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  CAPTURE

  Flora Dain

  THE WOLFE: BOOK 3

  Copyright

  Mischief

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

  Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.mischiefbooks.com

  Copyright © Flora Dain 2014

  Flora Dain asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007579600

  Version: 2014-08-20

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  More from Mischief

  About Mischief

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nowadays all it takes is a look.

  It’s New Year’s Eve. We’re having a Ball – literally. But a man keeps looking at me from across the room. Nothing too obvious, just catching my eye every now and then. But it’s very disturbing.

  Correction – he’s very disturbing.

  I should be pleased. People should look. It’s a gala occasion. I’m wearing a gown that cost more than I earn and jewels way out of my league. We’re a blitz of glitz here – New York’s Four Seasons at its finest.

  Darnley never does things by halves.

  The guests are the cream of the East Coast courtesy of his family, a shot of early-settler blueblood from mine, plus a sprinkling of West Coast celebs from his brother Eldon’s on-off movie contacts.

  But that man’s gaze is deep and dark. Very unsettling.

  I’m trying to be civilised. I’m a professional person. I should have more self-control, not come apart at one look.

  He’s noticed. He’s coming over.

  His gaze sweeps over me as he prowls through the guests. The crowd melts before him. Somewhere deep inside, so do I.

  I should call security.

  Wait. He is security.

  ‘Ready?’ His voice is like hot velvet.

  A prickle of fear raises the down on my arms.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ The heat in his eyes makes me shiver. So does the touch of his hand on mine as he guides me up to the stage.

  All the clocks, artfully placed among the banks of flowers and balloons to celebrate tonight, start to chime midnight.

  It’s the start of a New Year and for us a new era.

  At a drumroll from the orchestra, silence falls around us and he starts to speak. His voice flows around me like dark honey and echoes through the vast room. He sounds casual, urbane. He could have been an actor.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve an announcement to make. I’m sure you’ve all guessed it, but here goes. Ella and I are getting engaged. Happy New Year, everybody.’

  Balloons tumble down, cheers rise up and he captures my mouth. Our kiss is all too brief and all too hot. A heady foretaste of what’s to come.

  * * *

  ‘You look terrific in that.’ His low murmur thrills through me as we hurry out to the main exit where his car’s waiting to ferry us to his jet. His hand grips mine, his burning look turning my gown into liquid sex.

  ‘You too.’ I grin, weak with relief – and that kiss.

  But I’m still angry.

  Behind us, back in the ballroom, New Year’s now in full swing, but we’re cutting things short. We’ve got other plans.

  Since we got here tonight our attention has been all on family and friends. His parents, Aaron and Lydia, are here along with my friend Billy and Eldon, Darnley’s brother – and various relatives and business people.

  Even my parents are down from Maine. This is a real treat for them. We spent Christmas with them when Darnley proposed, so they know all about it. I was glad to see him blend into our quiet lifestyle and soak up some of my Mom’s wholesome New England cooking – she goes to town in the kitchen on the rare occasions they have guests.

  Even Darnley seemed to relax. Old-fashioned home comforts have been sadly lacking from his life.

  ‘Hey. We’re here.’

  He seizes my hand and I jerk out of my reverie. As we step out of the car an icy wind whistles through the fenced-off section of JFK where his jet awaits, crouched on the runway like a gleaming insect.

  His driver drops a thick wrap over my shoulders as I pick my way across the icy tarmac. In the distance all around us light sparkles off the banks of soiled snow cleared from the runway.

  I shiver in the sharp cold as Darnley hurries me up the gangway. We shake hands with the crew just inside the low, curved doorway. As we settle into our seats we’re already taxiing in a slow curve, setting off towards the long row of double lights waiting to guide us out into the sky and send us west.

  We’re off to California.

  * * *

  The Cessna’s on loan from Aaron. It will refuel at some point. I wasn’t paying attention. I was admiring the extras laid on for our in-flight entertainment – champagne on ice, low, dreamy lighting, satin drapes, a bed – and planning the next stage of my campaign.

  We’re in the middle of a raging fight. The Ball was only a brief lull in our battle. Now the gloves are back on.

  When the crew finally retire to the fore and aft of the plane to continue their tasks, he closes a small padded door and ushers me into the cushioned privacy of what will be our sleeping quarters for the next few hours.

  Not that sleep’s too high on our list.

  ‘So?’ I glare at him across the soft, satin-lined cabin. ‘When are you seeing one? You promised, Darnley. You promised you’d see one as soon as we were engaged. It’s a –’ Crossly, I search for the right word here.

  ‘Condition?’ His steady, amused gaze is less than helpful. So is this pointed reference to the bracelets he gave me. Their conditions are mega-significant and sometimes deliberately – and deliciously – painful.

  ‘It’s a deal-breaker.’ There, I’ve said it. And if he wants to make something of it, let him.

  Instantly he does. I see his eyes narrow.

  ‘Really? Interesting. So when you wear my bracelets I can set conditions, but when you wear my ring you can “break th
e deal”? How does that work? Hey!’

  He pins my wrists behind my back with one hand, his fingers closing round them in a grip just this side of uncomfortable. ‘Here’s the deal. When I see a shrink it’ll be one of my choosing and in my own time. That suit?’

  He doesn’t wait for an answer as his mouth finds mine. I should fight this … but now his arms are winding around me, feeling my curves, fondling my valleys, his sure touch sending ripples through me, little pulses that any minute will spark into arousal.

  The ground I was so sure of only seconds ago is slipping away.

  When he pulls back he’s smiling down at me. When he speaks his voice purrs through me. ‘And guess what? My first choice is right here.’

  He finds my mouth again, and now he’s quit my wrists and he’s exploring me, intimate and urgent, warning me that fighting’s off the table but something else is very much on it. What’s more, his sardonic look warns me we’ve still got issues. Like not wanting a Ball in the first place.

  ‘So how did it go? Not so bad, was it?’

  I swallow. I’d wanted something quieter, more private. It had led to a battle of wills as he insisted on a blaze of publicity.

  ‘I want everybody to know. And I want everybody impressed. You should too.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be in the public eye all the time. Can’t we just text them? Send them a postcard?’

  His fury had been startling – then, as he followed it up with some energetic and very specific attention, glorious.

  ‘No way. Get used to it. That’s how we do things.’ He’d raised his head from between my thighs, his mouth still moist with my fulsome, unbidden response to his powerful argument. ‘Besides, it’s our special night. I’m not having you look back years from now and accuse me of not doing things properly.’

  Years? With him I never dare look beyond the next two hours.

  I smiled down at him and touched his face, his scowl warning me that my small-town New England ways would have to take a back seat for once – maybe for ever. And that just then he had more important things to do, like what he was doing just then.

  I swallowed, my will fading under his onslaught, my stomach muscles still rippling from the effect of his hungry tongue.

  Do it later, I thought. Fight later. I need this. I tried one last time. ‘You must. You promised. You said you’d see a professional, Darnley. Even now you’re starting to remember, there may still be issues –’

  I broke off with a gasp, derailed by an extra vicious jab from his hungry tongue.

  ‘Enough. I’ll find one in my own time, Ella. And in my own way.’ He was leaning on his elbows glaring down at me.

  For a split second I froze. The steel in his tone is always a shock, even when we’re doing this.

  ‘OK. I get it.’ I stroked his tense forehead and ruffled his springy mass of fresh-washed chestnut hair, thrilling to the glimmer of little blond highlights that sparkled at the ends. ‘And don’t stop,’ I gasped, giving in as gracefully as I could with my legs splayed wide and my arousal pounding. ‘I was enjoying that.’

  Now, as we face each other in the cushioned luxury of the private jet, his dark look demands an answer.

  ‘You’re right. It was a fantastic evening,’ I say quickly. Something burns deep down, something we’ve been putting off all evening.

  Does he sense this? I lower my gaze at the sudden glint in his eyes. I feel my breath quicken. It’s an effort to keep my voice even, to talk normally. ‘And – it was great seeing everybody again.’

  ‘Meaning what? I’m not enough for you?’ His eyes gleam as he says this. He may be playing – maybe not.

  I swallow. ‘That’s not what I meant. You –’

  He smiles slowly. ‘I’m what? Twisting your words? You tear me apart when you look at me like that. How about a small thank-you?’

  I was ready for this so I make a start on the rather big thank-you I’d already planned. With a slow, swaying motion I arch my back as I slip the sleeves of my gown a little way down my arms and then reach round to lower my zip. He watches, his eyes growing darker, as I slide the satin down further, move round slowly to bend low and unzip the rest, then turn and face him as I slide the satin down all the way.

  As he sees me emerge from my clinging, costly gown his eyes widen briefly. ‘Wow.’

  Tonight I’m wearing his diamonds for lingerie. I’d trusted to roughly a million dollars’ worth of bling to provide the support structure that evening gowns this pricey require. Rather to my surprise they’ve done pretty well. Now all I have to deal with is the liquid heat in his gaze as he sees his Christmas present turn into a perfect New Year offering.

  ‘And just so you know,’ I say gently, as I sink to my knees and free him from the taut imprisonment of his trousers, where I sense his arousal has been steadily building at much the same rate as mine, ‘I’m very, very grateful.’

  To prove it I touch my lips reverently to his hot, silky shaft, which is already hungry for my mouth, and for a few delicious moments our battle is on hold.

  All around us the low, throbbing hum of the engines closes us into our own private world as I explore him with my tongue, tease him when he tenses, lick gently when he groans. Soon I can see – from the tension building in the rippling muscles of his thighs – that he’s close.

  ‘Whoa. Let’s make this last.’ With a groan he eases away from me, smiling at me as I lean over to plant a brief kiss on the tip just as he pulls clear.

  He raises me gently until I’m upright and finds my mouth once more, his hands exploring me now, reaching into every part of me, his touch urgent, his fingers squeezing, pressing, making me limp with desire as he finds all the places I want him to find and then finds them again and lingers. And slowly he presses me back against the mattress lying just behind us, and as my knees buckle under his weight and my will melts away in the white heat of his look I give myself up to him with the eager abandon of an alley cat.

  When he finally plunges inside, his shaft huge and hot and wet from my kisses, my belly muscles haul him in like we’ve been apart for weeks. Every thrust is a surge of triumph, every retreat a mournful parting as he leans over me, his eyes burning into mine with the dark passion that’s been pent up all evening.

  And as I climb ever closer to orgasm under his steady gaze I know now why his look is so disturbing, even across a crowded room – it reminds me of this. His dark, intent gaze is the living promise that he gives me, even in public places where words and touch are forbidden, that he loves me and needs me, all the time.

  Soon, far sooner than I want, I spasm around him, tipping over the edge at the onslaught of his steady, pounding rhythm. Seconds after that he comes too, his deafening bellow his only response to the soft undertow of my rippling muscles.

  ‘Christ, Ella.’

  * * *

  Our journey takes a while. We refuel in Denver, make love and sleep and make love again. In between we eat, drink coffee, play cards, talk to friends and family while we take turns to tease and fondle, each daring the other to break up the conversation with a shout from him or a giggle from me.

  When we finally arrive in a sun-kissed land under a wide blue sky, a million miles away from the deep winter of New York, we’ve a long drive up Highway 101 to reach our destination.

  I’m blurry from sex and bewildered by the time zones when he finally tells his driver to slow down to show me the view.

  ‘There it is. See it, down there along the cliff?’

  I grin up at him, pleased he’s so happy, eager and carefree as a boy. Then I blink. ‘But it’s massive. I thought it would be some kind of shack on stilts.’

  ‘I don’t do shacks.’ He’s laughing now, nuzzling deep into my shoulder, sending sparks of excitement all over me as I gaze out over the sleek glass palace that millionaires like him call a beach house.

  But as we get closer I frown. On the longest wall, looking out over the bay, I see something odd.

  ‘That’s we
ird. Some kind of artwork?’

  Weird though it looks to me it’s entirely possible that’s exactly what it is. His world’s a universe away from mine. I’d sooner not seem naïve.

  But at my side I feel him stiffen. He pulls away from me and picks up his phone and now I sense that, art or not, something’s very wrong here.

  He mutters into his cell, his tone low.

  This is serious. Alarmed, I tune in to what he’s saying. He’s using the part code, part command string he uses for emergencies.

  As we pull up outside the house, we gaze at it; him in silence, me in growing horror. All along the gleaming, white-glazed wall someone has scrawled a vast message in vivid scarlet paint. It’s been done in a hurry with a very thick brush. Trails of paint trickle down, still wet. Crude splashes of crimson spatter the immaculate driveway and pool in the cracks between the slabs.

  This was done only minutes before we arrived.

  ‘Wel cum home fokes!’

  From a distance it looks like a joke punctuation mark. But up close we see it’s a crude six-foot-high drawing of something else – something very much male. Below it thin rills of wet paint drip onto the driveway.

  ‘Whoa. Looks like somebody’s pleased to see us.’ I speak without thinking. Luckily – and for once in my life – it’s the right thing to say. Darnley’s hand tightens briefly on mine and then he grins. One of the men in the ashen-faced group hovering nearby actually laughs.

  I glance at Darnley, heart in mouth. Will he freak? And now I get another shock – he’s looking at me, his expression troubled. ‘Ella?’

  I step closer. Around us there’s a bustle as men rush forward to tackle the paint. Between us the intensity of his expression somehow creates a private, quiet place. He takes my hand in his and gazes deep into my eyes. ‘I meant to warn you before …’

  ‘Warn me?’

  The touch of his fingers on mine is sending tingles up my arm. I press closer. All at once something flickers between us, hot and explicit. I see him swallow. ‘Talk later.’

  He turns away and addresses his men, his voice louder now. The hard edge in his tone slices into the activity all around us. ‘I want to know who did this. Find out. And fast.’ For a second the air quivers and then his voice lowers. ‘And get this cleaned up.’