Charm. Flora Dain

dawn.

      It’s been a long day.

      What I need right now is a stiff drink, space to think and sleep. I rise shakily to my feet and head for the door. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in. This has all been –’

      Darnley’s there before me. His hand closes over mine the second I touch the handle. Once more the shot of electricity from his touch fires instant arousal. Once more I’m helpless in the fierce intensity of his gaze, mesmerised by the force of his will.

      ‘Not yet, Ella. Please.’

      I bridle, nerves still jangling. I’m puzzled but angry. In my current state it’s an unhappy mix.

      His face softens. ‘Look, you’ve had a shock. You shouldn’t be alone. Stay here tonight. I’ll be told the minute Mitchell comes in. I’ll wake you.’

      Stay here? I wrench my imagination back from the wild images spiralling before me. Mitchell? Who’s that? Oh, yes, my ex … for a split second I’ve forgotten his existence.

      I lick my lips. It’s a tempting offer …

      Darnley must read something of this on my face because I see his mouth twitch at the corners and his eyelids lower. He senses my weakness, predator that he is.

      ‘There’s more than one bedroom.’

      His voice is silky now, his hand firmly planted over mine. I feel his thumb move gently. It grazes the tips of my knuckles in a tiny, subtle caress.

      ‘But I have to get my things,’ I falter, feeling my will drain away in the white heat of his steady gaze.

      ‘I had them brought up. You’re in the room on the left.’

      ‘What?’ I snap to attention. ‘Before you even asked me?’

      He loosens his grip on my rigid fist and slides his hand up my arm. ‘Come and sit down again. You’re a terrible colour. I’ll get you a drink.’

      His look is veiled, his tone calm, but it’s one shock too many.

      I glare at him. ‘I’m fine. Please show me my room.’ I clamp my lips in a firm line so he won’t see them tremble and guess I’m on the point of giving in.

      With an impatient sigh he leads me through the vast spaces of his suite to a large, gauzy room with filmy drapes. The bed is already turned down, my slip prettily laid out across the pillow. I turn to thank him but he’s already gone.

      Still on autopilot I shower, brush out my hair and prepare for bed. At last I perch on the unfamiliar satin sheets, pull my knees up to my chin and gaze at the wall, trying to make sense of all that’s happened tonight.

      * * *

      The small pool of light from the bedside lamp makes strange shadows in this sumptuous, unfamiliar room. They mirror my thoughts. Nothing adds up. However I come at this I can’t seem to untangle it. All that stays with me is the strange feeling I had when I walked in here earlier today that I was on the brink of something new.

      After a while – minutes? Hours? I can hardly tell – there’s a light knock. I look up with a start. News at last? I hope it’s nothing bad. I can’t take any more shocks tonight.

      It’s Darnley. He slips into the room and stands in the shadow by the door, letting it close quietly behind him. As I take him in I hold my breath. He’s wearing a short robe in black velour, tied at the waist. He looks lean and muscular. On his chest I catch a gleam from the small wolf’s-head logo embossed in silver. In the shadows he looks stunning, the hollows in his cheeks etched in the dim light from the lamp, emphasising the jutting, predatory cheekbones, the tough line of his jaw and the cruel possibilities of his long mouth.

      He looks like he’s trying to make up his mind about me and fast losing patience because he’s still undecided. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been awake for hours. It’s late.’ He walks slowly across the room, his easy grace at odds with his troubled expression. ‘Can’t sleep?’

      He runs a finger lightly over the taut knuckles clasped around my knees. ‘You’re cold. How long have you been sitting like this?’

      He holds my gaze as he sits down beside me on the edge of the bed, prises my hands away and folds them into his. His warm clasp revives me enough to shift towards him and stretch out my stiff, cramped legs.

      ‘Did my lamp wake you?’ I shiver as feeling prickles back into my calf muscles in a shower of pins and needles.

      His frown deepens and he folds his arms around me and pulls me close, his gaze stern. ‘Not exactly. The thought of you sitting in here with the light on is putting me off. What makes you sleep, Ella? What is it you need?’

      I lean forward and breathe in his glorious aroma, heady and feral, and as I lift my eyes to his I see that he knows. He knows all about what I want.

      At the same time a tiny part of me notices he’s still fingering the bones on my wrist, his touch gentle, warm, like he’s measuring, probing. It’s oddly arousing, just that faint, persistent touch. I’d no idea that part of me, just at the inner base of my hand, at the thinnest part of my arm, could be so sensitive.

      Or maybe it’s because whenever he touches me there he seems unnaturally still.

      The rest of me suffuses with deliberate, blatant lust. My breath quickens as my breasts graze the soft fabric of his robe through the thin satin stretched taut by their weight as I lean forward.

      A flicker of awareness crosses his face. He can tell. The faint tilt of one eyebrow shows his reaction as clearly as if I’d said it out loud. ‘Really? Is that all?’

      I reply with the faintest brush of my lips along the edge of his jaw. He sits very still for a moment as I move round to touch them to his earlobes, his neck and then the delicious hollow at the base of his throat. It’s a kind of homage but I’m powerless to invest it with any meaning. I’m simply reacting to the sensual force field that’s building around us.

      ‘Can I ask you a favour?’ His smile is friendly, his expression veiled.

      My eyes widen briefly and then I kiss him again, scared he’ll ask me to stop and this might be my last chance.

      ‘Can I tie you up?’

      He might be asking me to pass him a tissue. I sit up, wondering if I’ve heard him right. His expression’s calm. He’s waiting for an answer. I’ve heard about this. I’ve even heard it’s fun. But nobody’s ever asked me to do it.

      My pulse shoots into overdrive, pounding in my ears and almost drowning out my instant, unthinking reply. ‘Yes.’

      In minutes his velour sash is looped under the corners of the mattress and first one and then the other slim, quivering wrist is slip-tied to one of the loose ends. When he pulls on my ankles to drag me down the bed a little way, my arms are stretched wide over my head. Without the sash to confine it his robe swings open as he works, his movements brisk and efficient as he spreads my legs wide to get me into position.

      I gaze entranced at the sight of his rippling skin, gleaming in the low light from the lamp as he bends over me to fix me into place for whatever enormity he’s planning.

      The thought that he’s done this before – and, judging from the efficient way he’s tying me up, often – sends arousal rocketing through me in sheets of flame.

      Now the power of his spell is overwhelming and I’m falling fast. I cling to reality by blurting out one more question, my voice shaky. It’s not from panic but real curiosity. It’s also a feeble bid to assert myself against the floodtide of his energy, its force so great it threatens any minute to sweep me away. ‘Why? Why are you doing this?’

      He pauses as he kneels over me, his powerful thighs warm at either side of my face, the crotch of his boxers already thrillingly filled and bulging and very close to my mouth. I can smell the heady aroma of mingled spice and earth that pervades his body heat.

      He