Capture

by Flora Dain

  It’ll be a tourist. Or a delivery boy. Or – maybe it’s Ryan, with those pictures. I close my eyes, hoping it is. Once I get my hands on those pictures of Lydia the nightmare will be over, Ryan will be gone from my life and the Wolfe family can at last bury one of their skeletons.

  And I’ll be free of secrets for good.

  The machine stops right outside.

  But at the door to my dressing room I freeze.

  Is this the surprise?

  The few items of make-up I left behind when I packed for San Francisco yesterday afternoon are scattered all over the floor, the drawer gaping open. Nothing else seems out of place.

  On the tall, elegant mirror at the end of the room is a six-foot high drawing of a male member, crudely outlined in lipstick.

  Exactly like the one painted on the wall when we arrived here.

  We have a joker in the house.

  I back slowly out of the room as fear ruffles the little hairs all over my body. Outrage quickly lowers them. Chet Newton again? I clench my teeth for a second and then I take a deep breath. I recall Chet’s droopy, trusting face and his terror of questions. I hear Syra’s tough, nasal twang, shrill with worry: ‘Best little brother in Sonoma County …’

  Downstairs a door slams. Strong, unhurried footsteps ring out on the polished floor. ‘Ella?’

  Darnley.

  Should I show him the lipstick? But why? It hits me all at once that I don’t have to tell him. I could clean it off and he’d never know. Why get Chet into trouble? Maybe a stern word with Syra or Chet would put a stop to this … or, failing them, Freda.

  In a panic I snatch at some wipes and attack the mirror, rubbing frantically to clean the thing off. The mirror looks a mess but I’ve no time to grab a towel and polish it clean again. He’s already on the stairs.

  I race out and slam the door just as he reaches the top step. I stare at him for moment, breathless and then puzzled.

  Something about him is different. He’s smiling at me, like always. He looks stunning, like always. But he’s in full biker gear, swinging a helmet from one hand.

  That was him on the bike.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What is it about lean, mean leathers? The sight of Darnley in them stops my breath. He catches me round the waist and captures my mouth, his tongue surging deep before I can even say ‘Hi’. Now I lean into his kiss and let my tongue say it for me.

  When he pulls away his look turns dark, his eyes full of heat. ‘Good, you’re back. One surprise coming up in –’ he checks his watch ‘– about ten minutes from now.’

  But the leathers are having a galvanising effect.

  Something about his dark silhouette is stirring weird pictures in my brain, conjuring up dark, forbidden places where we do wicked things … glinting metal, snaking leather. Soft, low commands, scary but irresistible …

  I bite my lip and lean against him, keenly aware of his tough outline, the promise of hard muscle rippling just underneath the soft black skin of his protective leather … ‘Can we make that fifteen?’

  He stands very still for a moment, drinking me in. Instantly I sense some message has flashed between us, so instinctive my brain hardly knows what it is but other parts of me know only too well. He finds my arms and slides his fingers down to my wrists, his touch so light it could be casual, the heat in his eyes anything but. ‘Now?’ His low murmur could be a purr. It sends a wave of desire coursing through me, spiced by the thought that he wants this too – right this minute.

  In answer I touch my lips to his jaw, close my eyes and yearn.

  ‘Mr Wolfe? Sir? Everything’s ready …’ One of his men calls from downstairs. His voice tails off as he notices he’s de trop.

  ‘In a minute.’ Darnley calls down to him, his voice echoing through me, I’m pressed so closely against him. His eyes stay locked on mine. I can feel his heart beating through his ribs, a steady drumbeat, picking up speed as we drink each other in, not moving, barely breathing. It’s like we’re letting our bodies decide how, and where, and when.

  Slowly his lips find mine and now I feel it, the surge of power that fills my soul and carries me into that strange land where he wants to take me, seduce, torment and capture me. From this point on I’m his. And I also sense, for the first time ever, that in some strange way, from this point on – he’s mine.

  In seconds we’re behind a closed door, away from servants and security, free of outsiders. He rams me hard against the door, pulling at my clothes with one hand, pinning my wrists high over my head with the other, and crushes me back against the wood.

  ‘How do you do this?’ His angry murmur sends flames tingling as his fingers fondle my wrists, pinned hard against the door, his grip fierce but his touch gentle and seductive, his eyes liquid heat. ‘How do you get so far under my skin? Nothing in my life prepared me for you.’

  He could be talking to himself. It’s like he’s half crazy, like I’ve sparked something wild.

  ‘This is all my fault now?’ I smile up at him, shaky with lust as his arousal presses against me, painful and disturbing as he aligns himself with cruel, knowing precision.

  In seconds his pressure’s building me to some unimaginable crescendo, his slight, flexing movements firing spark after spark, making me ache, making me numb.

  ‘Getting impatient? I can feel you, Ella. I can feel you start to glow.’

  He knows my weakness. Something in my face has given me away, something deep down inside me has alerted him to my hunger. He already senses I’m barely seconds from fulfilment

  ‘You think it’s that easy? That we just do it? Is that how you like it? All in one?’ He gives a small but painful jerk of his hips to prod an answer out of me. ‘Well?’

  ‘Sure.’ I breathe into his neck, drinking in his aroma; light, elusive designer fragrance overlaid with rich, dark notes of Darnley. ‘People do it like that all the time … don’t they?’ I long for the scent of him somewhere else, deep in his lower limbs, where his essence mingles with earth and warmth and the rich promise of his crotch. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, like it or not, you’ll have to wait.’ His smile has the cruel glint of the predator with plans for his prey. ‘Waiting makes it fun. For now, you can have this –’ he rams briefly against me, making me cry out as my lurking orgasm jolts into view ‘– and this.’

  He does it again, almost – but not quite – sending it spiralling through me. It hovers just out of reach, like the promise of sun through cloud.

  ‘Bastard,’ I murmur fondly. ‘I was enjoying that.’

  ‘I know.’ He pulls away with a grin, his look watchful, like he’s sizing me up for something else. ‘Later. First, we have things to do.’

  * * *

  My surprise is waiting outside on the driveway – a gleaming little two-seater convertible, the German marque low-slung and stylish. The paintwork gleams in the sun with a metallic ruby sparkle.

  The familiar figure leaning against it looks nearly as excited as I am. As we walk over Syra straightens up and gives me a broad grin.

  ‘Hi again, Mz Dean. Jay really enjoyed meetin’ ya. Says you’re way prettier than his picture. Mr Wolfe, ya gotta let me show her this little beaut. Goes like a dream. An’ she’s all yours.’

  She pats the gleaming car with a loving hand and swings open the door so I get a good look inside.

  ‘I asked to drive it over here. I traded him my bike so’s I kin get back. An’ she handles real good, Mz Dean. You’ll have a whole lotta fun.’

  She glances up as something in Darnley’s steady look holds her attention. Hurriedly, she nods to me. ‘OK. Guess I gotta go now. Bye, y’all.’

  As she mounts her bike and roars away he turns to me with a gleam. ‘Surprised?’

  My heart melts. ‘I’ll say. Any special reason?’

  He grins and takes me in his arms. I gaze up at him entranced as the slanting sunlight catches the tips of his hair with gold flecks and the light breeze off the sea ruffles it. I
see a twitch at the corner of his beautiful mouth and have a sudden wild longing to kiss it.

  ‘Sure is. Somebody’s birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. Middle of February, as I recall.’ He kisses me on the cheek. ‘So you’re taking delivery of an early present. And a Valentine.’ He grins. ‘And now we’re going for a ride in it.’

  Syra’s right. It handles beautifully, and with six gears and a tight ratio I’m soon racing through the gearbox like a pro. Darnley grins at me from the passenger seat, his hair tossing in the breeze. ‘And this time go easy on the gas or you’ll have the state troopers after you.’

  Much as I’d like to, I resist the urge to look at him again as I put the little car through her paces. Luckily there’s not much traffic through here this early in the year and after risking a few speed-limit-shattering spurts I slow down to a steady fifty.

  All at once I stiffen as a distant bike appears in my rear-view mirror. It’s scarily like the machine that scored Darnley’s new wheels on our first trip to the complex. I feel myself break out into a sweat.

  It gets slowly nearer but roars past without incident, thank goodness. I’m just relaxing my white-knuckle grip on the wheel when I glance to one side and happen to catch the biker’s grin at the very second he overtakes.

  My knuckles whiten again. I know that face.

  It was under my boat.

  I think fast, as the engine sings and the wind whistles through my hair. Should I chase him? Should I tell Darnley? Will it spark a state-wide search if I do?

  And suppose I’m wrong?

  Bikers look pretty much alike in goggles and helmets … scuba divers too. I take a deep breath and decide to let it pass.

  Bikers on the brain.

  When I pull to a halt back at the beach house I turn to him with glowing eyes, my rogue biker all but forgotten. ‘Thank you so much. It’s gorgeous …’ I tail off at his dark expression.

  Something in his look tells me he’d like to be thanked somewhere rather more private and a lot more fully.

  We go indoors, hand in hand. As we make our way upstairs I stiffen. I still have to clean up that mirror.

  He hardly ever goes into my dressing room, but still …

  His phone signals. As he pauses to take the call I slip back and attack my mirror with a towel, which I hurl into the en-suite just as he appears at the door.

  ‘That was our dinner. All fixed. We’re eating out tonight. Put on something slinky.’ He pauses in the doorway, his expression thoughtful.

  After a second I draw close. ‘And?’

  His eyelids lower. Something – a faint downward dart of his eyes, a slight movement of his hand – possibly an involuntary twitch from somewhere in the region of his hips – tells me instantly what he wants.

  I suppress a smile, but not very well. I can feel the dimples flicker in my cheeks. They deepen as he notices, his eyes gleaming. Now part, at least, of my earlier wish is about to come true. The dark, yearning ache between my legs tells me the other part may be some way off, but at least we’re making a start.

  As he frees himself I’m already sliding down, my arms curling around the trunks of his thighs as I feast on the richness of his personal Darnley-aroma.

  When I reach forward to lick he has to shift so I can reach, throwing his head back with a long sigh as my lips fasten over the broad crown of his cock and my tongue slides lovingly under the sleek under-lip of his glans. With tender dabs of my tongue I work along him, one side and then the other, raising a hand to reach underneath and tease his root as I moisten him. As ever, these small precautions arouse him to hot, full erection, his shaft already throbbing under my lips, his breathing fiercer by the second as I take my time and prolong his wait.

  ‘You had it coming. You do it to me.’ I glance up and grin, my words partly muffled as I reach between his legs to fondle him. Above me his chest heaves as he fights for control. Down here the sight of his urgency is having a fierce effect on me too. Fire rages everywhere down south as I taste his saltiness and breathe in his glorious scent, basking in the glow of his arousal while mine beats between my legs, aching and unsatisfied, steady as a drum.

  ‘Ella, you’ll kill me. Please.’ His low growl quivers with need. I almost come on the spot at the tension in his tone. I will myself to go easy, riding him with long, confident strokes, gulping him deep and letting the gagging do some of my work until I’m sure he’s on point.

  And as he stills and quivers, his thighs rigid under my gripping fingers, I sense his tension flow away into my mouth and over my tongue, its faint sparkle like tingling cream. For long seconds he keeps his hands tight either side of my head, like he’s unwilling to let me go.

  At last I hear him give a long sigh and he raises me gently to my feet, his hands still clasping my head, and finds my mouth, searching deep with his tongue to share his essence in a silent, heartfelt thank-you that says far more than words.

  * * *

  We take the helicopter over to Healdsburg and dine in a small place with friendly waiters and a varied menu. He’s still taking calls, I notice. But when he’s free we talk about art. I’m curious – partly that he has my picture, but mostly because he wants it hidden.

  ‘You had me painted thirty feet high on your tallest wall? Why?’

  He waves away the hovering waiter. ‘You really want to know? For one thing, it’s like I said – I thought that’s all I’d ever have of you.’

  He leans across the table to touch my hand, where my stunning engagement ring flashes in the low lighting. ‘And the other reasons can wait till we’re alone.’

  His gaze locks on mine with a gleam that sends a shiver though me.

  ‘You look at my picture in secret?’

  His slow smile makes me ache. Or is simply the champagne?

  ‘I told you,’ he says quietly. ‘I take my pleasures in private.’ He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers as his eyes gleam a warning. ‘Time to go.’

  When we finally walk back in I’m determined to confront him about this but he forestalls me by seizing my face in his hands.

  Shock roots me to the spot. I’m opening my mouth with a gasp, about to ask what was going on, when he descends on my mouth with such force he pins me against the wall, his hands at either side of my head.

  As he pulls away he looks almost as dazed as I feel. ‘Ever get the feeling somebody around here can’t get enough of you?’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ I manage, still a little shaky. ‘Can I use the bathroom first?’

  He grins. ‘Go ahead. Keep it brief, or I’ll come in and drag you out.’

  I emerge minutes later, relieved in one sense but heating up in quite another. As I join him in the bedroom he’s on the phone once more, talking low. As I tune into what he’s saying I stiffen.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to hear this right now. Will it keep?’

  As the voice at the other end murmurs on I see him frown and then he glances up and cuts the call.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  His face blanks for a moment. ‘Some issue over one of the men. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Nightcap?’

  He pours me some wine and a whisky for himself and pulls me down onto the sofa. His hand curls around my shoulders and his thumb moves gently on the side of my neck as we touch glasses and sip.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  He stiffens and takes his hand away.

  ‘So there is something?’ I prompt, gently. ‘You were on the phone a lot during dinner. I’m not – distracting enough?’ I move my hand gently along his thigh.

  Thrillingly, he lets my hand stay in place but he puts down his glass. ‘Something cropped up. Freda’s on it.’

  I stiffen and take my hand away, a tad resentful. ‘Oh, good. So we could have eaten our meal in peace?’

  He runs his hand under my chin and tilts up my face, his thumb moving softly over my lower lip. ‘Don’t push this, Ella. When I’m with you there are certain things I simply have to d
eal with. That’s how it is. Work’s just one of them.’

  ‘And the others?’

  He says nothing, but for a split second his angry look chills my blood. What have I said?

  He rises to his feet and strides away towards the door to the lower floors. ‘Don’t wait up. Something cropped up. I’ve got work to do.’

  Shit. It must be something bad.

  * * *

  It’s a while before he comes to bed. I lie awake, gazing into the darkness with aching eyes. Beyond the headland I can hear the surf pounding. A shaft of moonlight moves slowly over the wall.

  Why is Chet doing these awful things? Why to me? Should I tell Darnley, or will it make him freak and get Syra’s unlucky brother into even more trouble? I can see now they have a special place in his heart. Why spoil that? Why bother Darnley with it at all, if he’s got things on his mind?

  I’m a professional. I can handle this. I may be used to troubled kids, but living with Darnley’s like a whole new master class in trouble.

  I’ve almost given him up, my head aching and my eyelids growing heavy, when I hear him in his en-suite. The light flickers on and then off again as he quietly places his watch down somewhere and slips out of his boxers.

  A soft, heavy weight slips in beside me and like a liana I wind myself instantly around him and bury my face in his shoulder.

  ‘Hey. You still awake? It’s late. Go to sleep.’ His low murmur makes my blood race.

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ I whisper.

  Slowly he unlaces my arms and folds me into his own, curving around me like a blanket. He finds my mouth, his lips soft at first, and then firmer, his tongue teasing for a while and then taking possession, his body surging up over mine like a waking beast. With a twitch of his arm he leans across and switches the lamp to its lowest setting. It gives the room a dim golden glow.

  He hangs over me, his eyes glinting in the low light as he nudges my thighs apart with his knee. And all at once I see hunger in his lean face. He’s even more desperate than I am.

  ‘Ready?’ His lips barely move but I see a flicker in his eyes as he awaits consent. I feel a sudden flood of emotion at this small act of courtesy, when I’m so completely in his power and his need – and mine – is so obvious.