifty Dollar Runaway Bride

of the guards shifting impatiently in the hallway was a more immediate threat. There was no more time for games. Wit

his chest. A plane of hard muscle tensed under her touch. She felt his breath catch, his w

hotos-her disheveled hair against his bare chest, the desp

are over his shoulder. "Are you satisfied now?" she asked,

tuation far above their pay grade, mumbled their apologies and bea

nt it made her knees weak. She tried to push herself away from the man's c

e. Instead, he kicked the door shut with his foot. The heavy thud of the lock sli

kness. The only sounds were their ragged

ked, a new kind of fear creeping in.

les. A slow, cruel smile played on his lips. "The photos," he

cold. "What are

ng to a whisper that was more terrifying than a sh

physical blow. Her face went pale. "No," she said, shakin

one from her nerveless fingers and scrolled to the pictures she'd just taken, holding the screen up for her to see. "You unbutt

her every desperate action against her. She had run

c pulse there. "Besides," he added, his voice laced with a chilling mockery, "you said your 'fia

of composure. This wasn't a savior. This was

ened, her voice trembling

em what? That you broke into my room, tore open my shirt, a

oute. Fear curdled into a hot, helpless rage. She began to struggl

her head against the hard wood of the door. His body presse

er ear. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, the words a v

d never felt so powerles

to hers, holding her captive. The feeling of his breath on her mouth, the promis