The Secret Mother And Her Cruel Tycoon

se; it slammed with the

small, metallic, and terrifyingly precise against the backdrop of the sto

w scrape in her throat. "My s

nic, cold and sharp, pierced through her shock. Leo. Her mind screamed his name. He was safe with Mrs. Gable, but for how long? She was expecting her bac

d of oxygen. She tried to inhale, but the air in there was thick. It didn't smell

oo

r of the room. It wasn't human. It sounded li

eart hammering against her

as

ky, illuminating the room in

t was the chaos around it that froze her blood. IV poles knocked as

tress. He was shirtless. Bandages were wrapped haphazardly ar

llowed the room

e window. She needed the wind

the black void, her

d hard clamped a

anked her leg out from under her. She hit the floor hard, the

mble away, a heavy we

sent

jagged whisper r

on her shoulders, pinning her into the plush r

to his forehead. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated so much they sw

hand moved to her throat. His thumb presse

into his skin, scraping against the fever-hot fle

ia

quee

onvulsed. She kicked out, her knee connecting

nch. It was like k

m her eyes. They rolled down her templ

The murderous rage in his eyes shifted into something else. Something darker.

mured. His voice lost its edg

t to her collarbone. It wasn

ed, trying to

her head effortlessly. The movement tore the silk of her bl

urying into the crook of her neck. His

, but the thunder

gh

uel, sharp, morning sunlight slicing thro

ame th

ached. Her throat felt bruised. Her head

ng. It was hand-painted. Cherubs and clouds

clothes were gone. A cold dread, worse than the fear from last ni

om door cl

s covered by a charcoal blanket. He wore a fresh shirt, crisp and white

was gone. In his place wa

at her face. He looked at the bruises on her arms, the mark on her neck. He looked

voice was smooth, devoid of

cleared her throat, wincing at t

prised. His gaze was chillingly indifferent. "My staff cleaned

lap and tossed it onto the bed. It s

ad

he said, her voice sha

ed me," he

pped. "I at

own forearm. Three angry red welts from h

. "Trespassing on a private island. Att

pered. "You were deliriou

truder," he countered. "That's how th

d at the

gers. It wasn't a police report.

y Assets.

bility: $

to: Hoover

d. "I bought it this morning

at him. The ro

't have loose ends running around telling the

gripped the sheet t

hummed softly. He reached out, and she flin

reached past her and pressed

one who had thrown her in here last night. Behind him stood a severe-looking woman holdin

the wheelchair said. "Take the pill. It's a

king anythi

you down while Marta p

lice. Just a fact. Li

ill. Then at the un

you?" s

at the door, looking back over his shoulder. Hi

aren't a guest, Aislin