Flora Dain - Capture

‘You’ll see.’ His mouth settles into a grim line.

He phones ahead. When we finally pull up a reception committee is waiting for us. Darnley instantly leaps over the side of the car and strides up to them. ‘Show us the transport hangar. We missed it before. Now .’

He glances back at me, his look angry. ‘Ella, get your ass over here.’

I gather my doting fiancé wants me to join him. As I do so he grips my arm but his anger’s focused on Freda.

‘Which of your machines just came back in?’

To my intense satisfaction she actually looks scared. ‘ What? None of them. Why?’

I swear she’s changed colour. In answer he strides off towards a long, low shed we’d missed on the tour. I’d thought it was empty but as we walk inside I see it’s full of machinery – motorcycles. Two gleaming rows of them are lined up in the pale, dust-filled space where the afternoon sun slants in through the skylight. There must be around thirty machines here, some of them large and very powerful.

As we walk in a pale-faced mechanic walks towards us, wiping his hands on an oily rag. He’s stocky, his dark hair limp and greasy. His mouth slumps badly at one side. ‘Sumpn’ up, y’all?’

Freda glances at me. ‘This is Chet Newson, our mechanic.’ She strides forward and he shrinks back, instantly cowed. ‘Any of the bikes been out today?’

‘Nossir. None of’em. I bin workin’ here since breakfast. Sir. I mean, ma’am.’

Darnley glances at me. ‘Feel the motors. See if one of them’s hot. I’ll take the row on the left. You take the right.’

I do it, marvelling at the massed power in here. The machines are all gleaming BMWs or Harley-Davidsons, shiny-new and arranged in order of size. The little mechanic clearly takes pride in his work.

They’re all cold.

Freda stays near the door, pinning the mechanic with her steely gaze. ‘Chet? Are you sure about that?’

He mumbles a reply and she continues to question him, her voice low. When we rejoin her he seems close to tears.

She shakes her head. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth. He’s a good kid. That right, Chet?’

She ruffles his lank hair in a sudden fond gesture. He’s clearly an apple or two short of a picnic, but I look at her with new respect.

The little mechanic certainly seems to like her. His eyes follow her like a devoted puppy’s as she heads for the door, now talking earnestly to Darnley, her voice low.

‘Whoever it was, they can’t have come from here. You can see these machines are still cold …’

‘Ma’am?’ I jump as Chet leans close to me, his gaze anxious. Close up he smells of motor oil and sweat.

‘Hi, Chet. What is it?’ I smile, still shaky.

‘You wus swimmin’ this morning, right?’

My smile vanishes. Oh, no, not another … ‘Yes. You swim too?’

He takes a step back, fear in his eyes. ‘Nossir. Tain’t safe. There’s a troll down there.’

I frown. ‘A what?’

His eyes are wide now. He licks his lips. ‘A cave troll. I heerd it. Tain’t safe down there. You stay outta the water, ma’am.’

I smile vaguely and back away to the door.

A few hours earlier I’d have taken no notice. But I’m still chilly from shock. It’s no time to dismiss cave trolls out of hand. I feel his eyes on my back as I hurry out into the welcome sunshine and catch up with Darnley.

He folds his arm round me. ‘You done?’ He nods to Freda. ‘Let me know if you hear anything. We’d better get back.’

Freda’s cool downward glance sweeps me again and then she turns away.

* * *

On the way back we say little. This time Darnley drives.

I’m still seething over this morning. He’s being simply Darnley. Silent and stern, alone with his thoughts. The set of his jaw hints they’ll stay his for a while.

As we come in sight of his sleek beachfront mansion I fold my arms and jut my chin. ‘So, are you going to apologise?’

He pulls his damaged convertible to a purring halt and turns to look at me, his eyes cold. ‘For what?’

I’m getting emotional now. It’s been a trying day. ‘For treating your new fiancée like a tramp. For humiliating me in front of the people I’m supposed to teach. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your dignity in a classroom? It’s crucial. And all for …’ I tail off. Don’t push this, I think.

‘For what?’

Cross now, I say it anyway. ‘For Freda,’ I mutter.

To my fury he grins. ‘Still bitching about Freda? Hey. Lighten up. We survived your driving, we can survive anything, even her. Come on in. We’ll clean you up and then –’ He kisses me unexpectedly on the cheek.

‘And then?’ I glower back.

He grins. ‘And then we’ll get you all dirty again.’

* * *

I feel better after some coffee. When he’s sure I’ve calmed down he hustles me into the shower and we linger under the jet. He smears gel all over my softest places and then teases me in the hardest of ways, with cold and hot water, and with firm caresses of his busy hands, until I’m warm, refreshed – and eager .

When he finally bundles me up in a towel and scoops me up in his arms I’m shrieking in protest and drumming my fists on his back. ‘You can’t do this. Put me down.’

‘Sure thing, ma’am. Right here?’

I land on my back and sprawl out on the bed as he lands on top of me. He musses my hair with the towel in a token attempt to dry it and then fastens his mouth on mine, splaying my arms wide and pinning me down with his tongue and his powerful, gym-honed body until my giggles die away, stifled in my throat. Soon I’m kissing him back, easy and content, warm and damp from the shower and his growing impatience.

‘You sleepy now? I owe you an apology.’

I open my eyes with a snap. ‘You do? That’s a first. I don’t want to miss that.’

I’m genuinely mystified – it’s not a word I’ve ever heard him use. And now the gleam in his eyes tells me it’s not for what he did to me this morning … it’s for what he left out.

He’s kneeling up over me, laughing. ‘I’ve been neglecting you since this morning. I think you need some serious attention. Hold still. Put your arms up over your head. I want a good view of your tits while I do this.’

Grinning now I obey. Instantly I clench as he kneels between my knees, spreads my thighs wide and starts to drop soft, gentle kisses all down the inside of one thigh and up the inside of the other, before swooping down on my splayed, pulsing gap. He gives me a slow, roguish smile, lowers his head and starts to feast.

His tongue is so busy and so urgent I find it impossible to keep still. Soon I give up the struggle and my hands fly down to his head. I thread my fingers deep into his hair in a futile attempt to pull him away, if only to give my flaring, scorching arousal a breather from his busy mouth. ‘Stop, stop. It’s so intense. I can’t –’ I break off and gasp. For some reason, all unbidden, tears are coursing down my hair and into the pillows.

He raises his head and frowns. ‘Ella? What’s up?’

‘I can’t – I’m so sorry. It’s too much. I thought …’

His eyes narrow as he surges up to join me, his expression stern. ‘What? What did you think?’

I stare at him as the reality of what I’ve been thinking hits me like a stone. ‘I thought you were angry with me. I thought …’

I tail off again, scared of going on, like saying it will somehow make it come true. I thought he’d stopped loving me.

I shake myself. I’m getting weepy. It must be delayed shock …

‘Nothing,’ I grin weakly as his cruel, slow smile brings me back to my senses. I feel a flare of heat deep down and a flame of arousal so fierce I wonder if he senses it. ‘Don’t stop,’ I murmur. ‘Please.’