The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Hot and Cold 

“Out,” Angelique ordered.

Jane looked around her at the concrete and glass towers, the busy city street, the tightly packed pedestrian paths. “Where are we?”

“Oh, dopey Doris,” Angelique purred. “We are at the center of the universe. Get the f-k out the car and come along.”

She grabbed Jane by the elbow and propelled her into one of the glossy buildings, past the reception desk and into an elevator, and swiped a card before prodding the very top number on the long, long columns of numbers.

When the elevator opened, Angelique pushed Jane out into a lobby where the floor was the sort of slippery tile that every woman in high heel shoes viewed with dread, and past the receptionist who muttered into her headset even as her eyes followed Angelique’s passage into the bowels of the building.

They moved through a wide hallway flanked by meeting spaces and rooms where flustered looking people stared at computer screens in consternation, through to a double door, which Angelique shoved open with her hip before half throwing Jane into the chamber so that Jane staggered and fell.

Baron sat at a desk near a wall of windows and stood upon their entry, tugging his waistcoat down, his eyebrows pulling together, and Jane realised that the glossy tower was his building from which he ran all the various branches of his business: the center or the universe indeed.

“What the f-k Angelique?” He demanded, striding around his desk, and picking Jane up off the carpet.

her fat with your litter, so that we can get the f-k on with what we‘re here to do.” She turned on her heel and clipped out of the room before he

at Jane and offered her his hand. She refused

hit him before she had even realised that the thought had occurred to her to do so, and saw the outline of her hand appear on his cheek white and then red. The force of the slap

told him through her teeth. “I hate you, Baron Western. I hate you for making me believe that this was a love match. I hate you for f-king raping me on our wedding night. I hate you for humiliating me by keeping a mistress after you married me. I hate you for forcing yourself on me during my first heat. I hate you for having your mistress drag me to the f-king doctor to have

his arms, catching her so that her back was against his chest and his hand closed over her mouth. “I am tempted to let you continue,” he breathed into her ear.

start from the beginning,” he released her mouth. “From how you

in a breath, and felt her control disintegrate, until she sobbed her grief bitterly, her legs giving beneath it, bringing them both down onto the luxurious carpet, so that

breathed into her ear. “Oh,

his office. She cried out, half in protest and half desire, and he lifted her hips into him as he drove himself into her bringing her

clenched into the carpet, and felt him follow, his cry harsh, and then the sink of his weight over her. “So,” he breathed into her ear. “Start

answer, the sobs shaking through her, ugly, snot filled tears as she pressed her face into his carpet. She cried until

gold and cream room, alone, with the night pressing in around her, her pulse leaping in her head, the primal rhythm

its fabric down over

voice to stay home, to lock herself into her room, but the other voice was louder, and she wanted to dance somewhere with a dark beat, and other bodies pressed against hers, her pulse

hall, Heathridge took one look at her, and his expression shifted. “Madam,” he said, his voice tight. “You need to