Flora Dain - Chase

It’s early days but so far it’s working well. Happy families all round.

As the vast car pulls up in the spacious driveway I get out and breathe in quiet, scent-laden air from the lush gardens, a world away from the busy backstreets of Boston or the neighbourhood where I work. It’s peaceful here, with birdsong and the swish of leaves. It’s a calming prelude to what may turn into a weekend of hot sex, blistering arguments or even a new shift in our stormy relationship. Darnley can be difficult when he wants – part of his appeal.

In the light, art-filled spaces of his mansion I’m partway across the gleaming tropical hardwood parquet when something strikes me as out of place. One of the stunning artworks, a massive Lichtenstein and by chance one of my favourites, is tilted at a crazy angle in the hallway. Halfway up the stairs I see a scrap of filmy scarlet lace draped over the banister.

I frown. What’s going on?

At the top of the stairs, reality shifts. Am I in the wrong house? Walking casually across the spacious entrance hall below me is a female, semi-naked and wet, towelling her hair with the corner of a bath-towel loosely draped round the rest of her. Her bare feet trail wet prints across a precious antique rug specially shipped from China.

Through the open doorway on this floor I can hear a piercingly sweet aria by Mozart so I know he’s here somewhere. But the sight of the woman down there chills my blood.

It’s that blonde.

I stand very still as Darnley appears at the door to his sitting room. He looks casual, lithe, gorgeous , like he’s been freshly poured into the soft fabric of his costly tailoring. He could have stepped straight out of a commercial for fabulous, wealthy men. For men like him women wait in line, blondes especially.

At the sight of me he stops short. The blonde is looking up at me, her face furrowed with an unappealing frown. She looks less than pleased I’m here.

The feeling is mutual.

‘You again?’ With a flare of her nostrils she turns on one wet heel and disappears into some room on the left .

I descend the stairs. One look at Darnley’s beautiful, classical face and I firmly resolve not to allow my eyes to stray downwards over his muscular chest, his powerful thighs and further down.

I fail spectacularly.

He does just the opposite, feasting on me with his gaze, his look melting my will.

‘What’s happening?’ I glare at him, suppressing the urge to beat his chest with my fists. ‘You’re planning a threesome?’

‘With you in that?’ His eyes flicker. ‘No way.’

‘So who is she?’ I keep my voice low in case my outrage derails things before I can prise an explanation out of him.

His lip curls. ‘What, you want me to introduce you? I thought you two knew each other.’ His sardonic tone is a shock. So is the slight flare to his nostrils, proof it’s real.

Does he have any idea how close he is to sudden death? I take a step closer and raise my chin, keeping my voice low. ‘And why, precisely, should I know that?’

He frowns, like something’s not quite adding up. ‘She was in your class.’ His tone hints both that it’s my fault and that this explains everything. ‘Consuela’s over here for a while. She’s under my personal protection.’ He breathes out slowly, summoning patience.

‘I thought I was under your personal protection.’ All at once my voice sounds husky. It’s a minor miracle I have a voice at all.

I’m at a serious disadvantage here. She’s not only lissom and beautiful, she’s freshly showered and elegant in sexy satin. I’ve been working hard all day; I’m hot and tired and the hasty dab-wash I managed in the staff toilets did nothing to cool me down. I’ve no satin or scent to help me out, just kooky pigtails and too-tight, day-weary pedal-pushers.

I’m defenceless – alone and unarmed.

And as I stare at him, still not making any sense of all this, an awful possibility washes over me. Is this it ? Is this how it’s done? Is this how he dumps me? Is this what happens when his mysterious love life ricochets from one dazzling beauty to another: skipping over the shy, awkward teacher-cum-poet he somehow got stuck with somewhere in between?

Famously crap at relationships : Ryan’s description. My ex should know. He was famously crap at them himself.

Darnley’s expression is unreadable. I want to scream and shout, tell him to get that woman the hell out of here. But something in his manner stops me.

He’s unnaturally still, his look unnaturally intense. ‘You are,’ he says at last.

I see a flicker in his eyes. There’s something under the surface here, something he’s not telling me.

And he’s pissed about it. Correction. He’s pissed at me .

‘No towels in here.’ The silvery voice slices between us as the woman reappears. She glances up at me. ‘Call me Cola, by the way. And you’re Ella?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘I said try the en-suite. Better still, go ask my housekeeper.’

She sighs heavily and pads off in the other direction.

Now Darnley frowns at me, his expression faintly exasperated. ‘She’s here with the South American trade delegation. Cola’s over here looking for an internship. She’s being stalked. I’m looking after her for now.’

He steps up close, touches my cheek with one finger, his expression thoughtful as he lowers his voice. ‘It’s a family thing, Ella. It can’t be helped. You really don’t know who she is? I find that hard to believe. But here goes. She knew how to find your class today. She even knew your name. So it looks to me like you two already met. But if we’re still play-acting, then here goes. She’s a friend of the family. She’s with my mother. They’re on a visit from Washington.’

I hardly have time to draw in a deep breath of joy and relief before he pulls me into his arms and fastens his mouth on mine. We kiss for an age – or no time at all. I lose track. He tastes wonderful – heaven and spice in one heady mix.

As he pulls away his expression hardens. ‘Hey, never mind her, it’s Friday night. We’re now on Wolfe Time. And we have things to discuss. Starting with these. ’

I knew it. Arousal fizzes through me, scorching all my pent-up feelings into hot, hard lust. I bite my lip and look up through my lashes. ‘There’s a problem?’

His eyes narrow. ‘Damn right there’s a problem. You’re wearing it. And we’re going to deal with it right now.’ He pats my backside none too gently and hustles me into his room.

At that moment there’s a commotion outside. I follow Darnley’s glance and see a large black sedan, flanked by an outrider on a motorcycle. They both have diplomatic number plates and small foreign pennants fluttering at the front.

‘Ah, Cola’s escort. Let’s hope she’s decent.’ He turns to me, the gleam in his eyes hinting that I am anything but. ‘I’d better see her off. You stay here.’ He steps up close and brushes his lips to my face. ‘And no touching.’ He runs a finger along my cheek, his lip curling at the corner, and then lowers his voice. ‘I’ll know.’

I wait by the window, breathless, while the fresh-washed spoilt brat is herded into the vast car, doors are slammed and she’s driven smoothly away. I draw in a long breath and let it out slowly as relief floods over me.

My relief lasts just forty seconds, the time it takes him to get back upstairs. The minute Darnley’s door closes behind him I know I’m in trouble. He folds his arms, his jaw stern. He looks lean and mean. I feel shaky.

I sense a wave of power emanate from him. Or maybe mine just ebbed away.