“I read that study. I thought my father was working on something that would help heal wounds on the battlefield. I thought he was saving people.” She looked away from him, embarrassed at her naiveté, at all the things he made her feel, that this moment wrought in her. It was a sour brew of hope, desire, shame, and… it was all just too much.
“He was. You’ll understand everything soon enough.”
She growled and her fingers curled into fists. “I hate that. I hate it so much. You’re so smug and sure that as soon as some great thing is revealed, I’ll fall in line like everything else in your world. Why wait? What’s this great truth? Back up your hypothesis with results.” She needed to know, needed him to spell it out for her.
“It’s not time yet.”
“Who says?” She put her hands on her hips. “Why do you get to decide?”
“Contrary to what you believe, it’s in your best interest.”
“Why would you ever do anything in my best interest? To get me to lower my guard? To make me trust you so that you can break me?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
She hated knowing it, hated being right, and most of all, she hated feeling this longing to trust him, this attraction in spite of that knowledge. “I hate you so much it burns.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. She thought it plenty, but it was childish. What did he care if she hated him? He’d probably laugh about her confession later while taking candy from babies and stomping on kittens.
But, for a second, she doubted everything. A flash of something on his face…but she brushed it off just like she had earlier. She was seeing things that weren’t there, building castles out of clouds. Randi didn’t want him to be a bad man because she thought he was hot. Her brain tried to accommodate her by projecting similar motivations onto him.
She wished her mind would turn off her attraction rather than writing stories about him in her head.
He straightened. “I’m going to have a security team sweep your room. In the meantime, why don’t you and your burning hate take a walk with me around the grounds? It’ll keep us warm.”
She wanted to say no, but she knew it wasn’t really a request.
He presented his arm again.
“What did I tell you about that?” She curled her nose.
“Lack of good manners on your part doesn’t negate them on mine.”
She clenched her teeth but still didn’t take his arm. Randi knew better than to touch him. Down that path lay the dark side, and she wanted none of it.
Correction: She wanted all of it, but it was bad, bad, bad, wrong. So she’d keep her hands to herself, and he could do the same.
“I’m going to show you an emergency exit from this wing. It’ll lead you to the gardens and the maze. Although, you should stay out of the maze.”
“You have secret passages and a maze? And you really expect me to stay out of them?” Randi was incredulous.
“I think once I tell you the history of the maze, you’ll be more than pleased to stay out of it.”
“Do tell, Mr. Woolven.” She tried to ignore the flirtatious tone her voice had taken on and hoped he would, too.
Like any good manor house, the secret passages were opened by various, obscured levers. He tugged on a light fixture at the end of the hall and a display case slipped to the side silently, revealing a winding staircase.
To her disappointment, she discovered the passage wasn’t dark, musty, or at all filled with cobwebs. Instead, the hallway looked bright, clean, and almost institutional. “That’s disappointing.”
“What did you expect? Wuthering Heights?”
Kind of. She glanced off to the side without answering.
When they finally emerged outside, Randi was struck by the beauty of the place. Well-manicured lawn, groomed greenery, fountains… quick access to a garage. “I assume the getaway vehicles are in there?”
“You assume correctly, as well as a small armory. Just in case.”
“You’re probably insane.” She exhaled.
“I prefer safety-minded or paranoid. It all depends on your perspective.” He tossed back with a shrug.
“So are you going to tell me about this maze or what?” She needed to change the subject and might as well get a better handle on what she dealt with. He’d told her once she’d heard the story she’d want to stay out of the maze. Well, the proclamation just dared her to have a peek.
“Ah, the maze.” He led her closer.
As they neared, she smelled something sweet, exotic. Something she wanted more of. “Oh, what’s that?”
“What’s what?” He cocked his head to the side.
“You can’t smell it?” Randi couldn’t get enough.
Blake Woolven suddenly looked way too pleased for it to be good for anyone involved.
“I think I’m ready to go back inside,” she murmured. Maybe she wasn’t feeling daring after all.
“I thought you wanted to hear the story of the maze and the Woolven brides?”
“Nope.” She shook her head, suddenly aware of the moonlight shining down on them, all glitter and starshine. His presence, his allure, it was like it had been switched to hyper mode. She just knew she was going to make an ass of herself.
She wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, unwillingly imagining what it would be like if he kissed her. If this was where he brought his women, how many of them did he take into the maze? Did he fuck them there? Push them up against some old statuary and—
“I think you do. The tradition comes from the old country, a place of dark stories and even darker truths. At the heart of the maze grows a flower. A strange, savage strain of carnivorous monkshood…” His eyes seemed to glitter.
“Wolfsbane,” she mumbled.
“Yes, wolfsbane.” He sounded pleased.
“Also known as women’s bane.”
“Indeed. Do you know why?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, feeling as if she’d fallen under some kind of trance or spell.
“Neither do I.” He grinned, and his gaze focused on her mouth.
Oh hell, he was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t protest. She could do nothing but stand there and watch the cataclysm of his mouth as it descended.
If she thought brushing against his knee caused sparks to fly, it was nothing compared to his kiss. Nerve endings she didn’t know existed flared to life, every single sensation receptor set to pleasure.
His mouth was hard, demanding, hungry—and she melted, crashed into him while he held her steady. He belonged here, outside under the moonlight, wild. He was a force of nature barely leashed by a suit.
And, oh Christ, his hands. They moved over her, up her back, down over her ample hips.
Vague thoughts were born—about how he only did this to get past her defenses, how he didn’t want her. He wanted to break her. Or he wanted to prove he could have her. He had tiny, dainty, elegant, and perky-breasted Marchessa de la Luna, why would he want Randi? She was large, unwieldy, awkward, and a hell-bitch on wheels. Or at least that’s what she’d been going for before he’d kissed her.
Only her thoughts didn’t get any traction because she could feel the evidence of his arousal grinding up against her. Dear sweet saints, no wonder he was a playboy. No one woman alive could take all of that regularly and ever walk again.
She’d never admit her thoughts out loud upon pain of death. He didn’t need any more strokes to his ego.
But she definitely wanted to stroke—a cold, splash of water washed over her. No, she could never, ever be with him like that. He was a murderer. She would have her revenge.
Maybe this was the way to get it. He wanted her. She could use his desire against him.
Randi broke away from him, pushed him hard. She’d meant to demand answers, ask what the hell was wrong with him, ask him what he was thinking to pull such a stunt, but she could only gasp for breath.
She didn’t want to look at
him. He’d see how he affected her. He’d see how much she wanted him and, just like she’d planned to use his need against him, he’d use hers as a weapon. She was sure he’d prove the more experienced fighter when it came to that kind of warfare.
Probably all kinds of warfare.
But something drew her eyes up anyway, some polarity, and that was when she saw it. Plain as day, in the silver streak of moonlight that bathed them.
His eyes had gone amber, much like Warner’s, but brighter somehow. So bright, they were wrong.
Inhuman.
She shoved him as hard as she could and ran, ran toward the scent that offered her safety, protection. He told her not to go into the maze, so that’s where she headed.
Randi fled.
“Don’t run from me, Randi.” His voice was low, smooth, but it sounded like a threat nonetheless.
She didn’t stop.
“Oh Goddess, don’t run. Don’t—”
She heard something like a roar and she ran faster, spurred on by fear and adrenaline. She couldn’t process what was happening, but she knew he’d given chase. She couldn’t help but think he would run her down like a sick, little lamb. That’s why he’d called her a lamb. He was some kind of crazed serial killer. She’d been right in thinking he’d lured her out to the estate to get rid of her.
She knew he was right behind her and sensed there was nowhere she could turn, nowhere to hide; he would catch her. He would devour her whole.
Weapons. He’d told her he kept weapons and cars in the garage. If she could just get there, she could hotwire one, make it back to the city and—another voice in her head spoke up. She’d decided to take on the devil in his den. Why run from him? If she wanted to crush him, she needed to turn and face him. Meet his attack head on with one of her own. He wouldn’t see that coming.
But she couldn’t get past her fear of what she’d seen in his eyes.
Randi decided she might be as sick and twisted as him because even though he’d terrified her, it turned her on, too. What would really happen if she turned and met his pursuit? Would he hurt her?
Or would it be the best sex of her life?
She kept running, branches from the shrubbery in the maze tearing at her skin, clawing at her clothes, but they didn’t stop her. She turned this way and that, surprised, but grateful she’d not run into a dead end.
Until she emerged in a clearing and saw the great, purple and black flower of which he’d spoken. It mesmerized her, all her fear shoved to the back of her mind—almost like she’d been drugged. The scent so sweet, so soothing—she ventured nearer.
The great bloom opened and snatched a night bird out of the air, those languorous petals tightening around its prey. She reached out a hand to touch it, and she found herself cut short, slammed into the ground by a giant.
He pinned her hands above her head. Even though she wanted to struggle, she found she couldn’t. Her will to even do so faded, melting under the heat of his body atop hers. She squeezed her eyes shut—afraid, aroused, and ashamed.
“Look at me.” His voice rumbled so deep, like the sound of steel on gravel.
She refused, pinching her eyes even more tightly closed. If she didn’t look, she couldn’t see. Don’t look, don’t see. The mantra played over and over in her head. One would think they meant the same thing, but they didn’t. You could look without seeing. She didn’t want to look or to see.
“Look at me.” His already deep voice dropped an octave, while the hard ridge of his arousal pressed into her thigh.
Randi was torn. Part of her wanted to get closer to it—him—almost like a biological imperative. Her survival instincts were almost as strong and they begged her to flee because he would be the end of her.
Even in the haze of lust, while swayed by the strange, hypnotic effect of the flower, she would not go gentle into that good night.
Her eyes flashed open.
And he was just Blake Woolven, the man she wanted and despised.
But still, only a man.
A man who’d lost his shirt since she’d last looked at him. She assumed that the brambles had torn it from him. She didn’t want to notice how hot his skin was against hers, the fluid way his muscles moved, or that she really wanted to know what it would feel like to have her naked breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.
She also felt utterly stupid for running, until he said, “Don’t run from me, Randi. I like chasing you much too much.”
His statement was tinged with both need and a warning.
“You caught me,” she breathed.
“I did. I will always catch you if you run. Do you understand?”
She didn’t, but she nodded. “Get off of me.” Randi meant to push at his shoulders, to shift him away from her, but she ended up wrapping her arms around him, dragging him closer. Her limbs wouldn’t obey her.
“It’s the bloom.” He knew exactly what she was feeling, somehow.
“It’s diabolical,” she breathed.
“That it is, little lamb.”
She didn’t correct him, too busy trying not to feel the seductive scrape of his stubble along her skin while he dragged his cheek against hers, almost like he marked her with his scent.
Christ, why were people with money so weird?
Worse? Why did she like it?
Chapter Five
Blake Woolven hadn’t ever felt as alive as when he chased Randi through the maze.
He warned her not to run, and he couldn’t help but give chase. Her flight roused all the old instincts, the most basic of needs. His blood pumped like lava through his veins, he was on fire with the beginning of the Change, and his cock hung thick with need of her.
The bloom affected her just as he knew it would, which was why he’d told her not to go into the maze. It’d been designed for the chase, for capture, and for lulling human brides into a state of bliss and need so that when they saw their Woolven husbands shed their skins, they’d be too aroused to care. It ensured the continuation and diversification of the bloodline.
She’d most definitely use his want of her against him, but it pleased him that she wasn’t so unaffected. The staccato rhythm of her heart, the scent of her desire, and her hands moving down over his back…
He couldn’t wait until she clawed at him, crying out. He wanted to take her as a man, as a wolf—he wanted all of her.
But he wouldn’t do it while she remained under the influence of the bloom, as easy as it would be. As hot as they were together. He wanted her to be with him because she wanted it to, because she decided it—without any help from the dark flower.
She gasped and wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to get closer to him, to build the friction between them.
He was wired to give her what she wanted, to claim her, mark her.
To turn her.
If he could manage to give her relief, it would break the hold of the flower’s pheromones at least long enough to get them out of the maze, and to return Randi mostly to herself.
It would be no chore to bring her to bliss, to make her scream his name. The challenge would be not burying himself in her sweet heat when he was done. Not biting the soft flesh of her neck where his venom would change her, brand her…
So close to the full moon, he didn’t know if he could muster the control he needed.
When her little nails dug into his back, he knew he had to do something. He could control himself for her—she was his mate. This is what she required of him. His body and his wolf would obey.
He kissed her again and she arched into him, offering him anything he wanted. Blake pushed her skirt up around her hips, taking time to enjoy the silky feel of her thighs, drawing upward to cup her ass in his hands and grind her against him.
“Oh God, what are we doing?” she breathed.
He pulled back and slid down her body. “I’m going down, and you’re about to be coming.”
“I—”
Blake dipped his head between those
thighs, pushed past her sensible cotton panties with his tongue to taste her. She was just as sweet as he thought she’d be.
He couldn’t wait to drape her body in silk and lace, only to rip them off her again. Like unwrapping a gift.
He eased one finger inside her and she gripped him, pulled him deeper. Goddess, but he couldn’t wait until she tugged at his cock, all wet and hot, needing. Demanding.
Blake moved his tongue at a leisurely pace, enjoying the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she filled up all of his senses until all he knew in the world was her. She was the beginning, the end, and everything in between.
“Please,” she begged him, a tinge of desperation to her voice.
He traced the seam of her, lapped and laved, all his movements designed to bring her the most heightened experience of pleasure.
She was so soft and wet, pliant as his tongue delved into her, her fingers pushed through his hair now, the tension in her hands intended to drive him nearer his task. He didn’t mind. He liked it when a woman told him what she wanted.
He especially liked it when his woman told him what she wanted.
Blake tasted her culmination even before he heard her cries of release. Her body shuddered in his grasp.
He was loathe to pull away because, when he did, the spell would be broken and he’d go back to being the devil in her eyes.
His cock ached and not just for any release, but for release with her—his mate. It hurt, but it was still good because this was for her. He’d denied himself to keep her safe, to protect her until she was ready.
The awestruck look on her face, her bee-stung lips, her wild tangle of hair—they all bespoke a job well done. He was satisfied with himself on that account.
Blake rose above her, knowing he could take her and it would be so good for both of them, but he also knew it wasn’t the right time. The look in her eyes pleaded, not for more, but for release of a different kind. Freedom from him to process all that had just happened.
He brushed his lips against hers, unwilling to let her go without a reminder of what had happened between them, the taste of her pleasure from his lips, her own salt on her tongue.
When he released her, she righted herself and scrambled to her feet—skittish. He could tell she would’ve fled, but she didn’t know how to get out of the maze.
Big Bad Billionaire (The Woolven Secret Book 1) Page 4