Flora Dain - Charm

There was no sign of him. The suite was quiet.

Breakfast looked good – a basket of warm croissants, orange juice, honey and pale butter with lots of white china so bright it hurt. It smelled great but I doubted I could face any. Next to it was a bouquet of white roses with a card.

I clambered out of bed to see what it said but it was blank apart from a small corporate logo, a wolf’s head over a pair of handcuffs.

And that’s how I finally found out who he was. Darnley Wolfe.

Just my luck.

* * *

That was a year ago.

Free of my ex, I went back to my normal life as a normal teacher in normal New England, about as far as it’s possible to get from the distinctly abnormal cut and thrust of high-end business. And unlike my ex I’ve so far resisted an upgrade, despite offers.

I’ve tasted Wolfe. Local tomcat’s not the same.

* * *

Right now I’m sitting on the edge of a cool blue pool in a flash hotel in Dallas, Texas, and I’ve just seen that logo again. The hotel’s full of it, the entrance area lined with oversized billboards plastered with it. It’s everywhere I look. Once again, I’m gatecrashing a company event. According to the posters it takes place this week.

That morning I left the flowers for the maids but I kept the card. I look at it often. Once or twice I nearly called the number on it but every time the menacing logo warned me off. Now I’m hemmed in by it all over again.

I shiver as I recall my narrow escape. This time I might not be so lucky.

Nobody gets that close to me and walks away.

Darnley Wolfe heads Wolfe Security, the company my ex was working for until he was fired and set up his own, which I gather is now doing rather well. Wolfe Security deals in surveillance wizardry and personal protection and was hosting the gala I stormed out of when I ran slap-bang into its CEO on his way in.

He’s wealthy and ruthless, likes women as fast as his cars, and right now he’s sitting at the far side of the hotel swimming pool watching me. He’s been watching me since the moment I walked in here.

I’ve just had a long hot drive from the airport. I walked out here to perch by the pool to cool off then caught sight of him and froze.

I’m hot and dusty. He has a long cool drink tinkling with ice and a fawning waitress at his elbow. He’s ignoring both to concentrate on me, as still and focused as his namesake predator.

This is worse than embarrassing. I’d no idea he’d be here. Now he’ll think I’ve come tracking Wolfe. In fact from where I’m sitting it looks like he’s tracking me – but I know that must be impossible.

I’ve tried to move on but the taste of Wolfe is fierce and heady. It lingers like civet. In the sultry glare of his designer shades I feel the power of his spell whip around me like giant liana, trapping my will, leaching away rational thought.

But I’m Miss Normal from New England, the land of Salem witches and Stephen King. We know a thing or two about spells. All I have to do to break this one is walk right up to him, say, ‘Hi’ and walk away again.

Easy as a piece of normal New England pie.

I grit my teeth, get to my feet and walk slowly around the pool to greet him.

When I start round the pool the first thing I find out about getting close to Mr high-and-mighty Darnley Wolfe is that nobody gets close. I thread my way through the crowded sun-loungers, past tables humming with easy chatter and bright with designer linens, but when I reach the ring of empty tables that surrounds him a security guard with a face like a cliff bars my way.

Irritated, I turn away. Instantly another guard bars my way, this time with double-cleft chins. Unsettled now, my temper rising, I glance back over my shoulder to see a silent signal has been given, a path mysteriously cleared and Cliff Face is now waving me through. A long cool drink is being set for me at a new place at Darnley Wolfe’s hallowed table. As I approach the waitress gives me a frightened nod and scuttles away.

As far as I can tell Darnley Wolfe has remained perfectly still throughout. His signals must be telepathic. I perch on the seat facing him and quietly start to panic.

He’ll have forgotten me. It’s been a long time.

Maybe he was dozing behind his shades and not looking at me at all …

‘Ella. It’s been a while.’

He remembers. He even knows my name. Shock slams me on autopilot and I smile politely. ‘Darnley.’

It’s the first time I’ve ever said his name out loud. A faint tremor goes through me like I’m bringing something to life. Miss Normal from New England notes that he stays seated to greet me but finally takes off his shades – the politeness of millionaires.

As he does so I almost wish he’d left them on. His look is hard and cold. Any fleeting hope that something remains of our wonderful night together instantly fades. Now I must face this stunning, powerful man knowing his heart is closed. Our brief moments of passion no longer offer any way in.

And he’s still watching me.

Curious now, I open my mouth to ask him why he’s here just as his low, stirring voice cuts in with the same question. As I blurt out an answer I forget my question. ‘Ryan – that’s my ex – asked me to meet him here. He wants to talk to me about something. He said it was urgent.’

Darnley’s brow lifts. ‘He’s here now?’

I shrug. I long ago lost interest in Ryan’s movements. ‘Apparently not. They told me at the desk he’s gone out for the day. Fishing.’

‘ Fishing ?’ His lip twists at the corner.

With a prickle of unease I remember I never once heard Ryan mention fishing. Why now? ‘That’s what he said. Does it matter?’

‘You were involved with him the night we met?’

Colour glows in my cheeks. So he does remember.

‘Yes. But not – that was why – I’d just dumped him.’ I break off, scarlet now, and take a sip of my drink. I’m mad at myself and madder still at the collapse of my plan. What happened to walking right up, saying hi and walking away?

He’s frowning. ‘So you two are – what? Getting back together?’

‘He just wanted to meet me. I was touring anyway. I broke it off for a few days to fly down here.’ I tail off and frown, puzzled. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’

He leans back, his eyes narrow. He casually ignores my question. ‘So where is he?’

I summon my patience. ‘I told you, I don’t know. Why’s it so important? Should I call the police?’ Now I’m uneasy. I’m glad to be free of Ryan but I wish him no harm.

Darnley replaces his shades and rises to his feet with feline grace. ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that. Perhaps you’ll both join me for dinner. Say we meet around eight, in the President Bar? If he’s late we’ll save him a place.’

He glances at his watch, hinting he’s got better things to do and dismissing any lingering notion that I feature anywhere on his map. Like it’s an afterthought, he holds out his hand and I touch it lightly, feeling a tingle from his fingers, and then he turns and strolls away.

Miss Normal’s mission lies in ruins. His spell’s as strong as ever.

* * *

The President Bar looks like a movie set, all smiling guests, hushed chatter and the clatter and chink of glasses. It’s warm here and there’s a mix of evening dress and poolside chic but the general feeling is formal. The guests look well heeled and have a kind of generous ease about them. It’s not just from crossing into a new time zone. I’m in new country here, warm with broad smiles, real suntans and vigorous handshakes. All around me easy Southern drawls reflect warmer climes and make me feel very prim and New Englandish.