Chase

Copyright

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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: 9780007579594

Version: 2017-08-21

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 Mischief

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

These days it starts with the bracelets.

They look sensational. Trust me, when you’re out on the town with your wrists sheathed in custom-made, 22-carat white gold studded with diamonds, you look like a princess.

But the princess has, let’s say, obligations to her prince.

He has them too, like not going too far.

But I bet he’ll get close.

I try not to dwell on this. I love him. I want him to slay his demons because, until he does, this relationship’s going nowhere.

In a way I’m special. I’m the only person on the planet he’s ever trusted. So for him power play is not just a game, it’s therapy. Plus for me it’s a free pass into his heart. And if I can enter and warm it through, then maybe the ice that’s formed around it most of his life will thaw long enough for him to find happiness – if not with me then with someone else.

I’d sooner not dwell on that either. For now I’ll play things by ear. Bottom line, this complex man is well worth the struggle.

The bracelets are new. He keeps them for me. I could never afford the insurance. When I wear them people stare, dazzled by the gems or outraged at the bling, depending on how well they know me. They’re not my usual style.

Nor is he.

Darnley Wolfe – part businessman, part inventor, part visionary, part damaged, all male – is also my lover. But only part of him is available for love.

His company makes millions. It deals in surveillance wizardry, personal protection and, for me, an exclusive line in heartache.

Our first date was last year, a chance collision in a spectacular clinch that lasted nearly eight hours and shifted our universe. Our second date was in high summer. We collided in the Lone Star State, hot on the trail of my ex but soon hotter still for each other as we hurtled into a rollercoaster ride high on emotion, low on trust and powered by wild, pulsing sex.

Our third date starts tonight. Two minutes ago he snapped the bracelets on my wrists. They’re a signal for him and a safety net for me. But the gleam in his eyes tells me they’re a far cry from the handcuffs he’d sooner see in their place.

Now we’re holding hands as we walk through the luxurious spaces of Camp Akela. His parents’ lavish summer retreat looks much the same as it did when I came back here a few days ago but for us there are big changes.

Holding hands is one of them. Our relationship was under wraps when we first came here. Now it’s spectacularly open, thanks to the meddling of Ryan, my vengeful ex, who managed to splash pictures of us worldwide.

Deep down, I find it kind of hot that everybody now knows Darnley and me are an item. It means when people look at us they must be guessing what we do when we’re alone. And that thought burns me up because I actually do know and I glow with arousal every time I think about it.

The second change is the quiet. His parents, Aaron and Lydia, are now back home in Manhattan. His brother Eldon left too, along with my best friend Billy. They’ll catch up with us later. So we’re pretty much alone here, that is if you don’t count the fleet of staff and a security detail big enough to impress the White House.

And the third change – and for me the biggest – is the bracelets. I’ve agreed to accept them along with the conditions he’s attached to them. But now I’m scared. The conditions are specific about me but rather less so about him. They’re supposed to keep me safe, to warn him that I’ve accepted certain terms but also that he takes on certain responsibilities.

Like not hurting me in a fit of over-enthusiasm.

All I know is we’ll go new places. And from what I know of Darnley’s taste in travel, sex-wise at least, that could mean some pretty scary territory.

His hand tightens on mine as we walk through the spacious entrance area. ‘Got any plans for the evening?’ He sounds casual, like I might be dining out round the corner or popping into the nearest deli. Except we’ve already dined – the chef hung on for our visit – and the nearest deli is probably some three hundred miles downstate and there’s not a corner in sight. We’re surrounded by forest.

I press against him, leaning into his shoulder like a hungry feline. ‘Not right this minute. You?’

He wraps his arm around me and hugs me close. ‘Plenty,’ he murmurs. ‘Once we’re clear of the grounds.’

‘We’re going outside?’ This surprises me. So far all our action has been strictly indoors. We’ve disgraced ourselves on pretty well every surface, leaned against every doorway and steamed up virtually every window in the place.

Now he wants to start outside?

Like something just hotwired between us he pulls me towards the driveway and we walk quickly, past the golf course, past the lake and further still, pushing deep into the trees. I start quietly to fret. What now? What does he want to do out here that we can’t do in the privacy and shelter of our rooms?

The sun’s low. It may be a fine, warm, late-summer evening but it’s wild out here. There are little noises all around us, birdcalls from overhead, things creeping in the undergrowth as darkness closes in. Insects.

At last he stops walking and pushes me up against a tree, pressing me hard against the bark. ‘Kneel.’

His command is so abrupt, his tone so deep I stare for a second longer than allowed. All at once the look in his eyes becomes uncompromising. ‘Now.’

I obey, arousal spreading through me. I pant from the forced march. This part I understand. He craves my mouth, using me often and fully, delighted by my hunger. It surges now, a heat wave rising from deep in my belly. I salivate at the very sight of his warm, bulging crotch, already filling with his erection.

‘No hands. Open it with your teeth.’ He stands very still as I pull delicately on his zipper, taking care to go slow in case I snag the contents. He’s so big now he’s straining at the zip, eager for release.

Me too. It’s all I can do to manage this smoothly.

When his shaft finally springs free I admire it for a moment, letting the rich, earthy aroma lurking under the crisp scent of his shower gel warm my senses.

‘Shit, Ella. The way you do that …’ He’s husky now, both fascinated and stirred by my adulation. He wants me to suck him fast and hard, I can see. But at the same time he’s enjoying the view.

I try to picture what it is that turns him on so, to see what he’s seeing: its dark purple a startling contrast to my paler skin? Its contours a swollen outrage against the finer lines of my woman’s prim, more delicate face? Or does his curved, rigid girth look almost too big to push into my soft, moist lips?

I sense all this as I lean forward to lick him and he thrusts towards me. It’s always a shock to see his size. A primitive spark tingles down my spine at the thought that something so big and so primal can fit into my soft, tightly furled places, let alone enter my mouth.

But it always does. I bow my head over the crown and take him reverently, wetting as much of his shaft as I can before I have to plunge and swallow. Soon I can tell from his jagged breathing he’s getting very close.

‘Enough.’

Startled, I look up at him and we’re suspended in time and space as he absorbs me with his eyes, relishing the view and savouring my submission. I hold my breath as his monster twitches between my lips, poised on the brink of its pleasure.

‘I want you against the tree. Stand up.’ His voice is husky. He’s not smiling now. He’s in some new, scary dominant place where commands are short and sharp and my obedience is slow and sometimes painful. Down below I start to glow.

Game on.

His eyes encourage me to pull up my top and bare my breasts, letting them bulge forward provocatively. They sway gently as I pant, nervous now. His stern look directs me to loosen my linen crops. I push them down my hips and wait, an eyebrow arched for further tips on how to prepare for whatever we’re doing next. To my surprise he simply turns me round and pushes at my shoulders.

‘Bend over. Grab hold of the tree with both hands. Stick out your ass and arch your back.’

Yikes. I know what’s coming: a spanking. But out here? Won’t someone see? Or, even worse, hear?

‘Hold still. Don’t move.’

Heart in mouth I cling onto the rough bark, hoping none of his security detail are tuning in. And that’s before I start to worry about ants, mosquitoes. I’m very exposed out here. My arms are aching now as I lean forward. My cheeks burn with shame. I long to straighten up and cover myself.

Someone might see.

And then to my horror I hear him walk away. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’ I sound shrill, a lost soul out here among the endless trees. I turn round in a panic but now he’s out of my line of vision. All I can hear are his footfalls, padding away, and then coming closer. As his loafers come into view I breathe a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness … Ow!’

I shriek as his hand lands on my rump with a stinging slap that stops my breath. As I open my mouth to drag in air it lands again and again. And again.

Arousal flares.

‘Quiet. Did I say you could speak? I said stay there. Keep your legs straight. I’m not going far.’

My bum is burning up and we’ve hardly started. I doubt he’ll leave it there. I rarely get away with just four slaps.

I’m scared now. What’s he doing? It’s taking an age. I strain to hear where he is but all I can hear are rustles in the bushes, the scrunch of twigs and the snap of a stick. Alarm spirals though me. A bear? A wildcat?

It’s worse: a Wolf. Once more I see his loafers coming towards me, and something else. I shiver. It’s the swishing end of a stout, springy stick.

I’m going to get caned. Or birched. Or twigged. Hit anyway, with whatever that thing is he’s holding.

He fondles my quivering backside with a caress so tender I shudder.

‘Hey, you’re cold. Don’t be scared.’ He pauses for a second. ‘Ella? You OK? You said you’d try it. We agreed.’

‘I’m fine.’ In the silence of the trees my voice is thin and reedy but it’s all he needs.

‘This won’t take long.’ Now he sounds brisk. ‘Don’t move.’

I stand rigid, part scared, part excited. Down below I burn. The rest of me chills as the scared part takes over and I strain to hold still and avoid his displeasure. Something about the way he’s swishing that stick warns me too much wriggling, even in happy anticipation, might be unwise.

But he’s moving plenty. I hear snaps, scratches and shuffles and now small bits of twig land on the ground near my feet as he strips the sapling, preparing it. I shiver as he swishes it a couple of times to test its strength.

His fingertips land on my rear, gentle and warm as he positions me precisely, and then he strokes me again, chuckling now. He’s enjoying this.

‘Six strokes to warm you up. Then we’ll take it from there.’

As the first lands I’m almost jerked off my feet. He waits while I writhe, fighting to stay in position but needing to move about to deflect the sudden sharp flash of pain.

Another strike. The shock makes me gasp but this time I’m prepared so it stings less.

The third blow is softer still. He pauses to feel me, his hand cool on the burning stripes he’s etched into me. And now he starts a new torment as his soothing caress turns into a slow exploration between my legs. He wants to know what’s happening down there. I’m already soft, swollen, wet.

With a satisfied chuckle he takes aim again, finishing the last two strokes with a flourish. He leans close and murmurs against my neck as I pant to catch my breath. ‘You OK?’

I swallow. ‘I’m fine.’

His kiss lingers on my neck. ‘More?’

‘No. I want …’ I tremble, unsure if this is allowed. But the bracelets mean I have a say now. At least I think that’s what he said.

‘What? What do you want, Ella? Tell me.’

He trails soft kisses along my spine while he draws the switch slowly between my legs, letting me feel every rough nick, every inch of its harsh, springy length. It slides perilously close to my eager sex, splayed for his delight. I can’t see the stripes but I feel them blend into a hot glow.

‘I want you inside.’ I’m ashamed to ask. I sound tinny and unreal in the gathering darkness of the tall trees all around us.

‘Where, Ella? Tell me. Here?’ He reaches down to feel the place and drops kisses along my shoulder blades.

‘Please,’ I say as the head of his erection grazes my burning bottom in a silky nudge of greeting. All at once he slams into me, jerking me hard against the tree with his power and his weight. He feels so good.

Far above us the sky remains light, pearly now as the sunlight fades. Down here in the growing darkness the bracelets gleam and flash as he pounds.

He reaches underneath me, teasing me open, his touch light, tingling like sparks. I close my eyes and sigh, treasuring the slow climb to rapture as he moves gently inside me, easing his stroke to slow us, to prolong the moment …

And then he pauses, quivers and slowly withdraws. ‘Know what? I’ve got a better plan. We’ll finish this in bed.’

Grr. My rapture’s on hold, poised at the peak. I straighten up. ‘Are you serious?’

He smiles at me calmly as he fastens himself. ‘Any objection?’ His voice is low and amused.

‘Where do I start?’ With an effort I unclench my teeth and he kisses me gently on the forehead.

‘Hey, chill. Good for you. Teach you some discipline. Come on, race you back.’

We run to the house, the way much easier downhill. He seizes my hand and drags me along the last few feet of driveway, his eyes dancing at the sight of my flushed cheeks, my wild hair and my heaving breasts. He’s still holding the switch, swishing it through the air and taking pretend swipes at my legs to speed me up.

The bracelets are heavy now, their weight and the movement from my running etching redness into my wrists. The diamonds flash in the glow from the elegant garden lighting that floods the grounds under the tall, graceful windows.

As we draw near the front entrance we pull up short.

A pale, haughty-looking man with a ponytail and a small pointy beard is coming down the steps. He’s wearing a lizard-skin jacket, tight jeans and stacked heels.

He eyes us with distaste. ‘Who the hell are you?’

CHAPTER TWO

I feel a moment’s pity for Ponytail. He won’t know what’s hit him.

At my side Darnley stiffens, then reaches for his phone. ‘G2.’ His soft murmur is barely audible in the hushed peace of the driveway. But now we notice things our fascination with each other blotted out earlier – voices from the house, movements in the windows.

We have visitors.

Darnley slips the phone back in his pocket as the butler hurries out to meet us, his face anxious.

‘Mr Wolfe, sir, these people are –’

At that moment Eldon appears in the main doorway. ‘Yo, bro’. How’s tricks? I brought some friends along. Thought we’d party now Mom and Dad have gone.’

‘Mr Wolfe, sir –’ The butler is still scanning Darnley’s face in a silent, urgent plea. It’s the first time I’ve seen this wooden individual so agitated.

‘Mr Eldon said –’

Tension crackles around us. Darnley shifts his gaze back to Eldon, his face a mask. ‘Have these people got clearance?’

Eldon’s face contracts. ‘Clearance? Why should they? Dammit, Darnley, they’re friends of mine.’

‘Everybody who comes here gets clearance. You know that.’ Like everything else about him Darnley’s rage is carefully controlled but somehow that makes him even more terrifying. His fury is aimed at Eldon but it raises a prickle of tiny hairs all over me, too.

Ponytail actually takes a step back. ‘Who is this? Eldon? What gives?’ His voice sounds squeaky.

Eldon’s locked into Darnley’s stern gaze, his mouth stubborn. ‘What? Fuck no. Why should they get clearance?’

‘Get rid of them.’

Darnley’s low snarl bristles with menace. Eldon holds his ground, his slack good looks shrinking into a tight scowl. ‘Fuck off, man. That’s just for when family are here.’

‘It’s for when anyone’s here, you moron.’

As Darnley squares up to his brother there’s another, higher, squeak from Ponytail. ‘Holy shit, Eldon. What is this? Invasion of the frigging Body Snatchers?’

From all around us men are emerging from the trees and from the sides of the house. I even spot one on the roof.

They’re dark and dangerous and they’re armed.

Darnley’s men.

Eldon takes one look around him and his eyes fill with tears of rage and frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake, Darnley, what’s the fucking matter with you? These are friends of mine. Film people. I got a possible film deal here, man. My first big break. And you have to go shit all over it with your fucking goons, you fucking megalomaniac control-freak.’

His voice is shrill now, his face contorted like an angry toddler taking home his ball. I half expect him to stamp his foot.

He may be outplayed but he still has the power to wound. His eyes flash. ‘And next time you torture your girlfriend while you’re boning her at least have the decency to treat her to some fucking Band-Aids afterwards, not solid freakin’ gold cuffs. Then maybe she’ll freakin’ heal, you freakin’ perverted freak.’

Darnley stands very still, his face stony as his men gather round us in a silent, solemn ring. From the house we hear protesting cries as more unseen visitors are rounded up and herded down the steps towards us, swelling the crowd.

All eyes instantly fasten on our little group, Darnley at its centre, his controlled fury like a force field.

In the tense silence he turns slowly to face me, his expression unreadable. ‘Go to the Lincoln Suite and stay there. This won’t take long. I’ll catch you later.’

I quail at the rage I sense building under his calm surface. I’m scared to speak in front of all these people but I give a faint nod to convey to him that I get he has things to do – Wolfe things – and our loving reunion must wait.

Unexpectedly he folds his hand slowly round my neck, tilts up my chin with his thumb and kisses me on the mouth. ‘See you later.’ His look is so intense, his touch so gentle, we might be alone here.

The others look on in silence.

He releases me slowly. His touch lingers in a statement of power, some kind of primitive signal to everyone here about territory or ownership. I’m unfamiliar with the finer points of male stand-offs but I feel a tiny spark of pride that he’s marked me out for this one.

As I make my way to the Lincoln Suite I’m already winding down when I hear voices. What?

In the doorway to our rooms I stand very still. There are three women in here. Two are casually eyeing up the Kandinsky, the other is sprawled on our bed. Her bright kaftan and fluorescent headband look outlandish, Greenwich Village going on Woodstock. They stop talking and look me up and down. One of them flicks a cigarette into a flower vase where it smoulders unpleasantly.

‘What do you want?’ A tall girl with sandals and a jutting chin scowls at me.

‘You’re in my room,’ I say evenly.

She arches an eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah? Who says? We got here first. Go find one of your own.’

Just then Bullen, Darnley’s driver, pushes past me.

‘Security alert, ladies. Everyone’s to report outside.’

They look affronted but Bullen’s blank stare and prominent holster are very persuasive. He turns to me and lowers his voice.

‘Two gunmen spotted heading this way, ma’am. One may be in the woods, one in the house. We’ve been ordered to clear the area.’

I make an effort to keep a straight face. Gunmen?

The women look scared as he herds them towards the door and sweeps the room with a professional two-handed gun pointed into corners, cupboards and even under the bed. Another guard appears and looks on in silence as Bullen checks the other rooms in the suite and then comes back to the door, his face solemn.

As I watch something clicks: G2. Two gunmen? Was that some kind of code?

The women push past me in their haste to get away. The other man follows them like a watchful sheepdog, ensuring they stay in line.

Bullen lingers in the doorway for a moment. ‘It’s OK, ma’am, it’s safe for you. I’ll send one of the maids to clean up.’

‘Thank you, Bullen. I appreciate that. Er, G2?’

His cliff-face settles into its familiar stony mask. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

While the maid’s changing the bed I watch from the window as the unscripted visitors are herded out onto the driveway and driven away. Eldon looks on helplessly, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally he and Darnley walk back into the house, Eldon still muttering angrily, Darnley in tight-lipped silence. They head for the sitting room and slam the door. I hear angry voices.