Charm

Copyright

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com

An eBook Original 2014

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 copy of 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: 9780007579587

Version: 2017-08-19

Contents

Cover

Title Page

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 the Mischief

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

It all started with a kiss.

Normally I’d never storm out of a high-end business gala dressed like a princess and head for the street with angry tears coursing down my face without first calling a cab.

Normally I’d never walk right up to the first man I see coming towards me, fling my arms round his neck and kiss him squarely on the mouth.

Normally, if he tasted that good and I edged away with a careless laugh and he scowled, pulled me closer and growled, ‘Hey. Nobody gets that close to me and walks away,’ I’d simply cut and run, not press up against him and burrow into his neck and sigh, ‘Take me somewhere. Anywhere.’

It was just the once.

* * *

After that things happened fast. He clasped one arm tightly around me while he muttered a stream of instructions into his phone, clearly changing his evening’s plans. I clung to him not listening, relishing the silky feel of his suit and the hard muscles lurking beneath. I nuzzled deeper into his neck and drank in his aroma, notes of citrus with deep undertones of feral male. Luscious.

I rubbed myself up against him like a cat on heat. But it wasn’t just heat. It was shock and despair at finding my on-off boyfriend had traded me in and was smooching the upgrade right there in the bar. All I wanted was to prove I could cut it – that I looked good and was still a fully functioning female.

Frankly, anybody would have done, but right on cue here was this stunning, Armani-clad male animal prowling towards me like a panther with attitude. How could I resist? Anyway, it was just a joke.

It seemed he didn’t do jokes.

And later I learned he wasn’t just anybody.

Boy, did I pick the wrong cat.

The instructions done, he slipped his phone into his pocket. Keeping his arm firmly around my waist he prised my arms away from his neck and clicked his fingers. A low-slung limo appeared like magic, the passenger door already swinging open.

His eyes glittered into mine as light glanced off the hard line of his jaw. ‘Now you’ll come back to my hotel and finish what you started. Or you can walk away. Which?’

Whoa. Did he mean it? Heat bloomed on my skin. Arousal enveloped my mind and made me dizzy. He’d tasted sensational, all honey and spice. And he felt even better, lithe and hard. Finish what I started? I could have finished him on the spot.

I ducked down and clambered in.

* * *

In the car he eyed me from the far corner while he murmured some more into his phone.

Who was this?

Too late to worry about that now. Tingling with excitement I drew in great lungfuls of air and flatly refused to look down from the high wire he’d just stretched over the void by calling my bluff. In the hotel elevator I launched myself at him and we fused together for long, blissful seconds, parting only to tumble out onto his landing and in at his door.

His suite was vast, the lighting low. There was music somewhere, singing. Before the door had slammed shut at the back-kick of his heel he’d pushed me up against a wall, wrenched my tight cocktail dress down to pin my arms and expose my breasts and then pressed his knee between my thighs.

He placed his hands flat on the wall at either side of my head and locked his eyes onto mine. His voice thrilled through me in a low throaty growl. ‘So, how do you like it? Hard? Soft? Slow? Fast?’

‘I have to choose? How about all four?’ I tried for playful but something in his steely gaze warned me he didn’t do playful.

How right I was.

‘Fine by me.’ He descended on my mouth and ground against me, kneading my breasts, pressing the hard column of his erection deep into my belly. I writhed against him trying to get closer and savoured the fierce heat of his tongue, filling me like I wanted filling but all in the wrong place. I started making little moaning noises deep in my throat as he pulled and tweaked at my nipples, sending shafts of heat straight to my groin.

He answered with low growls of his own as he pulled my dress down further so my arms were rammed against my sides and now I was trussed. He forced my legs wider and pressed his whole body against me while he took his hand away to unfasten his shirt, dragging his tie away from his shirt collar with a hiss and snapping at buttons. If I could have moved I’d have undone his flies for him but when my hands fluttered somewhere near his hips he pulled away from my mouth and grinned, his hand slipping down to explore me.

I whimpered as his fingers searched my swelling needy places and came away shining wet.

He rammed me against the wall with his chest as he held his hand close to my face. ‘What’s this? No panties? And wet already? Disgraceful. Lick.’

I ground my hips against him willing him on – and in – but he grinned and held his fingers closer, dangling his hand over my face to make me arch my neck to reach.

The deep rumble of his voice and the hot tingle of his touch sent flames licking all over me, little teasing darts promising so much pleasure I felt I might explode any minute. It was made worse by the growing feeling that he had his own plans and we were tracing out some pattern of sex that was new to me. His movements were confident and assured, his air of command as clear as the slice of a whip.

At last I stretched high enough to reach him. I pulled his fingers deep into my mouth and fellated eagerly. I tasted myself, salty and warm, and smelled my need, my thick juices filming his fingers with womankind’s very own original and best-ever lube. After a while he drew me away from the wall and bent me over, supporting me firmly by the hips with one hand and pushing me down low with the other.

‘Now me. Make me wet too. Take it in one, all the way.’

I gasped as he freed himself. It sprang out of his flies right before my face, purple and hot, tantalisingly out of reach while my arms were still pinned. I longed to touch it, map its silky ridges with my fingertips, measure its heat and its length and let my fingers tell my brain how good it would feel when it surged up inside me or maybe lunged deep into my throat. But it seemed only window-shopping was allowed.

‘Let me go,’ I pleaded, desperate now. ‘Loosen my arms. I want to feel you.’

It was awkward bent over like this, so close to the dark, warm richness of his loins – and deeply frustrating.

Above me I heard him chuckle. ‘No hands. Mouth first. All in one.’

Fire raged between my legs, still pegged wide by his feet. Awkward in my tight, bunched dress, I leaned over as he bucked towards my face and I plunged down over his shaft. He tasted gorgeous, hot and hard and salt. With a massive lunge I shifted so my throat curved right over and I managed him, riding back up a little way to reach the tip, swirled my tongue along the shallow curve at the top and lunged again. He gave a low growl that echoed somewhere in his belly close to my ear and then he pulled me upright.

‘Good girl. Now keep very still.’ Holding my eyes he reached into his trouser pocket. I heard the rip of foil and then all at once he pushed me hard back against the wall. I bucked forwards to reach him and with a matching thrust he entered me in a single plunge and pushed right up inside.

‘Yes,’ I screeched at the rightness of it. He felt so good, hot and thick, all I craved. With a few more thrusts he drove into me and then just as I thought I’d spill over into a massive climax he stilled, impaling me on his shaft, and stared into my face.

His eyes glittered. ‘Is this what you want? Hard, like this? Fast?’

‘Yes, yes. Please don’t stop. It’s glorious.’ I was panting now, desperate for him to finish and to finish me.

He continued to stand very still, buried deep inside me. ‘Ah, but it’s not that simple. You want more. You asked for soft and slow. Over here.’

He eased himself away and in one swift move he swept me up in his arms like a limp rag doll. He carried me into the middle of the room and laid me down gently on the rug. ‘You want soft? We’ll do soft.’

‘Loosen my arms. I can’t reach you.’ I was frantic now, longing to touch him, still forbidden.

He smiled slowly for the first time, showing perfect teeth. ‘I know.’

‘But I want to touch you,’ I pleaded.

His smile vanished. ‘Quiet.’ Pushing my knees apart he leaned down and began to feast.

It was too much. My arousal had been pounding like a drumbeat since the moment we’d met and now it rocketed through me like gunfire. I screeched aloud and writhed under his mouth and at last he took mercy on me and released me long enough to haul me up a little and flip me over.

My arms still pinned, he pushed my head down onto the floor, squashing my cheek hard against the soft pile of the rug, and pulled my hips up a little way to expose my ass. I shuddered as he began to fondle me with long, loving sweeps of his hands, making low growling animal noises of appreciation somewhere deep in his throat. The sound thrilled through me, making me moan.

‘Now we’ll take it slow and when you come again we’ll take it fast.’

‘How can you do this?’ How much longer could he hold out? It was delicious, mind-boggling – and entirely unexpected. I’d thought this would be over in seconds. Now I could see it lasting half the night. ‘And please loosen my arms. I can’t balance.’

‘Quiet. Spread your legs. Wider.’ He pushed at my ankles and now my ass was high in the air and my thighs spread wide. I heard another rip of foil – he must have thrown away the first when he pulled away earlier – and all at once he thrust into me again, slow at first, while he slapped me from behind.

I shrieked in excitement, the sound half muffled in the rug, but he carried on, the blows coming harder and faster as another orgasm began to build. It edged higher and higher with the jolting of the blows and the tight restraint on my arms as his pounding length stretched me wide, gliding in and out of my juicy slickness.

And as he paused at the peak of an almighty thrust I felt a glow of heat through the condom and he reached round to feel me with his hand. We came together, me with a shout, him with a grunt that echoed all through my belly and we collapsed together on the rug.

* * *

It lasted much longer than half the night. It lasted most of it. Sometimes we unlaced our limbs. At some point he took pity on my aching, pinioned arms and peeled my dress away and I lay along him on the sofa, my legs spread wide in wanton abandon. I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his aroma while he explored me with his hands, searching every fold, every privacy, exposing every delicate cranny of pleasure in secret places I thought only I would ever know – and finding some I’d missed.

Commanded to stay in position, I writhed and twitched along his body while he teased me without mercy, laughing softly into my ear as I convulsed repeatedly around his fingers, insistent, intimate and probing. And later still we took our second champagne bottle, nearly empty now, into the master bedroom and finished it, spilling some of it on the sheets when he fastened his last mouthful over my sex and let the bubbles tingle all around my bud until I climaxed. I was in danger of losing count.

Sometimes we dozed, sometimes we talked – about silly, unimportant things like music and cartoons. It was clear he had no wish to talk about himself and neither did I. It was perfect just as it was.

Scared to break the spell, I didn’t even ask him his name. And much later, as dawn light started to gleam in a cold blue line under the edge of the drapes, I watched him dress, feeling the tiniest glimmer of regret – but only that it had to end. For the first time it also occurred to me that he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman throughout while I’d been rather less than a lady. ‘I don’t usually do this,’ I muttered, half to myself.

A bit late to say so but I felt he should know.

He glanced at me as he fixed a cufflink, one eyebrow tilted slightly, giving his angular face a delicate appeal. ‘Me neither.’

I swallowed. ‘Did I stop you doing something important?’

He glanced back to the mirror to straighten his tie and then he surprised me again, in this long night full of surprises. He bent down to run the back of his finger down my cheek, his touch whisper-soft. He looked into my eyes for a long moment, his expression grave. ‘Hey. We just did it. Now get some sleep.’

He brushed my lips with a light kiss and then made for the door.

That was the last I saw of him.

* * *

In the morning I woke to bright sunlight, tinkling silver and a splitting headache. Waiters were setting out breakfast on a side table. I pretended to be asleep until they’d gone and then hauled myself upright.

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.

CHAPTER TWO

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.

After the shake-up of my encounter with Darnley this afternoon I’m now fully restored. A refreshing shower and an hour’s pampering in my room worked wonders. Afterwards I tried to call Ryan but he was still not answering so to pass the time I worked down my call-list. My parents are still on a cruise, one of my friends is off on a date and too hyper to talk any sense, and two more are trekking in the Yosemite and have a poor signal, so I gave up.