Alena sucked in a sharp breath. Her lungs burned as she instinctively grabbed a plush pillow and held it tight against her chest. She scrambled backward until her spine hit the solid headboard.
Andrew stopped drying his hair. A drop of water slid down the hard, defined ridges of his abs. His dark eyes locked onto her, completely unapologetic as he watched her panic.
He tossed the towel onto a velvet armchair. He turned around, giving her a full view of his broad, heavily muscled back as he walked toward the walk-in closet.
"There are clean women's clothes in the closet," he said over his shoulder.
The second he disappeared behind the closet door, Alena threw the covers off. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the thick carpet. She spun in a circle, her eyes darting around the massive room for her purse and phone.
She spotted her phone sitting on the nightstand. The screen had been wiped clean of mud. She grabbed it and pressed the power button.
The screen flashed a dead battery symbol before going black. Her only connection to the outside world was severed.
She clutched the phone to her chest and walked out of the bedroom, stepping into the sprawling living room.
Andrew was already there. He was fully dressed in a perfectly tailored, charcoal-gray suit. He stood behind the marble island of the open kitchen, calmly grinding coffee beans.
Alena pulled the oversized black overcoat tighter around her body. She stopped ten feet away from him, keeping a safe distance. She cleared her throat, trying to force the tremor out of her voice.
"Where am I?" she asked, her tone stiff. "Thank you for what you did last night. But I need to leave right now."
Andrew didn't turn around. His long fingers expertly worked the espresso machine. The rich smell of coffee filled the air.
"Haven't had enough of the drama at The Plaza Hotel?" his deep voice floated over the counter.
The words hit Alena like a physical blow to the chest. Her eyes widened in shock. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and the blood drained completely from her face.
Andrew picked up two mugs of black coffee. He turned around and walked toward her. His long legs closed the distance between them in seconds.
He stopped right in front of her. He grabbed her freezing hand and forced her fingers to wrap around the hot ceramic mug.
Alena's hands were shaking so badly the coffee rippled. The heat of the mug did nothing to warm her skin.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice rising. "How do you know about last night?"
Andrew took a slow sip from his mug. His eyes were dark and amused.
"Every tabloid in New York is running the same headline this morning," he said, his voice flat. "The engagement of the Payne family's golden child to the Spencer family's rising star."
He took a slow half-step forward. His massive frame completely blocked her view of the room.
"And, of course, the mention of the pathetic younger sister who was thrown out of the ballroom like a stray dog. Alena Payne."
The words "stray dog" stabbed directly into her open wound.
Alena sucked in a harsh breath. Her fear vanished, replaced instantly by a burning, defensive rage. She glared at him, her eyes turning sharp and hostile.
She let out a bitter laugh and slammed the coffee mug down onto the glass coffee table.
"Are you a reporter?" she snapped. "Or did Darrin send you to spy on me? Is this some kind of corporate espionage?"
Andrew didn't look insulted. He looked entertained. He liked the fire in her eyes. He reached down and picked up a newspaper from the table, tossing it onto the glass right next to her mug.
Alena looked down. The front page featured a massive, glossy photo of Darrin kissing Katrina. The headline was brutal. Her stomach violently cramped again.
She dug her nails into her palms to keep from tearing the paper to shreds. She forced her chin up and stared straight into his eyes.
"If you think you can blackmail me with this, you picked the wrong target. I don't have a dime to my name."
Andrew set his mug down. He slipped both hands into his trouser pockets. He looked down at her with the absolute arrogance of a man who owned the world.
He slowly pulled his right hand from his pocket and reached out. His rough thumb gently brushed against her swollen, bruised cheek. The touch was intimate, but the strength behind it was terrifying.
Alena flinched violently. She jerked her head away from his hand.
"Don't touch me," she warned, her entire body rigid with defense.
Andrew's hand hovered in the air for a second before he casually dropped it to his side. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
He turned and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the morning traffic. His voice shifted, dropping the amusement and taking on the cold, hard edge of a boardroom negotiation.
"Darrin Spencer is a piece of trash not worth your tears. Your family treats you like a disposable pawn. Are you just going to roll over and let them win?"
Alena's chest heaved. "What does that have to do with you? What do you want?"
Andrew turned around. The sunlight was behind him, casting his face in shadow. The oppressive weight of his presence filled the room.
He walked toward her. He didn't stop.
Alena took a step back, but her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She was trapped.
Andrew placed both hands on the back of the sofa, caging her completely between his arms. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest.
He stared deep into her panicked eyes. His voice was a low, hypnotic rumble.
"Because, Alena. I need a wife."
