Charm. Flora Dain

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