Woke Up Married To The Ruthless Heir

Caroline's skull throbbed in time with a heartbeat that felt entirely too loud.

She let out a dry, cracked groan. The sound scraped against her throat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the harsh, blinding sunlight stabbing through the gap in the floor-to-ceiling blackout curtains.

Then, she felt it.

A heavy, suffocating heat draped across her bare waist. It was an arm. A massive, muscular arm.

Caroline's body went rigid. The breath trapped in her lungs turned to ice.

Panic flooded her veins, sharp and electric. She held her breath, her chest burning, and slowly lifted the edge of the high-end down comforter.

She peeked inside.

She was completely naked.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat. She slapped both hands over her mouth, pressing hard enough to bruise her lips.

Moving like a rusted machine, she turned her head an inch at a time.

Her gaze landed on the face of a stranger. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a sharp jawline and thick, dark lashes resting against his cheekbones.

Fragmented memories from last night at that downtown Manhattan bar crashed into her brain. The flashing lights. The burning shots of tequila.

She remembered missing a step on the stairs. She remembered a pair of strong hands catching her waist. After that, nothing. Just a terrifying, black void.

She had to get out of here. Now.

Caroline pinched the heavy wrist resting on her stomach with her trembling fingertips. She tried to lift it, moving with agonizing slowness.

The man shifted. His dark eyebrows pulled together in a slight frown.

His arm tightened instinctively, dragging her bare back flush against his rock-hard chest.

Caroline squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't dare to breathe. She lay frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, until the man's breathing deepened into a steady rhythm again.

This was her chance.

She slid down the mattress like a snake, her bare skin catching on the silk sheets.

Her bare feet hit the freezing marble floor. A violent shiver ripped through her spine.

She dropped to her knees, her hands frantically digging through the pile of discarded clothes near the nightstand.

She found her bra. She found her dress.

Her fingers traced the side of the fabric. The zipper was completely ripped off its track.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath, a hot flush of anger and humiliation burning her cheeks.

She scrambled to her feet and lunged toward the bathroom door, snatching a massive white hotel bathrobe off the hook. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and pulled the lapels tight across her chest, tying the belt in a vicious knot.

She grabbed her broken heels in one hand and the ruined dress in the other.

She walked on her tiptoes, inching toward the heavy mahogany suite door.

Her fingertips brushed the cold brass of the doorknob.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?"

The voice was low, raspy from sleep, and came from directly behind her.

Caroline froze. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Her stomach dropped to the floor.

She sucked in a sharp breath, plastered a fake, apologetic smile on her face, and slowly turned around.

He was sitting up. The silk sheets pooled at his waist, exposing a broad chest covered in faint, red scratch marks.

Her scratch marks.

He stared at her. He blinked, a slight frown of sleep-induced confusion briefly clouding his perfect features as he took in her bathrobe and the hand on the doorknob. For a split second, he looked like a normal man just startled from rest. But as the reality of her attempt to flee clicked in his mind, that fleeting vulnerability completely vanished. The muscles in his jaw ticked. His eyes, a piercing, icy blue, hardened instantly, stripping away any lingering morning haze. He was wide awake. And he was furious.

"I... I'm so sorry," Caroline stammered, her voice shaking. "I had too much to drink. This was just a mistake. Two consenting adults, right? A drunken accident."

The man let out a dark, humorless laugh.

He threw the covers off and stood up. He didn't bother to cover himself.

The visual shock hit Caroline like a physical blow. She screamed, dropping her shoes, and slapped both hands over her eyes.

"Don't look at me!" she shrieked.

She heard the heavy, deliberate thud of his bare feet against the thick carpet. He was walking toward her. The air in the room seemed to shrink, suffocating her.

His hands clamped around her wrists. He yanked her hands away from her face with brutal force.

"Look at me," he commanded.

He backed her up until her spine slammed against the solid wood of the door. He planted one large hand on the wood right next to her head, trapping her completely.

He leaned in. She could smell mint and the musky scent of sex on his skin.

"You took my innocence," he whispered, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. "A simple 'mistake' isn't going to cut it."

Caroline stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He had to be out of his mind. This gorgeous man was a clinical psychopath.

The corner of his mouth curled into a predatory smirk.

"You are going to take responsibility," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You are going to marry me."