The Dare Collection April 2019. Nicola Marsh

felt an odd flash of something. A crackle over my skin, like electricity. It was unexpected and strange so I ignored it, too worried about what he was going to do to pay attention to it.

      Would he change his mind? Give me back to them?

      I swallowed, my mouth dry, and I gave him a pleading look. Please help me. Please.

      ‘Miss White?’ Colin asked again, sharper this time. ‘Are you in there?’

      Ajax shot a glance at the door then back at me.

      Then suddenly he pulled me towards him so I was only inches away from his massive, muscular figure. He lowered his head, his mouth near my ear. ‘Do as I say,’ he murmured. ‘And I’ll get you out of here.’

      I blinked at the wall of white cotton in front of me. I hadn’t been this close to a man in years. Possibly I hadn’t been this close to a man ever.

      It was weird. He was very, very warm and he smelled good. A spicy, woody scent that for some reason made the iceberg in my chest start to melt and calmed my rising panic.

      ‘Now, put your arms out. And don’t say a word.’

      His breath on my skin made goosebumps rise along my neck and shoulders, that crackling sensation getting more intense.

      I didn’t have time to think about it so I put my arms out obediently. Quickly, he shrugged out of his black suit jacket and, before I could figure out what he was going to do with it, he’d put it on me.

      Nearly forgetting that I wasn’t supposed to speak, I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing. But he whipped the cap off his head and put it on mine, then, with surprising skill for a guy, he coiled my hair up underneath so it wasn’t showing.

      I blinked up at him. Way, way up at him.

      His eyes were the most incredible blue. The pupils had a dark ring of midnight around them before lightening up towards the iris, a shade that was exactly the same as the sky on a perfect winter’s day. They were made even more noticeable by the straight black brows and thick black lashes that framed them.

      My heart gave a weird thump.

      I didn’t know much about him, only that my father hated his guts because Dad and Augustus King had been rivals until Augustus had finally gone to jail. Dad had been hoping that once Augustus had gone he’d be able to grab what was left of his empire and take it for himself—he was nothing if not opportunistic.

      But apparently Ajax King kept getting in the way.

      Maybe that was why I hadn’t screamed when Ajax had appeared in the bathroom. Why I’d believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

      He might have once been the heir to the biggest crime empire in Sydney, but he wasn’t now and any enemy of my father was a friend of mine.

      Of course, I hadn’t been thinking straight when he’d appeared in the doorway and clearly I wasn’t thinking straight now if all it took to make my heart thump was one look into his eyes.

      Forgetting that I’d promised not to speak, I opened my mouth to ask him what was going on but, before I could, he bent and picked me up in his arms.

      My stomach dropped away, the world lurching around me; every question I’d been going to ask vanished from my head.

      I’d never been held by a man. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d been held, full stop.

      Had it been this hot? Because that’s all I was conscious of. An intense, stunning heat surrounding me. From the hard torso I was lying against and the strong arms locked around me. It made something restless and antsy inside me go utterly still.

      I caught my breath.

      ‘Hide your face against my chest,’ Ajax murmured before heading straight to the door.

      My brain didn’t seem able to process the instruction. Hide my face? Why? And what was he doing? Didn’t he know that—

      There was a sudden crash as he kicked the door open and I caught one glimpse of Colin and the other guy—a new guard whose name I could never remember—and instinctively I turned away, hiding my face against Ajax’s broad chest, just like he’d told me to.

      The cotton of his shirt had been warmed by the hot skin beneath it and his scent filled my senses. Sandalwood, maybe, and...cedar? I’d taught myself about perfumes once and remembered the scents. Anyway, it was amazing. I pressed my cheek against the fabric, feeling firm muscle beneath it, and inhaled, the smell of him going straight to my head.

      ‘What?’ Ajax demanded, his deep voice making his chest vibrate against my cheek. ‘Get the fuck out of my way.’

      Silence.

      I should have been paying attention to what was happening, but being in his arms was way too distracting.

      The warmth of his body was soaking through the stupid white cocktail frock Dad had insisted I wear tonight, and I was conscious of how hard he was. Like he’d been carved out of rock, not muscle and bone.

      The restless thing inside me had curled up and gone to sleep, as if it felt safe. As if it knew that he would protect me if anything went wrong, which was strange since I knew that men in general weren’t particularly safe to be around.

      ‘We’re looking for Miss Imogen White,’ Colin was saying. ‘She was in the—’

      ‘Don’t know, don’t give a fuck,’ Ajax said casually, continuing to walk with me in his arms down the corridor. ‘Go check the damn bathroom yourself. There’s no one in there now.’

      ‘But you must have—’

      ‘If you hadn’t noticed, I’m busy.’

      There was more silence after that and, given that Ajax hadn’t stopped, it must have meant my guards hadn’t realised it was me in his arms. The suit jacket and cap now made sense; he’d been trying to hide my identity.

      I’d relaxed totally against him, but curiosity stole through me and I began to turn my head, only to have him say gruffly, ‘Keep your head where it is. We’re not out of the building yet.’

      I nodded and closed my eyes, inhaling warmth and spice and the faint smell of laundry powder from his shirt. His heart was beating beneath my ear and I could hear the rhythm of it, steady and strong and sure.

       Like him.

      Odd thing to think about a man I’d only just met and didn’t know. Maybe I was drunk. Maybe I was high. On him and his magical scent. Whatever, I accepted the thought without protest.

      Not that it mattered. He could have been Jack the Ripper and I would have been okay with it if he could get me out of the building without being seen.

      The thought of freedom being so close made excitement surge through me and if I hadn’t been held so securely in his arms I would have wriggled.

      Keeping still was something I found difficult at the best of times, but most especially when I was excited or angry or sad.

      A fidgety chatterbox, all the nannies had said about me.

      A mess, said my father, looking at me with the disapproval that used to cut me so badly when I was a kid and longing for his attention.

      My mother had died when I was born and if she hadn’t, things would have been different. Dad would have been different. But she had and he wasn’t, and all I remember wanting was his love.

      He didn’t like my insatiable curiosity or the way I couldn’t stop moving. I used to try to stay still, to not piss him off by jogging my leg or humming or asking questions, or any of the other things I did that irritated him, but it had always been a constant battle.

      But it wasn’t until I was eighteen that my inability to check myself had consequences. Terrible consequences.

      Since then I’d tried to stay in the box