Marrying a Stranger

Marrying a Stranger BAD FOR ME Lindsey Hart CONTENTS CONTENTS COPYRIGHT BOOK DESCRIPTION CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 EPILOGUE AUTHOR’S NOTE COPYRIGHT All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands. Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2023 All rights reserved. Edits by Charmaine Tan. Cover design by Cosmic Letterz. Need to get in touch with the author? Email: [email protected] Facebook: facebook.com/groups/lindseyhartromance BOOK DESCRIPTION Kidnapped, threatened and held captive until I agree to marry him... He's bound to be a bad guy, right?! Except he swears he isn't. And if I got to know him, I would change my mind. Why would I even try to get to know the guy that thwarts my every attempt at escape, Looks like a god damn Lucifer, Makes my heart go wild, And likes pineapple on pizza? It's all wrong wrong wrong. I'm just a librarian and my life is not supposed to end up like one of those steamy mafia romance novels I like reading. Wait, did I say steamy? The only thing that needs to get steamy is the water in my shower, not anything else. Unless he joins me there. Oh boy, I'm in trouble. CHAPTER 1 Azalea I remember nothing. Everything is black—the kind of black that the light doesn’t pierce. My head is a bundle of ragged nerves, muffled cotton, and splitting pain. And it weighs approximately seven hundred and forty-eight pounds. What? I just like the number. Before I even open my eyes, I know. I know this is a dream, and in this dream, I’m going to wake up tied to a chair. Naked. With a smooth but villainous, dark and powerful, slightly thrilling and slightly terrifying man dressed all in black sitting across the room from me, watching me with his jet-black hair, jet-black suit, and jet-black eyes. A thrill will go through me. A thrill of terror, but also a small thrill of something else, because this is a dream, and who isn’t turned on by danger, even a little bit? A host of his black-clad cronies will be standing around, ready to do his every sinister bidding. And me. Yes. Me. Normal, regular, stodgy, book-loving, boring old Azalea, who was named after a flower even though my mom just liked the name and didn’t realize it was a flower at all, is now Mr. Dark and Terrifying’s Captive. Yes. Because this is a dream. One of those edgy, erotic dreams where bad things can seem like they’re actually delightful because, in dreams, one doesn’t worry overly much about morality. Morality is for everyday waking life. Dreams are different. I drag my eyes open and let out a groan that sounds very real. It’s dragged up from the pit of my rocking stomach, brought up from a throat so dry that it burns, and dragged over my tongue, which feels two sizes too big for my mouth and also so dry that it makes me want to groan and gag and beg for water. I open lips that are so parched that I can feel the fine cracks appear when I part them to try and mutter that very word. The pain has to be manufactured. Something I imagined and filled in because I’ve read too many thriller books to make up for my lack of real-life adventures and experiences. “Water.” The sound is just a sound. Mmmpphhhhhttttt. Is that really my voice? I sound like an off-key toad. Now that I’m fully awake, and I mean awake within the dream, my head still hurts. It still feels thick and heavy. I quickly flick my eyes down and sigh in relief. Nope. Not naked. Nope, I’m not even tied up. My fantasy is sorely lacking here because doesn’t every good fantasy involve ropes? Okay, maybe my subconscious is taking it too far. But this is a dream, and dreams can take things the extra mile that we can’t go in our real, boring, mundane, everyday lives. I’m wearing what I was wearing today; I remember that much. A black pencil skirt, a white blouse with little pearl buttons at the sleeves near my wrists and a tie at the throat that looks vintage, and towering heels that hurt my feet but look wickedly great on. It’s the perfect librarian sort of outfit because that’s exactly what I am. A librarian. On the outside, I’m perfectly mild, even-tempered, and boring. But on the inside, I yearn for adventure. I’m the kind of librarian who, in my free time, grabs a history book, shoves a dirty smut novel inside, and indulges for hours in the most absurd fantasies. The whole dark mafia thing is my favorite, which makes sense. The dream, I mean. It makes sense that I’ve manufactured all this based on my recent smutty, wonderful reading habits. Anyway, I was on my way to work when, out of the shadows of an alley, a huge set of arms grabbed me from behind. I