Sean Blair stared out the window at the sloping green lawn beyond. He swirled a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and the ice cubes clinked softly against the glass. He swallowed the remaining liquid, hoping the fiery heat would calm him, but his heart continued to beat violently against his chest.

Why had Catherine run away from him? He looked at the sweeping expanse of his estate and shook his head. He had money, power, and everything that he was willing to give it all to her. Hell, he had been willing to give a lot more than that to her. So why had she run away with nobody like Marco Jacobs? What could have possibly made her so desperate to escape?

"Am I really that disgusting to her?" he asked himself.

A knock sounded at the door, and his butler, Levi's familiar voice, said, "Excuse me, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Blair wants to see you."

"Ignore her," Sean said, pouring himself another whiskey. "Surely she just wants to beg for my mercy with Marco."

"Very well," Levi said.

"I'm going to lie down," Sean said. "Don disturb me no matter what happened, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Levi said. "But wait, sir—"

Sean ignored Levi and strode down the hall to his bedroom. He threw open the door and froze in shock. The curtains had been drawn shut, but thousands of candles in small glass jars bathed the room in glowing, golden light. Red rose petals were scattered across the floor, covering the carpet and filling the room with a heady, floral aroma.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"The wedding night decorations you asked for," Levi said, jogging up behind him.

"Well, take it all down," Sean roared.

"Right away, sir," Levi said.

A team of men and cleaners rushed into the room and began to sweep and vacuum up the petals. They blew out the candles and swept the jars into giant black trash bags. The smell of smoke mixed with the rose petals and gave Sean a headache.

"Prepare another room for me," he said to Levi.

"Of course, sir," Levi said. The butler paused nervously and then added, "Mrs. Blair continues to ask for you. I don't think she's going to stop until you see her."

***

The door burst open, and Sean strode into the room. His suit was rumpled, and his hair was messy, but his icy eyes flashed. He marched to the side of her bed, bringing a chilly air with him. Catherine shivered, but she met his eye.

"Sean, we need to talk," she said, hating the way her voice trembled. "Can we have a real conversation?"

Sean's jaw twitched, but he didn't say a word. He stood next to her, cold and still as a statue, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake. Maybe Marco really was the lesser of two evils.

She patted the soft mattress and said, "Sit down."

Sean raised his eyebrow and sat down wordlessly. A strong, warm smell of whiskey hung around him, and she flinched. In her last years with Marco, he had taken to drinking a lot, and the days he drank were always worse than the days he didn't.

***

Sean sat at the edge of the bed and watched as Catherine backed away from him.

Ever since his men had captured her and brought her back, he'd noticed the way she moved around him. When he leaned closer, she leaned back. When he moved toward her, she scooted away.

She wasn't like that around other people. When he'd seen her before, she was always surrounded by a group of friends and admirers—the center of attention. She laughed and smiled, and her bright green eyes twinkled and shone. Why couldn't she be like that with him? Why did she look at him the way a rabbit looks at a wolf?

He stared down at her bright green eyes. There was something instinctually appealing about the way they widened when she looked at him, the way her mouth opened slightly in a silent gasp, the way the floral smell of her perfume rose from her hair each time she moved. She was so vulnerable, so delicate.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Her body went rigid, but her lips were soft and yielding. He forced them open and pulled her slight body against his. She flailed and struggled, and he finally let her pull away.

"What the hell was that," she asked. "I said I wanted to talk."

The thin, white T-shirt she wore had slipped to the side, revealing the creamy top of her shoulder. He wanted to press his lips to that shoulder, to tear the shirt and expose the rest of her, to press himself into her softness until she yielded. He closed his eyes and shook his head—the whiskey was clouding his thoughts.

"Okay," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About us," she whispered.

Sean's heart thudded in his chest—us? He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was staring down at her hands, twisting the fine sheets around and around until they were wrinkled and ropy.

Without thinking, he pulled her onto his lap and jerked her head down to his. He claimed her lips, kissing her as hard as he could. With a slight groan, she opened her mouth and let him enter it, shifting forward on his lap. He tugged her closer, feeling her warmth against him.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed the neckline of her shirt and tore the thin fabric. His fingertips found the clasp of her bra, and he unhooked it with a flick of his wrist. She pulled away, breaking the kiss.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, holding the bra in place.

"It's my wedding night," he said. "And I intend to enjoy it."

***

Catherine panted for breath and stared at the man in front of her. He looked at her as if he was going to destroy her, and she shivered with a strange mixture of fear and desire. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Catherine fumbled with the straps of her lacy bra, trying to push them back up her shoulders and redo the clasp at the back.

"I will have you, Catherine," Sean groaned. "One way or another."

He pushed her back, and she collapsed onto the pile of down pillows at the head of the bed. In a second, he was on top of her, tugging her pants from her legs. He moved up her body, pulling her hands away from her chest and pinning them above her head with his left hand. With his free hand, he tugged her bra away and threw it across the room.

She shivered as the cool air touched her bare breasts, and he laughed, taking one in his large hand. He squeezed it roughly and moved up to bite her neck. She groaned as his teeth sank into the sensitive skin, arching herself up into him. He growled and released her hands, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to tug it open. Buttons popped off, and the shirt fell open, revealing a chiseled chest.

Sean growled low in his throat and grabbed her hand, guiding it to the front of his trousers. The strength of his desire strained against the front of his pants, hot and urgent. Shocked back to her senses, Catherine pulled her hand away.

She felt her face flush and turned her head to the side, escaping Sean's passionate gaze. Hot embarrassment flooded through her—she'd wanted to talk to him but ended up tearing at his clothes and pressing herself into him like an animal in heat.

A firm but gentle hand closed around her wrist and guided her hand back to the front of his pants. She looked at her small pale hand next to his large tanned fingers and let him press her palm into him.

It would be easy to let him take her, easy to submit to him. She wanted it. She wanted to feel his large hands on every inch of her body. She wanted his heat against her. She wanted him.

"Wait," she gasped. "We have to stop. This isn't talking."

"It's better than talking," he said, pressing his lips to her neck.

"No, we need to talk," she said. "Get off me, let me put my clothes on."

"You can't make love with clothes on," he said, biting her earlobe.

"Listen to me," she said. "I'm trying to be serious, okay? I know I shouldn't have run away."

He pulled away and looked down at her. His face became impassive and cool, and he narrowed his eyes as if trying to read her. His hand tightened, but the grip felt more deadly than passionate. She squirmed uncomfortably as his fingers dug into her ribs.

"What is this about?" he asked in a cold tone.

"I just want to work things out," she sincerely looked into his eyes.

Disgust flitted across his face and his mouth curled down, "I see what's happening. You think I'll forget about your betrayal if you let me fuck you.”

"No," she said. "It's not that at all. I'm trying to tell you that I don't want to be with Marco anymore. I want to be with you."

"Don't lie to me," he snarled.

"I meant it," she said. "I'm not lying."

"Then prove it," he said, roughly pinching her breast.

She winced with the pain, and her head swam. How could she explain it all to him? His moods changed as unpredictable as the wind, and he never reacted the way she thought. Would letting him make love to her change his mind, or would he hate her for it?

She groaned and tried to push his hand away, "No, we can't."

"Why not?" he asked. "It's our wedding night, isn't it?"

"I—I—" she stammered, trying to think of an excuse. "I have my period."

Sean's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed her breast again.

"I'm serious," she said. "I don't want to like this—it's unclean and gross."

"I don't believe you," he said.

His right hand skimmed down to her legs, and he pried them open. Pulling her underwear aside, he dipped one long finger into her most intimate place. It was stained red when he pulled it away. Without saying a word, he climbed off the bed and crossed the room for a tissue.

Catherine exhaled a sigh of relief and wrapped herself up in the sheets, but she didn't relax fully until the door slammed shut behind him. She's almost forgotten that she had her period. Her cousin Madison Stewart had convinced her to get a progesterone injection to trigger her period to come early in case she didn't get away from Sean in time.

Catherine rolled her eyes at how foolish she'd been. It should have been obvious that Madison was just trying to get Sean for herself. That's why she'd encouraged Catherine to run away with Marco, and that's why she'd been so helpful with arranging everything, and that's why she'd agreed to dress up as Catherine!

"Damn," Catherine whispered. "If Sean caught me, then what happened to Madison?"

Catherine didn't have much time to worry about her traitorous cousin. Her stomach cramped, and twisted and dull pain seized her lower back. Her periods were usually painful, but the progesterone seemed to be making this one so much worse. Wrapped in the bedsheets, she climbed out of bed and walked toward the ensuite bathroom.

She walked toward the medicine cabinet under the sink. The marble floors were cold under her knees as she knelt down to look. The shelves were completely empty. She groaned and headed toward the walk-in closet.

And then, Catherine was shocked to find the closet full of clothes. An entire wall was devoted to dresses: cotton sundresses, glittering cocktail dresses, a few gowns with designer tags dangling from the shoulders. She turned to look at the next wall. It was lined with shelves made of glass. Each shelf was lined with shoes, and small light bulbs cast halos on each pair of shoes. She gasped and turned to the third wall: drawers full of shirts and pants, lacy underthings, silk scarves, and glimmering jewelry.

She examined the clothing—looking at the tags to see the size. It was all her size. She checked the shoes and then the bras—they were all her exact size. Even more surprising, they looked like her own clothes. Catherine had never had such an extensive wardrobe, but each of the items was something she would have chosen for herself.

"What kind of man is Sean?" she wondered as she fingered a pink lace bra. "He barely knows me, but he's prepared this fantastic wardrobe for me."

Hope fluttered in her stomach, but she squashed it immediately. Just because he wanted her to look good didn't mean he'd treat her well. Many famous and powerful men enjoyed showing off gorgeous bejeweled wives in public, only to humiliate and torture the wives at home.

After a few minutes, it was clear she wouldn't find a tampon. She dug around in the lingerie drawer looking for a plain, cotton pair of underwear, but everything was made of lace and silk. It seemed a shame to ruin them, so she headed back to the bed—the sheet was already stained.

She rang the PA button on her nightstand, but no one answered. Exhausted and stressed, she collapsed into the bed and drifted off to sleep. She opened her eyes as a horrible pain seized her stomach. She curled into a fetal position as hot bile shot up her throat. The feeling passed, and a large hand stroked her hair, pulling the sweaty strands away from her face.

"Sean?" she asked.

"The servants said you were groaning in your sleep," he said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just my period," she whispered. "It hurts. But I'll be okay later."

"Oh," he said, sounding uncomfortable. "I see."

Without saying another word, he stood up and left the room, leaving Catherine clutching her stomach. Half an hour later, someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," Catherine groaned.

A short, muscular woman with close-cropped black hair marched into the room carrying a large plastic bag. Catherine vaguely recognized the woman as Macy Jeffords, one of Sean's female bodyguards. Her thin eyebrows knitted together in annoyance as she thrust the bag at Catherine.

"Mrs. Blair, this is for you," she said.

Puzzled, Catherine peeked into the bag. She wanted to burst into laughter at what she saw: ten boxes of tampons in different sizes and with different applicators and ten packages of pads in all shapes and sizes. Macy cleared her throat with annoyance.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said. "I really appreciate it, but what kind of woman needs this many tampons and pads?"

For a second, it looked like Macy might crack a smile. She cleared her throat again and said, "Mr. Blair insisted I get every single type—he wasn't sure what you preferred."

"He could have sent a servant to ask me," Catherine said, searching for her usual brand in the bag.

"He insisted that no one bother you," Macy said, looking uncomfortable.

"I see," Catherine said. "Well, thank you. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go clean myself up."

She carried the bulging bag into the bathroom and left it on the floor. She unwrapped the dirtied sheet, balled it up, and tossed it into a corner before stepping into the steaming shower. The warm water blasted her from all her directions, and her aching stomach relaxed. She sighed with relief and wondered about Sean. What kind of man sent his bodyguard to buy his wife tampons in the middle of the night? And what kind of man insisted that the guard buy every possible kind.

She smiled to herself, it was such a small gesture, but its sweetness surprised her. For a moment, at least, Sean had wanted to make sure she was comfortable and cared for.

***

Sean scrolled to the bottom of the page and shut his laptop with a click. According to the hospital website, dysmenorrhea was a common and painful condition that caused some women to faint or vomit. The website said that there wasn't a cure, but hot baths, warm compresses, and tea helped some women.

He stood and marched down to the kitchen. The cook seemed surprised to see him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Blair?" she asked.

"Yes," Sean said. "Ginger, honey, lemon, and a pot of water."

The servant looked baffled, but she sprang into action, racing around the kitchen to collect the ingredients he asked for. He grated the ginger and squeezed the lemon into the water. Then he bent over the steaming pot, stirring the hot liquid until a spicy, warm aroma filled the air. He ladled it into a porcelain teacup patterned with roses and carried it upstairs.

Catherine looked pale in the moonlight. Her lips were tight with pain, and sweat glimmered on her furrowed brow. Dark purple bruises covered Catherine's neck, and Sean clenched his free hand into a fist.

She looked far too weak to be a woman on her period—he'd have to call the doctor to check her again in the morning.

***

Catherine woke as the bed shifted beneath her. Someone had sat down next to her. The bedside lamp clicked on, and a gentle hand pulled her up into a sitting position. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. Sean was sitting at the edge of her bed, holding a porcelain mug.

"Drink it," Sean said, passing her the steaming mug.

She accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. It tasted warm and gingery, and she took another bigger sip. The warm liquid relaxed her, soothing some of the pain in her abdomen.

"How did you know ginger tea helps?" Catherine asked.

Sean shrugged.

"Did you make it?" she asked again.

"No," he replied in short.

"Well, please give my thanks to the chef who made it," she said between sips. "I'm feeling much better already."

Sean's eyes flashed, and his mouth twitched. Catherine took another sip, wondering why he was still in her room. It was weird enough that he'd personally brought her the tea. Why was he hanging around?

"It tastes very good," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled and said, "I'm glad."

Between sips, she looked at Sean. The lamplight silhouetted his regal profile and shone in his hair. He turned to look at her, and his eyes seemed gentle and sad.

"Go to sleep," he murmured.

Soothed by the ginger tea, Catherine sank down into the warm bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin. The painful ache in her abdomen relaxed, and her mind wandered. How did Sean know her so well? Was that how he'd known she'd try to run away with Marco?

She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling warm and safe for the first time in a long time.

***

Sean waited for her to fall asleep, and then he tugged his pants off and slid under the covers, pulling Catherine's warm body against his.

She was soft and gentle in her sleep, almost like a doll. She murmured something quiet and wiggled up against him.

Sean smiled and kissed the back of her head.

"Catherine Stewart, you must behave yourself," he whispered. "You're mine now."

The golden sunlight slanted into the room through the gap in the curtains. Catherine groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. A warm arm tightened around her waist and pulled her against a muscular chest. She froze and opened her eyes.

The person holding her took a deep breath and relaxed his grip. Catherine rolled onto her side and came face to face with the sleeping Sean Blair. Her head spun—what was he doing in her bed? Did he spend the night with her after he brought the tea?

He moaned quietly and blinked his eyes open. His skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, and she reached up to stroke his jaw without thinking anything. He responded quickly, claiming her mouth with a kiss.

Catherine kissed him back, yielding to his strength. He pushed her onto her back, pressing into her. She wrapped her hands around him, feeling the tension in the muscles on his back. His muscles shifted beneath her hands, and he guided her hand under the covers and into the tops of his boxers.

He was hard, and his skin was scalding hot. She pulled her hand away and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Wait," she gasped. I'm still on my period."

Sean groaned and bit her neck hard. She squirmed with a mix of pain and desire.

"Don't move," he whispered. "Or I can't guarantee what will happen."

Catherine froze and closed her eyes. A part of her didn't care about the blood either, but the embarrassment would kill her. What if he was disgusted by her and never wanted to look at her again? What if it smelled bad?

"Fuck," he groaned. "How can you do this to me and then say no?

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to his organ, pressing her palm against its length. It jumped at her touch, and he curled her hand around it.

"This is what you do to me," he whispered.

Catherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn't want to anger him by refusing, but she didn't want to encourage him either. The warm weight above her lifted, and she heard him sigh.

She cracked her eyes open. He was sitting at the edge of the bed with his back toward her, and she couldn't help but notice the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms. She wanted to reach out and stroke them, to kiss along the banded muscles, but she forced herself to stay still.

"Did you spend the night here?" she finally asked.

"You didn't notice?" he replied.

"I was exhausted," she said. "My period usually exhausts me. If the pain doesn't keep me up, I sleep very deeply."

"Well, it was still our wedding night," Sean said. "Even if we couldn't make love, we're supposed to sleep together."

Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot as she blushed. She tugged the sheets around her, trying to hide as much of herself as possible.

"I have to go," he said. "It's late now."

Catherine heard his belt clink as he pulled his trousers on, and then the soft padding of his footsteps as he crossed the carpeted room. The door creaked open and clicked shut, and she exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. She climbed out of bed and rushed toward the closet, choosing a pair of light wash jeans and a thin navy blue sweater. She slipped on a pair of slippers and tested the door to the hallway—it was unlocked. She crept down the hall and tiptoed down the stairs.

A chorus of servants called, "Good morning, Mrs. Blair. Ready for breakfast?"

A row of servants stood outside the dining room, waiting for Catherine. Some smiled warmly at her, and others glared—Catherine wondered how much they knew about the wedding.

Squaring her shoulders, Catherine marched into the dining room. Sean already sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee while he scrolled through his phone.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blair," said a servant. "What would you like to have for breakfast?"

"I'll have whatever my husband is having," she said.

She sat down beside Sean and smiled at him. Without asking for permission, Catherine reached out and grabbed his mug from the table. She took a long sip and almost gagged on the bitter liquid.

"My god," she spluttered. "You don't put any sugar or milk in it."

Sean smiled with amusement and took his mug back, "Don't drink it if you don't like it."

A servant rushed over, carrying a tray with several glasses of juice and milk. Catherine selected a narrow crystal glass filled with fresh orange juice and took a large sip. Another servant leaped forward, carrying a steaming mug of black coffee.

"Here you go, Mr. Blair," the servant said, offering him the coffee.

"What do I want with that?" Sean asked coldly.

"I thought since she—and germs—" the servant stammered and fell silent under Sean's icy glare.

Catherine looked between the servant and Sean, trying to understand what had just happened. She'd just taken a small sip of her husband's coffee—why was everyone making such a big deal about it?

"You know, you shouldn't drink too much black coffee," she said to Sean. "It's bad for your stomach."

Sean lowered his cup and raised his eyebrows. She felt her face grow hot, and she looked down at the sizzling omelet a servant slid in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I have no right to tell you what to do. Sometimes I speak without thinking."

She glanced up through the steam of her omelet and saw Sean regarding her with the same steady gaze.

"Okay," he said. "I'll try to limit myself."

"Right," she said. "Sure."

She busied herself, cutting the spinach and cheese omelet into pieces. Though she didn't have much of an appetite, she forced herself to chew and swallow each piece until over half the omelet was gone.

Turning to one of the servants, Catherine said, "May I speak with the chef?"

The servant glanced at Sean, and Sean shrugged without saying anything. Then he bustled through the swinging door and down to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned, followed by a red-faced cook in a pristine white apron.

"Thank you for the tea last night," Catherine said. "I was in so much pain, and it made me feel better almost instantly."

The chef looked confused, "But Mrs. Blair, I didn't make—"

"Yes," Sean said, interrupting the chef with a cold glare. "Thank you for making the tea."

The chef's face went redder as she looked between Sean and Catherine. Finally, she nodded and mumbled, "It's my pleasure," before slinking back to the kitchen.

"So you feel better now?" Sean asked Catherine.

She nodded, "Much better."

"Good," he said. "You certainly look better."

Levi cleared his throat from the corner, "Mr. Blair, Madison Stewart wants to see you."

Sean's face darkened, "I don't want to see her."

Catherine twisted her napkin on her lap and looked between Sean and Levi. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Actually, can I talk to her?"