The sensations inside her felt like she was strapped into a roller coaster-one of those wild ones that launches you up into the clouds, only to drop you back down again, leaving you weightless as a marshmallow floating in the air.

Sylvia knew her brain was coming up with the weirdest metaphors, but that's just where her mind went.

Pleasant, but also seriously freaky.

Mark stared at her for a moment, his eyes lingering. "Excited, huh? Feels good, doesn't it? You're even more my type than in your pictures."

Pictures?

Type?

What was he getting at?

Sylvia barely had time to process before Mark unzipped a bag he'd stashed in the corner of the private lounge.

When she saw what was inside, cold terror rushed through her. She started to struggle, every muscle tensed.

Mark just grinned, moving closer with whatever he'd pulled from the bag.

...

Private Lounge.

was hosted by Tristan's cousin-Charles-who also ran

was supposed to address him and his brother as Uncle Charles and Uncle

in, the two men and their families didn't even bother to stand. Honestly, their youngest sons were old enough

city, this wasn't London or New York.

nodding at Rupert and the woman with him, then gestured to the seats at the far

spot, frowning. In a formal dinner, seating arrangements meant everything. No matter what, Rupert and she were the guests of honor tonight—how could

Rupert..." she started, her voice quietly

replied evenly, gently steering her

dishes on the table had clearly already been picked through,

a plate piled with chicken bones and said casually, "Charles and I were hungry, so

a warm welcome. More

staff bring some chicken soup over. Bridget's got a bit

cheeks pink. "Mr.

Steven

are true, you two really are in love. We'll be hearing wedding

it, basking in the attention. "You're

himself before handing it to Bridget, who

Charles nodded at the waiter to pour Rupert a drink. "Rupert, even though the Lance family's fallen on hard times, you don't need to worry so much about the mine. We can't

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