Capture

by Flora Dain

I take it slow, impatient now. He’s finding it hard to keep control, I swear. I speed up a fraction but he touches my shoulder, his low voice stern.

  ‘Easy.’

  I pull back, licking gently but as I take a deep breath and brace myself to lunge forward he lifts the mask away and raises me up onto his lap.

  ‘Ride me.’

  I lower myself onto him gently, taking my time, relishing the feel of his heat surging up inside. The angles of his face shift as I sink down and now he’s filling me, glowing in me, his fire fuelling mine. And as I wind my arms round his neck and hold him tight I move gently on his thighs and we come together, fused for long, blissful seconds.

  * * *

  Next day we fly down to Santa Barbara to meet Eldon and Billy at the hotel where they’re based for the awards festival, one of the first of the season. While Darnley catches up with his brother, Billy and I step out onto the balcony.

  She breathes deep. ‘Wow. Just get a whiff of all that movie money.’

  I grin. ‘Wait till Eldon makes a real movie. You’ll have money then.’

  Billy rolls her eyes. ‘Sure. I won’t hold my breath.’

  Later Darnley and I go up to change. While he’s making some calls I take out my evening gown, still zipped in its sealed carrier. As I wrench at the zipper I gasp. Satin shards flutter all around me in a cascade of jagged ribbons.

  It’s been slashed to pieces.

  I stand very still. How sharp was that knife?

  My lovely gown is ruined. It was fine this morning. I saw it on the bed before the maid packed it. Somebody’s got inside my suitcase.

  And for the first time my stomach clenches in real, raw fear. The paint on the outside wall, the lipstick smeared on the windscreen, all bordered on kidding. But this borders on something else – something psycho.

  Our joker just got serious.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The festival’s fun, the glitz impressive. Billy stays close to me, following Eldon with her eyes as he breaks into groups of movie people and pushes his contacts. After looking in at a couple of screenings we decided to part for the evening, Eldon and Billy to catch up with more film buffs, Darnley and I with each other.

  On the red carpet, the brothers got plenty of attention, their looks and evident wealth – Darnley’s men discreetly ensure them plenty of space – mesmerising.

  Eldon reminds him he wants to film at the training complex. ‘Sounds terrific, bro. Can’t wait to see it. I got a lot of contacts now. We could be onto something big here, man.’

  Darnley and I exchange a look.

  ‘Sure. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ Darnley grins at me and we head for the hotel.

  It’s getting late when we reach our suite. When he finally closes the door, loosens his tie and pours us a drink he’s so quiet I wonder briefly if he’s forgotten I was wearing the bracelets.

  ‘Do you think Eldon will ever make a go of it?’ I tail off at Darnley’s dark gaze.

  ‘How the hell should I know? Get that thing off. Real slow.’

  I feel his fingers at my neck and a rush of cool air as he slides my zipper down and follows it with the tip of his forefinger, down my spine, warm and firm. I writhe at his touch like a cat.

  ‘Peel it down. All the way.’ The tension in his voice is new and raw. What brought this on? Is he setting up some new torment, some new way to break down my resistance?

  He leans on the arm of the sofa, arms folded. ‘What happened to your other gown?’

  I freeze. In a panic I’d stuffed the torn scraps back into the bag and thrust it all into the waste disposal. Did he see?

  I avoid his eyes for a moment while I gather my wits. Once more I’m strongly tempted to blurt out everything, but I’m scared for Chet. And I’ve promised Freda …

  ‘If you forget things when you pack, just say so, Ella. We could’ve had it flown out.’

  ‘It seemed too much trouble,’ I murmur. ‘Even for Eldon,’ I add quickly.

  As my tight cocktail dress slips down to my feet I feel truly exposed, vulnerable.

  Does he suspect something?

  When he signals me to turn round I shiver as the soft designer fabric of his trousers brushes my naked thighs. He comes up close, his swelling flies jutting deliberately at my quivering butt, where my thong’s doing a poor job of hiding my curves from his greedy gaze.

  ‘You looked terrific tonight.’ His voice is low as he runs his hands down my sides and over my arms, his touch light and stirring. I feel the down rise all over me as he leans over. His breath is warm on my skin as he plants a soft kiss on one of my shoulder blades, touching lightly with the tip of his tongue, and then does the same on the other.

  ‘Among all those droopy gowns you looked terrific. Tight and sexy. Good call.’

  He pulls me back against him as his lips touch me again, moving gently as he searches out the dip where my neck meets my shoulder. The heat of his lips is like a shot of electricity. I’m yearning for more when all at once he scoops my wrists together with one fist and starts to finger the edge of a stocking top with the other.

  ‘Open.’

  His command sends a shiver through me. His fingers are unbearably light, his touch unbearably arousing as he slips his hand between my thighs and starts moving upwards.

  He’s pressing against me now, his erection stirring at my back, coming to life. He bends me lower and swivels me round to face him. I hang in his arms, poised on the edge of my own fire as he guides my head down, my fate clearly sealed. With a surge of excitement I take him deep, leaning right over and pushing down as his erection fills my mouth, unstoppable as a tank. Arousal ripples though me at the sheer size of it, silky and hot. At this angle I can manage him almost in one. But just as I get into rhythm he eases me away.

  ‘I want you another way,’ he says softly, lifting my chin and stooping low to kiss my mouth. His cruel smile sends a shiver down my spine as I see the corner of his mouth twitch.

  ‘How?’

  He’s teasing me, making me wait. Excitement builds, fuelled by his touch as he strokes my hair, enjoying the view.

  ‘I want you chained. Wait there. Don’t move.’

  Yikes. I shiver uncontrollably – not from cold this time but from sheer, throbbing heat. I watch in fascinated horror as he takes a coiled length of slim chain out of his case. It chinks faintly as he walks back over, dimming the lights en route.

  It glints cruelly in his fingers as he starts to loop it around my body, pulling it tight as he goes. The links are tiny, about the size of my smallest toenail, but the cold, snaking feel of it is scary, the hiss of the unforgiving metal as it wraps around me making me wince.

  Soon I’m laced in glinting metal, the final section looped scarily under my legs. The ends of it glitter in the dim light, the links tinkling as they swing from his fingers in a thin, glittering waterfall.

  ‘Can you guess what’s coming next?’

  Is that gleam in his eyes a challenge – or a promise? He touches his lips to mine, frowning as I step towards him.

  ‘Stand still, legs apart. You move when I say so.’

  His smile flickers with some dark, anticipated pleasure. ‘I’m going to whip you with these ends,’ he says softly. ‘And unless you want it to hurt, you’d better keep very still while I do it.’

  Shit. I freeze colder than a glacier.

  Slowly he moves around me, drawing the loose ends of the slender chain over my quivering skin, across my stiffening nipples, under my splayed apex. He dangles them over my breasts, teasing me gently with them as he trails them chillingly over first one stiff, numb nipple and then the other, building up the tension, wearing down my will.

  Soon I’m shivering all over, tense with anticipation.

  As I watch, motionless and fascinated, his wrist gives a slight flick and the ends of the chain land on my thighs, the backs of my legs, and then my butt. His touch is so light it’s not painful – yet – but the thought of how it might feel and the m
ere sight of the glinting metal flickering over my soft, quivering curves are both terrifying.

  I’m trapped in my tormentor. It snakes around all my intimate, private places and it’s turning on me, punishing me with its cold, moving metal …

  Soon I’m panting and needy, stimulated past bearing as the things slip and slide constantly over my skin. At last he takes pity on me. Or maybe he just gives into his own hot, aching arousal. From here I can see it twitching with impatience at his every move. He’s enjoying this.

  ‘Ready now?’

  His grin sparks more flames as he scoops me up. ‘Now let’s unwind you a little. If I just get some slack here –’ he unlaces some of my harsh binding, scoops up the chinking links and hangs them loosely over his forearm ‘– we can get you onto the bed and use them to make you more comfortable.’

  As he says this he’s laying me gently back on the pillows, the softness of the cushions a stark contrast to the hard metallic restraint he’s now fastening into place. He loops the chain over the corners of the bedhead and traps my wrists. Now I’m splayed out and quickly stretched taut as he drags me down the bed by my ankles.

  When he climbs back onto the bed he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are full of dark purpose as he pushes my thighs wide, lowers his head and burrows deep.

  At first I lie back and enjoy. After a while I writhe and moan. And finally his tongue darts a punching rhythm on my special place that makes my toes curl. I shriek out loud as rapture engulfs me and the snaking chain joins in, clinking out its own rhythm.

  He pulls away, his gaze stern. ‘Noisy girl. We’ll have some explaining to do in the morning.’ He slides up over me, his powerful body curving over mine as he leans on his hands and swoops on my mouth.

  His kiss is salty and rich with my juices. We share the fruits of my rapture for long seconds. His lips stay firmly in place while he prepares to take his own. He releases my mouth just as he enters, sliding into my slickness like he’s never been away, and as he rides to his fill he gazes down at me with a lazy, contented smile that tells me part of his pleasure is watching mine.

  And when he finally pumps into me, his glittering look of deep male triumph tells me we’re quid pro quo. A large part of my pleasure is feeling him claiming his.

  * * *

  When we finally get back to the beach house I’m nervous. Without telling him, knowing he’d forbid it, I’ve made a secret addition to the artwork here – Darnley’s NewsPeak cover.

  I had the cover image granted me by the magazine’s art department blown up full-size and framed. And in a masterstroke I ordered two copies, one for me, to grace the walls here, and one to ship to New York as a gift for Savoy, over here on one of her rare visits. Darnley’s arranged a family outing to the opera at the Met and his mother never misses a season.

  Our trip to New York is now only days away. We’ll probably meet up with his parents Aaron and Lydia, and may even run into Cola, his mother’s young protégée, now an intern at the UN, with her new boyfriend.

  With great daring, I’d arranged with the staff to have his portrait installed during our trip to Santa Rosa, so he’ll see it tonight. Now I’m scared. I cross my fingers.

  As we walk in I feel a spark of real pride. The portrait’s fixed in place. It looks terrific, a striking addition to an already stunning room. But at my side there’s an ominous silence.

  Oh, no, I think. Is he weird about portraits?

  Darnley glances down at me, his look like thunder. I hold my breath.

  Like he senses a storm, Bullen hurries past with our bags and discreetly shoos the maids away.

  I squeeze Darnley’s hand. ‘It’s a terrific photo,’ I say firmly. ‘And before you make a fuss, I’m taking a framed copy to New York to give to your mother. I know she’ll love it.’

  I lift my chin as he continues to gaze down at me, his expression stern.

  ‘Know something?’ he says at last, his voice low. ‘You’re the next best thing to a groupie. Know what happens to groupies?’

  His voice is soft as velvet, his look dark and intense. I wind my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, feeling hard muscle close round me as he folds an arm around my back.

  ‘No idea. What happens to groupies?’

  His eyes gleam. ‘I’m really glad you asked me that.’ He scoops me up in his arms.

  I kick weakly in mock protest as he carries me upstairs.

  Turns out groupies see a lot of action. Plus they work overtime with their mouths.

  * * *

  Our flight to New York is mega-fun. As we meet his relatives even Cola lightens up, happy to introduce us all to her boyfriend Luis, a psychology professor from Harvard. I smile politely at the unexpectedly mild academic with neatly trimmed beard and glasses.

  When he shakes my hand his smile is warm. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Dean. I gather you’re on sabbatical from the Academy. I’ve met some of your colleagues.’

  Cola sparkles at me. ‘Darnley worked wonders for us with Luis’s family,’ she says to me in a low whisper. ‘We’re so grateful to him.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Was he – OK? After the plane crash, I mean? Luis says there may be – complications.’

  I feel my stomach clench. Luckily she breaks off at Darnley’s stern look and I’m spared more detail. The sight of him at Christmas was enough for me – scratched and bruised but miraculously, in another way, whole.

  He’d recovered his memory.

  So at least Kraik, his childhood tormentor, belongs to the past. But complications? Heaven forbid.

  We’re staying in Eldon’s apartment so we leave the others at their Manhattan hotel and go on alone to Greenwich Village.

  I’d imagined it all kitsch and scatter cushions but Eldon’s living quarters are a surprise – less sleek than Darnley’s but clean and with terrific views.

  There are hints of his boy-band persona – a hefty beer-cooler fills the tiny kitchen, and there’s a top-of-the-range TV and sound system. The main bed is large and comfortable, even if his black satin sheets and dragon-splattered scarlet walls are a tad bad-boy for my taste – and, I suspect, Billy’s.

  I foresee battles ahead.

  Darnley’s mother, Savoy, is staying at the Four Seasons so in the evening we meet up for dinner with her and Cola, Luis, Lydia and Aaron.

  She greets us warmly, massively pleased with her gift. ‘Ella, such a treat. The portrait arrived this morning. I can’t thank you enough. What a lovely idea.’

  She winks at me as Darnley scowls. ‘That article caused quite a stir back home, I can tell you.’

  We spend the next day darting out into the chilly, snow-filled streets to sightsee and diving back indoors for hot coffee and hotter sex. After gentler California, New York’s far too cold to stay outdoors for long.

  In the early evening we dress for the opera. We arrive at the Lincoln Center in plenty of time for a leisurely pre-performance drink before tonight’s production, a performance of Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni.

  To my surprise we’re attracting a lot of attention. Darnley’s men stay close. We females are gowned and glittering with diamonds. Aaron, Luis and Darnley make impressive escorts.

  Darnley especially seems to draw all eyes, partly on account of his NewsPeak fame but mostly, I suspect, because something about him always gets attention. Our seats are grand enough even for Lydia, but from her calm, unruffled manner I sense they’re normal fare for Savoy.

  I feel like royalty.

  After the first crashing chord of the overture I hear Luis whispering to Cola in a low voice as he outlines the plot. Darnley smiles at Savoy and I see her touch his cheek with her finger, a rare gesture of affection for the son she sees so seldom.

  He rewards her with a faint smile, but as the evening wears on he moves closer to me. Slowly and discreetly, out of sight of the others, he finds my hand and our fingers interlace.

  ‘Are you enjoying it?’

  My low whisper is barely audible over the singing but he leans t
hrillingly close. ‘Zerlina’s good, but Leporello’s disappointing. And no, not really.’

  I gaze at him in alarm. ‘I thought it was one of your favourites?’

  His grip on my hand is suddenly painful. ‘You think I like watching a killer being sent to hell, even in music? You’re forgetting I’m a killer too.’

  I grip his hand back. ‘No, you’re not. It was –’ I break off as the others hush me.

  He leans close, his lips almost touching my ear. ‘I know all that. But I started it.’

  I gaze at him in despair. Will the Kraik business never go away?

  As we leave, Cola’s scanning her phone. ‘Hey, everybody, the opera’s replaying in Times Square. Let’s take a look.’

  The others laugh, but Cola insists. We all pile into the limo for the short trip through the snow-lined streets. When we get there the neon-bright square is packed.

  We’re still trading noisy comments on the performance. As we enter the square the first act is just finishing. The replay is on a time lapse. Darnley murmurs into the intercom that we’ll leave the car for a few moments and then come right back.

  The crowd’s so dense we get out of the car and cluster close to the door, peering over the heads of the crowd. We watch the closing moments of the first act and then start to shiver in the chilly wind.

  The others turn back to the car but when I look round for Darnley I see he’s wandered off. I look back in a panic but he’s pushing further into the crowd, his eyes fixed on the screen. He seems to be watching something.

  Puzzled, I lean into the car to speak to Bullen. ‘Wait for us, would you? Mr Wolfe’s still …’

  I tail off as I lose sight of Darnley. Now the crowd’s surging forward. As the others huddle in the car I turn back. I start to push through the crowd to reach him. ‘Darnley? Wait.’

  But it’s hopeless. I can’t see him at all. I’m shivering, cold to the bone. In a panic I shout again. ‘Darnley.’

  But he can’t hear me. The last glimpse I get of him as he disappears is his gaunt, white profile still staring up at the screen. I glance up and all at once I stare too. Even without the freezing wind, what I’m seeing would chill my blood.