Flora Dain - Capture

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com

Copyright © Flora Dain 2014

Cover design: Head Design 2017, cover images: Shutterstock.com

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: 2017-08-21

Contents

Cover

Title Page CAPTURE Flora Dain THE WOLFE: BOOK 3

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

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.