Dare You to Run by Dawn Ryder

she said smoothly.
    â€œAdmirable,” Carl answered. “And if I understand correctly, you should be receiving it within weeks. Which leaves you and I the summer to court before having an autumn wedding. I need to be a solid, settled man for the voters.”
    â€œNo thank you, I intend to use my degree. Good luck in your search for a bride.” Damascus turned to leave.
    Carl’s pulled her back, showing her an expression that was unyielding, betraying just how much he didn’t like her hedging. “Let’s cut the smoke screen, Damascus. I need a wife, the right wife. Your father wants to be my running mate. I want you, and I don’t have time to play games.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go back inside and dance. The press will pick up on it. Just the sort of coverage we all need. The voters will eat up the image of a new family in the White House.”
    â€œThat’s the sort of thing you and my father”—the word stuck in her throat but she forced it past her lips—“need. Not me. Find someone else to be your first lady.”
    Carl chuckled ominously. “I’m going to be taking your father as my running mate. For that, he’s going to pay up, and I want you.” For a moment, his eyes narrowed, lust pulling his features tight. “I like knowing you’ve kept yourself clean. Can’t have a first lady with too many lovers in her past. Your father and I already have an agreement, one he assured me you would honor.”
    Her temper was so hot, it was a wonder steam wasn’t rising from her forehead.
    â€œThink again.” She was being daring, but she just didn’t care. She was little more than an exotic pet to him.
    â€œI always get what I want.” He made a grab for her.
    Damascus lunged to the side, taking refuge behind a large pot with flowers in it. She grasped the rim. “I’ll send it to the ground. The service boys will be here in a flash and the gossip will flow.”
    He grunted but straightened up and fixed his suit jacket. “I like spunk,” he offered slowly, his tone rich with promise. “It’s going to make getting a saddle on you a whole lot of fun.”
    Damascus sent the pot toward the ground in response. It hit with a smashing sound that grated against the serenity of the garden.
    â€œBitch,” Carl muttered before he cut off to the left and disappeared.
    The scent of the soil was just tickling her nose when the first sounds of running feet touched her ears. Her sire wouldn’t like her being the subject of the wrong sort of attention, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass at the moment.
    Someone grasped her wrist and pulled her through the wall of shrubbery behind her. Only half a sound made it past her lips before it was smothered beneath a hard hand and she was folded into an unbreakable hold. For a moment terror surged through her, the memory of being tied up and helpless rising from her memory like a huge specter. Her blood chilled, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might just break through her rib cage. She dug her fingernails into the hand over her mouth while she bit.
    â€œIt’s me,” Vitus hissed against her ear as she tasted blood.
    She gasped, releasing his finger and sagging back against him. For a moment, the world spun and she dragged in a ragged breath to fend off the icy dread choking her. Vitus snorted before pulling her away from the men investigating the broken pot. Her feet didn’t touch the ground until they were out of sight.
    â€œYou’re jumpy,” he said as he looked at the wound on his hand. Blood was spotting his white dress glove. He stripped it off and used it to apply pressure to the wound.
    â€œThe last time someone grabbed me like that, I ended up stuffed into a trunk.” The memory was in control of her, spilling out of her mouth. She suddenly realized who she was facing and pressed her own hand against her