Chosen: Part Three (Allure) Read online

  About this Book

  My name is Grace Delaney. I was born into this country’s most admired political family. When I was sixteen, the media dubbed me “America’s Princess”. I hate being called that, all the more so since I discovered the terrifying secret hidden behind my family’s glittering public image.

  A few months ago, I graduated from college determined to make a life of my own. But now, suddenly, Adam Falzon is in it. The head of an old-world family with a reputation for ruthlessness, he looks like a fallen angel. As attracted as I am to him, I’ve come to suspect that Adam is hiding secrets of his own more deadly and dangerous than I ever want to know. I don’t dare give into my feelings for him.

  But I may not have a choice. With every beat of my heart, he is drawing me further into a web of dark desire. My chances of escaping are slipping away. Worse yet, I’m no longer sure that I want to.

  CHOSEN is a story of dark romance. It contains scenes of coercion, both emotional and physical, and should not be read by anyone who could find that distressing.

  Table of Contents

  About this Book

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Sneak Peek #1

  Sneak Peek #2

  Chapter One

  What the hell had I done?

  In the time it took for me to descend from the tower and reach my own quarters, a dozen answers clamored in my mind, all of them damnable.

  Worst among them so far as I was concerned, I had abandoned the guiding principle of my life--duty. Since boyhood, I had clung to it as to a rope thrown to a child drowning in a torrent of grief and fear. Duty had tethered me to a reality I could cope with, giving my life meaning, shape, and direction. Until those moments on the beach when my raging, all-consuming passion for Grace lit a fuse burning down to the single, explosive word that changed everything:

  “Never.”

  I never wanted to let her go--no matter who she was or why I had taken her. I wanted her the way I wanted light and air, food and water. She was essential to me to a degree that I found nothing short of terrifying.

  Thrusting deep into her virgin body, I had become a stranger to myself, not the Adam Falzon that I knew but a man consumed by needs that I had never acknowledged before. One who was capable of behaving in ways that I would never have thought possible.

  That word she had hurled at me in turn--rape--and the brutal reality it represented loomed monstrously in my mind. I recoiled from it instinctively but it stayed right where it was, front and center, taunting me.

  Guilt wasn’t an emotion that I was used to. Shame was another with which I had only the most passing acquaintance. Confronted by both, I had no idea how to deal with either. Indeed, I was more than mildly surprised that I was capable of experiencing such intense, unwelcome feelings. A better man would have sworn never to touch her again. I shrugged off any such thought. If my parents had lived, if I hadn’t become a killer bent on avenging them, perhaps the darkness in me wouldn’t have become so dominant. But that didn’t matter. I had to deal with what was, not what might have been.

  Beyond guilt and shame, Grace had pricked my pride. Every other woman I had ever had apart from her had come to me eagerly. I was under no illusion about what drew them. They were attracted by my wealth, power, looks, even the darkness they sensed in me.

  None had ever gotten close enough to know me simply as a man nor would I have wanted them to. My privacy was sacrosanct. But never, ever had I forced a woman. Rough sex that was mutually enjoyable was a different matter.

  Entirely different.

  As much as I would have liked to do so, I couldn’t delude myself that there was anything less than an absolutely clear distinction between a willing partner and what had happened on the beach.

  But in the darkness, there was no place for repentance, much less atonement. No matter what I had done or how I felt about it, I had no intention of letting Grace go. On the contrary, I was more determined than ever to bend her to my will.

  I had meant to stay with her in the tower but her distress overruled even my basest instincts. As much as I didn’t want to believe that she could be driven to harm herself, I couldn’t ignore the fact that she had implied that possibility. That alone was enough to force my hand.

  I thought it through as I shaved and dressed, then called Rolf before leaving my quarters. He was waiting as I stepped out the door.

  “Sir,” he said, inclining his head. The tall, somber man--a former colonel in the Swiss military--had been my father’s closest aide. I was eight years old when my parents were murdered, a child drowning in a sea of grief. Rolf had stepped in, becoming my mentor and in time my friend. I trusted him above any other man.

  Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t restrain a smile. “You realize that you only call me that when I’ve done something you don’t like?”

  He looked surprised, even uncomfortable but he didn’t attempt to deny it. “If you say so…sir. The young lady--”

  I hesitated. Rolf had never approved of my taking Grace. He’d tried his best to dissuade me. Now that I no longer had the excuse of duty, I could see his point. But that didn’t change anything.

  “Miss Delaney is safe, for the moment. I need to speak with Gunther.”

  “Now?”

  “Definitely now, without delay.”

  As I spoke, I began walking down the long, carpeted hall to a discrete set of curving stone stairs set into an outer corner of the original house. The manor had been added onto over the centuries, growing from a rude keep thrown up in a matter of days by ruthless invaders into a palatial residence. But it was also home, the place where I felt most in touch with who I was and what was expected of me.

  Rolf followed at my side. I was content to have him there and, I suspected that just then he wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else. My behavior was bound to concern him. How could it not when it shocked even me?

  “You could just call him,” he said as we reached the ground floor.

  “I’m hoping that he can lay his hands on something I need.”

  Gunther was, as I expected, in the armory, a low, stone building masked by bushes and standing several hundred yards from the house, although still within the protective outer wall. As Master of Weaponry, the title dating back centuries, he maintained an arsenal of both modern and far older weapons. I found him an interesting combination of military historian, artisan, and warrior. We got along well.

  “Sir?” he said, rising as I entered. Normally at that hour, he would be relaxing with the woman he’d acquired recently. But with our guests present, he was at his post, ever ready in the event that he was needed.

  At thirty, he was about my height, with short-cropped blond hair and features that I supposed women would regard as handsome despite the scar that bisected the left side of his brow, the remnant of an unpleasant encounter in Libya.

  If my presence surprised him, he didn’t show it. Nor did he give any visible reaction when I told him what I wanted.

  “For a man or a woman?” he asked.

  “Woman, slender.”

  “And the length?”

  I estimated the necessary distance. “Thirty feet, no more. As lightweight as possible.”

  He nodded before disappearing into the rows of storage racks at the far end of the low stone building. A short time later he returned holding a narrow length of chain. One end was attached to a steel manacle, the other to a sturdy shackle. Along with them came an old-fashioned key.

  Taking the device from him, I asked, “Do you have any idea why we have this?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t say, sir. However, it doesn’t appear to have ever been used.”

  That was something at least, I supposed. Not that I minded the thought of one of my ancestors finding a purpose for such a restraint. The idea even carried an odd sort of comfort. As misplaced as I sometimes felt in the modern world, I hadn’t fallen too far from the tree.

  “I’ll be joining our guests shortly,” I told Rolf as we returned to the house, the chain coiled in my hand.

  He hadn’t commented on it but his silence on that score was eloquent enough. I spoke as much to distract him as out of any need of my own.

  “Have they been behaving themselves?”

  He snorted. “In their own fashion. Your absence has created a certain tension.”

  I smiled faintly. “That’s fine. I want them off-balance.”

  He didn’t have to ask why. My family was challenging at the best of times but recent changes that I had made, necessary given the rapidly evolving landscape of the young century, had sparked discontent. In my present mood, I would relish dealing with that.

  Rolf lacked my enthusiasm for the situation. “Don’t underestimate them,” he cautioned. “Among your father and grandfather’s generations, there are those who envy you enough to welcome your downfall.”

  “At the risk of sounding arrogant,” I said, “they would have brought that about already if they could.”

  “True enough but the real threat comes from their sons. You offend their finer sensibilities. They can’t admit that their privileged lives are the result of a brute struggle that has gone on for centuries, one you still wage on their behalf. They fea
r you and for that, some would go so far as to destroy you.”

  I nodded, well aware that he had summarized the problem neatly. I had no sympathy for those who wanted to sanitize the past but I did understand that urge. If I could have wiped my own past clean, I might have done so.

  As it was, I could only marvel at anyone who truly believed that distaste for violence was sufficient to eliminate the need for it. That kind of magical thinking was the product of the most privileged and sheltered upbringing, the kind I had escaped only because of my parents’ deaths.

  “They’re all intelligent enough,” I said. “Surely, they’re capable of seeing the world as it really is.”

  He shrugged. “Capable, yes, but not necessarily willing to do so. They believe in their own virtue. And they’ve convinced themselves that you’re a threat to it. The longer you wait to deal with that, the more dangerous they will become.”

  I had no intention of waiting. On the contrary, I was impatient to settle the matter. The family, or at least certain members of it, were in need of a salutary lesson. The sooner I delivered it, the sooner I would be able give Grace my undivided attention. Even as I contemplated the risks that the next few days would bring, I could think of little but her.

  We parted in the center hall. Rolf headed off to keep an eye on our guests. I took the elevator back up to the tower. As soon as I stepped from it, I looked toward the bed. In the pale light flowing through the windows, I could make out Grace curled on her side. She was deeply asleep.

  Good. I would do what was necessary and be gone, hopefully without waking her. Tomorrow, she’d undoubtedly be upset but I’d deal with that then.

  I approached the bed quietly. Her hands were tucked under her head, her lips slightly parted. She looked young and achingly lovely. The dark shadows under her eyes and the faint furrowing of her brow only hinted at what she had endured at my hands.

  And what she still would.

  I was remorseless on that score. What was done was done; I couldn’t have undone it even if I had wanted to. She was in my blood; a raging hunger impossible to deny. I would take her again but not before I had made her mindless with need, stripped of all restraint, a willing partner in every way.

  The mere thought of doing so was arousing, never mind the doubts sowed by the inconvenient awakening of what passed for my conscience. My pride would be restored by forcing her to confront her true desires.

  Anticipating that, I drew the covers back from the bottom of the bed and secured the smaller manacle around her ankle, locking it in place. Once again, I was struck by the combination of delicacy and strength that she embodied. Her bones felt so fragile yet she possessed such remarkable strength. I was unwillingly humbled by both.

  Quickly, I fastened the other manacle around a carved post at the foot of the bed. Between lay the coiled chain, glittering in the silver light. For a fanciful moment, I thought that it looked like a snake waiting to strike.

  I froze as her eyelids fluttered. For a moment, I thought she was about to awake. But only a soft sigh escaped her before she slipped back into deep and, I hoped, untroubled sleep.

  Looking down at my hands, I was startled to realize that that I had curled them into fists rather than allow myself to take hold of her. If I lingered any longer, I’d be fighting the temptation to fuck her again. Fortunately, I had another outlet for the aggression rising in me.

  I would deal with my family first. When that was done, I would be free to concentrate on Grace.

  My cock hardened yet further but even as it did, I had to confront the truth. I wanted far more than just her body. I would never be satisfied with anything less than all of her--body, mind, soul…heart?

  The moment that last thought occurred to me, I pushed it aside. I had never sought love. Aside from a few memories of my mother, I wasn’t sure that I even knew what it was. Certainly, if it existed at all, it had nothing to do with Grace Delaney. That was just as well given that she had every reason to hate me. And would soon have even more.

  A breeze blew through the high windows, carrying the scent of the sea. I drew the covers more securely around her, making sure that she would stay warm before I walked purposefully from the tower room.

  Chapter Two

  I woke to brilliant sunshine and the raucous call of sea birds. Turning over in the bed, I savored a sense of contentment that vanished the moment I remembered where I was. And how I had come to be there.

  Abruptly, I sat up, clutching the covers to my breasts, and looked around. A sigh of relief escaped me when I realized that I was alone. Yet I also felt a lingering confusion. Far in the back of the mind, I had a vague memory of Adam returning to the tower room at some point during the night…standing beside the bed…looking down at me…

  He’d been dressed in a starkly elegant business suit that only heightened his aura of power and dominance. And he’d held something in his hand that gleamed in the moonlight.

  Surely, I’d imagined that? Convinced that what I thought I remembered was no more than the product of an exhausted mind, I started to get out of the bed.

  Only to stop abruptly when I felt an unaccustomed weight. Staring down at myself, I barely stifled a scream.

  A wide steel manacle was locked snugly around my left ankle. From it extended a long chain, its length lying coiled on the floor beside the bed. At a guess, it appeared long enough to let me reach the bathroom but no farther.

  Too late, I remembered what Adam had said on the beach when I begged him to let me go.

  “Never.”

  A bolt of terror and something else I didn’t want to recognize went through me. For the first time, I had to consider the possibility that he meant it.

  His intentions for me might have changed, and my surroundings with them. But nothing else had. I was, more than ever, Adam Falzon’s captive.

  A tremor ran through me, followed hard by another. Before I knew it, I was shaking all over. That wouldn’t do. I had to get control of myself, figure out some way to deal with the situation. It was bad enough when Lucas was holding me for ransom but this--the room, the chain, all of it--told me that his intentions truly had changed.

  White-hot, scorching memory ripped through me as I recalled what had happened between us on the beach. The incandescent pleasure he had given me had blurred the pain but it did nothing to lessen the shock of my body having been invaded, taken, possessed. Nor had it eased in any way the overwhelming sense of confusion that still assailed me.

  I had wanted him.

  He had given me no choice.

  Both were true and seemingly irreconcilable. Once again, I was caught between what I knew I should feel and what I was actually experiencing.

  Rather than try to cope with either, I stumbled from the bed and dragged myself, chain and all, to the bathroom.

  To be fair, the chain was actually surprisingly lightweight, so much so that I tested its strength. Appearances were deceptive. No matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t weaken its grip on either the bed or me.

  Giving up for the moment, I took care of my needs and even managed a shower. The lingering soreness deep inside me gave me pause but I refused to dwell on it. Later, I’d think more about what had happened but not right then. I had enough to cope with just getting through each moment.

  The woman I saw in the bathroom mirror after I got out of the shower drew me up short. Still wet, my hair looked darker than its usual mahogany. That was also true of my green eyes, deeply shadowed as they were. I was pale and my cheekbones appeared more prominent than usual. But otherwise I appeared shockingly normal. How could that possibly be?

  I’d had the sense in recent years that I was always wearing a mask but now that impression was greater than ever, terrifyingly so. Never had my inner self been more at odds with how I appeared.

  I tried to distract myself by blow drying my hair but the alarming sense of detachment persisted. At least until the emptiness of my stomach and the hunger pangs that resulted became too severe to ignore.

  Wrapped in a towel, I returned to the bedroom, wondering what I could do. The bathroom provided a source of water but what about food? How was I supposed to get that while I remained chained to the bed?