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“Let me go.” I yank my arm free.

In my trepidation, I can’t even think of an answer. I bolt without looking back. His laugh makes me stop in my tracks. Slowly, as my stomach drops, I figure out what he finds so amusing. I ran straight into his suite.

The room is easily twice the size of mine with a balcony that stretches the length of the wall. Instead of double French doors like the ones I have, he has floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the snow-covered grounds beautifully.

Behind me, a fire roars in a massive fireplace that casts a glow over the huge four poster bed. It has to be custom-made to be bigger than a California king size mattress. The door slams. I startle and turn to face him.

He stalks toward me, and I don’t miss the hunger in his eyes. “Well, Little Dove, what exactly are you looking for in my suite?”

I shake my head. He takes another step, and his whiskey-scented breath lingers between us.

“You’re supposed to be eating dinner.” I take in deep breaths.

“I wasn’t hungry.” He picks up a strand of my hair off my shoulder, letting the curl tip wrap around his finger. “Not for food anyway.”

“You’re drunk.” I slap his hand away.

“So?” He furrows his brows as his meets my gaze. “Last I checked, this is my fucking house. And since my wife...” He points at me. “...won’t even eat dinner with me, what’s the point? Food or booze is all the same.”

“Go to bed, Archer,” I say with all the bravado I can muster and side-step him.

But even as inebriated as he is, he’s too fast for me. He wraps his arms around me and picks me off the floor. Burying his nose in my hair, he asks, “Maybe this is what you came for, hmmm? Wife?”

“No.” I shake my head and blurt out, “I came looking for my crystal swan.”

He tenses behind me, but he doesn’t let me go. “Your swan,” he says through gritted teeth. “You miss your swan.” He lets my body slide down his front.

When my feet touch the cold floor, I immediately turn to face him, putting my chin in the air in defiance. I refuse to fear him. He can’t bully me like this. I scan the room as I consider what would be the best way to get away from him. I know better than to run at this point. The way he’s looking at me, like a wounded animal, I have no doubt he would give chase.

“If you have it, give it back.” I steel my back. “Why would you take it?”

“Why?” He closes the spaces between us. “Because I know he gave it to you. Because I can’t stand that you want to take it to your bed. Why? So you can pretend he’s there with you?”

“What?” I squint at him. “He? Who are you talking about?”

“Your ex-boyfriend,” he says with murder in his tone.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Hunter.” I scoff. “You barely look at me. Or talk to me. You treat me like a prisoner one minute and your worst enemy the next.”

“Maybe I am jealous.” He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and produces the crystal swan. “You cherish this figurine simply because he gave it to you.”

He’s right. I do cherish it. But not for the reasons he thinks. I hadn’t thought of that swan until the day it showed up in my dressing room. That night, Archer paid for me. In my mind, the swan is my only link to Archer.

“Give it back. I’ll promise never to set foot on your floor again.” I put out my hand.

Slowly, he places it in my hand and then proceeds to loosen his tie. He pulls on the silk fabric until the whole knot unravels. I stand there transfixed by his features and that smug smile of his. Watching him get undressed is like an erotic dream. He undoes the first three buttons of his dress-shirt, then shoulders his suit jacket off.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” I swallow and wait for him to tell me to get out.

But instead, he rolls up his sleeves, his hungry gaze never leaving mine. He slides the tie off his neck next and runs a loop with it over his wrist. I should be leaving, but I’m too enthralled with his calculated moves to do the smart thing and run. In a swift motion, he pulls at the fabric and ends up with two loops resembling a set of cuffs.

I let him grab my hand. My head swims at his touch. I don’t object, even when he walks me back toward his four-poster bed, places my wrists around the post, and secures me to it with his tie.

“You got what you wanted.” His gaze burns into mine. “Now it’s my turn.”

“What?” I pant a breath.

“If I can’t have you, at least I’d like to see what I paid for.” He brushes the back of his fingers to my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed. “I think that’s fair. Don’t you think, Wife?”