Joshua led her into a living room that looked more like a museum gallery. His parents, William and Catherine Stanley, were seated on a silk sofa, their expressions carved from ice.

The meeting was brief and brutal. Joshua announced their engagement with a defiant pride that was clearly for his father's benefit. William's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. Catherine's smile became a thin, brittle line of disappointment.

Avery played her part, a nervous but determined girl from the wrong side of the tracks, all while her senses were screaming, scanning every shadow for Brodie.

He never appeared.

When the excruciating interview was over, Joshua decided to drive his point home. In front of his disapproving parents and the silent staff, he swept Avery up into his arms.

She let out a small gasp of surprise.

"Part of the show," he whispered against her ear, his breath warm. His arms were like steel bands around her.

He carried her up the sweeping grand staircase as if she weighed nothing, his face a perfect mask of a man in love.

He pushed open the door to a lavish guest suite and gently deposited her on the king-sized bed. The mattress was so soft she sank into it.

"You'll stay here tonight. My room is next door. Call if you need anything."

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving her in a silence that was more deafening than the family's arguments.

Avery collapsed back onto the pillows, her body trembling with delayed shock. The last few hours felt like a lifetime.

She pushed herself off the bed and surveyed her gilded cage. Her gaze swept past the ornate furniture and landed on a set of French doors leading to a small, private balcony. One of the doors was slightly ajar, letting in a sliver of the cool night air. She chalked it up to careless housekeeping and turned her attention to the en-suite bathroom, a vision of white marble and gold fixtures.

She needed a shower. She needed to wash the entire day off of her. Wash him off of her.

She walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, but didn't bother to lock it. She was alone, finally.

She turned on the hot water, and steam quickly filled the room, fogging the mirrors. She shed her dress, letting it pool on the floor, and was about to step into the glass-walled shower.

Click.

It was a small sound. The distinct, final sound of a lock turning in the bathroom door.

Avery's heart seized. A cold fist of terror clenched in her gut. She spun around.

He was leaning against the now-locked door, a tall, dark silhouette in the steam. A ghost conjured from her worst nightmares.

Brodie.

His eyes were black holes, bottomless pits of a cold, simmering rage.

"You can't run from me, Avery," he rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper that scraped against her raw nerves.

She scrambled backward, her bare feet slipping on the slick marble, until her back hit the cold glass of the shower wall. There was nowhere else to go.

She crossed her arms over her naked body, a futile gesture of defense. "How... how did you get in here?" she stammered.

A cold, dead smile touched his lips. "You think I left? That little tantrum on the lawn? That was just for show. A little misdirection to make my little brother think I was gone. To make you let your guard down."

He pushed off the door, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.

"The moment you set foot in this house, you were my prey."

He advanced on her, and the steamy, enclosed space of the bathroom seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. His presence was suffocating, a physical pressure against her skin.

She tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat, strangled by fear.

He stopped directly in front of her. His hand shot out, not to hit her, but to wrap around her throat. His fingers were cold, his grip not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to be a promise. An assertion of absolute, terrifying control.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his dead eyes boring into hers.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice a venomous caress. "How did it feel to kiss my brother?"

Brodie's thumb pressed against the frantic pulse in her throat. His question, low and menacing, hung in the steam-filled air.

Avery's lungs burned for air, but a different kind of fire was igniting in her chest. Rage. The memory of his betrayal, the casual cruelty she'd overheard six months ago, flooded back, momentarily eclipsing her fear.

He didn't wait for an answer. He lowered his head and his mouth crashed down on hers.

It was a brutal, punishing kiss. A kiss of possession and rage, filled with the intent to break her. It tasted of violence and something metallic.

Humiliation, hot and sharp, pierced through her terror. She would not be his victim. Not again.

With a surge of pure, primal fury, she bit down. Hard.

She sank her teeth into his lower lip, tasting the hot, coppery burst of his blood.

Brodie grunted in pain, a shocked, guttural sound, and his hand flew from her throat.

The release was instantaneous. Avery shoved him back with all her might, gasping for air, the metallic tang of his blood sharp on her tongue.

Her hand came up, and she swung, the crack of her palm against his cheek echoing off the marble walls.

The force of the slap snapped his head to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed on his skin. He stood there for a second, stunned, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. A look of genuine disbelief flickered in his dark eyes.

No one, least of all this woman he thought he could break, treated him this way.

Avery's chest heaved, each breath a ragged gasp. She knew her defiance would only make things worse, but submission was not an option. She had to find a weapon. The only one she had.

Brodie slowly turned his head back to face her. He ran his tongue over his bleeding lip, a slow, deliberate motion. The pain seemed to focus him, sharpening the fury in his eyes into something else, something twisted and excited.

"You still have claws, Avery," he murmured, a sick thrill in his voice.

He started toward her again.

Just as his hands reached for her, she found her voice. It was shaky, but it was clear.

"Stop! Brodie Stanley!"

She forced herself to stand tall, to meet his predatory gaze, her nakedness forgotten.

"Have you forgotten who I am now?" she challenged, her voice gaining strength.

"I am your brother's fiancée."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He froze, his hands hovering inches from her skin.

Avery pressed her advantage, her mind racing. He didn't care about Joshua. He cared about the game.

"What do you think you're doing? In here? With your future sister-in-law?" she spat, her words like daggers. "Imagine if Joshua found his brother, in his own home, putting his hands on the woman he loves... What do you think he would do?"

Brodie stared at her, his jaw working, the muscles clenching and unclenching. The desire to dominate her, to punish her, was at war with a new, more perverse idea. The idea of the taboo.

He didn't touch her.

He took a step back. He stared at her, the rage in his eyes warring with a dawning, perverse curiosity. The pain in his lip, the sting on his cheek... it wasn't just humiliation. It was a challenge. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face, transforming his fury into something far more dangerous.

They held a dark promise.

"This," he whispered, his voice dripping with a newfound, twisted amusement, "is going to be so much more fun than I thought."